Page 83 of Spell Ya Later

“Would you like me to tell the story, Peanut, or would you like to tell your family how your husband’s death was your own fault?” he asks, drawing out each word and playing with it like a cat with a mouse.

The daemons shift beside Noah’s limp body. Their cloaks cover their features, but the one closest stretches his claws.

“Donottouch him,” I say, unable to stop the possessive growl. “Unless you wish to know a fate worse than death.”

Mom takes Grandma’s hand without warning, closing her eyes. “Away with you, daemons.”

A rumble jostles my footing, knocking Laura and I together, as a crack in the earth opens beneath the three daemons. A wave of water springs forth from the hole in a giant crescent, enveloping them and pulling them down. It happens in an instant, just a second. We’re alone with Draven. No longer outnumbered. They didn’t even have a chance to scream.

Draven simply blinks at the display. “And you claim I’m dramatic.”

It’s as if he expected it, as if he knew exactly what she was capable of. Which is more than I can say. My mouth may be permanently stuck to the floor.

“Did you know she could do that?” Laura whispers, jaw in a similar state as mine.

I simply shake my head in response. Even Grandma looks slightly impressed, and I’m pretty sure Grandma has never been impressed by anything. Least of all by Mom.

Mom takes a single step forward. “Give him to me, Draven.”

It’s as if her proximity flicks a switch in his head. His face twists in pain, as if he was punched in the gut. As if that single step forward was the most painful thing he’s ever endured. As ifsheis the most painful thing he has ever endured.

His hands ball into fists, shoulders squaring. His chest visibly heaves with each deep breath, as if he has to physically control himself.

“Not until you tell them. That is my price. Tell them what you’ve done, and I’ll hand him over willingly.”

“Tell us what?” I scream. They’ve been dancing around it for the entire time, whateveritis. And I won’t lose Noah to it.

Mom’s head drops, arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“I’ll start at the beginning.”

“It beganwhen I was a young woman. I’d moved out of your grandmother’s house and had my first real taste of freedom,” Mom says, turning to face the three of us. Her usually liquid-gold brown eyes are dull, muddy as she speaks.

“I played with magic in new ways, tested boundaries and learned so much about myself and about my craft. I explored the magical world, met magical people...” She hesitates, glancing toward Draven. “Met Draven.”

Grandma’s hand flies to her décolletage. “Oh, Sarah.”

Mom shrugs. “Draven was interesting and intelligent, dangerous but I never felt unsafe. I felt powerful as he showed me magic I had only imagined. A part of me always knew that it wasn’t sustainable. That we were too different. That eventually it would drive us apart.”

The words hit like an expected punch. Some part of me knew it was coming, and yet I didn’t block it. Couldn’t.

“Liar,” Draven snarls. He’s still here? “We are two sides of the same coin, and you never thought we were different until you met him.”

“Dad,” Laura and I say at the same time.

My gaze settles on Noah, where he lies unconscious on the ground. What would I have done if I were already in a relationship when I met Noah? The soulmate bond is too strong. I wouldn’t have been able to fight it.

“I met Peter by happenstance.” Despite the mood, despite the circumstance, the corners of her mouth lift at the mere mention of Dad. “I was at the grocery store, and we reached for the same avocado. I instantly knew who he was, what he was. What Draven wasn’t and never would be. Meeting Peter changed me. I wanted to do better, be better, for him. Stop dabbling in magic I had no business touching. And Draven...Well, I knew that it was time to put that friendship away.”

He scoffs. “Trying to downplay what we were asfriendship.”

Mom stands taller, as if his rebuttal strengthened her resolve. “Friendship. Don’t make it out to be more than it was.”

He snarls, smoke streaming from his nose.

“As you can see by this display, Draven didn’t take it well,” she says. “But there was nothing he could do. And I thought we could go our separate ways relatively peacefully, but I was wrong. It took a few years—years of him doing God knows what, years in which I stupidly got comfortable. Built my family, had you girls. Then the attacks started. I knew it was Draven, before Mother volunteered us to take care of this issue. I knew it was him.”

Grandma shakes her head. “You knew the warlock we banished wasn’t Draven.”