Page 11 of Curses and Cauldrons

I knew this would happen. Even if we came to this party first, my mom would have demanded I come back. That’s why I saved it for last. That and I wanted to be as drunk as possible before I faced my horrible family.

“I expect you to stay until every last guest has left.” With that proclamation, my parents and sister leave without so much as a goodbye.

Despite being the oldest Delvaux child, no one treats me as head of the family. My mother has never stopped telling me I’m too soft, not talented enough, too lazy. I’ve never understood why. It’s not like I want there to be a reason, but getting to the root of her hatred would offer some closure. At least, I think it would.

Camille is only nineteen, a full six years younger than me. She’s apparently worthy of the family name. While I’m sent out to use my powers on clients who book appointments at our spa, Camille is learning how to run the business and what responsibilities the coven’s council has. The ironic thing is that Camille doesn't suffer the same affliction as me. She can use her magic freely without feeling pain. Only the first child is burdened with their family's curse. And yet, I’m the one touching people all day while Camille does whatever the fuck she wants.

I’d walk away in an instant if that didn’t mean leaving Penelope behind. Or, that’s what I tell myself. The reality is that the idea of starting over, of leaving everything I know behind, is terrifying.

My head is swimming from all the drinks I’ve downed tonight. The reverberation of pain from where my mothertouched me thrums under my skin. My breath shudders out of me, and I struggle to regain my composure while the partygoers laugh and chat, oblivious to anything outside their little bubbles.

My parents’ house is a Victorian built in 1856. People mill around the first floor, but the second is off-limits to anyone but family. There’s a musician poised in front of the baby grand, serenading the crowd with slow jam versions of soft rock from the nineties. It’s elevator music that grocery stores don’t even play anymore. From my spot in the corner, I can see the aerial dancer still spinning in her cloth.

The house’s decor is loyal to the original era. Its furniture is meant for decoration rather than comfort. My mother is a particular fan of Rococo revival furniture with ornate and fussy ornamentation and velvet fabrics. She loves to show off her home but hates for anyone to use it. Everything from the drapes to the woodwork is dark and heavy. Being back here always makes me claustrophobic. I have very few good memories of this house.

The windows are closed because it’s cold outside, but it’s stifling inside with all the bodies gathered in one space. I’m pressed to a corner, trying to avoid anyone touching me. The guests are loud and talking with broad gestures. Their riotous laughter crowds me, leaving me penned in. Trapped. It’s too much.

I bite down on my lip, my back pressed against the wall as an unruly guest stumbles past me. My magic slips loose and forces the closest window open with a groan and a creak.

My magical strength is primarily healing, but all witches can do other basic magics. Like calling upon the elements, moving items, and object location spells. How good you are at this magic is highly dependent on your power levels. Large amounts of power usually mean the witch has good control out of necessity.The fact that I just blasted the window open is a sign of how off-balance I am.

I spy Piper across the room. She’s surrounded by her awful family. How is it that none of us lucked out and have decent parentage? Near the doorway, Stellan is gesturing wildly, trying to capture my attention. He throws up his hands as if to say “finally” when I look his way. Ava is slumped against his side. If he didn’t have his arm around her, she’d be passed out on the floor. Stellan throws a thumb over his shoulder, the universal sign for we’re leaving. I want to cry and beg him to stay, but that’s pure selfishness.

I give him a thumbs-up and immediately feel like an idiot.

It’s close to midnight, and the staff has lit candles, turned off the lights, and left the room cloaked in shadows. A few of my mother’s contemporaries have come looking for her, only to show their disappointment when the only Delvaux present is me.

I haven’t sobered up one bit, but the rest of the crowd has been catching up to me. The air hums with a charge, the feeling of recklessness about to be unleashed. Laughter is too loud, and I’ve seen more than one of my parents’ friends groping people they aren’t married to. It’s a veritable slice of life in the Lumen coven. They love to expound on how they are the righteous ones, the wielders of light magic, the morally superior of the two covens. But I’ve seen a lot of light witches do horrible things.

There’s a soft ripple through the crowd, and I crane my neck to see what’s gathering everyone’s attention. Piper hasn’t gotten free from her family, and the misery on her face makes my heart hurt. I catch her eye. The smile she gives me as her family turns their attention to the front door is painful. Movement near the entry pulls my attention in that direction. Three men in dark suits and a woman in a shimmering white dress that clings to her curves walk into the room like they’re filming the hero shot in amovie. One of them must be using magic because, I swear, they walk in slow motion with a breeze blowing through their hair.

They’re all so damn beautiful.

None of them are from the Lumen coven, but I know exactly who they are. Ambrose Roth, Odette Draven, and Abraham and Roman Blackthorn. All children of the founding families that make up the Tenebris coven. My gaze falls on the man who invaded my space earlier today, and I can’t look away. Even without the incredible suit that was obviously made for his body, he would command the room. He has a presence that can’t be taught. It’s an innate quality that I have never possessed—confidence and the sense that wherever he is, he belongs there.

I constantly feel like I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The candlelight flickers, casting his face in a play of dark and light. He lifts his head and angles it as if he senses someone watching him. Except it’s the whole party. Everyone’s eyes are locked on the four newcomers.

Roman slowly turns his head until he’s staring directly at me.

“Fuck,” I hiss out.

“Excuse me.” Mrs. Vonnert-Kippling clutches her pearls–her actual pearls–and glares at me like I’ve just thrown up in her designer handbag.

I shrink back. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I was startled by…” My words trail off as Roman crosses the parlor. He can’t be headed this way.

“You’d better believe I’ll be telling your mother about this. Your generation has no sense of propriety. All sucking off the teat of your parents. Too lazy to work and pull yourself up by the bootstraps. Just like my precious John did.”

I barely hold back the eye roll. Her husband John inherited his money, his family home, and has done as little work as possible over the years. Not to mention the fact that she hasnever worked a day in her life. But sure, keep complaining about a younger generation that has to hold down two jobs to make rent.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you,ma’amme. Just as disrespectful as ever…” Mrs. Vonnert-Kippling trails off when a dark form looms over her. Roman places his hands on her shoulders and guides her away from me, pointing her toward the rest of the partygoers instead of in my direction. Her jaw hangs open at the impudence. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from barking out a laugh.

“I’ve never,” the older woman huffs.

“It’s a wonder no one else has succumbed to the temptation. You’re positively horrible.” Roman doesn’t even look at the sputtering woman as he insults her. My laughter is a bubble in my chest, fighting for room with my beating heart. I’ve seen Roman Blackthorn from afar several times. His name is murmured in magical circles, even among the Lumen coven. Today was the first time I’d seen him up close, and now, twice in one day.

---