Page 51 of Filthy Little Witch
“I thought you said it was too risky to leave the grounds,” Atlas said.
“It is,” she admitted. “But I don’t think we have another choice.”
My brother looked at me and raised an eyebrow, a silent question of whether I agreed.
“It’s worth a shot,” I said. “If it gets us home. But I don’t think you should go alone.”
“I’ll go with you,” Atlas added. “I’m dying to get out of this place, and I could use the drive.”
Marta nodded and licked her lips.
“Okay.” I agreed, but I didn’t like the thought of the two of them out there while I was stuck here with no way to help them if something went wrong. But someone needed to keep researching. “I’ll go to the library to hunt down Constance. Maybe there’s something in the lore that will help us with the liminal.”
“I’m wiped from the ritual, so we’ll wait a few days before we go. In the meantime, we can test the bond. See what we’re working with,” Marta said. “Even if I can’t reach her, as long as the rituals work, we might have enough juice to do it without the coven.”
CHAPTER 17
Marta
Ten days went by with no luck, and we were staring down the barrel of almost two months trapped in the liminal.
We trained in the mornings, the three of us. Atlas and Wes were skilled at fighting together, having done so their entire lives. But now that we shared sensations, it became more challenging to get a leg up on either of them. I anticipated their moves before they acted, and they knew which way I planned to dodge before I’d even thought of it myself.
I tried to keep my worst impulses contained, but after the ritual, I couldn’t help but stare. Atlas’s muscles had been carved out of stone, all lean ripples and strong curves. Wes’s hands were capable of immense strength, made even more attractive by how gentle I knew they could be. Whenever one of them caught me staring, I quickly looked away and ignored the burn in my cheeks.
After breakfast, we huddled together in the library, poring over dusty old books until our eyes hurt. My magic returned a little more each day, bringing with it more sensations of them. Atlas’s reckless hedonism and Wes’s strong, stoic countenance.
I grounded in the woods as often as I could, and they took turns escorting me. The demon didn’t show, and I began to wonder if it was only us that had gotten stuck here. Once I was feeling up to it, we tested the strength of this new connection between us.
We sensed each other’s physical and emotional states, clear as day. When I pricked my finger with the tip of my knife, both Atlas and Wes felt it. But when I grabbed their hands to try to pull on their strength the way I’d done before, nothing happened. It felt like a gaping chasm, a void in space, a rope leading nowhere.
“We’ll keep going,” Wes said, giving his brother a nod.
Atlas didn’t seem happy about it, but he didn’t argue, either.
We researched together. We ate dinner together, and at the end of the night, we drank together. They told me hilarious stories about their life on the road with their father, living out of cheap motel rooms and getting into as much trouble as they could. And once we were well past the point of inebriation, we stumbled our way upstairs to my bedroom and passed out in my bed.
It wasn’t even a question or a conversation. After the ritual, it seemed right. After a few days of that routine, I didn’t think I could sleep without them on either side of me. I felt safe in their combined embrace.
Nothing happened…nothing sexual, anyway. Sometimes, we giggled until our sides hurt. Sometimes, Atlas and I fought over the covers. And other times, we simply drifted into unconsciousness to the sounds of each other’s breathing.
Día de Muertos was only two days out now, and with nothing more to show for it, we had officially run out of time. As much as I feared the risk, I couldn’t hold off going to Tita’s any longer.
I stood on the sidewalk in front of the white rancher and swallowed the lump in my throat. It looked the same as it had when I left it, when I’d argued with her about faith and the Virgin Mary and the wisdom of our ancestors. It had only been two months, but it felt like years ago. I had aged decades since then.
The wind chimes on the porch sang in the wind, and the birds chirped from around me. But there were no goats in the backyard and no chickens clucking around their hutches. Where had they gone? Were they not a part of the liminal? Or were they considered only part of the human realm? If that was the case, why were wild animals separate from that?
My mind raced with questions I didn’t have the answers to.
“You okay?” Atlas asked, stepping up next to me.
I tried to smile and nodded, walking up the steps to her front porch and through the front door.
God, it even smelled the same—like tea and incense and the comforting scent of her. I almost expected her to walk around the kitchen corner and chastise me for waiting so long to come home.
“Can I do anything to help?” Atlas stood in the center of the living room with a reluctant look, like he didn’t really believe me and hoped I would tell him to be quiet and stay out of it.
His hesitance to complete the rituals still hung heavy between us, making me painfully aware of how much he didn’t trust me. Not that I expected him to follow me mindlessly, but I was the witch in this situation. I’d been trained in spells and folk magic since I was a child. He was a warrior, a glorified hunter, even if I could admit that proceeding with Constance’s books scared the daylights out of me.
