The Family Spells: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  "Hopefully she's not in a mood," Caine growled, as Argent cast him an evil glance over his shoulder. His skin was sparkling in the low light, casting strange shadows where there should be none. I could smell him from here: like a dark, wet forest floor, earthy and deep but not unpleasant. Grace said he smelled like heaven. Personally, not my thing. "Try not to suck anyone dry while we're up here," Caine continued, showing a bit of wolf fang as he picked on me next. I retaliated by flashing some of my own pearly whites. In a battle of the canines, it would be a close fight. Good thing I didn't have to fight Caine … anymore. When I'd joined the family, we'd gone toe-to-toe on more than one occasion. If I hadn't been a goddamn vamp, I'd have the scars to prove it.

  "Mom," Graceley called out, carefully tiptoeing down the hall at the same time she let go of our hands. She peered around the corner of her mother's doorjamb, and then tapped lightly on the door to announce herself. "I've got the boys with me."

  "Come in, honey," Abigail, the Mother of Coven Apothecary, called out. Bedridden as she was, she was a hell of a lot less intimidating than she was when sitting with the other members of the Three: the Crone and the Maiden. All witch covens were governed by three women: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. The Mother was the favorite position, the true leadership opportunity in the Three, although every Coven knew: it was the Crone who was ultimately in charge. A Coven lived or died based on the actions of their Crone. "Broom fell. I knew you'd be paying me a visit today."

  Abigail Spells didn't look much older than her daughter, like an elder sister maybe, instead of a mom who was a good sixty years older than her kid. She had long, red hair without a hint of gray, and a face similar to her daughters' but sharper, more severe, like she had the same genes but had lived a different life.

  "What happened? I can sense something happened this week."

  "Goddess, Mom, cut right to the chase why don't you? No ‘how are the kids’ or ‘how’s the shop doing’ or—"

  "Your soulmate," Abigail gasped, leaning forward to grab her daughter's arm. "Please tell me it's true." I crossed my arms over my chest as Caine let out an annoyed snarl. Having a mother-in-law who was occasionally prophetic was annoying as fuuuuuuck. She knew our wife was pregnant before we did—and told the entire coven, too.

  "Mom," Graceley started, folding her hands in her lap and staring entirely too hard at her black-painted fingernails. "Don't steal my thunder, let me tell the story, okay?" Abigail sat back in her pillows, looking entirely not sick from the waist up. But I knew what lay beneath: her flesh was rotting, starting at the toes and slowly, slowly working its way up. It'd already progressed to her waist. Last I heard from her husband, Grace's mother had lost both feet, and the ability to go to the bathroom by herself.

  It was getting bad.

  And we still had no idea who'd cast this spell on her.

  Casting a curse on any one of a coven's leaders was equivalent to declaring war.

  As soon as we had answers, blood would be shed.

  Speaking of blood, I could not take my eyes off of Grace's perfect, pale neck, or the luxurious curve of her back …

  And fuck, there was my cock again—hard as a friggin' rock.

  With a frown, I turned away and caught sight of myself in the mirror. One day, when I died, I'd lose my reflection. For now, it was still there, peering back at me with pale eyes, dark hair, and tattoos painstakingly etched in vampire blood.

  "He walked into the shop last week," Grace began, and she wasn't a full fucking minute into the conversation before Abigail took over.

  "He just walked in?!" she asked, sucking in a deep breath, and pushing red curls over her shoulder. It was weird, like watching my wife speaking to her twin. I knew that one day, our daughter would be grown, and Graceley would be just as beautiful as she was now, and I'd get to see this same scene painted over again—with the addition of a new generation in tow.

  That is, if the curse didn't kill Abigail first.

  It was a curse that'd taken Grace's grandmother.

  To be honest, I had some selfish reasons for making sure my wife wasn't next. Not only was I afraid there was some sort of genetic curse to the women in this family—Grace's great grandmother and great-great-grandmother had both died from curses—but I also didn't want her to end up taking over the role of Mother.

  She was already acting as High Priestess, being the Mother was too much. Once a witch became one of the Three, she only lived and breathed for the coven. I wanted my fucking wife for myself.

