Page 82 of Hexes and Exes

“You still don’t get it. Don’t you nitwits have the grimoires? I’ve already spoon fed all the answers to you lot.”

“What grimoires?” I act as though I’m clueless.

Fitz rolls her eyes. “You are a horrible liar.” She takes another slurp of her drink, and then turns back to Piper. “I’ve already told you the truth of it. But I suppose my word isn’t good enough. Sometimes you need to look beneath the surface to uncover the truth.”

Fitz picks up her knife and begins sharpening it again. Piper and I stand there like two school kids waiting for their teacher to give them directions.

“Go away. Why are you still here?”

We scramble back to Piper’s car. “Is that what you were hoping for?”

Piper shivers as she starts the car back up. “It might be.”

35

BRAM

The sound of the front door slamming momentarily distracts me away from the show I’m watching. I don’t bother looking to see who’s just come inside the house. Roman steps in front of the TV and glares down at me with his hands on his hips.

“You look pathetic.”

I crook my head to see around him. “You’re in my way.”

Roman turns around and looks at the TV, his brow furrowing with puzzled confusion. “What are you watching?”

“None of your damn business.” I pause the show that I started watching at Ava’s house. Seeing two people fall in love and overcome obstacles is fucking comforting, but I don’t need to explain myself to my brother. “I didn’t know you were so judgmental.”

Roman snatches up the remote and turns off the TV with a sigh. “I don’t care what you watch, Bram. But you haven’t been to work in two days. When was the last time you showered?” Romans’s nose wrinkles.

“I showered… recently.” I’m struggling to remember exactly what day it is. My curse is heavy, weighing me down. It’s not just the rage, but the hopelessness and despair that makes it hard to get up off my couch. Roman doesn’t need to hear that.

“Go take a shower and get dressed. We’re going over to Ambrose’s house.”

“I’m not really in the mood for a party.” Everything is raw, like a newly healed injury that causes shivers when you brush your fingers over it. It’s not the usual darkness of my curse turning the world into a haze of anger and despair. The world is too bright, too sharp.

“It’s not a party. Just get dressed. I’ll explain on the way over.”

Pushing off the couch with a groan, I shake out my sleeping arm. Maybe I have been laying here for too long. I drag my ass into the bathroom and go through the motions of showering and getting dressed without turning on my brain. I don’t want to think about anything right now. Not how my mom was cursed, yet so am I. Not about my father sanctioning the burning of my house and taking away the last memories of my mother, and definitely not about Ava and how she deserves so much better than me.

I’m getting dressed when I notice a box on the floor next to the chair. It’s where Ava was sitting, waiting for me the other night. The fact that I must have missed it for days goes to show how much of a dark haze I’ve been in. There’s a slight smokey scent clinging to the box, and it’s nearly completely blackened. I carefully lift it and set it on my dresser. That’s when I recognize it. This is my box of photographs. I thought they were destroyed.

The box is a blackened mess. Why would Ava bring this over? It had to be her. No one else besides me has been in this bedroom. I slowly lift the top off the shoebox, expecting a blob of melted photos, and gasp when I see what’s inside.

They’re perfect. All the photos are just as they were before the fire. Better even. Not even a curled edge or bent corner.

“Ava,” I murmur, knowing she did this. She fixed these memories for me. Saved them.

“Bram,” Roman shouts from the front room. I place the lid back on the box and finish getting ready while my thoughts are consumed by her gesture.

Roman drives us over to the chateau without explaining why. Sitting in silence is better than having him pepper me with questions, but I can’t help but dread what’s to come. I’m not even sure what I’m worried about. It’s not going to Ambrose’s house. There’s something bigger coming. I just don’t know what.

Roman and I walk into the chateau without knocking. Ambrose rarely locks his door and if we knocked and waited for him to answer we’d probably be outside indefinitely.

“Oh good, you’re alive.” Ambrose is sitting in his favorite wingback chair in the massive living room. There’s a fire roaring in the oversized fireplace and the house, despite its size, feels warm and inviting. Ambrose has a book in his lap and an espresso in his hand.

He takes a sip of his coffee and eyes me. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks. I tried.”

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