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“What’s with the god’s candle? And why did it make Theo want to pee his pants?”
“They’re pure magic, formed from the wax of soul bees and wicks of unicorn hair. Only those who live in the gods’ realms, or their mates, can wield one. But they’re versatile. With the right invocation from an experienced practitioner, they can do anything from binding magic to detonating like a nuclear missile.”
“And you’re an experienced practitioner?”
“I crafted epic level spells at your age, when most of the world still moved by horse and buggy.”
“Wow.” My mom’s a legendary badass.
“Working with an elite coven the past few years has helped.”
A coven? I skip the craziest part of that statement. “When did you squeeze in coven meetings? Between your second and third shifts?”
“Thursday nights,” she says.
“What?” When she met with Ava and Val’s mothers, Rosemarie’s grandmother? “I thought you said it was a book club.”
“Grimoires count as books. Now set the table like I asked.”
With shaking hands, I arrange the black tapers at the points of the pentagram, then poke through drawers and cabinets. “I can’t find any matches.”
“Won’t need them. You have fifteen minutes to shower and change into battle clothes. It will take me that long to prepare some premade spells for our trip.”
“Battle clothes?” I ask. While I don’t want to face dying in a stained dress with blood caked in my hair, it’s not as if I keep armor in the closet.
“Something durable. Something you can move in. The last time invaders attacked the gods’ realm, I lived in the same outfit for what felt like decades. Time’s ticking. Get going.”
I head into the bathroom in the hall to shower, letting the blood run from my hair and skin to spiral into the drain while I worry about Leander. What horrors must he be facing? The castle shook like it would fall apart. What if there’s nothing left to defend?
Pushing those negative thoughts as far down as I can, I toss on leggings, a shirt that clings to my curves, and a sweater that wraps around me like a shield. I tug the sleeve up over the bracelet that Theo left, figuring Mom would’ve told me if the sigils on it hold any threat. Shoving my feet into heavy socks and boots, I head back to the kitchen as dressed for war as I can manage.
Mom snaps her fingers, and flames jump and dance atop each of the black candles on the pentagram.
My legs wobble, and I prop against the doorway before I faceplant. “Okay then.”
“Bring the bag I packed,” she says. “Before we go save your Leander, I need to know if the two of you officially sealed the mating bond.”
“Uh, I think so.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I can’t meet her gaze, focusing on the fraying straps of the canvas bag that now smells of herbs, spices, and candle wax.
“Meg, by telling me that Leander is your fated mate, you’re as good as married, and he’s the man you’re destined to love. Crap on a cocked-up cracker, I know all about sex. How else do you think you came into being? Immaculate conception?”
“Mom.” Discussing my sex life with my mother is impossible. Discussing her sex life? Nope. Not happening.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She sketches fast drawings on the table, the candles flickering in time with the lines and angles she creates. “You’ll have new magic, raw and untrained, but powerful enough we should be able to use it.”
I stop her there. “I’m a witch? Did my magic academy invitation get lost in the mail?”
“You’re a mate. Mates can manifest as much magic as their monsters with enough time and luck.”
I stiffen, my body refusing to accept anyone—even my mother—calling my minotaur names. “Leander’s no monster.”
“I know, baby girl. No more than your father is.” She tucks the god’s candle in a pocket of her flowery apron. “We have no idea what we’ll walk into, and you’ll have to be prepared to sacrifice everything for him. Be sure you’re ready.”
How could I ever be ready? I nod, swallowing the nausea that rolls through me. I left Leander only hours ago, we’ve known each other only days, yet I feel the loss of him as though the universe carved a hollow space in my chest where my heart used to be. The frantic muse energy that has had me creating for days? The buzzy happiness that looped through me? The flower petals and magic-dust glow? It’s all gone. I won’t give him or the labyrinth up without a fight. “Let’s do this.”
She chants something fast and clipped in another language that rolls on her tongue and goes guttural in her throat. The flames atop the black candles spit and waver. Then they spike to small torches. I flinch and back away, but she catches my hand, stopping me. “Theodopolis, we summon thee to this space until the task completes.”
In a flash, Theo appears in our kitchen, looking completely out of place in his fancy suit beside our ancient stove and peeling laminate countertop. “You rang?” His sensuous voice might’ve tempted me before I met Leander. Now, I only want to hear my minotaur’s deep rumble again.
