The Bound Witch by Ivy Asher
6
“Hold on, hold on, hold on! You need to go back to the part where you stole three bodies,” Tad exclaims, his features animated and his brown eyes sparkling with amusement.
A light breeze frolics in from the open sliding glass door, despite the sun being high up in the sky. I can practically smell fall on the playful wind, and I know the trees will start to change colors and drop leaves soon. The table is full of plates and bowls, their delicious contents all but devoured, and just when I thought I was home free and done with explaining how I woke up and got here, Tad has to go and call me out.
Rude.
I throw my head back in exasperation. Of course he’s not going to let me just skim past that part. I swallow down the last bite of my third Sloppy Joe, the dining table silent as everyone waits for me to relive that morally gray humiliation. I shoot a glare at Tad, but he’s not cowed in the slightest. In fact, I’m pretty sure he giggles before hiding it behind a large gulp of his lemonade.
“First of all, I didn’t steal them; they very clearly wanted to come with me,” I defend, and Elon barks out a laugh, which he quickly tries to hide in a series of coughs that are not fooling anyone. “Seriously!” I argue, the proclamation just a tinge whiny. “I woke up, and they just came with me. It was like trying to get pet hair off of black pants after you just painted your nails,” I explain. “I told them to go back to their fridges, but they weren’t having it. So I figured what the hell, I’d use the accidental body snatching to my benefit. You totally would have done the same,” I accuse, looking over at Rogan, who I discover is fighting a losing battle with a grin.
I groan and roll my eyes.
Jerks.
“And then you hid them in the bushes and rode a ley line to get here?” Hillen asks, repeating that part of my story like she’s committing it all to memory.
“This better not go in the Osseous Chronicles,” I warn, and her eyes grow just a little too innocent.
“Wait? What are the Osseous Chronicles?” Elon asks, his tone eager and his eyes excited.
“Dude,” Tad starts as though that one word says it all. “It’s this Osseous family tradition where the relatives who grow up around the Osteomancer document their lives and any other important events for the future family members of the next Osteomancer,” Tad explains. “It’s a little like your grimoires and things that help pass down the magical information from one mancer to another. The Osseous Chronicles help pass down information that future non-magical relatives might find useful or, you know, super entertaining. You gotta keep the ego of these magic users in check sometimes,” he adds with a laugh, and Elon chuckles too like he isn’t a magic user himself.
I release an indignant huff. “No documenting anything involving me coming back from the dead; that’s just asking for trouble. And in case either of you forgot, I might not be able to die...like ever. Pretty sure that means I’m probably the last in our line, and therefore there’s no point passing down my embarrassing stories to anyone,” I snark, but the declaration has a sobering effect.
Everyone goes quiet, contemplating the gravity of what I just said.
Well, crap.I totally didn’t mean to shit all over that moment.
“How long do you think we have before the High Council knows?” Elon asks, flushing away all hope that this conversation will go back to the laughing and joking that was just going down.
I look over at him, his now serious stare fixed on Rogan.
Rogan sighs and wipes his mouth with the napkin before setting it next to his empty plate. “Honestly, I don’t know. Marx said there were people watching the morgue pretty closely up until a couple days ago. I think she called them off, figuring too much time had passed, but you know how she is.”
“Sneaky as fuck,” Elon mumbles, and Rogan nods his head in agreement.
My eyes snap to Hillen, fully expecting her to admonish them for their language, but she looks lost in thought, consternation heavy in her faraway stare.
“How would your mother even know that this was a possibility?” I ask, looking from one brother to the other as I gesture to my very undead self.
“I don’t think she did, but she covers all her bases. Just in case is practically her middle name. Plus, she would have noticed that,” Elon states, gesturing to the mark on my inner wrist.
I look down at the red lacey circle with the swooping K inside of it. I’ve gotten so used to Rogan’s vow being there that I don’t even notice it anymore, and I stare at it, wondering why this little mark would be such a big deal.
“She wouldn’t know exactly why Rogan would have sealed a vow with you, or what it is, but she’d know you mattered enough for him to offer something so sacred. She’d watch to see if he might give you other valuable things too.”
My eyes flit to Tad, and he waggles his eyebrows and then discreetly mouths that D to me.
I snort out a laugh, which has everyone else turning to see what I find so amusing. My cheeks heat as I shoot Tad and his dirty mind a glare.
“It was an Order morgue, so even if Marx can keep his friend quiet about the missing bodies for a little longer, she’s eventually going to have to report it. As soon as Sorrel Adair hears, she’ll make a move,” Rogan states resolutely.
“That bumps up our timeline,” Elon contemplates, and Rogan nods his silent agreement.
“Timeline?” I question, studying the stern planes of both of their faces. They look so alike and yet so different.
“For war,” Elon announces, as though it’s no big deal.
I choke on the gulp of water I just tried to swallow and fix him with a look that screams say what now?
