Page 32 of Magic and Matrimony

“Why are we idiots?” I frown at Fitz’s back.

Piper shakes her head and trudges up the steps like she’s walking to the gallows. I put a hand on her lower back, guiding her up the steps. She turns and glares at me. “Are you pushing me so I go first?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe.” I flash Piper an innocent smile and she scowls at me.

“Get in here,” Fitz calls out from inside the house and the two of us hustle through her front door.

Much like the exterior of the house, the inside looks like it was decorated for another person. Except everything in Fitz’s house is quintessentially witchy. The walls of the living room arelined with shelves. Some are stacked full of books, others have carefully organized bottles of dried herbs and disturbing liquids with unidentifiable things floating in them. Bundles of flowers and bones tied together with red string dangle off hooks on the ceiling, and candles litter every flat surface. There’s an orange, brown, and cream floral couch that’s definitely older than I am. Across from that is a rocking chair with a fuzzy blanket thrown over the back. It’s sitting next to a wood-burning stove.

Despite the possibility that Fitz is actually a demon, her house smells really inviting. The scent of something savory cooking warms me to the bone. There’s also a hint of cinnamon and spice, like she’s baked something too. I peer around the living room, but I can’t see into the kitchen. I doubt she’s about to offer me a cookie anyway. There is, however, a cauldron–literally a giant black tub of a thing–dangling from a hook over the top of the wood-burning stove. It’s boiling and bubbling from the flames licking the bottom of the pot.

Fitz shuffles over in her slippers and stirs whatever is in the cauldron. She grins down at it like she’s ready to use it to smite her enemies. No, she probably needs a bigger pot for that.

Continuing to ignore us, she sits in her rocking chair and begins sewing. I can’t tell if she’s mending socks or making a bondage mask. With Fitz, it could go either way. After Piper and I stand there uncertainly, like the two idiots she proclaimed us to be, Fitz looks up at us with exasperation. “Why are you standing and staring at me? Sit down.”

I don’t know how someone can sound so annoyed without moving a facial muscle.

Piper and I take a seat on the couch across from Fitz. I rub my hand over the fabric–is this also velour? The fire is throwing off a good amount of heat and it’s very cozy. Fitz holds up her sewing project to inspect her work. It’s in the shape of a littleperson. She grunts in satisfaction and then starts stuffing the fabric of her little doll with–I lean and squint—is that hair?

“Did you come here to watch me work, or do you have something you want to talk about?” Fitz raises her eyes from her project and studies Piper. She sniffs a few times and then hums under her breath. “So you haven’t gotten rid of your geas yet. I’m surprised.”

I sniff, my brow furrowing in confusion. How the hell can Fitz smell a geas? Piper smells like springtime flowers, and it makes my mouth water, but she always smells that way.

“That’s actually why I’m here today,” Piper says, her voice cracking nervously.

“Well, go on. I know about the geas, so the only thing stopping you from talking about it is you.” Fitz stares until Piper clears her throat and looks at me pleadingly. I give her an encouraging nod.

“I have a hex that I’m trying to figure out how to break.”

“I can’t break the Briar Witch’s curses.” Fitz goes back to stuffing her doll full of hair. Whoever it belongs to, it’s a mixture of blond and red. I look between me and Piper. It’s not my color blond and it’s not Piper’s color red. I sag a little in relief.

“That’s not the hex I’m talking about.” Piper clears her throat again. I press my thigh into hers. I don’t want to know what kind of side-eye Fitz would give me if I held Piper’s hand, but I want to offer some comfort. “My father put an obedience spell on me when I was little.”

Fitz doesn’t bat an eye, continuing her doll stuffing. “Your father was an idiot. A different kind of idiot. Not like you two idiots.”

I wobble my head from side to side, uncertain if that is a compliment or not. I’m going to go with…yes, it is.

“An incompetent man who couldn’t figure out how to wipe his own arse without someone there to do it for him. And your uncle. He’s worse.”

I nod in agreement. My family isn’t much better. I’m fully aware that the Roths are also full of pieces of shit. I’d like to believe I’m not as terrible as the rest of them, but they're all oblivious, so maybe I am too.

Fitz stares at Piper and me. I wonder what she’s looking for. The silence stretches and then finally Fitz huffs out something close to a laugh.

“You got married.” A grin stretches across her face, and then she starts to really laugh. It’s loud and full-bodied. She even sets down her fucked-up doll.

“You figured out a workaround on your hex and it was passed on. Good for you.” Her head jerks over to me, her laughter cutting off abruptly. “And now you own her hex.”

“I don’t own anything.” I unclench my jaw. Technically, I know this is true, from Piper’s own mouth, but I don’t want to control her in any way. “However, we would like to figure out how to undo this spell so that Piper never has to worry about it again. And I won’t accidentally command her to do something.”

Fitz purses her lips together and picks her doll back up. “It’s not a problem.”

“Why isn’t it a problem?” I’m confused. Piper is stiff beside me. I drop my hand on her thigh and squeeze. We’ll figure this out.

Fitz eyes my hand and snorts. “Are you going to use it on her?” She points the hair doll at me.

“That’s not the point.” I rear back. “I shouldn't have that kind of control, regardless.”

Fitz sighs, dropping her doll into a basket near her feet and standing with a groan. She picks up two copper cups near herstove and proceeds to scoop a ladleful of the stuff from the cauldron into them.

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