Page 83 of Hexes and Exes

Ambrose’s normally sunshiny disposition is nowhere to be found. His mouth is turned down and his stare is too assessing for comfort.

“I’m worried about you.”

I turn toward the fire, giving Ambrose and Roman my back. What is the point of this get-together? If it was just about getting me to shower, I could’ve done that and stayed home.

“Right then, got it,” Ambrose says when I don’t respond, the clink of his cup loud as it hits the saucer. “I did actually have a reason for asking your brother to come here. I had nothing to do with him dragging you along.”

I turn back around to face Ambrose, my eyes falling to the grimoire on his lap.

“What’s up?”

“Well, Piper sent me a very interesting note not long ago. She mentioned that after our conversation with Ashenvale, she had a few questions. She talked to Fitz, who instructed her to look at the grimoire.”

“Blah blah blah. What’s the point of this story?”

Ambrose pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyes. I realize now how worn out he looks. We give him a lot of shit for being a playboy who never takes things seriously, but he’s just as fucked up as the rest of us. When you’re cursed, I don’t know that there’s a way to avoid the damage. Finding out that the only reason we’re still cursed is because of our parents is another level of messed up.

I guess I’ve been too consumed with my own life to pay much attention to anyone else around me.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

Ambrose lifts his eyes from the book and grins at me, but it’s not as bright as usual. “I am always alright, my friend. But something is very wrong with this grimoire.”

“What do you mean?” Roman steps to Ambrose’s side and looks down the book as if the answers are laying there on the page for him to read.

“Someone was a very tricky witch. When I did my illusion spell to bring the Briar Witch’s story to life, I didn’t even detect an ounce of magic in these words.” Ambrose taps his finger on the page, sounding annoyed. A few months back, Ambrose used his magic to reveal the last moments of the Briar Witch’s life. Including when she cursed our town.

I join him and Roman and see the book open to the night of her death.

“Someone has altered the memories of this page,” Ambrose says.

“It’s a book. How can someone change the memories? How does it even have memories?” Roman glares down at the pages as if they’ve personally insulted him.

“Actually, the Briar Witch died on the bridge that night. How is her recounting of events even a part of this grimoire?” I’m not sure how that never occurred to me before.

Ambrose snorts. “Magic. Have you forgotten that we have it? She must have imbued the grimoire with the ability to capture her last moments. Or had an actual magical connection to the book to transfer her story. It’s possible. Do the two of you ever read any magic related books?”

I shrug and Roman answers with a defensive “No.”

Ambrose sighs. “The thing is, even with that spell, I feel another layered on top of it. When Briar created that spell, she imbued her words with her magic. She captured the event, so someone like me with illusion magic could take it and turn it into the actual scene. We saw exactly what happened that night, even if she never got a chance to write down a single detail. Which…spoiler alert…she didn’t.” Ambrose runs his hand down the page. His fingers lift from the paper and pull a spider thin web of gossamer magic with it. He stretches it too far from the page and the film snaps back into place.

“Fucking Crone,” Roman mutters.

“Someone came in after her death and altered the words. They messed with the memory and the details, changing the story.”

“Who would do that? It’s not like the coven hid what they did to Briar and her bonded. If they were going to rewrite history, why wouldn’t they try to cover up those actions too?”

“Because they didn’t care if someone saw how powerful they were. What they tried to cover up was their weaknesses.”

“So what did they change?” Roman asks. The fire snaps in the hearth, a log crumbling into glowing ash.

“They changed the curse.” Ambrose gets up and throws another log on the fire, holding the grimoire tucked against his side.

“We already know that Ashenvale altered the curse and how it affects us.”

“No, I mean, when the Briar Witch cursed us the words that she said, the punishment that she laid out for the founding families and their future generations, all of that was a lie.” Ambrose lays the book on a table and points to a spot at the bottom of the page, his eyes glossing over. The words aren’t on the page, but Ambrose is tapping into the memory he showed us all those months ago when we found out about the events that led to the curse.

“I curse you, witches of Mystic Hollows. Every family that values power over love will feel the fiery sting of my pain. All of you that have forsaken the Triad and forgotten the true nature of your magic, you will be punished. Your first-born child will have to live with a horrible curse because of your actions here today. Until you learn what is truly important in this world, this curse will plague you from one generation to the next.” Ambrose uses his illusion magic to project a vision of the Briar Witch on the bridge where she died and cursed us all. He shakes his head, and his gaze clears as if he’s once again joining Roman and I in his living room. “That was all a lie. Actually, no, some of it was a lie. The first half is what she actually said. When she goes into the part about first-borns, that’s all wrong. She never cursed the next generation. She only cursed the people on that bridge. The generational curse came from them being selfish dicks.”

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