A Curse in Darkness by Sherilee Gray

Chapter 2

Willow

The next timeI opened my eyes, Ren was shaking my shoulder. “We’re here.”

Rubbing my hands over my face, I tried to wipe away the grogginess and glanced out the window. Our family home was a two-story gothic Victorian made of black stone. It had arched windows, a blood red door, a curved turret, and a peaked roof—it was the witch’s house in every fairy-tale storybook. My aunt, and Gran, when she’d been alive, had thought it was hilarious.

I groaned.

Everyone was here.

Magnolia should be in her room studying, and Iris was supposed to be on a date with her boyfriend, Brody. Instead, she was currently peering out the kitchen window at me. Rose was probably sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me as well. My sisters were protective.

I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror. I looked like shit, skin pale, dark rings under my bloodshot eyes, and my limbs still felt like overcooked noodles. It’d take a few days for the effects of the venom to dissipate. Good times.

I seriously hated my family seeing me like this.

“Let’s get this over with.” I shoved my door open and somehow made it inside on unsteady legs, while mentally preparing myself for the onslaught to come.

Yes, they drove me crazy sometimes, but I loved every one of them more than anything. Their faith in me, that our magic was safe in my hands, that I could save us from ruin, was humbling…and utterly terrifying. If I didn’t complete the task set by the mother, then win against another witch in a magical combat trial, we could lose everything.

My life included.

Witches sometimes died during the trials—which was something we chose not to talk about. But a coven only kept the powers gifted to them by proving themselves every two hundred years, and not doing this, and failing my entire coven, wasn’t an option.

I already knew what it was to let down those who relied on me, to feel weak and defeated, to fail the people you’d promised to keep safe. I couldn’t go through that again, and not with the people I loved most in this world.

The cold, ugly grip of evil had clawed at me, marked me, beaten me, and if I wasn’t strong enough to defeat whatever came at me this time, I’d never forgive myself.

Some nights it weighed so heavily, I woke in a cold sweat.

That couldn’t happen again.

I wouldn’t let it.

Shoving those dark thoughts aside, I walked down the hall to the kitchen.

Magnolia exploded out of her seat. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” I said quickly. “A demon tried to get in our way.”

She let out a breath and dropped back into her seat around the huge, scarred wooden table. “Okay, next question…dude, where are your pants?” Bram, Magnolia’s familiar, bobbed his feathered head from his spot on her shoulder. Bram was a crow shifter, and in his human form—let’s just say he’d scared the shit out of me several times, lurking around the place like a massive, dark shadow.

Mags was eighteen, the baby of the family, and in her final year of high school. She also worked part-time with our great aunt, making herbal remedies, potions, and tonics that I sold in my shop, The Cauldron.

“I didn’t have time to put them on,” I muttered and plonked into the chair closest.

“I hope you’ve got undies on or we’ll have to bleach that,” Iris said, passing me a mug of coffee while rubbing Nia’s head. Nia was Iris’s familiar, a German Shepherd, not a shifter, and we all loved on her regularly.

“Nope, not bare-assed,” I said and would have rolled my eyes if I’d had the energy. Iris was twenty-three, the second eldest, after me, and three years younger. She could be reckless, especially when it came to protecting her family, and she was also a neat freak. I lost sleep over her regularly.

“Bunch of prudes,” Else said, limping into the room. Elswyth Thornheart was seventy-two, our great aunt, and the most sarcastic being I’d ever encountered. Her name meant “elf from the willow tree,” which was where my name came from, a gesture from my mother since Else didn’t have any children of her own. My sisters were named after flowers, just like my mother and grandmother had been.

Else put her hand to my forehead and shoved a thermometer in my mouth. “You look like shit.”

“Gee thanks.” Her familiar had been killed protecting her a long time ago. She’d lost a leg during the incident. We didn’t know exactly what happened, she wouldn’t talk about it, but it had to have been pretty bad.

“Are you feeling okay?” Rose asked from her seat beside me, giving me a sympathetic look. Roe was twenty-one, and honestly, the only one of us that wasn’t a bit of an asshole. I mean, my family was awesome, but we’d inherited our sense of humor from Gran and Else. The only person in this family who gave anyone sympathy was Roe.

My stomach tightened at how tired she looked this morning. For witches, three was a power number, the most important number. My mom had four kids, throwing the balance off when Magnolia was born, and for some reason, Rose was the one paying the price. That was what we assumed, anyway. Her illness was a complete mystery, and none of us knew what to do to make her better.

Which was another reason I was determined to complete my task and win my final trial. More power meant more to go around, right?

A coven that didn’t grow in strength over the centuries became a target for those that did. No way was I letting that happen.

Roe also didn’t have a familiar. We’d tried to tell her they were out there somewhere, that they’d find her, but none of us believed that, not anymore. Now we made a point not to talk about it because it hurt her when we did.

I gave Roe’s hand a squeeze and forced a smile. “I’m fine, Roe.”

“Keep your mouth shut. It won’t be accurate if your jaw’s flapping the whole time,” Else said, pushing the thermometer deeper into my mouth. “Last time you got that wicked fever. I’ve come up with an elixir that should knock it on the head.”

I shut my mouth and sat there while she watched the clock.

Finally, she slid the old-school thermometer from my mouth and looked down at it. “Huh?”

“What?”

“It’s normal.”

“Why do you look so disappointed?”

She shrugged. “I was looking forward to trying out the elixir. Me and Mags worked on it most of the day.”

