The Fairer Hex

by Lidiya Foxglove

  “Are you jealous, Harris?” Monty asked.

  “No, I think you’re going to regret it. I think you’re going to end up fighting with each other and by the time I come back I’ll have to knock some sense into both of you.”

  “I should feel jealous,” Alec said. “But…I mostly feel like Charlotte just needs…us.”

  Monty looked at Alec and they seemed to understand each other.

  “Easy to say now before things get too serious. Enjoy Christmas with one girl, her overprotective familiar, and a stack of frozen pizzas.”

  Charlotte just needs…us.

  I had trouble sleeping that night.

  I knew Charlotte couldn’t go home and be entirely unprotected. But I wondered if the school’s wards and a skeleton staff would be enough, when some sort of demon was after her.

  When I thought about something happening to Charlotte, it felt like a hand was reaching inside me and squeezing all my guts. It isn’t that I love her or anything. I’m not jealous of those guys. They can have her.

  I just need her around to keep me on my toes. She might not know it yet, but we’re pretty well matched.

  That one day outside the house phone…she was crying.

  Damn it, I thought, as a plan started to form.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Charlotte

  We had two more weeks of school between the ball and winter break. I was still completely crushed that I couldn’t see Dad, but Firian kept me busy. We spent the whole time focusing on defensive spells.

  Okay, we spent most of the time focusing on defensive spells and sometimes we made out a little.

  What was I doing!? I knew whatever it was, it probably wasn’t extremely smart, but… He was a good kisser and he was all protective and sweet and he looked like a fae prince in a wrinkled dress shirt. Try not kissing a hot guy who wants to kiss you, day after day. Just try.

  Every day when classes ended, Firian and I either went to the library, or we found a spot in the garden to practice. It was cold outside and for some reason all the warlock dude-bros weren’t into garden strolling, and there wasn’t even a gardener to maintain the place over the winter, so I got bundled up and we went to work.

  “First thing we should do is just get control of your fire magic,” Firian said. “Fire is the most common first spell for a warlock, because it’s a human instinct to make fire, and you draw the energy to produce the magic from the sun. So it’s innate. But since you’re unusually strong, we need to be very careful not to burn the place down. I’d rather start with wind. There’s a lot of wind up on this mountain. Try to just move it around.”

  There really was a lot of wind on the mountain. It was getting brutal as we moved closer to real winter. But I flung my arms out and tried to feel it and embrace it. It was kind of like an uncomfortable yoga pose. I forced my breathing to slow down.

  When I just surrendered to the wind, a funny thing happened. I felt myself warming up inside, even as the wind whipped around me. A sense of control and power built up inside me, buoying me against the cold.

  Not yet…, I thought.

  I let that feeling build for another moment. More deep breaths.

  Something clicked and it was like I could touch the wind. I waved my arms and blew the wind at Firian. It almost carried him off his feet for a second as he was thrown back into a hedge.

  “Oops!” I dashed toward him. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  A huge, almost smug smile broke onto his face. “You,” he said, picking me up and spinning me around. “That was fantastic.”

  “Was it!?” I clutched his arms.

  “I mean, your control is terrible,” he said. “But your raw power continues to be a thing of beauty. Yes. Most witches need to practice until they find power like that. You need to practice to manage it so you don’t kill someone when you just want to get ‘em off your back.”

  “Eek.” It made me excited but nervous. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

  “With great power comes great ability to kick ass,” Firian said. “Let’s just worry about that for now.”

  “Good point.”

  Then we made out.

  I started paying more attention in class, too, even though the professors didn’t let me participate much. I realized some of the lessons had more useful information than I’d realized. Like the lessons in illusions class about changing the look of your facial hair were actually a vehicle for learning about very subtle shifts in illusion, and how to change your appearance in such a way that you could hide something without breaking the illusion over a longer period of time. I realized Professor Das had been pointing that out all along but I’d just been too stressed about everything else to notice. In necromancy class we were learning about how different funeral and burial rituals affect how you communicate with the dead later. I found myself taking a lot of notes on that too, because I started to realize I wanted to talk to Samuel Caruthers myself. I didn’t know how he had died, but now I knew some things to expect. Like, if he had been murdered he might show up in a violent rage, so I had to be prepared for that.

  I liked it more than I expected. It was like playing a fantasy game in real life and leveling up day by day as I worked at it.

  But then, Christmas break started, and all the guys were packing up and leaving the campus empty except for a tiny few who couldn’t go home and a skeleton staff to watch us. Even Cyrus left. There was one line cook in the kitchen and he would make us bacon and eggs and burgers and whatever basic stuff he could throw together to please about thirty people.

  I couldn’t even talk to Dad during this time. They put some spell on him and Grandma so they would understand why I was gone, and if I cried I might break the enchantment.

  So, no Dad jokes, no Dad pep talks, no Dad voice.

  Even with Montague and Alec there, this felt like the worst Christmas ever.

  Still, they were trying. Alec decorated the stairs with pine boughs. Monty put on Christmas music. Professor Adams came by with another tray of cinnamon buns since he knew I liked them.