Elon glances at Rogan, confused. “You didn’t tell her?”
“I, uh, I mean, we got tied up with other things. I haven’t had a chance to catch Lennox up to speed on everything,” Rogan confesses, and I swear a hint of red crawls up his neck.
“Catch me up on what?” I press, ignoring his badly veiled reference to the boning that went down earlier.
He better not be pulling that “need to know” shit he was all about before. We sure as hell better be past that crap. A wave of reassurance rolls through our bond, and my sudden frown eases up just a bit.
“I might have declared war on the High Council,” he reveals casually.
“Might have?” Tad queries, a sneaky smile on his face.
“As in I definitely could have told my mother that we weren’t running anymore and to watch her back,” he discloses.
My eyes widen, both impressed and shocked by this revelation. “When did you see her?”
“She came to check on Elon when the Order called him into headquarters to answer a few more questions so they could close the case.”
“She does like a good ambush,” I grumble, and a small smile ticks at Rogan’s lips.
“He didn’t threaten to stab her with her own femurs, but the sentiment was there,” Rogan teases, and it’s Elon’s turn to choke on his drink.
“Wait, you threatened to stab our mother with her own femurs?” he asks, clearly delighted.
“I’ll have to see if we can get the security footage hacked so you can see it, it was incredible,” Rogan tells Elon, pride swelling in his voice.
My cheeks heat, and I will the blush creeping into them to fuck off. “I thought her lackeys shut down the camera feed?” I question, brushing off the compliment and the squishy feeling it creates in my belly.
“The Order’s feed, yes, but not her own,” Elon explains. “The High Priestess studies possible threats against her like a sports team studies gameday footage. She’d have her people recording every second of the interaction so she could watch it back over and over again, examining the syntax, the body language, your reactions, everything really.”
A shiver skitters up my spine at what he’s saying. I can easily picture it though. The High Priestess in a dark room, rewinding, playing, and pausing a video of me for hours on end. I wouldn’t put it past the bitch to be curled up under a blanket made out of happy Labrador skins, looking for the Crone knows what, while eating popcorn popped by the tiny flames of rare baby dragons. The visual is disconcerting as hell, but that definitely fits her vibe.
“But why pick a fight now? Why not fade into the background like you’ve both been doing since she renounced you? Why the sudden need to stop running and square up?” I ask, concerned. I assumed I was going to have to get used to a life of hiding and constantly looking over my shoulder. This sudden desire to take a stand is surprising as hell.
Elon’s eyes settle on Rogan, and he waits for his brother to explain. The room grows quiet as everyone waits for an answer. The silence starts to feel heavy as Rogan seems to debate how to answer that question.
After what feels like forever, he takes a deep breath and turns to me. “Because I had met someone who made me want to run to them instead of away...and then I lost her. I was fed up with backing down and fleeing. It was time to make them pay.”
My gaze bounces back and forth between his fervent stare, and everything inside of me heats up with his admission. “War was for me?” I clarify, my tone soft and astonished.
We stare at each other, and a profound understanding clicks into place. It’s as though every bloodthirsty, eye-for-an-eye strain in my genetic makeup comes to life. My inner cave woman rears her matted head and grunts in approval. My ancient warrior ancestors bang weapons against shields, and I go all doe eyed and swoony.
He was going to go to war for me. I’d died and he was going to burn it all to the ground, fed up and ready to dish out some much deserved retribution.
Well, if that isn’t the most romantic damn thing.
I wrap my hands around the back of Rogan’s neck and pull him to me. Our lips meet in a gentle, tender kiss that tells him how sweet and beautiful I think his gesture is. I slip in a little teasing tongue so he knows that my full gratitude will be demonstrated later, and I feel him smile against my mouth in understanding.
I pull back, heat climbing up my neck, not only because I’m wishing we were suddenly alone right now so I could dramatically shove the dishes to the ground and then sit on Rogan’s face for a spell, but also because I just made out with him in front of my family.
“Sorry,” I mumble, looking around the table to find that Elon and Tad are focused on other parts of the kitchen, both with large smiles on their faces.
Hillen, however, waves a dismissive hand. “Please, it’s not like I didn’t already put together what the two of you were up to in the guest room,” she announces.
My eyes go wide, and Rogan chokes on air, hitting his chest a couple times to try and stave off a coughing fit. Tad snickers and Elon suddenly finds his glass of lemonade really interesting.
“The bedding in your den of iniquity isn’t going to wash itself though. I expect it to be sorted before you go,” she orders, and Rogan and I both answer a contrite yes, ma’am at the exact same time.
Tad can’t hold in his laugh, and I slap his shoulder with the back of my hand and shoot him a glare, which just makes him laugh harder.
“I was going to fight with the High Council too. What do I get, Lennox?” Elon asks, all faux innocence, his eyes twinkling with merriment.
Without missing a beat, Rogan reaches across the table and flicks his ear.
