The Ex Hex

by Erin Sterling

“Is your aunt meeting someone in here later?” Rhys asked, looking around him, and Vivi kept her eyes on the wardrobe ahead of her as she said, “No, this is just . . . the vibe.” “The vibe,” Rhys repeated, clearly pleased. “I like it.”

“I was mad about you, Vivienne,” he said softly. Sincerely. “Utterly mad.”

“I am mad about you, Vivienne Jones. Again. Or maybe I should say still, because I’m gonna be real honest with you here, cariad. I don’t think it ever went away.”

“Vivienne, if you’ll allow me to make you come tonight, I’d consider myself the most fortunate of men.”

It had been a long night, she was feeling powerful and good, and a handsome man wanted to give her an orgasm. Why shouldn’t she have that?

It’s different this time, she told herself even as she kissed his neck, his jaw, his mouth, anywhere she could reach. It has to be.

“The proof is in the possessed candle, as the saying goes.”

“Much better.” And fuck. Fuck.

Mine, Rhys’s blood hummed as he kissed Vivi, pulling her up the stairs, her mouth warm and soft and wet, her body pliant beneath his hands. Finally, fucking finally mine.

“Rhys,” she said as a grin slowly spread across her face, “are you telling me we’re going to have sex in Dracula’s bedroom?” “It is . . . a little Dracula, yes,”

“Does it have a canopy bed? Please tell me it has a canopy bed.” It not only had a canopy bed, but said bed was up on a platform.

“Why didn’t you bring me here before?” “Why didn’t I bring you to the terrifyingly creepy sex dungeon I sleep in?”

had had

“You have the annoyingly cheerful manner of a woman having an absurd amount of awesome sex,” Gwyn said as the woman walked away. There was no one else in line, so she hopped up on the counter of the booth, long legs dangling. “I am,” Vivi said happily. “Both annoyingly cheerful and having the absurd amount of awesome sex.”

“You’re making my cousin very happy and bringing me caramel-apple pie? Clearly working hard at getting another nickname besides ‘dickbag,’ dickbag.”

“Vivienne, I’m so sorry, but I’m leaving you for the woman who makes these pies.” “She’s ninety.” “Even so.”

What she didn’t know was how to lift a curse. Typical that that was the bit witches wanted to be vague about.

“Treats?” Sir Purrcival asked as he attempted to headbutt Simon’s arm. “Treeeaaats?” “What on earth is this abomination?” Simon asked, drawing his arm back even as Gwyn rose from her seat and heaved the cat up off the table. “He’s not an abomination, he is a precious baby. Although we do need to work on his table manners.”

“Seriously, dude, don’t care whose dad you are or how fancy a witch you are, keep talking shit about my cat, and I will personally kick you down this mountain.”

“We do sell an awful lot of crystals and novelty T-shirts,” she said, her own hands braced on the table. “We also sell fake grimoires and plastic pumpkins and pointy hats. The whole shebang, really.” The lines around Simon’s mouth deepened, but he didn’t say anything, not even when Vivienne smiled and said, “And yet we’re still the witches who managed to curse your son, and you had no idea it had even happened. So maybe back off a little.”

Vivienne glanced over at him, and since Rhys was fairly certain he had cartoon hearts literally pouring out of his eyes,

“Way less scary than I’d thought he’d be.” “Vivienne, you gorgeous girl, you are a woman of many talents, but lying is not one of them.”

Charm. That was his entire plan. Smile, drop a few Welsh words in, do that Leaning Thing against the counter while his hair did that Other Thing, and hope for the best, aka the Rhys Penhallow Special.

Lolll

Rhys shot Vivi the most eloquent What the fuck? look she’d ever seen,

“This is extremely metal of us,” Gwyn observed, then glanced down at herself. “Probably would be more metal if I weren’t wearing my pumpkin jammies, but what can you do?”

“A blood curse,” Elaine said, frowning. “I didn’t even think of that.” “Is that bad?” Gwyn asked, and then shook her head. “Okay, stupid question, anything called a ‘blood curse’ is clearly bad.”

“The curse reaches its zenith tomorrow night at midnight,” Piper said, and that smile turned poisonous. “Tomorrow night, both this town and the Penhallow die.”