  "This is fate, it has to be …" Abigail whispered as Grace sat silently by and waited for a turn to speak. I knew the woman was suffering, and that her curse was beyond horrific, but it was more than just that. Abigail Spells had spent three decades keeping her daughter on a tight leash. As much as I sympathized with her plight, I still didn't like her attitude. "When can he be here?"

  "He's not coming," Caine interrupted, stepping forward, his amber eyes flashing. "He doesn't want anything to do with us."

  "But, but, but," Gracely interrupted, lifting a finger in the air. "He's going to help us cure you."

  "Is he now?" Abigail asked, narrowing her green eyes, the shade identical to her daughter's. "He wants nothing to do with you, but he'll cast soul-circle magic? Why wouldn't a witch be interested in his soulmate? That makes no sense."

  "He's a half-demon from Coven Wyrmwood," Grace said, looking out the window at the darkening sky. I could hear the squeals of children from downstairs, and I smiled. I never wanted kids before, but I was pretty into them now. Especially our firstborn, Zavier. He would sit for hours and just watch things grow with his magic. The most he could accomplish at this age were a few daisies in the lawn, but it was miraculous nonetheless.

  "Hats and cats," Abigail cursed, putting her head in her hand. Her husband (her only husband), Giles, moved quietly into the room, and set down a tray with all the proper fixings for tea. She waved him off, but he just stood by her side, again looking more like Grace's brother than her father.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, the alarm in his voice chilling any annoyance I had toward Abigail. I had to remember we were walking on eggshells here. Grace’s mother might not make it—especially if her fate rested in the hands of that asshole on the motorcycle. "Is there something I can get for you?”

  “We better look at selling the house and closing the shops,” Abigail said as Grace gaped at her. “Call Coven Northbank and tell them—"

  “We don’t need Coven Northbank,” Grace said, glancing over at me for help. I was the only one in the family Spells who could talk to Abigail and her husband without starting a family feud. She turned back to her mom to show off the magic mark on her wrist. “We made a bargain, Mom,” she continued, but Abigail didn’t look at all convinced.

  I stepped forward, out of the shadows like some clichéd movie vamp, and curled my hand around the wooden slats in the footboard.

  "Grace made a promise that she’d do whatever it took to get you better, and if she made a promise, she intends on keeping it." I stood there staring at Abigail Spells, locking eyes with the second-most powerful witch in Coven Apothecary. "Give us some time, and we’ll bring him here to meet you."

  "You'll bring him here? A demon from Coven Wyrmwood?" Abigail looked at me like I was nuts, but if Grace said she was going to do something then she would damn well come through with it. I knew my fucking wife.

  At least, all of Abigail’s ire was now directed at me. She glared at me as if I were … well, Caine or Argent.

  "Look, we're just as disappointed as you are about all of this, but it's not like we have a lot of options." I leaned forward and saw Abigail bristling. She did not like being frail and at the mercy of others, and I couldn't blame her for that. She was my wife's mother and the mother of our coven—I would do whatever it took to make sure that she got better. "This deal, it will get us what we need, and nothing that we don't."

  "You don't know that," Abigail whispered, her voice rough; I could tell t
hat she was in pain. Serious, serious, pain. "I know you think you're wise beyond your years," she said, still staring at me, "but I'm far older than you, and I've seen things that would have you rolling in your coffin." I narrowed my eyes, because that coffin bit was a load of bullshit. At least, it was until you died. Or rather, became undead. "I wouldn't trust a witch from Coven Wyrmwood unless I were nothing but worms—and even then it's questionable. But I'll give you two weeks, and we'll see." Abigail looked over at her husband, Giles, and they shared one of those looks that only soulmates experience, and even then only after many, many years.

  "Are you sure you have two weeks left?" Giles asked softly. The way he looked at his wife, it reminded me of the way I look at mine. If Abigail died, then Giles would die, too—at least on the inside. He’d never be the same again.

