Page 6

She let out a breath and dropped back into her seat around the huge, scarred wooden table. “Okay, next question…dude, where are your pants?” Bram, Magnolia’s familiar, bobbed his feathered head from his spot on her shoulder. Bram was a crow shifter, and in his human form—let’s just say he’d scared the shit out of me several times, lurking around the place like a massive, dark shadow.

Mags was eighteen, the baby of the family, and in her final year of high school. She also worked part-time with our great aunt, making herbal remedies, potions, and tonics that I sold in my shop, The Cauldron.

“I didn’t have time to put them on,” I muttered and plonked into the chair closest.

“I hope you’ve got undies on or we’ll have to bleach that,” Iris said, passing me a mug of coffee while rubbing Nia’s head. Nia was Iris’s familiar, a German Shepherd, not a shifter, and we all loved on her regularly.

“Nope, not bare-assed,” I said and would have rolled my eyes if I’d had the energy. Iris was twenty-three, the second eldest, after me, and three years younger. She could be reckless, especially when it came to protecting her family, and she was also a neat freak. I lost sleep over her regularly.

“Bunch of prudes,” Else said, limping into the room. Elswyth Thornheart was seventy-two, our great aunt, and the most sarcastic being I’d ever encountered. Her name meant “elf from the willow tree,” which was where my name came from, a gesture from my mother since Else didn’t have any children of her own. My sisters were named after flowers, just like my mother and grandmother had been.

Else put her hand to my forehead and shoved a thermometer in my mouth. “You look like shit.”

“Gee thanks.” Her familiar had been killed protecting her a long time ago. She’d lost a leg during the incident. We didn’t know exactly what happened, she wouldn’t talk about it, but it had to have been pretty bad.

“Are you feeling okay?” Rose asked from her seat beside me, giving me a sympathetic look. Roe was twenty-one, and honestly, the only one of us that wasn’t a bit of an asshole. I mean, my family was awesome, but we’d inherited our sense of humor from Gran and Else. The only person in this family who gave anyone sympathy was Roe.

My stomach tightened at how tired she looked this morning. For witches, three was a power number, the most important number. My mom had four kids, throwing the balance off when Magnolia was born, and for some reason, Rose was the one paying the price. That was what we assumed, anyway. Her illness was a complete mystery, and none of us knew what to do to make her better.

Which was another reason I was determined to complete my task and win my final trial. More power meant more to go around, right?

A coven that didn’t grow in strength over the centuries became a target for those that did. No way was I letting that happen.

Roe also didn’t have a familiar. We’d tried to tell her they were out there somewhere, that they’d find her, but none of us believed that, not anymore. Now we made a point not to talk about it because it hurt her when we did.

I gave Roe’s hand a squeeze and forced a smile. “I’m fine, Roe.”

“Keep your mouth shut. It won’t be accurate if your jaw’s flapping the whole time,” Else said, pushing the thermometer deeper into my mouth. “Last time you got that wicked fever. I’ve come up with an elixir that should knock it on the head.”

I shut my mouth and sat there while she watched the clock.

Finally, she slid the old-school thermometer from my mouth and looked down at it. “Huh?”

“What?”

“It’s normal.”

“Why do you look so disappointed?”

She shrugged. “I was looking forward to trying out the elixir. Me and Mags worked on it most of the day.”

Magnolia hid her grin behind her mug.

“Your concern over my health is heartwarming, truly.” I glanced at Iris. The traitor was smirking as well.

“He was there,” Ren said, scowling.

“Ren,” I warned.

“Who?” my mother asked as she walked in, Arthur right behind her. Arthur was mom’s familiar, an owl shifter that preferred his human form. He was middle-aged with dark brown skin, cropped hair, and kind brown eyes. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he loved us all. And puttering around the cemetery gardens with Mom was his most favorite thing to do in the world. It had also become obvious a long time ago that he was completely in love with Mom. I had no idea if she felt that same way, but the longing in his eyes when he looked at her was torture to watch sometimes.

“Warrick,” Ren announced, ignoring my warning completely.

My mother brightened. Daisy Thornheart was a hopeless romantic, hopeless being the operative word, which wasn’t surprising, considering our history. Our shitty luck with men was first documented around the 1400s. Back then, they used local place names, occupations, or sometimes nicknames to create what became a family’s surnames. Ours came from the jilted lover of one of my ancestors. He yelled at the top of his lungs that she had a heart of thorns. It caught on. Eventually, it became Thornheart, and here we are.

And that shitty luck carried on down the line. In fact, Iris, Mags, Roe, and I all had different fathers because our mom tended to fall for any loser who gave her a second look. All four of our sperm donors were complete and utter losers. We were pretty sure Arthur had finally cracked and gotten rid of Mag’s father himself. Mom had hidden it, but the fucker had been verbally abusive until it became more. He hurt Mom so badly he put her in the hospital.

The prick vanished after that.