Page 39 of Too Hexed to Handle

I narrow my eyes. Whoever she is to him, he doesn’t want her to know about the cure. Unease prickles along my skin.

‘But I want to be a part of it.’

‘Well, perhaps if you weren’t failing at every attempt to –’

‘Enough.’

For a second, I think I see a spurt of black smoke, but it’s gone a moment later, so quick I suspect my eyes are playing tricks on me.

The woman continues. ‘You are asking for the impossible, and I am doing my best. Why won’t you see that? Why can’t you see I’m trying?’

Her voice cracks, and she spins away, eyes closed and chin wobbling. I know that feeling. When you want something so much the idea of not having it is a blade to the chest, and when the thing – or person – in question is right in front of you, that blade buries deeper with every attempt you make to grab it.

The woman sniffs. Then her eyes snap open and lock on me. Oh, hexes.

‘And who are you?’ She angles her head; a wolf analysing a deer. Her stare is unnatural, unblinking, dark pupils framed by white lashes. Clouds part above, allowing the moon to shine a beam of light directly over the dark veins crawling across her collarbone.

I can’t stifle my gasp in time.

The black smoke. Damian not wanting her to attend the party. How she didn’t want to be tempted.

She’s a Souleater.

My heart is a frantic bird in my chest; its wings crushed beneath the weight of panic.

She takes a step closer. ‘I asked you a question. Or did Damian cut out your tongue?’

I sneak a glance at Damian in case he wants to help me out here, but he’s too busy glaring at my intrusion, so I guess I’m on my own in figuring out how to escape unscathed. My legs tremble as I step out from behind my hiding spot and offer them a small wave.

‘Sorry,’ I say, aiming for bright and breezy, and not like I’ve been caught spying. ‘I had some questions about . . . the buffet. We’re out of cake. But you’re clearly busy, so . . .’

I retreat, but the woman dogs my steps. I settle for trying to blend in with the wall instead, attempting to appear both unconcerned about being in the presence of a Souleater and extremely concerned about the cake situation.

Her nostrils flare and she glances at Damian. ‘She smells like sunshine and hope. It makes me retch.’

‘I – thank you?’

Damian is, fortunately, unbothered by my terrible smell, coming to stand between us. ‘You should return home, Eira,’ he says. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

Another wave of black smoke wraps itself around her legs, dark magic in its purest form, but with a flick of her wrist it disappears. She’s completely in control of it. Doesn’t seem to have any desire to hex me. It’s fascinating.

I expect her to argue against the instruction, but instead she nods. She’s so restrained, I almost wish Damian wasn’t here, so I could question how she manages it. Instead, I stay silent, pressing myself against the wall as she moves, but that doesn’t prevent her from stopping when she reaches me. She sniffs again. Souleaters can’t channel their own emotions or smell their own scents, and I wish she’d stop freaking out about mine. She’s going to give me a complex.

This time, though, her eyes dance with amusement. ‘Oh. How unfortunate.’

‘What is?’

‘Poisoned mouth, poisoned dart, a poisoned kiss will stop a heart.’ She sings the words as though they’re a lullaby, but they’re not the kind of thing that will send me to sleep. Instead, I go cold, goose bumps erupting over my bare arms. ‘Hide beyond your hope all you like, but it is not a balm for death. I smell the venom beneath. You are drenched in it, girl with the sunshine hair.’

With that, she sweeps away, the ends of her dress a river trailing after her down the stairs. I’m shaking from head to toe, and it’s an effort to stop my teeth from chattering when I ask, ‘Was she talking about my hex? How did she know?’

‘Eira has a great many talents,’ Damian says simply.

‘She . . . She smelled my hex. That’s not a talent, that’s . . .’ In the grand scheme of things, it’s meaningless, and not what I came here to discuss. But the ghost of her lingers, like a part of her managed to latch on to my soul and her talons are digging in, even now. ‘It’s creepy.’

‘That’s one word for her.’

I almost laugh. Once my pulse has settled, I join him by the parapet. The courtyard below is empty now, a lone green banner that’s fallen from a wall gently floating over the grass.