To all of us who’ve ever tried to twitch our noses and make things happen
And for Kami and Sam, because I can’t dedicate the books we’re writing together to you
I am a witch. A real house-haunting, broom-riding, cauldron-stirring witch.
—Bewitched
Witch. From the Anglo-Saxon word wicce, German wissen, “to know,” and wikken, “to divine.” The witches were at first called “wise women,” until the day when the Church took it unto herself to follow the law of Moses, which put every “witch” or enchantress to death.
—H. P. Blavatsky, The Theosophical Glossary (1892)
Now
1Savvy
This is the most something day—weirdest, definitely the weirdest—of Savvy’s life, and it’s barely past noon.
“Do you think your flower crown should have more hemlock?” Savvy’s best friend Brie squints at her in the rearview mirror of the car she’s driving along the dirt-and-gravel road.
Savvy’s in the back seat with a garment bag holding The Dress, capital letters, and another with the pink dress Brie plans to wear in her role as maid of honor. There’s also a duffel her other best friend Elle, short for Louise, handed her as they piled in to leave for the venue.
“No, it will overpower the rue,” Elle says. Elle is in her chic suit already and has planned this entire day within an inch of its life.
Underlying their fussing is the actual question her best friends are not brave enough to ask her: Is Savvy hexing Wilde really about to get married? To a regular human man?
Savvy never indulged in fantasies about her wedding while growing up. There were some other little witches who swooned over the fairy tale of the pitiful frog who could be transformed back into a much-reformed prince by the right witch and then put a ring on it. Or the story of the witch who saved the father and his three stepdaughters by banishing bad fairies from their chimney and then married the oldest daughter and they all lived happily ever after. The girls might have gone to sleep afterward dreaming of the charmer who’d steal their heart.
Savvy took away a different moral from those stories.
She believed in witches saving the day. It was her entire job, and, until recently, her entire life. She figured she’d be fine on her own. Forever. Her mother always assured her that was the best, safest way to be. She never thought she’d need to marry a prince or princess, or, well, anyone, to keep saving the world in small and large ways every day. She has C.R.O.N.E.—Covert Responses to Occult Nightmares by Enchantresses—for that.
But here she is, being driven to the Atlanta C.R.O.N.E. chapter’s extensive property outside the city. They’re headed to the rustic barn venue on the outer edge, used for social occasions where outsiders are invited. The entire property, with its rambling houses, barns, other buildings, fields, and forests, is known to the witches as the Farmhouse. Its iron-clad, blood-bound protective spells will prevent any guests from getting lost or seeing any secrets they shouldn’t. On this, her wedding day. Because apparently it can happen to anyone. By which she means love.
Griffin changed her plans … and, after some major freaking out, she’s surprisingly okay with that. Savvy can be impulsive, which occasionally gets her in trouble. But usually also back out again. You have to think on your feet when you could accidentally release a magic plague into the sewers of London or need to keep an angry dragon from burning a town in the Balkans. At first, the idea of marrying Griffin a year after meeting him felt on the same level as those things. A catastrophe in the making.
Then she looked at him, across the dinner table at their favorite Mexican place, waiting for her answer. Patiently. Over tacos.
Her sweet, mild-mannered, bespectacled, and yet still sexy as hell antiquities professor Griffin. And in that moment, she knew. He’s worth the risk. He’s the thing she never let herself admit she wanted.
So she said yes. Surprising not only herself, but her nearest and dearest.
“My mother will meet us there?” Savvy asks.
While Elle and Brie are on board with the marriage—they actually like Griffin—her mother is decidedly not. Savvy figures once the ceremony is over, her mother will just have to get over it. Eventually.
“Uh-huh,” Brie says, evasively.
“She’ll be there.” Elle turns sideways so she can pat Savvy’s knee. “I’ve got this.”
“Shit!” Brie shouts suddenly, jamming on the brakes. “No! No! No!”
Savvy and Elle exchange a look. Savvy cranes her neck to see what’s in front of them to merit this reaction, but Brie shouts, “Blindfold!”
Savvy feels the energy of the spell and suddenly she can’t see anything. “Why?” Savvy asks, reaching up to adjust the cloth now covering her eyes.
Brie huffs. “I told Diego to make sure he got Griffin and the groomsmen here thirty minutes from now so we would not run into them. You can’t see each other before the ceremony.”
“Oh, come on, do we have to be that traditional?” Savvy asks.
“You can’t see the face she’s making right now, but I’m getting a big yes,” Elle says in her calm way.
“He can’t see her either!” Brie says, and Savvy hears her pound the steering wheel. “Why aren’t they going inside?”
Elle interrupts Brie’s dramatics. “I’ve conjured another blindfold. I’ll put it on him.”
Brie grumbles, but the car starts to move forward again.
Savvy guesses it’s a good sign there are invisible butterflies fluttering inside and around her like a Disney witch at the thought Griffin is up ahead. I’m going to marry him.
No one is more surprised than her. Marriages are rare among witchkin—especially with men, or outsiders—if not entirely unheard of.
The car stops. “Wait here!” Brie barks. Her door opens and then slams shut. Elle gets out too.
Savvy waits until the back door opens and Elle reaches in to guide her out of the car. She hears the low honey of Griffin’s voice protesting.
“Griffin?” she calls out.
“I take it you’re blindfolded too?” Griffin sounds amused.
“Yes.” Savvy laughs.
“You can thank me later, when you don’t have bad luck!” Brie inserts.
“Keep talking so I can find you,” Griffin says, closer now.
“I’m not sure—” Brie says.
Griffin’s friend and best man, Diego, says, “Let it be, woman.”
Savvy has to bite her lip to keep from laughing again. She can picture Brie with her hands on her hips, glaring at Diego, imagining hexing him.
“Marco,” Savvy says, “I’m right over—”
“Polo.” Griffin bumps into her.
She reaches out to find his hands with hers.
“There you are,” he says.
“Here I am.” Every nerve in her body sings at the contact between their fingers, at his nearness. He smells fresh out of the shower, one of her top three favorite Griffin states. Clean and woodsy.
“We’re really doing this, huh?” she murmurs.
“We are,” he murmurs back.
And then his lips find hers. There are cheers and also groans from their friends on either side, but Savvy blocks them out easily. Griffin fills her senses. His lips gently move against hers, teasing her lips open. He slides one hand around her back and she presses against him as close as she can without breaking contact. She deepens the kiss and …
“Okay, that’s enough,” Brie says right beside her. “Save something for later.”
“We should’ve eloped,” Savvy says, finishing the kiss with her palm on Griffin’s cheek before dropping both of her hands into his again.
“You shouldn’t be doing this at all,” a frosty, feminine voice she recognizes too well says.
“Hi, Claudia,” Griffin says as if he’s unbothered. He’s chosen to try to wear her mother down by simply being nice. He doesn’t understand, because of course he can’t. He doesn’t know the truth about Savvy. He has no idea she’s a witch.