Magnolia hid her grin behind her mug.

“Your concern over my health is heartwarming, truly.” I glanced at Iris. The traitor was smirking as well.

“He was there,” Ren said, scowling.

“Ren,” I warned.

“Who?” my mother asked as she walked in, Arthur right behind her. Arthur was mom’s familiar, an owl shifter that preferred his human form. He was middle-aged with dark brown skin, cropped hair, and kind brown eyes. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he loved us all. And puttering around the cemetery gardens with Mom was his most favorite thing to do in the world. It had also become obvious a long time ago that he was completely in love with Mom. I had no idea if she felt that same way, but the longing in his eyes when he looked at her was torture to watch sometimes.

“Warrick,” Ren announced, ignoring my warning completely.

My mother brightened. Daisy Thornheart was a hopeless romantic, hopeless being the operative word, which wasn’t surprising, considering our history. Our shitty luck with men was first documented around the 1400s. Back then, they used local place names, occupations, or sometimes nicknames to create what became a family’s surnames. Ours came from the jilted lover of one of my ancestors. He yelled at the top of his lungs that she had a heart of thorns. It caught on. Eventually, it became Thornheart, and here we are.

And that shitty luck carried on down the line. In fact, Iris, Mags, Roe, and I all had different fathers because our mom tended to fall for any loser who gave her a second look. All four of our sperm donors were complete and utter losers. We were pretty sure Arthur had finally cracked and gotten rid of Mag’s father himself. Mom had hidden it, but the fucker had been verbally abusive until it became more. He hurt Mom so badly he put her in the hospital.

The prick vanished after that.

One day he was here terrorizing us, the next there was a large patch of freshly turned earth in the far corner of the backyard. No one questioned it.

If Art hadn’t done something, Gran or Else would have. I didn’t care who did it; I was just glad he’d gotten what he more than deserved.

“God, Mom, I can actually see hearts floating around your head like a cartoon character,” Iris said and fed Nia a doggy treat.

Mom held out her hand to me, and when I took it, she tugged me out of my seat. “Couldn’t get a better protector than a hellhound, and my baby needs all the protection she can get.”

Ren flushed, and his jaw got tight. “She doesn’t need him. She has me.”

“Mom,” I growled out under my breath. “I’m more than capable of looking after myself.”

She waved a hand. “Ren knows what I mean.” She dropped a kiss to the top of his head and cupped his whiskered jaw. “Look at this face. This is not the face of a cold-hearted killer.”

Ren flushed hotter, and I winced. Jesus. I gave her a look that I hoped expressed the need for her to stop talking.

She was right, though. Even covered in demon blood, Ren was the kind of good-looking that stopped people in the street. My fox was utterly gorgeous. He’d been a beautiful boy at fourteen, and I’d always known he’d be a heartbreaker when he became a man. He had dark russet hair and chiseled features that were perfectly proportioned. Add in the thick lashes and those great lips—man, I was jealous of those lips—and he was every teenage girl’s fantasy. His square jaw, now covered in a short beard, stopped him from heading too far into pretty territory.

“Warrick scares the hell out of me,” Rose said.

Mom glanced at her. “He’s just man, Roe, like any other.”

If only that were true. If he was just like every other man, then maybe I’d know how to deal with him.

Roe scoffed. “A man whose eyes glow red.”

Mom shrugged. “Only sometimes.” Then she grabbed the bottom of my sweater and tugged it up.

“Mom!” I tried to wrestle it from her. I lost.

“Pish. We’ve seen it all before.”

Ren averted his gaze. Just because he was used to nudity didn’t mean it was okay to stare at a naked woman being ogled by her entire family.

“Let’s see the new ink,” Mags said, moving closer. Bram bobbed on her shoulder and looked away as well. “Oh wow, that one’s seriously awesome.”

“It’s big,” Iris said. “Does it curl around your nip, or start under your boob.”

I sighed. “It starts under my boob and will join up with the one on my hip.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Mags said. “You’re the new Keeper of an untried branch of the coven, what if this isn’t your last task? What if the mother makes you do another one to prove we’re not a bunch of duds of something?”

I rolled my eyes even as something unhappy curled in my gut. Mags had been getting “feelings” about things since she was little, and they’d become more accurate as she’d gotten older. But when it came to Magnolia, you didn’t know which thoughts were just her highly active imagination and which were a developing sixth sense. “That won’t happen.” I turned to Mom. “Right?”

She chewed her lip, something she and Magnolia both did when they were feeling unsure.

“Mom?”

She waved her hand again. “No, I’m sure that won’t happen.”

“Imagine if the next one pops up in the middle of your forehead,” Mags said and snorted, then her eyes widened. “Holy shit, she’d have to bite your head.”

“Anything could happen, we’re in uncharted territory here,” Else said. “And Selene had one covering the entire right side of her face.”

“You’re joking.” She better be goddamn joking.

“You’ve seen the painting in the library, kiddo.”

Shit. I had seen the painting. Selene was a past Keeper of our coven and also Iris’s doppelgänger. The two weren’t just alike; they were scarily identical. “I thought that was something else. Painted or drawn on for a ritual or a spell…”

“Nope, the mother gave it to her.” Else shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Not sure why you’re worried. Selene looked badass.”

Mags threw her head back and howled with laughter so hard I thought she was going to rupture something. Iris joined in.

Rose offered me a sympathetic look. “It might not happen.”