Chapter 31
Rhys woke up on what might be the last day of his life in an unsurprisingly bad mood.
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.
He’d fucked up last night. Badly.
And he wasn’t sure exactly where. He knew she’d been upset about the curse and what it meant, but he believed in her. Believed in them, that they could fix this, and it had stung that she clearly didn’t have the same faith.
But then, she never had had a huge amount of faith in him. Rhys might have bungled that summer pretty badly, but she hadn’t even given him a chance to explain, had immediately assumed the absolute worst interpretation of what he’d said, and until this moment, he hadn’t realized that that had stung, too.
Vivienne had loved him, but she didn’t trust him.
She didn’t trust him now.
And now he was lying in black satin sheets and brooding, which was frankly humiliating.
Rhys sighed and heaved himself up in the bed just as his phone went off on the nightstand, and his stupid, treacherous heart immediately leapt, thinking it might be Vivienne.
But no, it was Bowen on a video call, and as Rhys answered, they both stared at each other in horror.
“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?”
For a moment, the two brothers glared at each other through their respective phones, and then a smile cracked through all that beard. “It is kind of out of control, isn’t it?” he asked, rubbing his jaw.
“It needs its own post code, mate,” Rhys replied, but he was smiling, too. Bowen, was, like Wells, a right pain in the arse a lot of the time, but it was also good to see him, even if he had grown the world’s most terrifying beard.
“Wells told me you fucked up,” Bowen said, to the point as always. “Got yourself cursed.”
“It’s a long story,” Rhys warned, but Bowen only grunted, pulling the phone back to show Rhys the desolate mountainside he was sitting on.
“I could use the entertainment.”
So Rhys told him, all of it, starting with the summer nine years ago, ending with Vivienne walking out of his house in tears last night.
When he was done, Bowen was frowning, but since that was one of Bowen’s default expressions, Rhys wasn’t that concerned.
“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.”
“See, that’s what I mean,” Bowen said, pointing at the phone with one finger. “Always taking the piss, making jokes. You say she doesn’t trust you, but how can she when you act like nothing matters to you? Like it’s all a big fucking lark?”
Rhys blinked. “Have you started giving free therapy to sheep up there, Bowen?”
Bowen’s scowl deepened, and Rhys held up a hand in surrender. “Right, right, I get it, I’m doing it again.”
He didn’t know how to explain to Bowen, a man who had always said exactly what he was thinking in the bluntest way possible, that it was easier for him to dodge and weave, not to let anyone know things ever got to him. To live life right on the surface and not worry about getting too deep.
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.
“Tell her how you feel,” Bowen said now. “Be honest. Oh, and also don’t die tonight.”
“Thanks,” Rhys said with a rueful smile. “Take care of yourself up there. And shave.”
Bowen flipped him off, but he was grinning as they hung up, and Rhys got out of bed feeling a little bit better.
He just needed to see Vivienne and tell her the truth. Tell her he was head over heels for her, and that yes, tonight scared him shitless, but he trusted her.
The issue was how to tell her. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one declared over text. He’d go to her aunt’s, tell her there.
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.”
“I defended you the other night, mate,” Rhys said, shaking a finger at Sir Purrcival. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Elaine chuckled at that, leaning down to scoop up the cat, but she didn’t invite Rhys in, and when she looked him over, he felt like she could see into his soul.
“You’re here to tell Vivi you love her,” she finally said, and he nodded.
“Along with some other things, yes, but that’s the main one. But since she doesn’t appear to be here, I’ll just pop over to—”
“Rhys.”
Elaine laid a hand on his arm, and for the first time, he noticed that she had the same hazel eyes as Vivienne. Those eyes were kind now, but Rhys knew he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.
“She’s already home, getting ready for tonight. The magic she needs to do is . . . it’s more than she’s ever done before. Honestly, it’s more than I’ve ever done before, and it takes preparation. You can’t disturb that.”
Rhys felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach.
He was too late.
It seemed like he was always too fucking late.
“Right,” he said, making himself smile at Elaine. “Definitely not.”
Elaine squeezed his arm. “Tell her after.”
“I will,” he replied, even as unease crawled along his spine.
Assuming I’m still around after, I will.
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.
So why did she feel so much worse?
She knew the answer to that—because this time, the heartbreak felt so much bigger, and the task that loomed ahead of her was terrifying. Aunt Elaine was the best, strongest witch Vivi knew, and even she had never attempted something like this. And now Vivi, whose most-used spell was reheating her tea without a microwave, was going to summon up a long-dead spirit and demand it reverse a curse.
Somehow.
The water sloshed as she stood up and reached for a towel, dimly wondering what kind of thing she should wear to a ritual summoning on a graveyard on Halloween night. Probably something suitably impressive, all black, maybe, some silver jewelry.
But as Vivi looked through her closet, her eye fell on the dress she’d been wearing the night Rhys had first come back into town, the black one with the little orange polka dots and the orange patent leather belt.
She fucking loved that dress. But it didn’t exactly scream Powerful Sorceress.
She reached past it, going for the black dress she’d worn to the Fall Fair, but then she paused.
This was her spell. No matter that her ancestor had given it the necessary boost, she was the one who’d cast the original curse, and she would be the one trying to remove it tonight. She was a powerful sorceress, polka dots or no, and if wearing her favorite dress would make her feel better, why not?
And she did feel a little bit better as she made the walk from her apartment to the cemetery. The sun had just set, and the town was in full swing, Halloween-wise. All the streetlamps were illuminated, creepy music blaring from the speakers placed all along the main drag, and Vivi smiled as she passed Coffee Cauldron. They’d placed a real cauldron outside full of dry ice, and a couple of kids dressed as witches were laughing and shrieking as they ran through the fog.
Graves Glen was a good place. A happy place.
And she was going to save it.
The sounds of the Halloween revelry got more distant the closer Vivi got to the cemetery, and by the time she opened the creaking iron gate, all she could hear was the wind in the leaves overhead and the occasional cry of a bird.
Aelwyd’s grave was at the very back corner, and as Vivi walked toward it, she could already see Gwyn and Elaine standing there, waiting for her.
They both held candles, and the warmth in both their faces had Vivi’s throat suddenly feeling tight.
“We’re almost ready,” Elaine said, handing Vivi a black candle. “As soon as Rhys gets here.”
“And here Rhys is,” Vivi heard him say behind her. She turned to see him sauntering down the path like he was strolling toward a date in the park, not potentially his own death, and her heart thumped painfully in her chest.
He was dressed all in black, the pendant winking against his throat, and as he took the candle from Elaine, he threw Vivi a wink. “Ready to get me uncursed, cariad?”
Vivi took a deep breath, and there was a sharp sound and the sudden scent of sulfur in the air as Gwyn lit a match, touching it to the wick of Vivi’s candle.
“As I’ll ever be.”