And he never will.
“Mom,” Savvy says, “we’ve been over this.”
“I don’t have to like it.” Her mother sniffs. “And I won’t.”
Her mother, the mood killer. But Savvy refuses to let her disapproval be a hovering dark cloud over this occasion.
Savvy rests her forehead against Griffin’s for a beat. “See you soon,” she says.
“I can’t wait.” Griffin releases her hands with a reluctance she relates to.
Her friends each take an arm and steer her inside.
* * *
Savvy stands in front of the mirror in the preparatory suite. She wears The Dress, aka a tasteful off-the-shoulder beaded gown fitted to accentuate her curves. Her medium-length caramel curls are topped by the flower crown. She’s in flats instead of heels, because she’s plenty tall as is. She should feel entirely comfortable in this ensemble, which she chose.
She can’t quite manage it.
It doesn’t help that every witch Savvy knows has been around to ask her about one thing or another, some reprising Brie’s and Elle’s questions from before. Is her flower crown statement enough? Should it have more rue or maybe hemlock? How is she feeling? Because a quick spell, not even a spell, truly, just a suggestion of an incantation, can nix those nerves in a jiff, if she likes? And, oh, does she need more champagne? It’s charmed, so it won’t get her sloshed. But it’ll take the edge off those nerves she must be feeling.
Still, Savvy knows this is an unusual occasion, not least because it involves her. Seemingly every witch located in the continental United States has traveled here to either celebrate or side-eye her decision. She’s grateful that among all the gossipy strangers and, well, her mother, she also has Brie and Elle.
Or at least she is until Brie marches over with a flute of bubbly in one hand and considers Savvy’s reflection. Brie’s celestial-themed tattoo sleeves are a striking contrast with her slinky pale pink bridesmaid dress and fuchsia-highlighted hair.
She tsks. “I just think—look at this.” She points at Savvy and casts a glamour. “It has more of a wow factor,” she adds.
Brie is trying and failing to keep a straight face.
Savvy raises an eyebrow like a drawn arch. Because Brie has bestowed an entirely animated Jessica Rabbit look on her from head to toe, red gown and all. Yes, even her eyes resemble the cartoon sexpot’s.
“Brie.”
“Okay, so not that.… How about something ethereal. Like the goddess herself.”
Savvy would protest that this fun is at her expense, but at least Brie isn’t asking any more questions. And anyway, her friend has to get this out of her system first.
She gestures at Savvy, and her spell transforms Savvy back into 3D and the red cartoon dress into a flowing nightgownesque garment. She hesitates, then nods to give Savvy knee-length Lady Godiva hair.
“I look like I’m about to start a cult,” Savvy says. She puts her hands on her hips. “Stop trolling me.”
She waves at her reflection, restoring the chosen look that she doesn’t feel entirely comfortable in, which Brie knows.
“I’m nervous enough as it is,” she says. “No more mockery. I think it might be suspicious if I show up to my own wedding in glamour.”
“Let me live,” Brie whines.
And, of course, this would be the moment when her mother reenters the fray. She’s been lingering over by the champagne, tossing back one after another.
Savvy braces as she struts over in her low-cut, diamond-studded rose-colored jumpsuit. She’s always embraced Dolly Parton as her style guru. But her personality is less Dolly’s sweet sass and more murderous “bless your heart.” C.R.O.N.E. and Savvy are her entire life—she can’t understand why Savvy wants anything besides the job and their community in her own.
Savvy has always looked up to her mother, the famous Claudia, one of the leaders of this, what might be the most powerful C.R.O.N.E. chapter in the world. She wishes her mom would approve of the wedding, but has given up. Claudia has too much baggage about men and about love being a distraction from their mission.
“I was just playing around,” Brie says. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”
Claudia snorts. “We’ll see about that.”
Savvy may have to murder someone before the day is out.
Except Brie’s right. This is a special day. And she’s pretty sure there’s no murder on wedding days. (Well, unless it’s a TV show and George R. R. Martin is in charge.)
She imagines Griffin witnessing the magic dress-the-bridezilla shenanigans that just happened and has to press down guilt. There’s a reason she doesn’t find Brie’s antics funny. She’s getting married as Savannah Wilde, which is who she is, but also as a respectable, non-witch citizen, which she most definitely is not.
C.R.O.N.E. operatives can’t break their covers, not even for their spouses. So as far as Griffin knows she’s a public relations consultant. He believes one of her biggest clients happens to be an animal rescue located at the Farmhouse that a lot of her friends and her mother are involved in. That’s how it will stay. It’s remarkable how much travel the PR gig covers for, and she’s absorbed enough marketing speak over the years to sell the ruse. She’s glamoured when she’s actually working, so even if he did see her doing something with her powers, he wouldn’t know he had.
He’ll never find out who he’s really marrying. That feels unfair. But there’s nothing she can do about it, except be a good wife and a better operative. Witches have always had to live with a reality that can’t accept them for who they are. She’d like to think Griffin is different, but the rules are the rules on this one. No testing that premise.
Elle comes bustling into the suite, carrying a tablet. The first warning sign is how she avoids Savvy and heads over to whisper to the table of bridesmaids (and fellow operatives) drinking champagne. There are gasps. Her mother, sensing gossip, immediately gravitates back to that end of the large room with the slanted wood-beamed ceiling.
“You really hated the red, even in theory?” Brie asks. “I bet Griffin would like it. I seem to remember you wearing a red dress when you met.”
Not exactly. But the heat in the memory the statement conjures puts a flush in Savvy’s cheeks.
“I don’t want to be glamoured today. Or ever around Griffin, if I can help it.” Savvy shakes her head. “You wear red.”
“Blasphemy.” Brie fluffs her hair. She’s so fond of pink, it’s basically the limit of her wardrobe. That’s the reason Savvy agreed to have it be the color scheme for today.
“What?!” Her mother’s shock is audible across the room. When she catches Savvy and Brie paying attention, she lowers her voice and turns away from them.
Savvy exchanges a look with her best friend and they stalk across the room. “Mom, what’s going on?” she asks.
“Well…” Her mother evasively pours champagne. “I don’t want to say I told you so.”
This is a lie. Her mother loves saying that phrase. “Why would you be saying it?”
The others are silent.
“Seriously, what’s up? Did Griffin pull a runner?” She gives it a teasing note, but she finds she’s bracing for the response.
“No, nothing like that,” her mother says. “Though you’d be better off…”
“Mom, stop it. Now, someone tell me what’s going on. Right now.” Savvy is using her means-business voice. It tends to be effective.
The group exchanges troubled glances. Elle finally says, “The Butcher of Salem is here.”
“What do you mean?” Savvy is halfway to conjuring up an enchanted crossbow when Elle adds, “He’s on the groom’s side.”
