Maybe that makes me callous. Maybe at the end of all this, I’ll find myself in Hell right alongside them. But I don’t care. What’s that saying? You live by the sword, you die by the sword? Those hunters died as Calista died. As far too many women have died at the hands of selfish, vile men. Men for whom power is a drugthat can never satisfy their ultimate cravings, no matter how much of it they steal.
But for every one of the bastards who went out crying for their mamas, with their eyes melting from their skulls and their flesh peeling from the bone, another one escaped. And beyond that, certainly hundreds more exist throughout the world. They’ll say a few prayers for their fallen brethren, lick their collective wounds, elect a new leader in a cheap gold robe, and double down on the cause.
The same can be said of the chaos demons. According to Merrick’s sources, Killroy and Matthias have reconnected, but they’re MIA, hiding out in one of the remote lower realms of Hell. Together with the chaos demons still loyal to Matthias, they’re rethinking their strategy. Gathering strength. Getting the fucked-up band back together.
We know it’s only a matter of time before the hunters and the chaos demons emerge and converge, slithering back into our lives like poisonous snakes. Stronger, next time. More committed than ever to their mission to wipe us off the face of the planet.
But this time, we’ll be waiting for them. Stronger and more committed toourmission, too.
I’m still processing the whole Brendan thing. I always sensed he never really cared about me, but to know he was the present-day leader of a cult formed hundreds of years ago with the singular mission of murdering women in exchange for power—and that he’d been tracking me for years, waiting for the opportunity to make his move, to lure me into his net—it still makes my skin crawl. Sometimes I can shrug it off with a little self-love pep talk. Amuse myself by thinking about all those pink dildos popping up at his office. All the buttholes in his pants he probably didn’t even notice until someone else pointed them out.
But I still have nightmares. I still cry in the shower, frantically scrubbing my skin as if I can exfoliate the memories of his touch. I still sleep with the lights on, even with Merrick at my side, and I can’t go to bed without checking the doors and window locks three times, pleading with the house to keep us all safe for one more night.
Healing takes time. This, I know.
For once, I’m prepared for the long haul.
“Dinner’s ready, Lizzy.” Rachel swats me on the butt as she breezes through the kitchen, breaking me out of my momentary haze. “Better hurry before Warren finishes your wine.”
“He wouldn’t dare, and by the way, Rachel…” I glance down at her boobs, then whisper, “Your nipples get all perky whenever you say his name.”
Rachel turns the approximate color of said wine. “Shut up! They do not!”
“Also,” I lean in close. Point to my lips. “You’ve got BJ lips.”
“Oh my god!” She shoves me away, trying not to laugh, frantically scrubbing at her mouth. “Warren? No. Hewishes. It’ll be a cold day in Hell before Iever?—”
“Ladies. Did I hear my name taken in vain?” Warren saunters into the kitchen with two glasses of wine. He passes one to each of us, but that lascivious grin is all for my big sister.
Slut, I mouth, clinking her glass, then mosey into the dining room, straight to the head of the table. We don’t have assigned seats, but I feel like I’ve earned it, seeings how I’m the farthest along in my magical studiesandI look fucking adorable tonight.
The bruises have finally faded, the cuts healed. My hair is in a perfect set of ginormous Princess Leia cinnamon buns, and I’m wearing a form-fitting black T-shirt with a silvery broomstick-riding witch on the front that says,Witch, Please!
It’s ironic.
Also, slightly less campy than Kate’s shirt, which features a watering can sprinkling a patch of flowers. Underneath, it reads:I Got So Excited I Wet My Plants!
Rachel’s shirt saysResting Witch Face,but you can’t really see it under her power suit-du-jour.
Still, I know she’s wearing it, and that’s what counts. I bought them myself, with my first actual legit paycheck. I’m working at Helena’s bookstore. Pretty sure Mary Shelley is the real boss, but I kind of love it, which is shocking, because… you know…work. But I think it actually suits me. And I’m starting to love reading, too, which has thrilled my professor to no end.
“Does everyone have their adult beverage of choice?” Helena says from the chair at my right, waving a bottle of Pinot. I hold out my glass for a little top-off, because Hell, it’s not my fault these lightweight motherfuckers can’t keep up.
Merrick, seated to my left, slides a hand under the table, fingers trailing between my thighs. You know, for someone who used to hate touching, he sure can’t keep his hands to himself. Guess that’s what happens when you break the seal. Which we do now, pretty much any chance we get. Sometimes he even gives my witchy sisters fake assignments to go forage for some random non-existent spell component just so we can bang by the portal—it’s an experience.
I clamp my legs shut, pinning him in place. Manifesting orgasms at the dinner table—in full view of everyone—isnotpermitted.
“Time for a toast,” Helena says, lifting her glass. “To our first official group dinner.”
Drinks in hand, we all raise our glasses.
“To my star students,” says Merrick, looking over me and my sisters. “Making excellent progress with minimal prodding.”
“To new friends,” Oliver says, and when Medusa plops her head on the table beside him, pouting, he nuzzles her slobberyface and adds, “and old ones, of course.” Kate giggles, turning pink. No one brings it out in her like Oliver.
“To the most beautiful witch I’ve ever laid eyes on,” says Warren, attention lasered in on Rachel, who rolls her eyes but can’t hide her renewed blush. Also, the nipple thing. So obvious!
I tried to make a bet with Merrick about which one of my sisters will get laid by a sexy demon first, making it an official family tradition, but he coughed and stuck his nose in a book and asked me to pass him a highlighter, the most unsexy thing ever, thereby ending the conversation.
