The Ex Hex (Ex Hex #1)(43)

“Yeah, well, usually there aren’t any issues, and I’d never make anything that would hurt someone. We’re talking the lightest magic here. A potion to make your eyeliner last all day. One that makes sure you’re always on time for twenty-four hours.” She looked up at Rhys, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That one is good for finals week. Makes sure you don’t oversleep, but doesn’t do anything scary like make you stay awake for days or something. Took some tweaking, but—”

“Sam, we’re definitely impressed with your skills, but you can’t make potions and sell them to people. It’s dangerous and if the college found out, you’d be in serious trouble.”

All of Sam’s bravado popped like a soap bubble, and Rhys realized just how young she was. Nineteen, maybe twenty. Same age as he and Vivienne had been the summer they met.

Christ, he hadn’t realized just how young they were until that age was sitting right in front of him, looking like she’d been sent to the bloody headmaster’s office.

“You’re not going to tell them, are you?” she asked, turning her beseeching gaze on Vivienne. “I know you work there. With the normies, not us, but—”

“I’m not,” Vivienne said. “So long as you promise me you’ll never do it again.”

“I promise,” Sam said quickly, holding up one hand, the silver rings stacked on her fingers flashing in the fluorescent lights. “Trust me, I don’t want anything like this to ever happen again.”

She got up then, dusting her hands on her apron before adjusting her beanie, only to pause, chewing on her lower lip again.

“It’s just . . . I really don’t think it was my potion. I didn’t do anything different. Even the phase of the moon was the same when I brewed it.” She flashed them a cheeky grin. “Always make that one on the waxing moon. Because of the whole ‘growing’—”

“Right,” Rhys said, cutting her off. “We’ve got that, thanks.”

“Point is,” Sam went on, “something went wrong, but it wasn’t my magic.” She shook her head. “It’s like magic is off all over the place. Today some of the normie kids wandered into one of my classes on herb magic, and that’s for sure not supposed to happen.”

Rhys felt a headache building at the base of his skull. Curse, ghosts, now bad potions. He thought again about those lines of magic snaking out of the cave, racing toward the town, and wished he could go back in time and kick himself repeatedly in the head.

He’d known something was off. He’d felt it.

And, as usual, he’d ignored things like “self-preservation” and “common sense,” and decided to just do it anyway.

And now look where they were.

“Maybe hold off on the magic for a little while,” Vivienne suggested, coming forward to touch Sam’s arm. She looked as tired as Rhys felt, and he had to fight the urge to rest his hand against her lower back, to pull her in closer to him and let her rest her head on his shoulder.

Sam scoffed at that. “‘Hold off’?” she echoed. “That’s like asking me to hold off on breathing. I know you don’t get that since you’re not a witch—”

“I am a witch,” Vivienne said, stepping back, and Sam’s face creased in confusion.

“Wait, seriously? But you teach the normal classes.”

“Right, because—”

“And, like, obviously this dude is magic,” Sam went on, pointing to Rhys, “you can tell, but you are? Seriously?”

Rhys saw Vivienne swallow hard, and for at least the thousandth time, Rhys wished that mind-reading were one of his abilities. Of course, the way things were going right now, he’d probably be able to hear every stray thought of a person within a hundred-mile radius and lose his bloody mind, but it might be worth the risk to know what was going on behind Vivienne’s bright hazel eyes.

Her shoulders went back a little, chin lifting, and she said, “Anyway, still a witch, still think you need to be careful with your magic while things are out of sorts.”

Sam was still looking at Vivienne like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. “I mean, I knew you were related to the people who run Something Wicked, but seriously, I thought you were just—”

“So you’ve said.” Rhys cut her off as Vivienne’s eyes began to narrow. He’d been on the receiving end of that look, and wanted to save Sam from herself.

“Ms. Jones here is right,” Rhys went on. “Hold off on the magic until things have settled down a bit.”

“But why are they all fucked up in the first place?” the girl asked, and Vivienne’s face got that slightly murdery expression again that had Rhys stepping in front of her.

“They just are,” he said. “But we’re fixing them.”

He wished that were actually true. So far, they’d been at this for nearly twenty-four hours, and all they had to show for it was eye strain and possibly stray bits of ectoplasm in his hair.

Sam scowled at that, but all the same she muttered, “Fine,” before slipping past them and back out into the café.

Sighing, Rhys nearly flopped against a tall metal shelf, almost upsetting a stack of paper cups, and Vivienne moved across to lean next to him. For a moment, they were silent, both of their minds whirring.