“Wait.” Savvy isn’t sure she heard correctly. “Come again?”
“The Butcher of Salem is downstairs, sitting on the groom’s side.”
Savvy can’t believe this is happening. “How do we know it’s him?”
“Apparently Mother Circe recognized him,” her mother says.
That’s confirmation, all right.
The Butcher of Salem is their oldest enemy. He presides over an organization that C.R.O.N.E. avoids in the field when it can—when it can’t, the two inevitably clash—and still uses glamours to avoid detection. For centuries, the Butcher and his men were in open conflict with the witches, the battles razing villages and forests as they hunted down her kind. Eventually, Mother Circe made a show of force with her coven that convinced the Butcher to agree to an armistice … of sorts. Whatever scuffles they have must stay out of the public eye, to keep the supernatural world secret.
The Butcher and Circe faced one another down hundreds of years ago—they’re both long-lived through means not exactly natural, because he’s a hypocrite—and for the two of them to be anywhere in public, let alone at the same event, is …
Savvy was surprised when Mother Circe RSVP’d to begin with; she rarely visits Atlanta these days. Savvy hasn’t seen her since her C.R.O.N.E. induction at eighteen, and from what she understands Mother Circe declines to attend them these days.
“It has to just be a terrible coincidence,” Savvy says. “You’ve all met Griffin.”
There are some murmurs of agreement. A snort from her mother.
But whoever Griffin is, he’s no Butcher of Salem, for goddess’s sake.
“The question is, what do we do?” Brie asks.
Savvy frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to let him stay? At your wedding?” She sounds skeptical. “He would kill every single one of us if he could get away with it.”
“And hold trials first to drag it out,” her mother says. “When Brie puts it that way, you can’t mean to let him enjoy this day. That’s not my daughter. Some company your husband-to-be keeps.”
Savvy bristles. She has a reputation and it’s not for cowardice. She puts dragons back to sleep without tucking them in. She keeps demons from releasing poison into water supplies. She isn’t known for backing down.
An evil man has strolled onto their turf to witness her marriage. She wants to march downstairs and show him to the door with a passel of hissing poisonous snakes at his heels, while asking him if he enjoyed hunting down her lost sisters …
But it would blow her cover and potentially put them all at risk.
“Back off, y’all.” Elle gives a no-nonsense head shake and holds up her hand. “I have planned this wedding meticulously, but it’s Savvy’s day. The call is hers to make.”
Brie presses. “What if he’s here for us?”
A fair point. But … that would result in the kind of conflict that might blow up the accords. Mutually assured destruction.
None of that matters, though. Not right now.
“Griffin can’t find out about me,” she says. “No, this has to be random. There’s no way Griffin knows who he really is. We do the ceremony. We’ll figure the rest out later. Can Cretin follow the Butcher afterward?” Her mother’s familiar is a grumpy raven worthy of her name. Some of the others’ familiars are nearby, hidden outside in the woods. Not Savvy’s. Hers is back at her and Griffin’s house. But her mother doesn’t go anywhere without Cretin staying close.
Claudia catches her eye, nods. “Of course.”
Savvy can tell that Claudia wants to say something more, so she plows ahead. “Good. Then it’s final. Let’s do this.”
She goes back to the mirror to give one more subtle adjustment to the flower crown, the only armor she gets to wear into this battlefield. She reminds herself: Griffin is worth it.
If the Butcher stays out of their way, she’ll stay out of his. For now.
2Griffin
Griffin can’t wait to lay eyes on Savvy. Not just because he knows she’ll be stunning in her dress—hell, she’s stunning in anything (or, even better, nothing). She strolled into his thoroughly organized life and turned it upside down and he can’t find it in him to care, not one bit.
Even that brief taste of her outside while sporting her friends’ hastily tied blindfold made him all the more anxious to get on with marrying the woman he desperately wants to spend the rest of his life with.
His best man, Diego, is still grumbling about Savvy’s friend Brie getting in his face because they arrived early. That part was Griffin’s fault, though he was happy to let Diego take the heat.
Most of the men gathered around him in this medium-sized room set aside for the groom’s party don’t get why he’s in such a hurry to exchange vows—and he doesn’t care about that either. He loves his brothers and colleagues, but when he thinks of Savvy any concerns they voice about the wedding seem like they’re coming out of the mouth of Charlie Brown’s teacher. “Blah wah blah wah blah wah” is what he hears.
Diego snaps his fingers in front of Griffin’s face. “Hey, listen to me, this is actually important, okay?”
“If you did the background check you suggested on Savvy, I will kill you.” Griffin says it gently as he straightens the bow tie of his tux. His black-rimmed glasses are part of his cover. He doesn’t need them, but he has to keep wearing them with Savvy anyway.
“I still think that was a mistake,” Diego says. “No, I’m doing one last check-in to make sure you want to go through with this. It’ll change your whole life. Keeping what we do secret, it’s not going to be easy.”
“I’ve managed so far,” Griffin says.
Not that he feels great about it.
Being an agent of H.U.N.T.E.R. (aka Humans Undertaking Nocturnal Terror and Evil Reduction) isn’t an ordinary job. He’s not the antiquities professor that Savvy believes he is. But there’s a long tradition of keeping these sorts of things from your family. See every CIA agent ever. The work H.U.N.T.E.R. does these days is far more classified than anything a traditional government agency might tackle. They help keep the entire world safe from supernatural threats that would upend consensus reality if people knew about them. The work is sacred. Sure, the way they started out was bloodier by necessity—that largely involved protecting the world from the then-unchecked powers of witches—but what they do is still crucial.
Griffin is exceptional at it, and he’s a steadying influence on his colleagues. He is a scholar, it’s just that the kind of antiquities he knows about span far more than the usual human experience. He teaches a class at the local university and the arrangement allows him copious time in the field. That’s how he and Savvy first encountered each other.
He shakes his head, remembering. They met traveling abroad, under odd circumstances. He was suspicious at first, part of his training, and then she charmed him completely. He’d thought he might never see her again, but fate threw them back together. Not that he believes in things as untestable as fate.…
The rest of their yearlong relationship is history in a whirlwind. Why would he wait for some arbitrary amount of time to pass when he knows this is what he wants?
“So you’re sure?” Diego prods.
“Positive,” Griffin says, and stares at Diego in a “let it go, now” manner.
“All right, if you’re sure, brother,” Diego says, and claps him on the back. “You got the vows and stuff?”
“Yes.” He wrote them down on a crib sheet tucked in his tux’s right jacket pocket, though he’s 99 percent positive he won’t need it. He likes to be prepared. “You got the ring?”
Diego nods.
“We’re ready then,” Griffin says.
“You’re ready,” Diego says. “I’m losing my best wingman.”
