Page 15 of The Witch & the Hound
“YouHAVEto! How does that even work? What about condoms?”
I dragged a hand over my face. “I don’t need condoms. I have hot flashes. I can’t get pregnant.”
Dead silence. Then she said, with relish, “That’s not how biology works.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
"Until the ovaries fully close up shop? You're still fertile, Maggie. Hot flashes aren't a magic shield against pregnancy; they're just your body's way of torturing you while keeping all the fun biological options open. You could one hundred percent still get pregnant."
My stomach dropped. “You’re lying.”
“Google it,” she sang. “Or better yet, ask your new horned boyfriend if Barghests and humans can even make babies. Because you may be the first witch in history to need a cross-dimensional midwife.”
I groaned. “Goodbye.”
“Maggie—”
I hung up and pressed the phone to my forehead, groaning again.
The soap bubbled threateningly behind me, but all I could think about was Bram’s weight pinning me to the bed, the swell of him locked inside me, and my sister’s smug voice.
I grabbed the business card from the fridge. My fingers moved before my brain caught up, opening a new text.
So. Barghest + human. Reproductive compatibility? Asking for a friend.
I didn’t wait for a reply. I shoved the phone into my pocket, grabbed my coat, and headed for the apothecary on the square. Morning-after tea wasn’t romantic, but it was better than finding out the hard way that menopause was not, in fact, contraception.
I was sitting in the tiny tearoom at the apothecary, ingesting the bitter morning-after tea with the rest of the hussies, under the judgmental eye of the same old biddy I'd given the finger to less than 24 hours ago.
The irony was not lost on me.
Neither was the humiliation. I was forty-two years old, a witch with my own house, my own business, a woman who’d stared down protestors with megaphones and cops with too much swagger. And here I was, slurping herbal sludge in the shame circle because I’d let a barghest pin me to the mattress.
My phone buzzed against the table.
I snatched it up, praying it was my sister and not a shipping notice.
Bram.
I’ve never seen a Barghest-human,he wrote.
I stared at the words until they blurred. Not neverpossible.Neverseen.Which was worse, somehow.
Heat rose in my cheeks, and I ducked my head as the biddy’s eyes bored into me like she could read my screen. I thumbed out a reply before I could lose my nerve.
So that’s a maybe?
The dots pulsed once. Twice. Then vanished.
I cursed under my breath and drained the last of the tea, grimacing at the taste. Around me, the other women sipped, sniffled, or sighed, each of us pretending we weren’t all here for the same reason.
When I shoved the cup back across the table, the old biddy sniffed. “Some witches never learn.”
I smiled sweetly. “And some witches don’t care.”
Her eyes narrowed, but I didn’t flinch. Because underneath the panic, the bitterness, and the tea, one thought pulsed steady and undeniable.
When Bram texted me again, not if,when, I'd answer.
