Chapter 28
In another life, Gwyn probably would’ve made a good general, Wells thought as he followed her up to Morgan’s house. Possibly a cult leader.
Because he could think of a thousand reasons why bearding a potentially dangerous witch in her den seemed ill-advised at best, disastrous at worst, especially given that Gwyn no longer had access to magic, and yet, when she’d announced her intention to do just that this morning, he hadn’t questioned it.
Part of it was that he wanted to believe she was right. That confronting Morgan would put an end to all of this, give Gwyn back her power, and restore the status quo.
And part of it was probably the fact that he was, he suspected, falling quite desperately in love with her and would do whatever she wanted him to.
An alarming thought given that he had only known her for a few weeks now, but he knew what he’d felt when he’d woken up beside her this morning. It wasn’t a feeling he was terribly familiar with, really only had one serious brush with it years ago, but he recognized it all the same.
It wasn’t lust—all right, it wasn’t only lust—but something deeper.
Something stronger.
Something he’d decided to keep a very tight lid on for the time being given that he was fairly certain she didn’t feel the same.
Yet.
But there was time, wasn’t there?
That oppressive magic still clung to Morgan’s house, making his teeth itch and setting off a dull headache at the back of his skull the closer they got, and when Gwyn climbed the front steps, he followed a little slowly.
Knocking on the door, she turned to look back at him and whispered, “We didn’t decide who was going to be the Good Cop and who’d be the Bad Cop.”
“What?” he whispered back, but then the door opened and Morgan was standing there, smiling, but clearly surprised to see them.
“Gwyn! Wells! What brings y’all all the way out here?”
“We need to talk to you about some things, Morgan,” Gwyn said, and without waiting for an invitation, made her way inside, forcing Morgan to move out of the way.
Wells followed, and if he’d hoped the house might be slightly less awful in the daylight, he was sorely disappointed. Everything about it still pulsed with that feeling he could only describe as wrong, the heavy drapes and dark furniture seeming to absorb all the light in the place.
Gwyn’s boots clicked on the hardwood floors as she made her way into the sitting room, and Morgan trailed behind, her brow furrowed. Like Gwyn and Wells, she, too, was all in black, a drapey kind of gown that really didn’t do much to change the impression she was some sort of evil witch.
“As you know, Morgan,” Gwyn said, folding her arms over her chest, “Wells and I are responsible for overseeing the magic in Graves Glen and making sure that it’s used responsibly and safely.”
Morgan’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. “I knew your magic now controlled this town, Gwyn,” she said slowly, and Gwyn nodded, her expression stern.
Did that make her the Bad Cop? Was he supposed to be Good Cop now?
Clearing his throat, Wells added, “There have been some . . . abnormalities, magically speaking, since you came to town that have Gwyn and I both concerned.”
Now Morgan looked genuinely confused, her bracelets clinking together as she placed a hand on one narrow hip. “What do you mean?”
Coming to stand next to Gwyn, Wells mimicked her pose, then thought better of it lest they looked like they were posing for an album cover.
Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and said, “We know you were asked to leave Penhaven College ten years ago.”
Something in Morgan’s expression went hard at that, her red lips pressing tightly together.
“And,” he went on, “we know you have a collection of . . . well, let us say questionable artifacts in your attic.”
“I knew the two of you weren’t just making out in there,” she said, trying to smile again, but it looked more like she was baring her teeth.
“Thirdly,” Wells continued, “there is some sort of magic in this house that frankly sets my teeth on edge and has no rational explanation. One of these things would be cause for concern, Morgan, but all of them together?”
“Graves Glen has been cursed before, and we pulled it back from the brink,” Gwyn said now, stepping forward as Morgan actually shrank back a little. “So we’re a little protective of our town, and I take it especially personally when someone starts fucking with my magic.”
Morgan had seemed nervous before, but now she slid right back into confused. “What?”
“My magic,” Gwyn said. “It’s not working, and that started right around the same time you came to town. So whatever it is you’ve done, I suggest you undo it. Now.”