Griffin laughs, because it’s true and the real source of Diego’s objection. Griffin’s vibe is less intimidating than his cut friend, who could be mistaken for a telenovela star. Women approach and talk to Griffin strictly to get close to Diego—or Griffin’s brothers, Jacob and Quinn. Not that Griffin wasn’t doing fine before Savvy. He was. But romance hasn’t been a priority. He has responsibilities he can’t afford to phone in.
Savvy, well, he can’t phone in anything with her. Not even if he wanted to.
“She is a badass,” Diego allows.
“You have no idea. Never try to take the last slice of pizza if you want to live.” Griffin turns to the rest of the space they’re using as a staging area. His dad’s over in the corner with his brothers and a few other groomsmen. They’re talking a little too excitedly for Griffin’s taste.
The only reason they’d be this amped up is a new situation in the field.
He walks over. “What’s up? Who’s on emergency duty today anyway?”
They all go quiet. His father, Roman, has close-cropped silver hair and is still as buff as the job demands. The rest of the guys are in tuxes and study their feet. His clean-shaven, tidy, stylish brother Quinn shrugs, and his other brother, the burly, bearded, always-needs-a-haircut Jacob, elbows him in the ribs.
“Okay, what is happening? And don’t say nothing, I won’t believe you.” Griffin is known for his instincts. Right now they’re screaming the guys are hiding something.
Jacob nods to their dad.
“Fine. Don’t overreact,” Roman says. “But Mother Circe is downstairs.”
Griffin thinks he misheard for a moment, the name echoing through the group. “Are you sure?”
Mother Circe is the most powerful witch they’ve ever faced, the head of C.R.O.N.E., which H.U.N.T.E.R. tries to avoid because it never goes well when they encounter each other. Way before Griffin’s time, their work involved hunting witches, who used their powers with abandon, threatening community after community. H.U.N.T.E.R. doesn’t focus on that anymore, obviously. Hasn’t in hundreds of years, since the witches agreed to the Butcher’s terms at the accords, both sides promising to keep incidents between them quiet and contained from the public eye. But to say there’s continued bad blood between those witches and his organization would be a massive understatement.
“Maybe Savvy is their PR rep?” Diego offers.
“Secret agencies don’t have PR reps,” Griffin says, reeling. “Are you sure it’s Circe?” he asks his dad again. “How do we know?”
Witches are famous for their ability to wear glamours.
“This came from the Butcher,” his dad says. “You know he’s here today.”
Then it’s legitimate. Those two went head-to-head in the old days—the 1600s, to be precise—and while they did serious damage to each other, and the witches took out villages across New England, eventually the Butcher showed enough force for Circe to come to the table. The accords have held, inviolable. Without them, all their secrets would be public knowledge before long.
Griffin has heard legends about the Butcher since he was old enough to keep a secret. But he’s mostly a figurehead now, a largely unseen leader. Their day-to-day at the Atlanta headquarters of H.U.N.T.E.R.—the agency itself is international—is run by people like his dad and, well, himself. The Butcher is only here because weddings are considered important by him, a way to carry on the sacred mission through generations—assuming that the kids are boys, and, oh, yes, that the spouses are kept in the dark. Griffin has the utmost respect for the Butcher, but privately he believes those particular rules are outdated.
But it’s live with them or the world goes to darkness.
“What do you think is going on?” Griffin asks with a frown. “Is she challenging the peace?”
Roman shrugs. “Let’s hope not. And it doesn’t matter, you’re getting married.”
Griffin doesn’t buy the casual attitude for a second. “But what about her?”
“We’re all here, and I’ve got a nullifier with me. It’s probably nothing to be concerned about,” Roman says. “Odds are it’s a complete coincidence.”
“You believe that?” Griffin asks. This is beyond statistically improbable.
“What’s the alternative?” Roman asks. “That Savvy knows about her and invited her?”
“When he puts it like that, if you did want an excuse to postpone…” Diego says.
No. No way. Griffin got so caught up in the drama of the infamous Mother Circe being here and what it might mean that he almost forgot why he is.
“Dad’s right. Savvy is the furthest thing from a witch. It’s nothing to go nuclear over right now … Just keep tabs on Circe until she leaves. Today is the day I marry the woman I love.” Diego’s mouth is open to protest again and Griffin says, “It’s almost time. Discussion over.”
* * *
The unsettling news has sobered the mood. Griffin doesn’t mind that. He’s a calm, steady type, even under pressure. Especially under it. The loud questioning of his choices from his brothers and Diego is something he’s content to do without.
His dad pulls him aside as the others leave to set up for the processional.
“Nervous?” his father asks.
“Nope,” Griffin answers honestly.
Roman grins. “I wasn’t when I married your mother either.”
Griffin’s parents have an excellent marriage, and that’s despite the secrets kept from his mother. That means it is possible to do this. His optimism about making it work long-term comes from watching the two of them.
“I don’t make decisions lightly,” Griffin says.
“Believe me, after getting a letter from your second-grade teacher about the fact you needed to undertake a study to answer what your favorite color was … I know.”
“Hey, that’s a surprisingly difficult question.” Not anymore. It’s the sea green of Savvy’s eyes.
“Uh-huh. I’m happy for you, son.”
Griffin’s throat tightens. “I’m happy for me too.”
They nod at each other in the way of manly men who would rather hug but then they might shed actual tears and it isn’t the right time for that.
Griffin swallows. “You have a pet theory why Circe is here?”
Roman’s mouth tightens. “I wish she weren’t. But I trust your gut as much as I trust mine—as long as she doesn’t make trouble, neither will we.”
Griffin nods. He wishes he weren’t going to get married in front of their oldest enemy, but he’s used to dealing with surprises.
Diego pokes his head in from the main floor of the barn. “You’re up in a sec,” he says.
“See you out there,” Roman says, and follows Diego out to be escorted to his seat.
Griffin’s left alone in the vestibule to gather his thoughts—for all of thirty seconds. Then Diego pokes his head back in. “She even looks like a witch.”
Whatever that means. Warts? Full hag style? Cackling? He’s not going to encourage Diego by asking, despite his curiosity.
Griffin stays practical. “Don’t tell me where she is, I’ll want to look. She’ll notice.”
“Trust me, you can’t miss her. The old crone radiates power, Griff.”
“Behave, Diego,” Griffin says. Though he isn’t a fan of the idea of a witch observing his wedding.
Just then, there’s a gentle knock on the wood paneling behind Diego. It’s followed by the entrance of the officiant who’s marrying them, slipping past his friend. Savvy’s auntie Simone. She’s chosen a long jewel-hued robe for the occasion.
“Is this one causing trouble?” she asks, eyebrows up.
Diego smiles, a picture of innocence, and she rolls her eyes.
“Ready?” she asks Griffin.
“More than.”
“Good answer.”
Savvy and her auntie Simone are close. Satisfied, Simone leaves to go take her place.
