The Ex Hex (Ex Hex #1)(28)

Yep, definitely in hell.





Chapter 12




Vivi woke up to find Sir Purrcival staring at her.

That wasn’t all that unusual—he’d always liked to find whoever the last person in bed was in the mornings and snuggle in, and since Gwyn and Aunt Elaine were both early risers, that had almost always been Vivi back when she’d lived here.

What was unusual was that he blinked his yellow-green eyes at her, yawned and then said, “Treats.”

Now it was Vivi’s turn to blink.

“Dreaming,” she muttered to herself. Last night had been awfully traumatic, after all. Made sense she’d have a really vivid, really bizarre dream that felt real but wasn’t.

“Treats,” Sir Purrcival said again, butting his head against Vivi’s arm, and okay, no, this was real.

They had a talking cat.

“Gwyn!” Vivi called, scooting back a little bit in her bed, and Sir Purrcival continued to pace and turn in circles, a constant refrain of “Treats, treats, treats!” spilling from his whiskered lips.

Vivi heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Gwyn was there, still in her pajamas, her hair pushed back from her face with a brightly colored headband.

“What is it?” Gwyn asked, and Vivi nodded at Sir Purrcival.

“He talks now.”

Gwyn blinked at her, then looked back to Sir Purrcival before giving a shriek of delight and clapping her hands. “He does?”

Rushing into the room, she scooped up her cat, holding him in front of her face. “What did he say?” she asked. “Because I’ve always wanted a talking cat, and I think if any cat is going to be a stimulating conversationalist, it’s—”

“Treeeeaaaaaats,” Sir Purrcival croaked again, and then began wiggling in Gwyn’s arms. “Treatstreatstreatstreatsfoodtreats.”

“He mostly says that,” Vivi said, pushing back the covers, and Gwyn frowned at her cat.

“Okay, but maybe once he gets treats he’ll have more to say.” With that, she set him back on the bed and rushed out of the room, returning a few seconds later with the bag of cat treats. Shaking out a few in her hand, she offered them to Sir Purrcival, who gobbled them up. “Now say ‘thank you,’ buddy,” Gwyn coached.

Purrcival licked his chops and headbutted her hand. “Treatstreatstreats,” he began again.

“I think maybe that’s all he can say?” Vivi offered.

“TreatstreatstreatsTREATSTREATSTREATS!”

“I changed my mind,” Gwyn said, scrambling to give Purrcival more treats. “Talking cats are bad. I see that now.”

Then she looked up at Vivi, who was getting out of bed. “This is because of what Rhys did to the ley lines, isn’t it? Like the skulls last night.”

“It’s because of what I did to Rhys,” Vivi corrected on a sigh, her eyes falling on the duffel bag she’d hastily packed at her place last night. She couldn’t quite say why she’d decided to spend the night at Elaine’s, just that the idea of going to sleep in her apartment above the store had definitely not appealed. Now, as Gwyn muttered to Purrcival, Vivi took out the skirt and blouse she’d delicately folded into her bag last night.

“Which means that we were right—there’s a lot more bad shit to come.”

Gwyn shot her a look as she tucked Purrcival underneath her chin. “This is not bad shit,” she argued, then, when Purrcival continued to ask for treats, shrugged. “Okay, it’s not the best shit, but I still don’t think it’s evidence of a horrible curse.”

She gave Vivi another smile before carrying Purrcival to the door. “I told you, Vivi. We’re gonna fix this.”

Vivi wished she felt that confident.

She also wished she didn’t feel so damn . . . embarrassed about the whole thing. Because that’s what had kept her awake last night, staring at the ceiling until well past two in the morning. There was guilt and fear and worry, of course, all that was mixed up in there, but overriding all of it was, Rhys knows he broke my heart.

Not only that, Rhys knew he’d broken it so badly that she’d done magic over it.

And clearly he hadn’t felt the same way back then since it had never even occurred to him that she’d actually been that sad over it.

Which proved, as she’d always suspected, their fling had meant a lot more to her than it had to him. He’d probably barely thought of her over the past nine years, had certainly never googled her while kind of wine-drunk, and while there was no doubt they were still attracted to each other, Vivi was older now.

Wiser.

And the last thing she was going to do was fall for Rhys Penhallow all over again.

Fifteen minutes later, she was heading downstairs, her still-damp hair twisted up in a bun, her jacket hanging off her shoulders, and she was so focused on getting out the door that it took her a second to realize she heard voices in the kitchen.

And not just any voices.

Turning the corner, she looked at her aunt’s cozy kitchen table, the table around which she’d made candles and plucked flower petals for bath salts and never, ever eaten breakfast, and there was Rhys, coffee mug at his elbow, sticky bun in hand, smiling at her aunt.

Who was smiling back almost . . . affectionately. Indulgently.