  Abigail sat up straighter in bed, and curled her still perfect hands around the edge of the comforter, fingernails digging into the quilt. "Two weeks," she repeated, "but that's cutting it close. If he can't help us, we are selling the houses and the shops, and we are hiring Coven Northbank." Abigail gave her daughter Grace a calculating look. This was a test: if Grace failed this, then there was no future for her in Coven Apothecary.

  Two weeks to fix Hex's, uh, penile problems and build enough of a rapport with him to cast the spell for mom did not leave us with any extra downtime.

  No, we needed to get started, and we needed to get started now.

  "I've called him four times, texted him six. Why the fuck isn't he answering my messages now? He sure had enough time to text me and confirm he needed a spell to help with his E.D.," I grumbled as the twins trotted around the shop on all fours. Inevitably, I'd find something they pissed on, but that was just part of raising werewolf-witch babies.

  "Clearly, he has every intention of dragging out this bargain for his own advantage." Argent shoved a few spellbooks into place and then turned to glance over his shoulder at me, his mint green hair hanging down his back in a glorious silken sheet. He'd braided a small amount on the right side, threaded it with jewels and bones, then tied it off with sinew of some sort. I didn't ask what kind of animal it was from; I didn't want to know.

  The fae could be seriously fucked-up.

  "I should've let you do it, is what you're trying to say?" I asked as Argent scooped up the furry, waggling body of his son and just narrowly prevented getting piss on the brand-new box of books at his feet. "Never bargain with the fae," I whispered ominously, putting in a special rush order of supplies for that E.D. spell.

  If Hex hadn't been an ass, and asked for my help when he was at the shop the first time, I could've whipped up a very simple cantrip and had him cured within the hour. But, based on his expression during the visit with his grandmother, the curse or affliction or whatever it was, had progressed. I wanted to be sure that I had the right stuff to uphold my end of the deal—just in case.

  "All I'm saying is that the man sounds like an insufferable ass." Argent hauled twin one up in his arms, and then snuck around the corner of the shelving unit to grab twin two before she could bolt. He stood back up with one under either arm and narrowed his charcoal gray eyes on Caine as the werewolf waltzed in the front door with his flannel shirt undone.

  "Takes one to know one," he growled as Argent wrinkled his nose up and Caine smirked. He turned his amber eyes on mine as he shook out his dirty blonde hair. It was wet from the rain, making it look even darker than usual, but he still had those bright highlights from the sun that I loved so much.

  "I concur with that statement," Argent said with a roll of eyes. He moved over to the counter, sat the twins on top of it, and then pointed at the leashes and harnesses hanging on the wall. I passed them over so he could suit the twins up and run out to pick up Zavier from preschool and Fey from daycare.

  We rotated pick-up and drop-off, so that no one person got burnt-out on it. It was a weekly cycle, but I'd say a good half the time we ended up going in pairs anyway. Made the chore much more bearable like that.

  "You're all insufferable assholes, as far as I'm concerned," Bastet purred, cleaning her paw and glaring at my husbands with bright yellow eyes. She sat on her shelf behind the counter, flattening her ears, and doing her best to look menacing. At a whopping thirty pounds, I wasn't exactly terrified but I had had customers get startled and leave in a hurry—mostly humans.

  "You're a cat—you're an asshole, too. That's common knowledge: all cats are." Caine smirked and tousled his hair again, probably just for dramatic effect since he knew how much I liked it. My heart was thundering a million miles a minute, but I focused my attention on my phone and the order I was placing instead.

  "Dear Sir, I am a serval which is hardly the same thing as a simple cat." Bast stood up and stretched her long limbs as she yawned. "Do you need any rodents for your spell? Rat tails, mouse tails, squirrel heads?" She looked back at me with her big, round eyes, as if to say please tell me I can go kill something.

  "I need robins' eggs, and a few raven feathers," I hedged, giving a little shrug. I felt bad about sending my familiar out to murder small animals, but … spells were very particular in their ingredients. Now, there had been a recent movement toward vegan spells, but they weren't as established yet. The more times a spell was cast, the more powerful it became. And to fix Hex's dick problems, I needed something strong.