Music starts out in the main part of the venue, and, as rehearsed, he walks out and continues up the aisle flanked by rows of chairs. Circular tables are set up outside for the post-wedding meal. Savvy’s friends and relatives watch him closely. On the groom’s side there’s some restlessness, but his dad gives him a thumbs-up and his mother beams at him. They happen to be seated next to the Butcher in the front row. It’s been a few years since Griffin has seen the man, and he’s aged in that time—nothing like his actual age, obviously, but his black hair has gone gray, his eyebrows are thin, and his skin is grooved with wrinkles.
Griffin takes his position up front next to Simone, watching the bridesmaids and groomsmen come up the aisle. Diego is first, paired with smart-mouthed Brie, his favorite of Savvy’s friends. Griffin smiles at her, but she has her eyes narrowed at him.
That’s weird. She can’t still be mad about Savvy and Griffin almost seeing each other, can she?
The rest of the wedding party marches out on cue, but there’s none of the joking around or smiles between the pairs like at the rehearsal dinner. Griffin forces himself not to search the crowd for Mother Circe. He focuses straight down the center.
The wedding march begins, and the crowd stands.
The motion distracts him.
Damn it. Griffin does, in fact, spot her right away.
Mother Circe is standing in the front row of the bride’s section, a silver-haired elderly woman in a high-necked deep green dress. She’s staring across the aisle at the Butcher. Who’s doing the same back. That’s … not good.
But it should keep her on her best behavior, being face-to-face with the man who stopped witches from leaving carnage in their wake. Who made her bargain with them.
Griffin relaxes. A fraction.
Savvy emerges. A few gasps come from the crowd at her beauty. Her mother’s arm is linked through hers to escort her, since she doesn’t have a father in the picture. His worries recede even further.
Whatever Griffin expected Savvy to look like, this surpasses it, because it’s the reality. Where Savvy’s concerned, the reality is always better than the fantasy.
She’s in a long cream gown, and her hair’s down with a flower crown holding her veil on. He’s glad she decided not to wear it over her face. She smiles at him, and lifts one hand away from the bouquet in her hands to give him a small wave.
He smiles and returns the tiny wave. Nothing could be more right than this.
The sound of a cough from his side interrupts the moment. Make that, of coughing. Continuing on. And on. He looks over to find that the source of the noise is the Butcher. The man is bent double, hacking so loud he can be easily heard over the music.
His groomsmen are looking at Mother Circe, the serenely smiling Mother Circe.
Shit.
What if she’s making him cough? For that matter, what if she tries to kill him? Maybe that’s why she showed up here. It’s not such an outlandish idea.
Griffin wills her to knock it off and everyone to stay put. If only he had magic powers.
But he doesn’t. He has to hope instead.
3Savvy
Any doubt Savvy has evaporates at the sight of Griffin, takes-her-breath-away handsome in his tux, waiting for her at the end of the aisle. How can he be so hot and kind at the same time? You can see it in his smile and his eyes, how sharp and thoughtful he is. He’s built for a professor, too, especially given that she sees him reading far more often than working out.
But that’s just another of the contradictions that make Griffin who he is. Hers.
She grins at him and adds a tiny wave. He returns the gesture, his eyes locked appreciatively on her. So what if they’ve been living together for a while? Their wedding night is going to be unforgettable. She’ll make up for the lies she has to tell every day for the rest of their lives.
A loud cough sounds in the crowd, and her mother’s hand tightens on her arm. Savvy expects to see someone leaving the ceremony, headed outside with their cold or whatever. Or maybe feel the force, like a swift breeze, of a witch casting a small healing or a silencing spell to make it stop.
But then she understands the person who’s coughing must be the Butcher himself. She and her mother reach the aisle he’s in, at the front. He’s thin with pale, gnarled skin and, bent double hacking away, he resembles nothing so much as an ancient birch tree. Griffin’s father gives her a worried but supportive nod while he tries to help steady the old devil.
She and her mother stop where they’re supposed to, even though there’s a seasick feeling, as if things might be on the verge of careening out of control.
Savvy’s auntie Simone steps forward. She’s the witch everyone comes to with their problems to get advice, to learn to deal with their emotions as kids, or to be gently coached out of bad situations as adults. She’s unusually solemn.
“I believe an elder of the community will be asking the question,” she says.
This isn’t what they rehearsed. Auntie Simone is supposed to do the asking. Savvy looks around and finds Elle in the corner, tight-lipped.
The coughing continues.
Mother Circe stands, and Savvy’s surprised to see her hair has gone completely silver. Somehow she never expected the woman to age. She holds her wrinkled hands out. Her eyes are vibrant, still, the right blue and the left brown. “Who gives permission for this daughter to be wed?” she asks, her voice deep and strong despite her aged appearance.
That’s not quite the practiced wording either and that can’t be an accident. Mother Circe must not want her being “given away” to Griffin, even ceremonially. Why? Savvy frowns at Elle.
Elle shrugs, as if to say, What are you going to do? It’s Circe.
“I do,” her mother says.
The Butcher is still coughing. Is he here to cause a disruption? This is pretty weak as far as that goes. Or so she thinks until …
“Someone has to stop her,” Diego whisper-shouts to Griffin from the line of groomsmen.
In an instant, Savvy’s senses are as heightened as they would be on a mission. Her mother releases her hand. What does Diego mean?
“Still all right, hon?” Claudia asks Savvy, low.
Savvy says, “Yes,” but she’s no longer certain.
She walks the rest of the way to Griffin. Diego is practically bouncing on his toes, and she can feel restless energy boiling in her bridal party.
She forgets to give Griffin her hands, or maybe he forgets to take them. They stand, staring at each other. The coughing fades, so that’s something. Griffin’s face is his, even if there’s a shadow of worry on it. She knows its shape so well. The finest of lines at the corners that crinkle adorably when he smiles at her. The glasses he takes off when they go to bed … his kind hazel eyes. His thick black hair that resists being tamed by product, though he tries. All familiar.
But Savvy feels a weird sensation as they look at each other. She can’t identify it, she just knows something is different than when they exchanged tiny waves moments before.
“Griffin, Savvy, friends of the bride and groom, thank you … all for joining us here today.” Auntie Simone is clearly rattled. When they rehearsed, she used Savvy’s full name, and the hesitation before “all” was telling. If the rock of their community is already shaken, this isn’t going well. “Savvy and Griffin are here to be joined in the institution of holy matrimony.”
That’s when Auntie Simone notices they aren’t holding hands. “Griffin, could you take Savvy—Savannah’s hands?”
He hesitates.
What the hell?
Savvy holds her hands out, and he finally slips them into his own. Her heart thumps like it’s between her ears instead of her brain: beating loud, fast. She takes a slow breath.
It doesn’t help.
The coughing begins again, and it’s so much louder in the absence of music. She follows Griffin’s gaze over his shoulder to the Butcher.
