Page 37 of Too Hexed to Handle

‘I wasn’t –’ I glance back to find Damian has already disappeared, the crowd filling in the space left behind, crushing me against Astin. ‘I wasn’t in trouble.’

‘I don’t trust him.’ Astin’s hands tighten on my waist, pulling me until my whole body is lined up against his. He’s warm where Damian was not, soft in all the right places, but I can’t fully appreciate it when he wouldn’t have asked me to dance if it weren’t for Damian. Damian, who hadn’t hesitated to ask, who heard me say, I’m tired of watching, and understood exactly how I felt and wanted to fix it.

To Astin, all I say is, ‘You don’t trust anyone.’

‘I trust you.’ The response comes so quickly it gives me whiplash. Especially when it can’t be true. The man loves nothing more than to tell me all my decisions are terrible. As if sensing my bemusement, he adds, ‘I trust you always mean well. Damian, on the other hand, was cagey when I asked questions about the cure.’

Probably because I’m the sole person he told about his Souleater murder plan. If only Damian knew his real kindred spirit lay in Astin. I settle for twisting in Astin’s grasp, and saying, ‘Well, consider me sufficiently rescued. You don’t have to dance with me.’

To my surprise, he doesn’t let go. ‘It’s okay. We can stay till the end of the song.’

I don’t point out that a new song has just started, slower than the last. Maybe this is still some misguided attempt to keep me safe, but my heart is doing more acrobatics than the performers dangling from the walls, and I allow myself to sink into his embrace. One of his hands glides up my back before tangling itself in my hair. I loop my arms around his shoulders, unable to take my eyes off him, and the way he presses me closer leaves me imagining that this can’t all be for the sake of protection. There’s no crease of displeasure in his brow any more, and his eyes are dark, solely focused on me, as though the crowd around us have melted to nothing.

I swallow. Part of me wishes this – whatever this is – wasn’t happening. Now that I’ve been in his arms, it’s going to be ten times harder returning to a world where I don’t belong in them.

‘Can I ask you something?’ he says, next to my ear. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about your hex?’

I freeze, falling out of rhythm, and he’s forced to spin me in a circle to get me back in time before answering, ‘Why would I? You’ve never told me yours.’

‘I know, but . . .’ His fingers curl against my waist before he shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re right. It’s not my business.’

The way he’s holding me makes it feel very much his business.

I gulp. ‘That’s why I chose to stay at the inn. I thought, if I’m around guests who come and go, I’ll never meet anyone and get . . . tempted.’

His gaze drops to my mouth, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He doesn’t come and go. And I am tempted every day.

‘I witnessed Michael die and I won’t go through that again.’ I fight to keep my voice steady. ‘I can’t get into a situation where one day I forget I’m a walking death sentence and accidentally kiss someone. I’ve made my peace with it. Now I help others find love instead. And it’s fine. Really.’

He frowns like it’s anything but fine. To lighten the mood I add, ‘And to think, Grandma always said she’d be the one to die horny and alone. If only she knew.’

Astin’s the one who stumbles this time, nearly sending us tumbling into the couple to our left, and it’s only when we’re sure-footed once more and he is actively avoiding looking at me, that I realise what I’ve said. Oh, hexes. Oh no. That is not what I meant.

‘Because of her hairstyle, I mean,’ I say, the words tripping over my tongue in my haste to get them out. ‘She used to wear it twisted up like . . . and after Grandpa died she would joke . . . but she wasn’t . . . not that I’m saying I am, I mean . . . I’m alone, but I’m not the other thing.’

I don’t think a single word of that made sense. My whole face is on fire. Astin is staring at me like I have, in fact, grown horns, which would honestly be better. A set of anything protruding from my head would be less mortifying than having this conversation.

After letting me panic for several seconds, he smirks. ‘Well. If you were, there’d be ways to solve that without kissing.’

The flames on my face have reached fever pitch. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’m aware.’

‘Really?’ Something flares in his eyes, like my burning has lit a match in him too. He tugs me closer. ‘Good to know.’

The heady scent of spice fills the air, pepper with undertones of something sweeter, stronger and surer than anything I’ve sensed from him before. A roaring fills my ears, one that sounds like alarm bells and the beating of wings; a reminder of what’ll happen if this continues. And yet I’m rising on tiptoe anyway, rocking towards him, and he isn’t moving away, the fingers splayed across my waist tightening, twisting in the fabric of my dress as though they want to tug it off. His pupils are so dilated all I see is black.

The clinking of glass makes us jump, and we jerk apart. Astin clenches and unclenches his now empty fists, and I can’t tell if it’s because he misses holding me, or because he wishes he’d never had me between those palms in the first place and wants to rid himself of the memory.

I search for the cause of the clinking, to find Damian standing in front of the musicians with a goblet in hand. So lost in Astin, I hadn’t heard the music stop.

Damian taps the glass one more time and the crowd settles, although the buzz of anticipation I scented earlier grows stronger. Their fear of his gloves has diminished in the face of the various rewards he’s promised, and now their excitement is tinged with the stench of metal and greed as we await instruction on how to reach the riches we desire.

‘Good evening,’ he begins. The words alone are enough to cause applause to break out, and he closes his eyes, basking in the sound, as though their new-found rapture sustains him the way emotions fuel a Souleater.

When the cheering subsides, he gestures around the courtyard. ‘This castle used to be nothing but rock and ruin, and now it gleams brighter than it did under any king. What you see before you is merely a taste of my abilities. I have already spoken with you individually, and confirmed I have the power to give you everything you require. Whoever successfully retrieves Clarabelle’s lost cure and places it in my hands will be rewarded beyond measure. I have come into possession of some documents that confirm the Souleaters stole the potion from Clarabelle after its creation, and hid it away, sealed by magic. To open the doors, you will first need to locate two items –’ He cuts off when something catches the corner of his eye. If I thought he was pale before, it’s nothing to how he appears now, the last dregs of colour draining from his face as his gloves tighten around his goblet. People turn to see what he’s looking at.

‘Further instructions will be delivered to your rooms at dawn,’ he says, tone clipped.

Immediately, outraged cries break out.