Yes, clearly Gwyn was Bad Cop because Wells thought he might be a little frightened of her right now.
And possibly more than a little turned on.
“I, I haven’t done anything to your magic, Gwyn,” Morgan said, and Wells studied her, the corners of his mouth turning down.
Maybe she was a remarkably good actress, but he thought she might be telling the truth.
Gwyn seemed less convinced, her eyes narrowing, and Morgan sighed, waving one hand, her sleeve making a dramatic arc.
“I was asked to leave Penhaven because Rosa, Harrison, and I, along with Merry Murphy and Grace Li, were doing forbidden magic. Glamours on humans, making plain pieces of paper look like money, changing our appearances, that sort of thing. It was . . . well, it wasn’t harmless, I know that now, but we were kids, and we thought we were having fun.”
She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. “But it was embarrassing. Everyone knowing we’d been kicked out even if they never called it something that crass. So when I came back, I wanted . . . I don’t know, to make a splash, I guess. To show everyone how far I’d come up in the world.”
Her hand moved, fingers drifting through the air, and the walls around them seemed to blur and sway, making Wells blink and pinch the bridge of his nose.
He could still see the silk wallpaper, the gilded portraits, the heavy velvet drapes, but they wobbled, grew transparent. Behind them, he could make out plain pieces of lumber, cotton curtains.
Gwyn turned in a slow circle.
“The whole place is a glamour,” she said, and Morgan nodded.
“I know. Clearly, I didn’t learn my lesson there, but I promise, no one was hurt by this. I wanted to come back to town a success, and I tried to magick up an entire house, but, Goddess, that was hard, so it seemed easier to do this. I really was going to work on making it all real eventually, but I wanted to throw a party before the Samhain season kicked off.”
The walls stopped moving, seeming to pop back into place, and Wells blinked again, trying to make himself see straight. That would explain what he was feeling, though. A glamour that big, that heavy, was bound to mess with his perception of magic.
“What about the things in the attic?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets. “Are those glamours, too?”
“No, unfortunately those are very real. I bought another witch’s estate sight unseen, and when I opened the trunks, I was as horrified as you were. But I didn’t want to sell anything to the wrong sort of witch, so I just put it all up there.”
Turning back to Gwyn, Morgan said, “That’s what I was going to show Harrison. He was thinking about buying all of it and finding a way to safely dispose of it all.”
Dropping her head, she sighed. “So there you have it. Stupid, I know, all vaguely mortifying, and I realize I have fucked up any kind of good impression I was hoping to make, but I promise, Gwyn.”
Crossing the room, she took Gwyn’s hands in hers. “I have not done anything to your magic. I never would. I came back here once I heard about you and your family taking over because we’d always been friends, and I . . . I thought maybe Graves Glen could be home again. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Gwyn said with a sigh, and Wells hated the way her shoulders slumped. “I shouldn’t have accused you of anything. And I’m glad you’re back, genuinely.” She gave Morgan’s hands a little shake, smiling. “We are friends, and you’re welcome in Graves Glen. Just maybe find a new, less creepy house and get rid of Satan’s yard sale up there?”
Morgan laughed, nodding. “That’s a deal,” she said, wrapping her arms around Gwyn in a quick hug.
When she pulled back, she gave Gwyn another sympathetic pat. “And seriously, I’ll help with this magic issue if you want. I’ve heard of this kind of thing happening before, and I’m sure there’s a solution.”
Wells could see Gwyn willing herself to believe the same, gathering up that confidence she wore like armor. “That would be great, Morgan, thank you,” she said, and then she nodded at Wells.
“We should head back to town.”
After making plans to talk about something called the Gathering with Morgan later, Gwyn left, Wells just behind her, and they were silent as they made their way back to her truck.
The silence stretched nearly to Main Street before Gwyn sighed and said, “I’m glad Morgan’s not evil, but I gotta be honest, Esquire. I’m really disappointed Morgan’s not evil.”
