Page 32 of Bonded to The Boo Hag

“The universe protect me from my children,” Palmer laughed, putting down a tray of carrot sticks, crackers, and little wax-wrapped cheese wheels for the family on a glass and wicker side table. “Oh shoot, I forgot the juice,” she said, shading her silver eyes from the sun. It never got old, seeing how the sun glittered across her vermilion skin, those coral freckles seeming to light up in the summer.

“I’ll get it.” I leaned in and kissed my wife, much to the horror of our children.

“Y’all are so gross,” my son grumbled, shoving an entire cheese into his mouth and carelessly discarding the wax wrapper.

Chuckling, I sauntered off to the kitchen. Contrary to my daughter’s belief, I was still human; I had just stopped aging. I still looked like I was in my mid-twenties, even though I was now thirty-nine years old. After discovering the extent of our bond, we reached out to some of the more prominent Boo Hag families out west and across the pond. What had happened to us was rare. It wasn’t often that couples loved each other enough to want to share lifeforce. Palmer and I were now locked together for as long as we both lived, and if outside forces didn’t challenge that, well, one of the Boo Hags was married to a human that swore he was coming up on four hundred years old.

Think of all the things I could paint in three hundred years.

I found the juice on the counter where Palmer left it and said hello to Cook, who was prepping dinner with Hannah and Diana, before scooping up the pouches and walking back out to the pool.

My career as an artist was nonexistent in the human world, but in the supernatural one, beings booked me three years in advance to paint them, their families, and their pets. I was still getting used to painting pets, like that Chupacabra last month. Not a fan. He was a challenging furbaby to paint, but his mommy was thrilled with the results.

And so was our bank account.

It felt good to contribute to our way of life.

I exited back out to the pool, calling, “Here are the juices!”

My kids ran up, snagging a pouch each, and I put the other two down next to the tray on the table.

I sat in the lounge chair, spreading my legs so my beautiful wife could join me. She obliged, leaning back on my chest, sipping juice and watching our kids splash in the water.

“Your sister just texted. She and her husband should be arriving in the next hour.” She sighed. “I am so glad I took the next two weeks off.” Palmer entwined her fingers with mine.

“Are you happy?” I asked my wife, already feeling the answer next to my heart.

“Immeasurably,” she replied, the feeling of her contentment overpowering the rest.

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