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“You almost ran your ex-boyfriend over with a car, and then left him lying in the literal dirt on the side of the road. It is such a big deal, you absolute queen.”
It helped that the rest of his outfit was equally great. Gray trousers, a white button-down unbuttoned just so, a deep charcoal vest and around his neck, a silver pendant with a dark purple jewel. Vivi had a sudden, explicit memory of that same pendant dangling against her chest as he’d moved above her, inside her, and felt her face flame hot. She hadn’t even liked jewelry on men before him, but that necklace suited him, the delicacy of the chain emphasizing the width of his chest, the adornment making him somehow more masculine, not less.
“I think that if you keep calling him ‘the Dickbag,’ you can’t also act like you’re a matchmaking tween in a Disney movie.” “I contain multitudes.”
“The Full Potter,” he repeated. “Not finding out you’re a witch until you’re older, not growing up with it. ‘Yer a witch, Vivi,’ that sort of thing.”
What Rhys knew was that kissing her had felt like waking up. Like he’d been drifting sleepily through everything for the past nine years until he tasted her mouth again and remembered what actually being alive felt like. Better than any magic, Vivienne’s kiss.
feudal system consisted of exactly two bullet points, one of which just said, “PEASANTS??”
“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.”
Sometimes she thought what she’d really fallen in love with that summer was the version of herself she was when she was with him.
her nails dragging along the chain he wore around his neck.
foreboding. It showed a man in a dark suit sitting on a wooden throne that looked like it had been carved out of an ancient tree. There was silver in his beard, and he was frowning out from the card, a heavy ebony cane in one hand. “It’s not bad,” Gwyn agreed, tapping the card. “It’s just, you know. Authority. Rules, structure . . .” “My father,” Rhys said, and Gwyn nodded, picking the card up.
“Is there any extra power source a member of your family could’ve drawn from? An ancestor buried here, something like that.” Elaine nodded, pushing her glasses up her nose. “One, yes. An Aelwyd Jones. She came over at the same time as your vaunted Gryffud Penhallow. But as far as we’ve always known, there was nothing special about her. Just another witch who emigrated here, and died of some random sickness, like so many of them did.” Something flickered in Simon’s face, but it was there and gone too quickly for Rhys to know what it was.
“There is other magic running in the blood of this town,” Piper said, “magic that was stolen by the Penhallows. Hidden. Aelwyd Jones deserves her revenge.”
“She was more powerful than anyone knew,” Piper retorted, “but Gryffud Penhallow stole from her, used her, erased her name.”
“But yours was. You called her forth with your curse, and she gave you power because you’re her blood.”
“Gryffud killed her,” Piper retorted. “When he drained her magic from her to fuel this town. He covered it up, said she’d died from influenza.”
“She wouldn’t lift it even if she could,” Piper replied. “I’ve seen what it’s done to this town. This town, Gryffud Penhallow’s legacy, suffers. So does Gryffud Penhallow’s heir.”
“And tomorrow is Samhain, when the veil is the thinnest, and Aelwyd’s magic will be at its most powerful.”
“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.”
“Act like I don’t think it’s funny just because I’m tired. I don’t think it’s funny because there’s nothing amusing to me about you possibly dying, especially since it’s my fault.”
“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.” “It does,”
