Page 7 of Hexed & Hazy

It’s one thing to study curses and how to break them; it’s another to learn that one of my friends could be under such magic. It’s dangerous. Harmful. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to break it on my own. Hopefully, Ozan is, but I doubt it. Curse-breaking is its own specialty, and witches who study it are rare.

There may not be one in all of Maine, much less in Starbrook.

“Curses are serious,” I say, not for the first time. “They take too much energy and create a lot of harm. This is a serious accusation.”

Or perhaps I’m still in denial.

Seth closes his eyes. “I know—and I’m not trying to accuse anyone. Honest.”

Seth looks… peaceful. I step closer and hover above him.

Ozan is the perfect person to own a witch supply shop. He’s an expert spellcaster, and I’ve learned a lot from him in the few years that I’ve known him. He’s a good brother-in-law, despite being an only child. Protective. Wise. A bit funny. A perfect fit for my grumpy oldest sister, Juniper.

“Do you have any other symptoms?” I whisper to Seth, kneeling by his side.

“I’ve been… kind of tired lately, I guess. I thought maybe it was depression.”

Curses can worsen someone’s mental health if they’re already struggling, but most wouldn’t describe the effects as kind of tired. Curious.

“Maybe it is. Have you considered a mental health check-in?”

He groans. “That’s the next stop, if this goes wrong. Or right. I don’t really know what I’m hoping for.”

I wouldn’t wish a curse on my worst enemy. Then again, I wouldn’t wish depression on them either.

“You know, I’ve never seen you stay so still.” There’s no humor in the words even as I attempt to tease him. I’ve never been the best at lightening the mood.

Seth still manages a laugh—shaky, halfhearted—and opens one eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can stay still.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ozan hands me engraved crystals, and I rise, shuffling around to set the charms on and around Seth.

The symbols of Horkos—a minor god of curses—glow as they activate: one on each hand, one on his forehead, and finally, one on his chest. I rest my hand on the crystal above his chest, and Seth’s lids flicker closed. A small smile dances on his lips, despite the severity of the situation. The only sign that something is off is the twitch of his feet. Even now, he can’t stop the little dance he’s constantly doing.

And I can’t stop the way my heart dances for him. Ridiculous.

Ozan walks around us in a circle, puffs of smoke coming from his cedar bundle, permeating the air with a woody evergreen scent. My fingers flex with the urge to fix Seth’s tousled hair. Sometimes, it’s better not to look at him at all.

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Ready?” Ozan asks.

“Ready,” Seth responds.

“As ready as I could possibly be,” I mutter.

Each witch has a specialty. Ozan’s is spell casting, and mine is astro magic—which involves many, many spells. I picture the sky, where Mars rests in delicate balance, as Ozan chants under his breath.

When I open my eyes, the symbol of the god is glowing bigger, brighter—right above Seth’s head. But it doesn’t glow black and smoky as a curse would. Instead, it’s bright yellow.

Blast it all. Seth was right.

Sort of.

“Well?” Seth shifts, his fingers tapping against the wooden floor.

I exchanged a look with Ozan. Which of us has to break the news? He lifts an eyebrow at me, and though I would rather not be the one to say it, there aren’t many other options.