Tomorrow night, both this town and the Penhallow die. Piper’s voice was so clear in her mind, the way her eyes had burned as she’d glared at Rhys. Rhys, who was . . . whistling as they walked into the house.

“Vivi,” Sir Purrcival said from his basket, and she smiled as she crouched down to pet him. “Learning new words every day! Look at you go.” “Treats?” he asked, blinking those big green eyes, and from the kitchen, Gwyn called, “Don’t give him any! He’s eaten his weight in them already.”

But Gwyn was looking at her so sincerely with those big blue eyes that had always seen right into her soul, and oh, goddammit, now she was crying. Again. Just a little, but that was enough for Gwyn.

“Baby girl.” Gwyn sighed, and Vivi hugged her back, letting herself cry. “It’s so stupid!” “So is love, to be honest.” “We’re completely wrong for each other!” “Which is why it’s hot.” “I cursed him, Gwynnevere.” “Who among us hasn’t.”

Without saying anything else, Vivi walked over and put her arms around Gwyn’s waist, resting her cheek against Gwyn’s back. Then, after a pause, she asked, “Wanna curse her?”

For one, he was alone. He’d slept on one side of the massive bed last night, like some kind of heartsick idiot, and now, as he rolled over and stretched his hand out to the place where Vivienne should be, he felt very much like some kind of heartsick idiot.

“What’s happened to your face?” Rhys asked just as Bowen scowled and said, “You’re naked.” Sitting up higher in the bed, Rhys dug the heel of his free hand into one eye. “No, I’m not, I just woke up, and— ” “Why would you answer a video call naked?” “Why would you attach a badger to your face?”

“It is kind of out of control, isn’t it?” he asked, rubbing his jaw. “It needs its own post code, mate,”

“She’s right,” he finally said. “About you never taking shite seriously.” “That’s not true,” Rhys objected. “I take lots of shite seriously. My business. Her. I would take you seriously, but I can’t because of that beard.”

“Have you started giving free therapy to sheep up there, Bowen?”

But the thing was, he was already in too deep. He was in love with Vivienne. Had, he was beginning to realize, never stopped loving her. That summer hadn’t just been a fling— it had been the real deal. And he’d fucked it up. Just like he was fucking it up now.

But when he drove down the mountain and knocked on Elaine’s door, she was the only one there. Well, her and the cat. As soon as Elaine opened the door, the little furry bastard looked up at Rhys and very succinctly said, “Dickbag.”

THE BATH WASN’T helping. Again. At least this time, as Vivi sat in the tub, up to her chin in hot water, surrounded by candles, there was no vodka in sight. And she wasn’t conjuring up Rhys’s face or the scent of his cologne. She wasn’t even sniffling. Really, a big improvement over her last Heartbreak Bath.

A spirit, still trapped in its grave, was a much harder beast to summon. Piper McBride had learned that the hard way, and now, watching Vivienne, Rhys had to fight the urge to rush forward and pull her out of here. To hell with the town, to hell with him, just don’t let Vivienne risk her own life to save either, he thought.

she wanted to do this. Believed she could do this. And he had to believe in her.

Rhys thought for some reason, some completely unimpeachable argument to save both his life and Graves Glen, but all he could say was, “I love her.” Those eyes didn’t blink. “You love her,” Vivienne/Aelwyd repeated, and Rhys nodded.

“Rhys,” he heard Gwyn cry, but Elaine stilled her with a hand on her wrist, and Rhys gave her a wobbly grin. “Ah, finally, I’m not ‘dickbag’ anymore.”

As Vivi made her way to the opening leading to the ley lines, though, he couldn’t help but call out, “Good luck making me not dead!”

“We made this magic,” Vivi said, closing her eyes. “Our family did. Maybe nobody built a statue to her, or named a college after her, but she was real, and she was here and she helped make this town what it is. She gave her life for it. And we’re her descendants.”

“So fuck Gryffud Penhallow. The Jones Witches are taking this back.”

“I love you girls,” Elaine said, dabbing at her own eyes. “And now promise me you will never, ever mix vodka with witchcraft again.” “Solemnly swear,” Gwyn said immediately, and Vivi nodded. “Lesson more than learned, trust me.”

“So . . . it seems like I won’t die?” They turned to see Rhys poking his head in the cave, and Gwyn pointed at him. “Hair still does The Thing.”