  "Consider it done." Bast leapt down from the counter and made her way behind the shimmery purple curtain with the Employees Only sign hanging over it. She disappeared from view, but I could still feel her. A witch and their familiar were never far apart, even if great distance separated them; our souls were bound.

  "I'm off to get the kids," Argent said, putting the twins on the ground. Within about two seconds, their leashes were tangled and they were snarling at each other. Ah, the joy of raising werewolf babies! "If you get ahold of the demon, and he decides to stop by, keep him here long enough, so I can meet him."

  "Trust me: you don't want to," Caine growled in a low voice, grabbing a stack of books from Argent's abandoned box and filling the shelves with them. It'd taken many years for us to get to this point, where the guys and I functioned as a unit, but blessed be: when it worked, it was amazing. When it didn't … eh, all couples have problems, right?

  "Don't want to, what?" Spectre asked, coming out of the back with several boxes marked Village Witch hoodies. We sold so many of those, I'd just put in an order for cups, bags, and bumper stickers. And honestly, most of the people we sold them to were humans. Go figure.

  "Meet that piece of shit demon asshole," Caine said as Spec dropped the hoodies off next to the empty wooden rack in the corner. "You saw him for all of two seconds. Wasn't that enough to get a bad impression?"

  Spec pursed his lips a moment, and then reached up to run his fingers through his dark purple hair. His lavender-ash eyes watched me closely for a moment before he bent down to open the cardboard box with one, slightly sharp, black fingernail.

  "I think we should all meet him, and spend some time together."

  "Are you fucking kidding me?!" Caine roared, causing the twins to howl like wolf cubs. "You're always taking the good guy card, Spec. Fuck you for that. You know this guy is bad news. The sooner we're done with him, the better."

  "He's not just Graceley's soulmate; he's ours, too. I think you sometimes forget that." Spec picked up a stack of sweatshirts and started hanging them up on the wooden hangers. Caine just glared at him, his amber eyes flashing, before he turned away with a violent scowl. He was muttering something under his breath, but Spec ignored him. "Before we write him off and move on with our lives, we should at least try to get to know the guy."

  "Suit yourself," Caine snapped, sounding far more beast than human.

  Argent and I exchanged a look as I sighed. He moved over behind the counter, dragging the twins on their leashes.

  "Fuck both of them," he whispered, brushing some of my red hair back. When Argent leaned in to kiss me, that he
artbeat of mine that was already thundering out of control went crazy. Didn't matter how long I'd been with him, or how old I got, he still knew how to turn me to mush with a kiss.

  Our lips met in this slow, languid press, just a bit of his tongue tracing my lower lip. He then pulled back, kissed both corners of my mouth, and stepped away. Just a tease. But, fuck, he tasted like wildflower honey and fresh rain, and he smelled like lilac and ginger. Underneath Argent's personal scent, I tasted the unique whisper of fae magic.

  "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, stepping back and clucking his tongue for the twins to follow along behind him. The bells on the door gave their merry tinkle as I stared at the new glass in the window. It was temporary, until we could get some custom stained glass put in. The new clear stuff just did not match up to the age of the doors or the slightly distorted frost of the other ancient panes.

  "I suppose I'll stop harassing Hex," I said, staring down at my phone. "At least until we have all the supplies we need. Then I'll track him down—even if I have to stand outside his grandmother's property and throw rocks at his window."

  Caine snorted, but stayed quiet, as did Spec.

  Outside, rain began to pour, and I uncorked a few glass bottles to collect some. The last two weeks before Samhain—aka Halloween—the rain was charged with just a hint of death magic. It was just enough to be useful in certain spells without causing havoc or summoning unwanted entities.

  I placed a row of bottles on the sidewalk to the left of the door, snuggled up against my potted mums, and then headed back inside, sweeping my now wet hair back from my forehead.

  "I'm not trying to take anyone's side," Spec was whispering. "But we only get so many soulmates, and we share them between lives—not just in this one. This is a man we might've loved in a past life."

  Caine snorted again, finishing up with the books, and then taking some of his frustration out on the empty cardboard box. He crushed it up with his boot, and then glanced over at me as I watched them both.