Page 8 of Hexed & Hazy

“Good news first: it’s not a curse,” Ozan says.

Seth perks up, grinning. “Oh, hell yeah!”

But it’s too soon for him to celebrate.

“You are…” I grimace. “Hexed.”

I’m shoved between Ozan’s hulking form and Seth’s gangly legs in Ozan’s truck—not exactly the place I want to be, but we’re all going to the same location. I’m warm next to Seth, with his arm bumping against mine.

But his smile is gone, and it hasn’t returned since we confirmed his hex. A hex isn’t as serious as a curse, but for someone like Seth—without magic—it’s bound to feel more severe than it would for a witch.

Curses can ruin someone’s entire life and affect their descendants. Hexes, on the other hand, tend to create a bit of bad luck and wear off with time, given that the witch doesn’t continue feeding the spell. Even though I explained the difference to him, it didn’t do much to lift his mood, not even when I told him hexes are far easier to break.

This is the best-case scenario. He doesn’t seem to see it that way.

I lean closer to him and drop my voice, even though there’s no hope of privacy when Ozan is inches from us.

“Hexes happen,” I say. “Maple once accidentally hexed herself, you know. It’s fickle magic.”

His lips twitch at the corners. “Really?”

I nod. “Turned her hair green. This isn’t so bad, in comparison.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Well… thanks.”

He’s thanking me, but I can tell I haven’t actually done anything to make him feel better.

I turn away, staring out the windshield into the inky night. “How did you know you were hexed?”

The effects of a hex aren’t always so obvious. For some people, it’s as simple as feeling as if they’ve had a few days of bad luck. Many go months and years without realizing they’re hexed before the effects eventually wear off. The length of the hex depends on the strength of the intention behind it and whether the witch continues feeding the energy.

He sighs and looks out the window, the muscles in his neck flexing as he turns away. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Seth, not wishing to speak about something? Impossible. But I won’t push.

“All right…”

The silence only lasts a few moments.

He turns back to me swiftly. “My dates have all been flopping, and I was talking to Donnie… he mentioned a curse. As a joke. And I realized, yeah. Maybe.”

Ozan lets out a surprised laugh. “Then it sounds like you pissed one of your exes off.”

Seth shakes his head. “Something like that.”

But I know what he wants to say without saying it—he doesn’t have any serious exes that I know of. Seth may be an expert in dating, but relationships? Give me a break. I would know. I’ve seen him attend many first dates at the tavern or the café.

They rarely turn into a second.

I press my lips together to keep from saying anything. Whom he does or doesn’t date is none of my business.

Ozan parks outside our home. It’s always been bustling, though it’s quieter lately, with Aspen and Mac moving into a little cabin and Maple living with her husband.

Tonight, that’s not the case. We’re having a family dinner.

Instrumental music wafts from the place, cars are filling the driveway, and every light in the house is on. My mother’s spirit—the spirit of the hostess, the matron—washes over me, and my chest aches. It’s been almost five years since we lost her, and I still miss her.

I hope I never stop feeling that pain.