She and Griffin look at each other one more time. He tugs her over as if to shield her. “Stay behind me,” he says.
She doesn’t know how to react.
“Can anyone make her stop?” Griffin says, loud, facing out to the venue.
She could pretend not to understand. She should.
“He said make the witch stop,” Diego says. “Before she kills him! You make her stop or we will.”
“I’m handling this,” Griffin says to him.
Savvy and Auntie Simone exchange a look. Not one of them can make Mother Circe do anything. From what Savvy can tell, when she casts out her senses, Circe isn’t doing anything. And how does Diego know she’s a witch?
Mother Circe stands. She confirms Savvy’s read on the situation. “I assure you this is no working of mine. The suggestion is an insult.”
Uh-oh. An insulted Mother Circe is a precursor to something much worse than a coughing fit.
Savvy steps up beside Griffin, thinking she might warn him. But …
“Please,” Griffin says, trying to push Savvy behind him again, entreating the crowd. “Can’t you do something?”
That’s when Savvy understands what’s going on here. The Butcher and Mother Circe being at this wedding on either side isn’t a coincidence. It’s something far, far worse. Did Griffin trick her on purpose?
“Who are you?” she steps away and asks Griffin. “Really?”
He stares at her, then at Mother Circe, and around the rows of chairs set up in the barn. He focuses on her guests. But they aren’t guests. They belong here. This is their territory. She’s beginning to understand. It’s the people he’s brought here who don’t belong.
“Did you know she’s a witch?” he asks.
“Did you know he’s the Butcher?” she volleys back.
Griffin gapes at her.
Savvy should behave. She truly should. This is not the thing to do, but Mother Circe says, “Go on, child, they have insulted us, when I did nothing,” and it’s permission.
The Butcher manages to straighten and through a cough says, “Good people are allergic to witches, so it doesn’t matter if you meant to do anything or not.”
“Go on,” Mother Circe urges.
Savvy doesn’t need to hear it again. Not anymore.
The way witchcraft behaves is in tune with nature. The larger the use, the more risk of upsetting the balance, and the more it takes out of the witch. But Savvy isn’t content with a small demonstration at the moment.
Not a medium one either. She’s on their home ground, at her strongest. These interlopers won’t sense the magic here, since it’s masked by spells. But it eddies around her, under her feet, meeting her own.
Did Savvy know Mother Circe was a witch? Oh, yes, Griffin. She absolutely knew.
Savvy lowers her hands and summons the element of wind to her, watching as the gust sweeps up the groom’s side until it reaches its destination. She batters the Butcher and the groomsmen and Griffin with the wind, watching to see how he reacts.
The crowd erupts. The groom’s side is fighting the strong wind, and the witch’s side is filled with chatter. Magic is thick in the air. Mother Circe cackles, high-pitched, an attack cry.
Griffin is struggling to stay upright and looking at Savvy like she’s a monster, a harpy from myth. To be fair, that’s what she feels like. She wants to bring a tempest here. Raze the Butcher and the man who apparently played her for a fool to the ground with it.
“You lied to me,” she says loudly, to be heard over the howling wind. She isn’t sure exactly what Griffin is up to, but she knows one thing for certain. “You are a liar.”
As Griffin’s mother gapes in confusion, his father, Roman, lifts his hands overhead then cracks two halves of a device together. The wind’s effect begins to recede. He must be using some kind of gadget that absorbs magic to blunt its impact. She knows who has countermeasures like that. This is the last piece of confirmation she needs.
“You’re a hunter.” She spits the word.
“Yeah, I’m feeling a little betrayed myself here, babe,” Griffin says, sarcasm heavy.
“You brought him here,” Savvy says, and points at the Butcher. “You risked us all.”
The wind renews its whip around them as Savvy calls on it again. She’ll test the strength of their defenses. Her veil flies off, petals from the flowers whirling through the air around her.
Brie, behind her, restless, says, “Should we call our familiars? What’s our next move here?”
“You don’t have one,” Diego says, but the wind nearly swallows his words.
Savvy raises her hands and lets the hunters reap the whirlwind.
“You’re a witch,” Griffin says, not with wonder. Like it’s the worst thing.
“I can’t believe I was going to marry you!” Savvy has always been grateful for her power. Grateful for her sisters. The implication she should feel otherwise from the man she thought she loved—the man who is a member of H.U.N.T.E.R.—is too much insult for her.
She shoves Griffin backward using her power and he nearly falls. He’s back up in no time.
Everyone’s on their feet, in fact. This must be what it’s like when all hell breaks loose.
Diego heads toward Mother Circe, and Brie whammies him with a spell, giving him giant fluffy boxing gloves. He flails trying to get them off. It wouldn’t matter anyway.
Her mother is holding a protective circle around Mother Circe. Though with her cackling cry and powers, she can certainly handle herself.
The Butcher’s voice calls out: “We leave this place to the hags. Retreat.”
“No, we should stay,” Griffin says. “Hold our ground. Like you did back then.”
She’s never heard that in his voice before. It takes a moment to interpret it. Anger. At her.
He has no idea. He has no right. Savvy’s rage is pure, justified.
“No,” she says, stalking toward him. “He’s right. You should go. This is one fight you can’t win. You’ve taken too much from us—from me—and you won’t take a thing more.”
“I haven’t taken anything from you,” he says. He hesitates, then, “You made me love you.”
He says it as if she used a spell on him. It was only one time. Only a small spell. It’s not why he loves—loved—her. She would never do that. And she didn’t have to.
People say that love and hate are similar emotions, that there’s not much distance between the two. Savvy never understood that. They’re night and day, good and evil. Now she gets it.
What was love gathers into a mass of betrayal that burns so hot the air heats around her. And not only her—around Griffin.
He writhes in it, and she sees a nasty line of blisters forming on his neck above his collar. She suspects they aren’t the only injuries. She eases up, the smallest amount, though she couldn’t explain why.
“This,” the Butcher shouts. “This is why we avoid witches. Creatures of emotion. They’re dangerous and out of control. Retreat.”
“Retreat,” Griffin echoes. “Retreat!”
Mother Circe rises up into the air, hovering above the Butcher. “We are dangerous, true. But never out of control. You will never join one of yours with one of mine.”
Circe gestures to Savvy, and Savvy feels her add her own call to the element. Brie steps beside Savvy, and her mother’s there too, and Auntie Simone, and Elle. Their power forms a focused tornado, and they force the Butcher and his men and their accompanying wives and dates out of the barn.
Savvy’s sense of betrayal feeds on the satisfaction of watching Griffin scramble backward, the disgust in how he said the word “witch” in her ears.
When it’s only witches left in the barn, the double doors slam closed under the wind’s surge. Savvy slumps with the weight of letting go of her power. And her dreams of a life together.
“I can’t believe he ‘Clark Kent’ed you,” Brie says.
