Page 27 of Hexed & Hazy

And that should be the end of it, but it’s not. On the way out, she slips on the ice and goes home with a bruised ass. No serious injuries, just more embarrassment. Maybe it’s the hex. Maybe it’s not. Either way, I’m ready to get rid of it.

I never wanted to hurt anyone else. And if I succeeded in that, maybe this hex wouldn’t exist to begin with. Guilt won’t get me any closer to fixing it, and Rowan won’t let me crawl into a hole and bury myself there—no matter how much I want to.

I recognize Rowan’s car as soon as it pulls up outside the shop. It’s newer than most of her sisters’ cars and still reliable—a greenish-brown Honda Civic that stands out while making the quietest statement possible.

After locking the door behind me, I lower my head, talking to her through the open window. I flash a grin. “How’d you know I need a ride?”

“Lucky guess.” She turns away, looking ahead. “If the sun’s out, you’re usually walking. Get in.”

No questions. No room for argument. I listen, buckling up and stretching out my legs as much as I can in her tiny car.

“Where are we starting?” I ask.

This is probably supposed to be my thing, my choice, but I trust Rowan. In this situation—and anything related to magic—she knows best.

It’s strange to be spending so much time with her alone. We’ve always been around each other, but we usually had other people. Other friends. Her sisters. My mother. Now, the quiet of the car, the warmth enveloping us; it feels…

New. That’s the only way to put it.

“Victoria Welsh,” she mutters in an odd, clipped tone.

“Why do you say her name like that? Are you two mortal enemies? Did I miss some lore?”

“No. But we aren’t friends.”

“She’s nice.” I play with the hole in my jeans. “And she’s the one who ghosted me, so maybe we can skip her⁠—”

“We can’t.” She lets out a low, long breath and takes a turn. “She probably ghosted you for a reason. No offense. And I don’t see how you can call her nice when she ghosted you.”

“Nice people ghost sometimes. It happens.”

She lets out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “You would say that.”

Ouch. Before now, I didn’t think Rowan thought much about me, but now that she knows about the hex, she clearly thinks the worst of me. There’s nothing I can do to defend myself, and I don’t blame her for the comment. She’s as stoic as ever. I could laugh it off, treat it like a joke, but it’s hard.

How long has she been holding these comments back?

“I try not to ghost,” I say, forcing my voice to remain as even as possible. “I know I’m a jerk, but⁠—”

Her head twists in my direction with speed, her brow furrowing. “You’re not. Don’t speak about yourself like that.”

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t true.” I look away and wrinkle my nose. I can’t take those piercing gray eyes looking at me for another second. “But I can be better, right? I can change.”

She says nothing for several moments as she turns her attention back to the road and continues onward. “Talking to Victoria is our first step to changing the situation and your life, if that’s what you want.”

It feels like there’s something more settled between us—a wedge, a wall. Neither of us breaks it on the short ride to the Welsh estate.

Victoria’s parents moved to Florida a few years ago, leaving the place to her. I’ve only ever been here for parties and hookups, but now… it looks too big for one person. Too lonely. My family home, even if it’s an eighth of the size, is warmer than this cool, perfectly white house ever could be.

“Come on.” Rowan steps out of the car and shuts the door firmly.

I listen.

We walk up the clear pathway that leads to the home, knocking gently on the door. When she doesn’t answer, I ring the bell instead. There’s a soft bark coming from inside, and I exchange a look with Rowan.

“Teacup chihuahua,” I say. “Not a guard dog.”

“That could be a guard dog.”