Page 67 of Bad Witch

Sliding the brittle sheet of paper aside, I pulled the one beneath it closer. Brigid’s handwriting was beautiful, sloped and swirled, each word a work of art.

I sighed, struggling to focus. After breaking my vow and using Agattealia Pontella for a purpose other than what it was intended, followed by four simultaneous deaths, then the strained interaction with Fender, and lastly, my encounter with Wendy, I was feeling confused, scared, and lonelier than I had in longer than I could remember.

The Matildas had quieted, but they wouldn’t stay that way. Wendy could be talking to the witches council now for all I knew, and I needed to call Fender, but I was putting it off.

What would I even say to him? I had no idea where to begin, so I’d been trying to find something, anything that would give me a reason to call, then hopefully it would naturally lead into the conversation we needed to have. I guess first I needed to work out what my rules and boundaries were.

Yes, Matildas throughout history had taken lovers. Matilda W had shared at least that with me, but she’d not gone into any great detail. My gaze slid to our grimoire. There were sections that had been invisible to me since Matilda W first brought me here, sections that only she could see. She said they would reveal themselves when I was ready to see them, or when I needed them.

I hadn’t looked inside the grimoire in a long time. Jumping out of my seat, I rushed to the bookshelf, slid the ancient tome from the shelf, and took it back to the kitchen table. I then opened it to the section in the middle that had always been blank—and blinked. “Holy crap.”

It wasn’t blank anymore.

In bold, black calligraphy, the word Lovers was scrawled at the top of the page.

There were entries that went as far back as we did. Instruction on how to perform various…uh, acts, and get the most out of an encounter. There were also dates and names of each Matilda’s lovers, in case one of them discovered the truth and needed their memories…blurred? Whatever that meant?

I read over it in awe. It was very graphic and straightforward, a how-to manual, really. I ran my finger down the list of rules.

1. Do not choose a lover you could become attached to.

2. Never bring them to the cottage.

3. Keep the arrangement short.

4. Remain mysterious. Sharing is dangerous.

5. Drink an infusion of ragwort, goji berry, and raspberry leaf tea with a pinch of powder from the green bottle on the second shelf. If your lover is male, it will prevent his seed from taking root.

I’d always wondered what was in that bottle. I hadn’t been able to recognize it. There was also a list of ingredients provided.

6. Finally, but most importantly, be safe. Choose a lover with a congenial disposition, someone malleable and reasonable. Observe closely before approaching. If they are gentle with animals, children, and the elderly, it is a good sign. You have the power to look into their hearts, and you must do this before entering into any arrangement. Your life, and those who rely on this coven, must always come first.

I stared down at the list. Two, three, and four, I could do. I hadn’t needed to drink the tea yet, since we hadn’t actually had sexual intercourse. I’d already done six, and seen everything I’d needed to. Fender was good. Down to his bones, he was a good male. That only left the first rule: choose a male I wouldn’t grow attached to. I bit my lip. Could I do that?

If I allowed myself to indulge in him, if I continued to let him touch me and kiss me whenever he wanted to, I had a feeling I would struggle to uphold the first rule.

That was why these rules were so important. I suddenly felt in over my head.

I turned the page, desperate for more, but it was blank. There were more secrets I was yet to learn, and I had no idea what those secrets were about.

Closing the book, I slid my phone toward me. I was a witch of my word. I’d told Fender I’d call, so I’d call. I glanced at the stack of papers beside me while I gathered my courage, and froze. Quickly sliding the top piece of paper aside, I took in the sketches scratched onto one of the pages of Brigid’s grimoire, at the figures she’d painstakingly drawn.

The first was a male cloaked in black. He was drawn with a heavy hand of dark ink. Two more figures were drawn, behind him, their bodies angled out and drawn with a much lighter hand. They looked almost like they were emerging from the figure in the front.

My blood turned to ice as it slid through my veins. My heart thudded heavily in my chest, then burst into a furious beat.

Wraiths.

Disease, Mayhem, and Annihilation.

I was looking at The Wraiths of Destruction. Powerful beings that had the ability to bring about the end of times.

I ran my hand over the page, then shot to my feet, striding away. What did this mean? Why did she have this? Why had she drawn this into her grimoire? Maybe this wasn’t relevant, but how could it not be? They were tied to all of this somehow. The death of her sisters, the weapons, the angels.

The pieces were there, I just had to work out how they all fit together. Gods, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to know what any of this meant, but it was too late now. The angels were a threat, and this…had to mean something. I pressed my hands to the table, leaning forward, needing to support myself while my mind spun with all the horrific possibilities.

Grabbing my phone, I hit Fender’s number.