“That would imply he’s Superman, not a lying hunter,” Savvy says, and she clings to her rage because it’s the only thing that will get her through this.
“Oh no,” Brie says in horror. Savvy can’t imagine what could provoke that response now. “You’re crying,” Brie says, accusing. She turns to the others. “She’s crying! What do we do?”
“I’m not,” Savvy says.
Savvy doesn’t cry. Ever. And if she does, it’s definitely not in front of anyone.
So when she reaches up and feels something damp on her cheek and realizes Brie is right, it’s then that she knows she can never forgive the man who reduced her to tears.
“I’ll kill him.”
“Yes,” Mother Circe says, landing softly. “They must be terminated. They know too much. They’ve all seen our true faces. We must make him an example. This is your assignment.”
Savvy does what she would in the field. She flips the switch inside herself, turns on the lights that eliminate distractions and illuminate the immediate priority.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ve got it.”
4Griffin
The scene outside the barn is nearly as chaotic as the one inside. Griffin’s mother is huddled with several other women. He removes his jacket and tosses it aside, then limps in their direction as his father heads to her and puts his hand on her arm. Roman tells her something and she nods, and turns to gather the others.
Roman waves Griffin, his brothers, and Diego toward his giant SUV, clicking the doors unlocked. They pile in, Griffin wincing at the throb from his injuries. He’s in the front, the rest in the back.
His dad peels out and speeds away from the remains of what was supposed to be the rest of Griffin’s life. What the hell just happened?
“He needs medical attention,” Diego says. “We should hit HQ.”
Griffin wants to protest, but his arm feels like he stuck it into a furnace. He slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt cuff and pulls up the sleeve. He already ripped off his bow tie to get the cloth away from the wounded spot on his neck. The skin of his forearm—just this one, randomly, spookily—is angry red with what has to be a second-degree burn, maybe third. Savvy did that. With her powers. Her witchcraft. He almost married a witch. Savvy is a witch.
“I need to go home and get my stuff before she can,” he says. “Imagine what she can do with all that.”
“No,” his father says without looking away from the road, “first we need to make sure you’ll be okay. You got the brunt of the heat. And we don’t know what—what the—”
“Magic,” Griffin supplies.
“Might mean for the injury.” His dad checks the rearview. “There’s a giant raven following us.”
A familiar, he means. Griffin shakes his head. He’s in a nightmare.
“I can’t believe this,” Diego says. Then, “I told you, man.”
Griffin doesn’t point out the contradiction. Or that Diego didn’t tell him jack shit, except that getting married was a mistake. He certainly never guessed the truth about Savvy. She acted as surprised as Griffin back there, but that has to be pretend, right? It can’t be real. She must have known what she was doing this whole time. Did the witches actively decide to blow up the accords?
Why did she have to pick Griffin? Witches always have their reasons, they’ve all been taught that. Did she think he was weak? An easy target?
She has another think coming.
The Butcher tossing around words like “hag” sure pissed them off. He’s already headed to actual higher ground, via the helicopter that was waiting outside for him. Griffin figures that’s his prerogative, after several hundred years of being on the front lines. Though it would’ve been nice to have some direction from the top on how to deal with this mess.
It’s not a mess, it’s your life. No, Griffin is too precise for that. He revises. It’s both.
“At least you found out before you went through with it,” his brother Quinn offers from the back. His suit is still perfect, as usual.
“I liked Savvy,” Jacob says with a scrub to his beard.
“I didn’t,” Diego says, flexing his fingers. The puffy gloves disintegrated when they got outside. “I knew it would never work.”
“Yes, you did like her and no, you didn’t know that.” Griffin grits the words out. Part of him desperately wants to defend her, but he can’t. Savvy is a witch, and apparently an operative of C.R.O.N.E. And Griffin didn’t just like her. He also loved her. His heart might as well be seared like his arm. She made a fool of him.
“Guys, back off,” his dad says. “What happened back there was intense. Practically unprecedented.”
Griffin is the historian and scholar here, and he has no idea what his dad is referring to. “Practically?”
“Romeo and Juliet was based on a similar situation,” Quinn says.
Griffin blinks. “That’s our version of an urban legend.”
“Is it? You never were particularly interested in literature. Or romance.”
“What did you tell Mom?” Griffin asks, wondering what she must think after witnessing everything.
“That I’d explain what I can later, and to get everyone to go home in the meantime.”
“This is a disaster.” Griffin, stating the obvious.
His dad jerks the wheel and they turn onto a road that’s completely covered by a canopy of trees. “Getting away from the familiar.”
Diego’s tapping out a message into his phone. “Big Rob will be waiting when we get there.”
“I still think we should go home first.” Except it isn’t his home anymore.
“No,” they say in chorus, so Griffin sighs and closes his eyes and doesn’t bother arguing. He sees Savvy behind them, as she looked emerging in her wedding gown. Stunning. Bewitching, even. He opens them, hisses with the pain of his injuries, and stares out the window at the passing trees instead.
Diego can’t stay quiet for more than a few minutes at a time. Today is no exception. “She was kinda hot when she was attacking us though.”
Griffin turns, despite the pain, and looks at Diego over his shoulder. Diego shrugs. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t,” Griffin says.
Jacob punches Diego in the arm. “Too soon, bro.”
Diego shrugs again, but he actually shuts up for the rest of the drive.
Griffin goes back to watching, the fields and suburbs turning to tall buildings as they reenter the city. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to close his eyes again without seeing Savvy’s face.
* * *
Headquarters is hidden in plain sight. The three-story complex far off the campus of the prestigious university it’s affiliated with, courtesy of a former provost and operative, is officially referred to as the Experimental Sciences Building. Whispers about top-secret government contracts have kept others from prying into the details.
His dad enters the basement parking garage with a card and a retinal scan. The sliding door closes behind them. The lot is nearly empty, save their fleet of vehicles, offering a variety of choices, from the fast to the huge and slow, the nondescript to the distinctive. His dad parks and makes it around the side of the car to support Griffin before the others can. For his part, Griffin leans on his dad and holds his injured arm out at an awkward angle.
Big Rob dashes out to meet them, his shadow that of a giant. He’s not quite that oversized, but he earned his nickname the honest way. You wouldn’t blink twice if he did live at the top of a beanstalk. Which is an odd as fuck thing to think, so maybe Griffin is losing it.
“Hey, brother,” Big Rob says, “you mind?”
He doesn’t wait for Griffin’s answer before sweeping a light over his arm to check it out. Then, the beam travels up to his neck.
“Hmm,” Big Rob murmurs. Before Griffin can ask a question or protest, Big Rob scoops him up into his arms, careful not to touch the blistered arm.
“I’m not a child. I can walk,” Griffin grumbles as Rob starts moving.
“Yeah, but we need to get some meds on that burn stat and you’ll be too slow.” Big Rob says it breezily. “Sorry about what happened.”
“You already heard?”
