The Devil Made Me Brew It (The Witches of Wayward Bay)

by Sarah Piper

Help is a tricky thing. What starts off as generosity can easily turn into obligation and resentment. And no matter how genuine and well-meaning everyone is at the start, that’s precisely the kind of stuff that destroys relationships.

The tabby, currently licking his privates, ignores me. No judgments here, dude. Would if I could.

“Completely, utterly, upside-down and sideways fucked with a broomstick, nary a bottle of lube in sight.”

Clearly, not as well as he’d like, judging from the hungry way he’s staring at her… canisters. It shouldn’t bother me. But suddenly I’m picturing this dead-eyed Neanderthal stark-raving naked with a pole up his arse, churning like a rotisserie chicken over one of Hell's many fires.

“Thanks ever so much for stopping by, Brandt. As you can see, Violet and I are quite thoroughly engaged in another matter. So, if you’re not here to make a purchase, it’s time to make like a tea and leaf.”

Hey girl! This is your vagina speaking, what is UP? Sorry I’ve been out of touch for the past twelve to thirteen months… I was off looking into early retirement options—I mean, after the whole Brandt debacle, I really thought we were closing down for good this time. But then along comes Mr. Hot, Broody, and British, going at that sandwich like tonguing is an Olympic event, and hell-oooo! I’m baaaack! Pretty sure I speak for both of us when I say it’s high time we climb aboard that D-train and ride it all the way to Pound Town, round-trip on the daily and twice on Sundays, let’s gooo!

“I beg your pardon,” Devlin says, and I yelp, startling both cats. I didn’t even hear him approach, but suddenly he’s right behind the couch, looking down from high above like the dark, brooding god of hotness he is. “But are you reading a romance novel aloud?” My cheeks flame, and I close the book at once. “Don’t judge me.” “To your cats?” “Why is that a problem?” “It’s not a problem. Just a bit…” He grins that maddening grin. “…quirky.” “Grumpy and Sunshine love romance novels. Why do you think I named them Grumpy and Sunshine?”

“See you in the morning, darling. I’ll be sure to bring my own balls.” “Devlin!” He laughs. Then, eyebrows wriggling, “Balls of yarn, you brazen harlot!”

“You don’t have to be perfect, love,” he whispers. “You just have to be real.”

I told him to go fuck himself, to which he said, ‘Or what?’ And I said, ‘or I’ll dip you in wax and light your dick like a birthday candle.’” I roll my eyes. “Who hurt you, Olivy? Goodness, the threats. Honestly.” “Your friend didn’t take it as a threat. He asked me to marry him, actually.” She laughs. “Sick fuck.” “Yes, that’s definitely Finn. So when’s the big day?”

“Control is an illusion peddled by a capitalist society that does everything in its power to convince you you’re losing it, just so it can sell you something to convince you you’ll get it back.”

“It’s a strange thing to be surrounded by people, yet feel so desperately alone, you wonder if you might literally disappear. Or worse—if you already have.”

Every day is a gift, Violet. Find the joy in this one. Do that every day, one after the other, and your entire life will be filled with beautiful blessings.

“You are so full of cow shit, I’m surprised you’re not mooing.”

“No. I gave up all of that just for a chance to see your sapphire eyes again. To hear your laughter. To wrap my favorite curl around my finger and whisper against your lips and make you blush that lovely shade of crimson. You’ve already given me that, Violet. You already made the trip worthwhile.” I smile, my heart breaking all over again. “Cast me away now, and know this: it was still worth the trip. Still worth the sacrifice.”