  “I heard you can’t go home for Christmas, young lady,” he said. “If you need anything all all, Professor McGuinness and I are on call day and night and we are keeping special watch for demons around Lancelot House.”

  “Thanks.”

  That was sweet of him, I thought, but maybe I didn’t need the reminder that I could get a visit from a Christmas demon.

  On Christmas Eve, everyone left in the school gathered at the restaurant for a Feast of the Seven Fishes type spread (this was one of the Catholic things) and “yule cakes” (this was one of the Solstice witchy things) and a big pot of this ginger chicken curry (this was something Professor Das always left behind as a gift before he went home, said to ward off all winter colds).

  I was feeling pretty cheerful in that moment. Professor Adams and Professor McGuinness were there being sort of fatherly, walking around and checking on us, and everyone left behind was lonely anyway, so no one was being a jerk. A lot of the kids left behind were from outside the country, so they were telling the rest of us about different customs and witch dramas back home.

  “In the village where I’m from, we summon the dead on the longest night of the year,” said a senior boy named Brodie with a semi-impenetrable Scottish accent.

  “I thought that was best to do All Hallow’s Eve,” Irving said.

  “Not where I’m from. Where I’m from, they say the veil between worlds is weakest on the darkest day and it’s a custom for us all to call up the spirits of our blood. Y’only need a wee spell to do it because instead of calling someone in particular, you just light a candle and see who comes when you call. Charlotte, you should try and see if Samuel has—“

  Professor McGuinness came hustling over while I was still mentally translating his accent. “No, no,” he said. “No dead summoning outside of class! Especially not right now. Don’t give anyone ideas.”

  “It’s all right, Professo
r,” Brodie said. “We’re past the longest night so it might be that nothing happens anyway.”

  Only a wee spell? He made summoning spirits sound easy. I mean, how much trouble could a wee anything cause? And if a skinny Scottish kid and his whole family summoned the dead every Christmas, I mean…

  The door to the restaurant opened. As far as anyone knew, the only person who wasn’t inside already was the gate guard, so everyone turned as two tough looking guys walked in the door.

  “Who are you?” Professor McGuinness asked. “State your business!”

  The guy in front spread his hands. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’s cool. We work for the Nicolescu family. I already spoke to Mr. Akin at the gates. We’re bodyguards, and Master Harris told us that you have a Miss Byrne here who was forbidden to go home to her family for Christmas because she didn’t have sufficient protection. Well, the two of us are here to make sure she gets it.”

  I looked wildly at Professor McGuinness and Professor Adams to see if this was legit.

  “No fucking way,” Monty said.

  “Harris must have it bad for you! Private bodyguards?” said Irving with his annoying persnickety voice.

  “He does not!” I cried. “He’s not even here! This—makes no sense.”

  “Miss Byrne.” Bodyguard A, who was tree-sized and grim-faced but with like, flowing 90s Michael Bolton hair because apparently warlocks were incapable of being normal, came over to me. “Family is important to Master Harris, that’s all. He wanted me to tell you that he didn’t think it was right on principle for you to be forbidden by the council from seeing your father. He said he wants you in good health. We’ll drive you down tonight and drive you back to the college the next day”

  “I’m looking into this,” Professor Adams said, heading out the door.

  Harris…? He sent them?

  I get to see Dad?

  I would never have guessed in a million years that my best Christmas present ever would have come from…Harris. Was it true? Did he ‘have it bad’ for me? Like I needed that. I already had three guys and Harris was a rich ass. I mean, even the fact that he sent some hired bodyguards over just showed that we weren’t in the same world.

  So this is the deal. Now I’m going to owe him one.

  “I’m going with you,” Montague said, after taking one look at the bodyguards.

  “I am too,” Alec said. “We planned to spend Christmas with you, and I’m still not convinced it’s safe.”

  “I don’t know how I can explain this to Dad. And especially Grandma!” One look at Alec and Grandma was going to faint. Throw Monty and Firian in and this was really too much dude.

  “What if Harris didn’t even send those guys?”

  “You don’t remember me, Monty?” Bodyguard A said, tossing his hair like he knew this was the thing that would jog everyone’s memory. “You came to Harris’ fourteenth birthday party and I was there.”

  “Okay. I remember you. But I don’t actually know you.”

  “My name is Ron. That’s Dwayne.” He offered a hand. “We talked for a little while about the soccer game.”

  “Ron, you are undermining my point,” Montague said, shaking his hand. “I cannot send Charlotte off with two men that she doesn’t know.”

  “Your hand— Ah. You’re the vampire.” Ron nodded at Dwayne, who shook his head at Montague.

  “Well, I think, despite that I have no idea how I will explain this, I would feel better if you two were with me,” I said. “You can’t glamour yourself to look and sound like my female friends, can you?”

  “I think,” Alec said, leaning a little closer and oozing palpable manliness at me, “you already know the answer to that.”

  I took a deep breath at the very thought of my loud, warm-hearted but also scarily blunt and fairly old-fashioned southern grandmother encountering all three of these guys, but I would just have to roll with it. I had a long car ride to think up stories, at least.