Rob glances at Diego as they advance through the garage.
Griffin groans. “Diego, how many people have you texted about this?”
“Not that many,” Diego says. “I mean, most of the people we know were there.”
“Well, stop it.” Griffin considers. “Jacob, take his phone.”
“Over my dead body,” Diego says, and then, “Hey, no.”
The sound of their scuffle as Big Rob carries him through the doors and toward the med bay makes Griffin wonder how they ever got the best of the witches in the first place. The motion-activated lights above click on, timed with their passing.
Until this morning, he’d have thought H.U.N.T.E.R. capable of whatever was thrown at it, that they were more advanced now than way back when. Their dustups since the accords have gone both ways, with each side winning some and losing others. But the way Savvy called that wind and her clear fury … that’s nothing to sniff at.
Big Rob brings Griffin into one of the shiny medical suites, outfitted with technology that might as well be magic. H.U.N.T.E.R. uses equipment and gadgets that work to counteract and absorb the stuff, as well as deploy it in necessary combat situations. When fighting supernatural forces, magic is a necessity, although they try not to rely on it.
Diego crashes through the door behind them. “Did you really have to tell him to take my phone?”
“Out, you, all of you. Everyone except the patient.” Big Rob gives a look that brooks no argument.
Griffin watches as Roman nods, puts his hand on Diego’s shoulder, and extracts him from the room.
“Thanks,” Griffin says.
“Thought you might want some quiet time.” Big Rob busies himself at the counter nearby. “Shirt off.”
“You’re a good man.” He strips his worse-for-wear dress shirt off as carefully as possible.
Big Rob turns back with a wince and a pair of long, glowing bandages. “Plus, this is going to sting.”
“Aw, shit.” Griffin can’t catch a break. When Rob says you’re going to feel anything at all, that means it’ll hurt like hell. “Go on. Get it over with.”
“You really had no idea?” Big Rob says, positioning Griffin’s arm for better access.
The question hurts like a stab, or maybe, he realizes, that’s what the bandage feels like. “What is that?”
“Bioluminescent cocktail, should kill any germs and accelerate the healing process.”
He motions and Griffin tilts his head to give him access to his throat.
“You’ve been tinkering again?” Griffin asks.
Big Rob ducks his head, almost bashful. “A little.”
“Feels better already,” Griffin says, lying. He pushes up from the table.
“No, no.” Big Rob’s big hands stop his legs before they hit the floor. “You need a breath. Take a minute to think. You just went through a trauma.” He pauses. “And the bandages need sixty seconds to be effective.”
The minute crawls by. Griffin remembers Savvy as he first saw her, and the lightning strike of the second time. He remembers the night he asked her to marry him. He tries to figure out what he missed, why he didn’t see it … or, better yet, feel that she was tricking him. Every step along the way, he got in deeper. Even though he knew it was a risk. If that’s what witches are capable of …
Again, he wonders how his organization will ever be a match for them. But we were. We always have been. They brought the witches under control in the first place. If they have to, they’ll do it again.
He thinks of one specific day, a random day, a normal day. It was the day he decided he wanted to marry her. At least in his conscious brain.
Savvy showed up at home earlier than expected. He’d just barely gotten changed after a mission. She had a leftover piece of cake from some lunch birthday thing at her work at the firm and she didn’t even ask him if he wanted a bite, didn’t need to. She sailed through the bedroom door as he stashed his dirty clothes with a fork holding a bite in her hand and she put it to his lips.
No other cake in the world made him think of weddings. That one did. And the kiss she bestowed as she pushed him back onto the bed after.
Now he goes over it again. The firm, huh? The cake might have been spelled or something, to make him pop the question.
Even as he considers it, he rejects it. Griffin asked because he fell for her. The woman, not the witch, though.
“It’s been three minutes,” Big Rob says gently. “I’m opening the door.”
They learned the lore about witches from the time they were little boys. Their greatest and most powerful enemies. The accords were their first major victory in making the world safer.
Griffin hears the med door click open after Rob unlocks it. He waits.
Nothing happens.
That can’t be good.
He levers up and onto his feet. His arm and neck are a dull throb of pain instead of a loud scream now.
Big Rob gives him a baffled look. “Where are they?”
“They’ve got bad news.”
“How do you know?”
“They had to debate who gets to tell me.”
His dad walks through at last, trailed by his brothers and Diego. “We’ve got bad news, son,” Roman says.
Griffin looks at Big Rob. See?
“Well, I’m full up over here, seeing as how I almost married a witch.”
“About that,” Roman says, and hesitates.
“Diego texted too many people,” Jacob says pointedly. “The Butcher thinks it makes us look weak if we don’t respond. There’s an assignment. For you, specifically.”
Griffin isn’t surprised by the logic. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry, I really am,” Diego says.
Griffin believes him. This must be bad. Worse than bad, given the day so far. He reaches out to take the phone his father is offering. On it, there’s a picture of Savvy and him that their wedding photographer took a few weeks ago.
In it, Savvy laughs like there’s not a care in her world. Her smile used to be the brightest thing in his.
Now an order has been added below it:
TERMINATE IMMEDIATELY.
Acknowledgments
The first thanks goes to you for reading, as always. You readers inspire me, and I hope I return it back to you. I’d also like to thank my rad in-person writing group, The Moonscribers, the entire community at the Lexington Writer’s Room (but especially Lisa and the rest of the board, and all of you who supported us during the aftermath of the fire), and fly-or-dies Kami Garcia and Sam Humphries (I had to make it witchy). My yoga group, which sometimes is the only thing helping me keep it together. And to Creatures of Whim, the local witch shop that has helped with inspiration and gift baskets.
This book wouldn’t exist without my extraordinary editors who worked on it, Tiffany Shelton and Jennie Conway, and it would never have gotten to your hands without my fabulous agent, Kate McKean, and the entire team who worked on it at St. Martin’s (Mary Moates, Erica Martirano, Oliver Wehner, Ginny Perrin, Susan Walsh, Terry McGarry, Melanie Sanders, and Janna Dokos). Also many thanks to Kerri Resnick for art direction and Natalia Agatte for the beautiful cover illustration.
And, last but not least, to my own herd of familiars and to Christopher Rowe, my in-house Superman fan, who helps keep our circus intact during deadline.
About the Author
GWENDA BOND is the New York Times bestselling author of many novels. The Match Made in Hell series, which includes Not Your Average Hot Guy and The Date from Hell, were her first romantic comedies. She co-founded the charitable efforts Creators 4 Comics and the Lexington Writer’s Room and lives in a hundred-year-old house in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband, author Christopher Rowe, and a veritable zoo of familiars made up of adorable doggos and queenly cats. Visit her online at www.gwendabond.com or @gwenda on Twitter. Or sign up for email updates here.
MR. & MRS. WITCH. Copyright © 2023 by Gwenda Bond. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.