She and Hers

3 - Perverts

Chiara

Gods, I'm tired. I'm rapidly descending into migraine territory, and if Abigail Bruthers doesn't hurry the fuck up and complete this spell-

OK, Chiara. It's fine. You're the Queen of the damn coven. This silly little charm is nothing.

Only it's something because Abigail seems to think she can change her mind mid-spell. She wants a charm for good luck for her daughter as Jamie goes off to college, but now she wants it to have an extra layer of protection against boys.

All boys. As in, sneak an extra layer of warning into the spell to make Jamie seem invisible to anyone with a dick. Gods. "It's not ethical, Abby," I snap. A slick, oily cloud of blue hangs in the air in front of my lap. I'm cross-legged across the circle from Abigail. I'm so glad I wore stretchy pants today. Swallowing the bile down, I add, "witches need sex, Abigail. You've kept Jamie on a leash for eighteen years. It's time to cut the damn cord."

Abigail tears up. "That's why I want to add in the protection-"

"It's not protection," I interrupt. "It's controlling. She's eighteen, not fourteen. Leave her be." Through the ever-worsening pounding in my head, I check the sand and salt of my circle, the viscosity of the bright blue and purple liquids, and the structural integrity of the pretty necklace. I'm tempted to let the damn thing crack, but then I would just have to start this odious process all over, and I need Abigail gone from my sight before she's the one I crack.

I should have called a quarter for this and let two of my coven take some of the burden of Abigail's stupidity. Why did I think this could be a singular-woven spell?

Abigail huffs but falls silent as I seethe. My magic wavers, pushing at my control. It wants to slap Abigail as much as I do, but the coven leader can't smack her witches around. Unfortunately, smack, crack, destroy, it would be fun.

"Let's get this done. It will protect Jamie from being date-raped or slapped by some bitch. Precisely what you requested initially," I say with as much sarcasm as my splitting headache and roiling stomach can handle.

Abigail flinches. Her fear makes the blue oil waver and harden in the air before coalescing into a gel. Damnit. Doesn't this idiot know to keep her emotion at bay? "Abigail. I do not have time for this."

She agrees reluctantly with a mumbled, "sorry, Queen," and we finish the spell. With a soft chime, the mortal realm shifts just enough, and the blue oil gets sucked into the necklace in the middle of the circle. The purple liquid turns a pale grey-white as the spell is sealed inside. It's a relief to be done, but my head is still pounding.

I stand up fluidly and erase the circle from the floor. My palm scratches along the sand grain and wood. It's time to wax the floors, but I haven't allowed Sam to enter my private casting room. Who knows what my wolfman would do in here? The sand flows into the etched words on the floor, releasing the necklace and sending the sand and salt back to the earth.

Abigail picks up the necklace with a smile. "Do not add anything to the necklace," I warn her. "If you even attempt it, the magic will destabilize, and the necklace will be worthless."

She nods, thanking me, but I know that she'll try to add in her anti-boy bullshit. I warded the necklace against Abigail's stupidity, but I can never be sure how the magic will react to any attempts to tamper with the original spell.

Sighing, I let Abigail out through my office. She sails past Sam with a disdainful glance at the wolf shifter. She'd never sully her pristine body by sleeping with a wolf. The petty part of me hopes Jamie is a lesbian and has more lovers than can be counted. She-wolves and a few demon-shifters or two, preferably.