  “Harris had bodyguards at his fourteenth birthday?” I muttered.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Harris

  My family usually spent Christmas at their winter home in Palm Beach, but this year, by some stretch of luck for my plan, the winter house was being renovated so we were having Christmas in New York for the first time in some years. This allowed me to peel off some of the permanent staff of the Villa Reale, paying them to drive Charlotte home and keep their mouths shut.

  Going home for Christmas nowadays was enough chaos that I doubted anyone was paying attention to anything going on outside of the house.

  My parents had popped out seven kids in nine years, truly living up to the royal legacy of my mother’s line, so I had two sisters in college, one apprenticing to be an enchantress, one getting married, and one pregnant with her first child. Then there was my sister Annabelle who was the family ‘black sheep’, a college dropout who had a half-demon boyfriend. I knew her and my mother would be engaged in a passive aggressive battle for the whole vacation.

  Yeah, so…I hope Charlotte gets to see her dad. And I hope she appreciates it.

  Because one thing my parents would notice was if I didn’t come home. There was no way I could enjoy any of the fruits of my sacrifice.

  Flying didn’t agree with warlocks, so a car had been sent for me days ago, driving through the mountains and bringing me back to my childhood home, a Gilded Age mansion with three floors of furniture and paintings from the old world. It was one of those houses you could lose yourself in, full of things that had terrified and fascinated me and my sisters as kids: the 16th century painting of some ancestor who died at age 12 in the parlor, actual Renaissance furniture in the dining room, repaired whenever a piece broke by one of the only artisan furniture warlocks in the world, and in the family chapel, a box containing the bones of a witch who was either hung at a witch trial in Austria or killed in the Spanish Inquisition depending on which family member you asked.

  The house was given the rather harmless name of “Ladyswald”. It was built in the woods for the wife of my mother’s ancestor Thomas von Hapsburg. As a kid I just assumed everyone lived in huge houses full of creepy shit until I was sent off to boarding school and met other kids.

  It wasn’t long before I met Alec and Monty. We became fast friends, and I dreaded vacations. When I was at school I could be myself, but when I was home, my parents kept royal airs as if they still ruled something or other, even though the authority of magical royal families had started dissolving about the time of the Industrial Revolution. That was when magic really started losing some of its teeth.

  Still, we had money and we had power, and as long as my parents could hold onto it, inside of Ladyswald they could act however they wanted. My house had more of a dress code than school did. My parents had all the warmth of parents in an old British children’s book.

  It wasn’t so bad. At least they didn’t pry into my feelings about anything.

  “So, you have decided on Daisy,” my mother said, at dinner.

  “Oh good! I like Daisy,” said Helena, my favorite sister (fifth girl out of six, three years older than me).

  “I think I have, yes,” I said. “She just seems like the logical choice. When she steps into her grandmother’s shoes, she will be one of the most powerful witches in the world.”

  I could see Helena looking disappointed at me for not sounding more genuinely enthusiastic. She wanted Daisy and me to be happy.

  “Let’s hope she does,” my father said in a low voice.

  “She will,” my mother said. “She is an ambitious girl, despite her…unruly side. Well, it is hard when one’s parents are out of the picture.”

  “Daisy is very young to take on…such a role,” my father said. “How much longer is her grandmother going to live? She should have had a mother.”

  “Well, naturally, she should have had a mother,” my mother said. “That goes without saying. It’s very sad. Nevertheless, she will do it. Harris, has she ever given any in
dication that she would not?”

  “No,” I said. Which was true. But Daisy just never talked about the fact that when her grandmother died, her powers would be passed on. Daisy would become the great diviner of the North American continent. She would take on one of the most important jobs in the magical world: sensing out spots where the passage between worlds was still intact, and advising the councils as to where to send their witches and warlocks to protect them and keep them in the hands of the Ethereals.

  It was such a lonely, isolating job that it was hard to imagine Daisy doing it. I would likely work my way up the council ranks, but she would be spending most of her time in solitude and silence, peering into mirrors and pools, under heavy guard.

  I had this sense of dread when I thought about it, but she must have it even worse. Anyway, what mattered was that she would keep the power in her family, and be handsomely rewarded for it, while my family continued the tradition of marrying only the most powerful.

  “Now, is it true that you’ve still been hanging out with Monty Xarra?”

  “Well, it’s a small school and I can hardly tell Alec not to hang out with him,” I said.

  “He should never have been released,” my father said. “Vampires. When I was a kid, they wouldn’t have let any vampire attend Merlin.”

  “Treatments have improved a lot since you were a kid, Dad,” said Lucia, my oldest sister.

  “But he is immortal,” Mother said. “And touched by the Sinistral realm. His familiar is dead. He is not one of us.”

  “Here we go,” Annabelle said, stabbing her cauliflower.

  “What is that?” My mother looked at her sharply.

  “I said, here we go. You won’t even give Rex a chance. And you’ve known Monty since he was a little kid and now he’s shunned just because something bad happened to him.”

  “No one told him to go to Mexico,” Mother said.

  “It’s not like there are more vampires in Mexico than other places!” Annabelle yelled. “It could happen to anybody, anywhere! Listen to yourself.”