“Ow,” Elon whines, holding his hands up in surrender before rubbing at his reddening helix. “I was joking, no need to piss a circle around her, you animal,” he accuses, and Rogan shakes his head, a smile working at his lips and giving him away.
I roll my eyes at the antics, but I also sit back into the easy comfort and levity that encircles this moment. It’s such a drastic and welcome change from everything that’s happened over the past couple of weeks, and I know this may be our last taste of it until the dust of whatever is going to happen with the High Council and the mystery demon settles.
Aunt Hillen clears her throat and lifts her thoughtful gaze to me. “I had a dream,” she announces awkwardly.
I can barely hear her over Tad and Elon’s teasing antics and laughter, so I lean closer.
“I had a dream,” she repeats louder, and everyone’s attention turns to her at the head of the table. She pauses, suddenly unsure, and I can see doubt etched in her features, which has concerns settling in mine. “I didn’t think anything of it, you know, because we were grieving, so it would make perfect sense that I’d be dreaming about mom and things, but now I’m not so sure.”
“I’ve been learning a lot about trusting my instincts, even when they don’t make much sense,” I reassure her, a supportive smile on my face, and she nods and releases a deep sigh.
“Mom came to me in a dream. I was crying. I was looking for you,” she starts, her eyes fixing on me and welling with tears that I watch her work to fight back.
I reach out for her hand, and she grips it tightly, like it’s more lifeline than comforting gesture.
“I kept looking for you, I was frantic, and then mom was there running her hand over my hair, trying to calm me. I tried to tell her I missed her, that I wished she’d come back, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t speak. She looked at me like she understood, and then she said, ‘Look for the marks.’ I didn’t understand what that meant, but she repeated it like I should. ‘Look for the marks,’ she said again before she kissed me on the head, and then I woke up. I chalked it up to too little sleep and too much heartbreak, but for some reason, ever since we all sat down, I just can’t fight the feeling that what she said was never for me, it was for you, Len.”
I squeeze her hand once and repeat the statement in my mind a couple of times. I say it out loud, trying to see how it feels in my mouth and if adding my voice to the strange message helps it click, but nothing comes to me. “It’s not ringing any bells or setting off any alarms,” I tell her, her expectant eyes fixed on me. “But I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
Hillen nods and leans back in her chair, and it breaks the air of tension that’s crept into the room. All at once, I know that this reunion has found its end and it’s time to go.
Rogan clears his throat, shooting me a concerned look before sitting up a little straighter. “I know all of this has been a lot,” he starts, his gaze warm and set on my aunt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, but I didn’t know for sure, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I did. I know you and Tad will keep what’s happened to yourselves, and I wish that was enough, but it’s not,” he explains, and I get tense, wondering where the hell Rogan is going with this. “It’s not safe for you here,” he goes on.
My heart hammers, and a woosh of relief pours out of me at his last declaration. “Not going to lie, I thought you were headed in a we’ve told you, so now we have to kill you direction,” I confess as I sag in my chair.
Rogan shoots me an indignant look, the how could you think that clear in his eyes.
I shrug. “Listen, I know we’re all bonded for life and crap, and I’m here for it—don’t get me wrong—but that doesn’t mean I know you through and through, and it doesn’t erase some of the sketchy history, even if I can understand why things went down the way they did.”
Rogan stares at me, and the atmosphere grows heavy again. “I would never hurt your family, Lennox. And I want you to know that I will never hurt you again. We have a lot to figure out, and I know I have a lot to make up for, but I want to be very clear that I will do everything in my power to protect you and the people you love.”
“And you’ll keep me in the loop?” I press. “No more making decisions without me or living that it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission life.”
Amusement ticks at the corners of Rogan’s lips with my questions. “I’m going to communicate so much you won’t even know what to do with yourself. Mistakes were made, but I won’t make them again. You will be in all the loops all the time, you have my word.”
“Ohh kinky,” Tad coos, and Hillen beams her son with a roll.
I laugh at Tad’s expense as he rubs at a red spot on his forehead, courtesy of his mom.
“I’ve never seen so many people use bread as a weapon,” Rogan observes, clearly referring to the French bread beatdown I gave Prek before.
“It’s a skill; feel free to be jealous,” I smirk at him.
“One passed down in the Osseous Chronicles, I’m sure,” Rogan teases, and my smirk turns into a dopey smile.
I like playful Rogan.
He reaches out and wraps one of my curls around his finger, his gaze heated and filled with so much promise and conviction it makes my toes curl.
“Will you go to war with me, Lennox?” he asks, his tone sultry and earnest.
I study his face for a moment, everything else around us fading away like we’re the only two people left in the world. He cups my face, and I lean into it, relishing the intimate touch and everything we’ve been through to get here. I press my lips to the palm of his hand and then straighten, ready for whatever is going to come next.
“Lead the way,” I assure him, and he nods once, his green eyes filled with fire and determination.
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to war we go.