I exhale dramatically, tired of my wolf and this ridiculous situation. There are a few real cobwebs in the corners as I sigh and raise my hand to knock on the door, but before I get a chance, Violet is flinging the door open.
Relief flushes over her features. “Hi,” she whispers.
“I tried to stay at my place,” I say, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable.
“But it hurt,” she says, and I nod in agreement. “Come in,” she says, holding open the door.
Unlike the exterior, the interior, or at least this section, is cozy and comfortable. She has candles burning throughout the space, and it smells like violets and jasmine… and muffins? Her decor is every indication that a witch lives here, with crystals, ritual tools, books, and other decor laden all over the place.
I feel at ease in her home, though I shouldn’t. She holds out an arm and I sit on her velvet, emerald green sectional. The walls are covered in occult art, and the antique coffee table is covered with open tomes that look ancient.
She flicks her wrist, a few out of place items moving quickly back into place before she comes and sits on the couch, her legs tucked under her. She’s wearing a fucking nightgown, again. At least this one is black.
Neither of us knows how to break the silence or talk about what’s happening. Whatever spell or hex she cast on us is strong, it goes beyond just the promise of being married.
Violet licks her lips and summons a journal and a pen with a flick of her wrist.
“Do you remember what exactly we said that night?”
“It was so long ago,” I tell her and she nods in agreement.
“I’m just trying to figure out what exactly we said to make this spell so strong with such specific requirements. I’ve, um…never cast anything like this before.”
I glance over at her as she taps the pen against her bottom lip in contemplation.
“What do you mean, don’t you cast spells all the time, ruining lives all around you?”
She sits up straighter, her dark brows furrowing as indignation takes over her features.
“I don’t know. Do you go running around ripping everyone’s throat out who dares to challenge you?” she asks.
“Only sometimes,” I reply, holding her gaze.
She shakes her head and starts writing in her journal. “I’m the coven’s healer,” she says softly and I have to stop my lip from twitching.
Violet was always so interested in science class and figuring out where we all came from. It makes sense that would be where her abilities fall.
“We need to remember what was said that night,” she says.
“I thought we were going to annul the marriage tomorrow?”
She rolls her eyes at me like I’m stupid and sighs. “The magic forced you to come over to my house with a bag packed. Do you really think it’s going to simply let us annul this marriage?”
“I suppose not.”
“The less we fight the magic, the better off we’ll be. We figure out what curse or whatever was cast that night and we workbackwards from there. We keep it a secret until we find a way out of this.”
“Agreed,” I say, resting my head on the back of the couch.
Exhaustion is heavy in every fiber of my being. But I glance over in high alert as a gray, long-haired cat who looks like it’s seen better days jumps into Violet’s lap and glares at me. I didn’t think cats could glare, but it’s like his hatred is palpable in his yellow-stare.
I arch an eyebrow at the small beast, and he hisses at me, showing his small fangs.
“Walter,” she says, chastising him, petting down his fur. “That’s not very nice.”
“You named your cat Walter?” I ask, glaring down at the moody little thing.
“No, he told me his name when he found me. Walter is my familiar.”
