Page 31 of Best Hex Ever
“It was very endearing.” Nour smiled, patting her husband’s hand.
“We got chatting, and we were there for hours.”
“The librarian had to kick us out because they were closing,” Nour added.
“Then we sat on a bench outside, even though it was November and freezing. And then she told me to give her my hands.”
“That’s so romantic, Nour,” Immy sighed.
Dina felt her gaze straying to Scott, who was staring down at the table, studiously avoiding eye contact. As if he were arguing with himself about something.
Hearing her parents’ perfect love story jarred harshly withher own tragic love life. Dina suddenly felt short of breath. The air in the room was too close, it moved through her lungs like glue, and the warmth from the candles and people around her pressedin.
“Excuse me,” Dina muttered, pushing out her chair. Rosemary reached out to squeeze Dina’s hand as she stood.
“You okay?” she whispered.
“I’m good. Just need a minute.”
As soon as she stepped out of the Green Room, the chill of the drafty hallway raised goosebumps on her skin. But she needed more. She needed to see the sky overhead. She needed proper fresh air.
Dina marched down the hall and slunk through the heavy front doors of Honeywell House. The driveway and open fields unfolded before her, and she exhaled deeply.
The moonlight sunk into her skin, refreshing her. The moon looked full, but it wasn’t quite yet. Most people would find it hard to tell the difference—visually it was barely noticeable. But Dina could feel it in her bones. As if her magic was a vibration, and the moon was a tuning fork. The pitch wasn’t quite there, but it would be tomorrow night. For Samhain. For the full moon ritual. She longed for it, for the sense of power it imbued in her.
Right now, memories of the hex rose unbidden. Rory in the hospital, Eliza in the hospital. All these people she’d cared for. All of them hurt. But if she was careful, Scott would be fine. Even if she did kiss him, that didn’t mean anything. She could kiss someone without developing feelings, right? Maybe just a weekend fling? Just to get it out of her system.
But Scott didn’t feel like the sort of man who went in for flings or one-night stands. He had commitment written all over him. It was stitched into the elbow patches on his blazers and sweaters, and in the crookedness of his smile, and in the way he’d madesure she got home safe when she’d hit her head. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from straying to throwing herself at him.
It had been a while since she’d been with a man in bed. In Dina’s experience, women were much better at giving orgasms, and not nearly as greedy or competitive aboutit.
But then again, maybe she’d just picked the wrong kind of men in the past. She found herself picturing Scott again, the tattoos that wound their way up his arms and across his chest. The fresh scent of his cologne. She craved the feeling of him inside her, deep, thrusting, throbbing. This breath of fresh air wasn’t clearing her head as much as she’d hoped it would.
“Benti, where did you go?” Her mum stepped through the front door and joined her in the darkness. “They’re just clearing away dessert.” She paused. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m okay, Mama.”
Nour huffed.
“I gave birth to you, you can’t lie to me.” Her mother always had an uncanny way of guessing Dina’s thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you ever wonder what our lives might have been like if we weren’t witches? Maybe they would have been simpler, in a way. It would be harder for us to hurt people.”
Her mother fixed her with a curious look, circling around so that she was standing behind Dina.
“May I?” she asked. Dina nodded. Her mother reached her arms around Dina and placed her palms on Dina’s eyes so that the tips of her middle fingers were touching the center of Dina’s forehead. Dina closed her eyes and felt the sudden change as her mother’s spell came to life around her.
She felt the baking sun on her skin. Her feet sank into the soft earth that she knew instinctively would be a deep orange hue. The distant sound of farm animals carried on the breezeand, closer by, the hum of the wind sifting through the broad bean stalks.
Dina knew where she was. Her mother’s family’s farm, in rural Khemisset. Morocco. Her mother had grown up there;thiswas where her roots were. Where Dina’s were too.
“We’ve had our magic for as long as we have had our land,” her mother said. “It goes beyond spells and charms and evocations. It is an extension of our souls. We cannot imagine ourselves without it, because then we would not be ourselves.”
The spell dissolved around her, and Dina inhaled the grassy scent of the English countryside once again as her mother uncovered her eyes.
“I used to think like you did,” Nour said, stroking her daughter’s face. “Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if I couldn’t spit out a curse each time I was angry? Or if I didn’t scare away men when they saw what I could do? We are strong women, benti, as well as witches. And that will scare some people, sure, but the ones that matter to us, the ones we love most, they will love all facets of us—the magic will not frighten them away.”
Dina wanted to tell her mum so badly about the hex just then. She felt her mouth opening, the words ready to spill out, but then the front door swung open. It was Martin.
