Page 40 of Filthy Little Witch
“Are you stressed about the ritual tomorrow?” I wouldn’t blame him if he were.
“No,” he said. “Oddly, I’m okay with whatever happens.”
“Then, Marta?” I was ready to talk him off the ledge again. We didn’t need to have alpha-male animosity between us. There didn’t need to be mine or his. There could just be ours, just like our entire life had been ours.
Atlas took a deep breath and drank the rest of his whiskey in one gulp before pouring himself another, topping off my glass as well. “I should be pissed, but I’m not. And then I’m worried about why I’m not, but that’s not it, either.”
I waited for him to continue and picked up my glass to sip the amber liquid, relishing the mild burn as I swallowed it down.
“You ever wonder what our lives would have been like if we weren’t raised in this?” He gestured around the ornate room and decorative crown molding, indicating generations of wealth before the Harlots inherited it.
“I imagine you would have been a mechanic, and I would have gone off to college,” I said. “But it doesn’t do any good to wonder what could have been. We’re here. This is our life.”
“Right,” he said. “Our life.”
“Don’t tell me you regret it,” I said. “You’re the one who convinced me to stay when I got accepted to Yale.”
“I know.” Atlas frowned and drank another swig of liquor. “But what if I was wrong? What if you should’ve left years ago?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. You wouldn’t have gotten sliced up by demons or been trapped in the liminal?—”
“Yeah, it would have been you instead. You, here, alone with a witch you can’t stand.” I snorted a laugh. “Couldn’t stand.”
“Hey,” he said. “Hate-fucking is a thing, alright. Just because we let off some steam doesn’t mean we’re besties.”
I reached across the space between us to grab his shoulder and give it a squeeze in solidarity. “I stayed because I wanted to, Atlas. It’s you and me, no matter what. Always.”
He looked at me again with that same mix of trepidation and yearning, the same one that had nearly stopped my heart at dinner. It seemed like he wanted to say more, that he had a lifetime’s worth of things he wanted to say. Instead, he let out a sad laugh, gulped the rest of his whiskey, and stood.
“I think that’s enough for one night.” He patted my shoulder as he passed me, leaving me alone in that room with a million thoughts rumbling around my pathetic brain.
CHAPTER 14
Marta
Maybe I should have felt some regret for grinding on Atlas one day and letting Wes go down on me the next. But I refused to be slut-shamed by any of it. Like I’d told them, I couldn’t control it, and the longer we were stuck here, the more I worried I wouldn’t want to.
I spent the day of the ritual preparing myself and debating what to do about Wes and Atlas. Tonight would change a lot of things, even if it was just a blood binding. We weren’t joining flesh, not yet anyway, but it could create something chaotic and untenable between us.
Constance hadn’t been specific about the details.
I tried to block that out. Who the hell knew whether Constance was in her right mind or not? The ritual was sound, as far as blood rituals went. I didn’t have a coven to do another summoning, and I didn’t have a high priestess to bind us with limited fallout. We’d have to improvise and pray for the best.
I created the protection oil and made sure the Colts understood how to use it in their baths. I mixed up a concoction of road-opening oil, containing vervain, five-finger grass, and lemon balm. While it was brewing, I dropped an old key into the oil and stirred it while chanting my intentions.
“A bond is blocked; let it be opened. Our magic is closed; let it be cleared. Our way home is unclear; let it be known.” I repeated my mantra nine times while stirring, channeling my magic down my arms, into my hands and fingers, visualizing the power of my ancestors as I did.
Then, I prepped the candles. I bathed them in the road-opening oil and rolled them in herbs to hasten the spell, things like camphor and cinnamon for luck, roses for extra protection, and lavender for peace. I added a little extra coffee to speed up the process. The sooner we got out of here, the better.
In the human realm, it was the middle of October, and a thought occurred to me while I tracked the dates. November 1st was Día de Muertos. The day of the dead. The time when the veil between the realms would be the thinnest. Tita and I would spend the day making sweet bread and decorating our ancestor altar, preparing ofrendas as we remembered our beloved deceased. The thought of her made my vision blur, sending tears down my cheeks. Would she carve out a spot for me on that altar this year? Would she think I was as lost to her as my father?
Or maybe…maybe we could use that to our advantage. If we could complete the rituals, restore the bond, and gather enough energy, perhaps we could push from this side while my sisters pulled from the human realm, and we’d scoot through.
That would require contacting them to let them know. I’d been scrying every night since we arrived but hadn’t had any luck. Maybe I was that much of a masochist that I tried again with similar results. Either they couldn’t hear me on the other side, or I still wasn’t strong enough to break through. I glanced down at my hands, tingling with the fury of my magic.
It’s there. I know it’s there.