Wells smiled, picking up her hand off her lap and kissing the back of it. “Merely a minor setback on the path to triumph,” he assured her, and she sniffed, one corner of her mouth kicking up.
“Just this once, I’m gonna allow that kind of talk.”
Penhallow’s was miraculously still in one piece, and Wells spent the rest of the day there while Gwyn and her Baby Witches ran Something Wicked.
As night fell, he was just about to start closing up when he saw her headed across the street, and for a moment, he wondered if her promise about the fireplace was about to be fulfilled.
But then he saw the three witches trailing behind her and understood this wasn’t that type of call.
More’s the pity.
Several minutes later, he found himself sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the crackling fire, Gwyn in the one next to him, Parker and Cait both shoved into the chair just to their right, and Sam stretched out on the carpet, paging through one of Wells’s spellbooks.
“There has to be a reason Glinda’s magic has gone tits up,” she said. “If it’s not Morgan, maybe it’s some other witch?”
“Maybe it’s a curse,” Cait offered. “Like what you and your cousin did to her husband.”
“That was an accident,” Gwyn said. “And it turned out to be a lot more complicated than that.”
“Still worth looking into,” Cait insisted.
Gwyn shrugged, and Wells was struck by how tired she looked there in the firelight, how slightly wilted, her face pale against the deep red velvet of the chair.
Without thinking he reached across the space between them, lifting her hand from the arm of her chair and tangling their fingers together, palms touching.
Gwyn’s head swung around, and her lips curved into a fond smile, some life sparking in those lovely eyes, and Wells smiled back.
“Whaaaaaat the fuck?”
Ah, yes.
They had an audience.
Sam was watching them with her mouth open, and Cait had her hands stuffed against her lips, her eyes wide. Parker was grinning so hard their face seemed to be in danger of splitting, and Wells rolled his eyes, his ears red.
“All right, all right,” he muttered, dropping Gwyn’s hand as the three finally exploded into a cacophony of giggles and questions.
“How long?! How long have you two been keeping an illicit love affair from us?!”
“Oooh, I thought the other day, when we were going to do The Plan, you guys were giving each other horny looks, and then I was, like, ‘No, they hate each other,’ but I guess hate sometimes is horny because now you’re holding hands? Like?”
“Are you allowed to do sex with your cousin’s husband’s brother? Have you even thought of the family tree issue?”
Laughing, Gwyn kicked one foot at Sam as Wells pointed imperiously toward the door. “Out. Out, you heathens.”
“Whatever, you’re not my real dad,” Parker said, getting out of the chair, and that set off another round of laughter as they pulled Cait out of the chair, Sam gathering up her book and her jacket.
Wells followed them to the front door, ignoring their continued teasing, finally locking the door behind them as they spilled out onto the street, still hooting and talking over one another, Cait leaping on Parker’s back as the three of them made their way toward the Coffee Cauldron.
Shaking his head, smiling in spite of himself, Wells flipped the sign to Closed, then turned around, hands in his pockets as he made his way around the shelves and back to the fireplace.
“Far be it from me to speak ill of your mentoring skills, Jones, but those three are a menace and should—”
His words died in his throat as he took in Gwyn, standing naked in the firelight.
“I did warn you,” she told him, and Wells, mouth gone dry, nodded.
“You did. But I thought after everything, that plan might be on hold.”
She walked forward, slipping into his arms, and his hands smoothed over her skin, warm from the fire. “I’m disappointed,” she acknowledged, stretching up to kiss him. “I wish it had been Morgan. And I really, really want my magic back.”
Wells made a distressed sound at that, but she only kissed him again, lips curving against his mouth.
“And I’m going to get it back,” she promised him as she began walking him backward toward his chair.
“I’ve got this big gorgeous brain of mine plus all the witchy resources I could want. I’ve got my family, I’ve got the Baby Witches—don’t give me that look—and I’ve got you.”
The backs of his knees bumped the seat of his chair, and Wells sat down heavily, pulling her with him.
“You have me,” he agreed, and it sounded like a promise.
A vow.
And it was.