Hex Best Quotes

When someone tells you somebody’s been murdered, laughing is probably not the best response. You know, for future reference. But laughing is exactly what I did.

I blew out a breath. "Dad, this is a total cluster...um, a mess." He flashed me a wry smile. "I think the word you were about to use is probably the best summation of the current situation.

Maybe,” he said in a slow, rural drawl, “you could explain to me why I found you in the middle of an orgy.” “Well,” I said, “if you’re going to be in an orgy, the middle is the best spot, isn’t it.

the best cure for anything was candles and a bath,

Okay,so Mom had been freaked out by Dad being a warlock.Fair enough.But why couldn't she at least have let me talk to the guy? It would have been nice to get a little heads up about the Vandy. You know,just a friendly "Oh,and by the way, your gym teacher hates me a lot, and so, by extension, hates you! Best o' luck!

When someone tells you somebody's been murdered, laughing is probably not the best response. You know, for future reference. But laughing is exactly what I did. "Jenna? Jenna Talbot killed her? What did she do, smother her with pink glitter or something?" "You think this is funny?" Anna asked with a slight scowl. Chaston and Elodie were glaring at me, and I figured my temporary membership into their club was about to be revoked.

Because there's no way I can do that." "Yes, there is." He reached out, startling me, and pressed his palm to my cheek. Almost immediately, a sense of well-being flooded through me, a blissful numbness that started at the top of my head and spread all the way down to my toes. "Seriously, best powers ever," I mumbled drowsily. "Go to bed, Sophie," he said, dropping his hand as if my skin had burned him.

Also, loquacious?" I arched a brow. "Trying to impress me with your big vocabulary?" "Since you're unwilling to check out my big cock, I thought it second best.

Death turned to leave the room, but stopped when Hex began to write furiously. He went back and looked at the emerging paper. +++ Dear Hogfather, For Hogswatch I Want OH, NO. YOU CAN'T WRITE LETT... Death paused, and then said, YOU CAN, CAN'T YOU. +++ Yes. I Am Entitled +++ Death waited until the pen had stopped, and picked up the paper. BUT YOU ARE A MACHINE. THINGS HAVE NO DESIRES. A DOORKNOB WANTS NOTHING, EVEN THOUGH IT IS A COMPLEX MACHINE. +++ All Things Strive +++ YOU HAVE A POINT, said Death. He thought of tiny red petals in the black depths, and read to the end of the list. I DON'T KNOW WHAT MOST OF THESE THINGS ARE. I DON'T THINK THE SACK WILL, EITHER. +++ I Regret This +++ BUT WE WILL DO THE BEST WE CAN, said Death. FRANKLY, I SHALL BE CLAD WHEN TONIGHT'S OVER. IT'S MUCH HARDER TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE. He rummaged in his sack. LET ME SEE... HOW OLD ARE YOU?

Guess where that left me? That's right: between Ryder, my boyfriend, who hated Lucian with the proverbial fiery passion and J, my best friend, who wanted Lucian around, so, basically in hell.

Jenna went to take my hand, but I stood up and gave her my best “Everything Is Fine, No, Really, It Is” smile.

I tried to give her my best “I Am A Demon Princess” look, which was quite the challenge, seeing as how my hair was hanging in my face and my nose was running. “What’s your name?” I asked. The girl kept her eyes on me, but her hands were moving restlessly over the ground around her, no doubt searching for the knife. “Izzy,” she said. I raised both my eyebrows. Not exactly a name to strike fear into the heart. Izzy must’ve read that in my expression, because she frowned. “I’m Isolde Brannick, daughter of Aislinn, daughter of Fiona, daughter of-“ “Right, right, daughter of a bunch of fierce ladies, got it.

This is the stuff dreams are made of, right?" I could've pointed out the misquotation; everybody goes for Humphrey Bogarst's famous like from The Maltese Falcon, when the words actually are "We are such stuff as dreams are made on" and they belong to Master Shakespeare, but you know what? With all due to respect to the women's movement, the fact is that, on rare occasions, silence really is a girl's best garment. So I just smiled instead.

So why were you with her?" "She was my assignment." "From The Eye?" "No,from the Boy Scouts. That Witch Dating badge just kept eluding me." "Well,you must have at least three Total Douchebag badges by now, so that has to count for something. What about Holly? Was that fake,too?" I was panting slightly, thanks to trying to keep up with him. Stupid short legs. He had his hands in his pockets, and hi head was slightly down, like he was walking against the wind. "You know, these were all things I was willing to tell you several weeks ago. Too bad you decided to stand me up." I had caught up to him by now, and I snagged his elbow,doing my best to ignore the little thrill that went through me even at that innocent touch. "How is that you can go from decent human being to complete jackass in zero-point-two seconds? Do they teach you that in The Eye?" He stopped, and his eyes glided over my lips. "Actually,I'm just trying to see if I can make you mad enough to kiss me again.

Another one of Aunt Elaine's lessons—the best cure for anything was candles and a bath.

But as I stood across from Archer, I couldn't forget that I was completely, stupidly in love with the one person I could never have. The laughter died on my lips, and I dashed at my eyes with the back of my hand. "I need to get back," I said. "Right," he replied. He was still holding his sword in his right hand, and he twirled the hilt, the point sratching the wooden floor. "So this is it. We're done." "Yeah," I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat. "And I have to say, the world's first and last Eye-demon reconnaissance mission went pretty well." It was a struggle to meet his eyes, but I managed it. "Thank you." He shrugged, his dark gaze full of something I couldn't quite read. "We were a good team." "We were." In more ways than one, I thought. Which is why this sucked so bad. I stepped back. "Anyway, I should go. See ya,Cross." Then I laughed, only it sounded suspiciously like another sob. "Except I won't, will I So I guess I should say goodbye." I felt like I was about to shatter into a million tiny shards, like the mirrors I'd broken with Dad. "okay, well, best of luck with the whole Eye thing, then. Try not to kill anyone I know." I turned away, but he reached out and caught my wrist. I could feel my pulse hammering under his fingers. "Mercer, that day in the cellar..." He searched my face, and I could sense him struggling for what he wanted to say. Then finally, "I didn't kiss you back because I had to. I kissed you because I wanted to." His eyes dropped to my lips,and it was like the whole world had shrunk to just me and him and the shaft of light between us. "I still want to," he said hoarsely. He tugged my wrist and pulled me into his arms. My brain registered the sound of his sword clattering to he ground as his other hand came up to grab the back of my neck, but once his lips were on mine, everything else faded away. I clutched at his shoulders, raising up on my tiptoes, and kissed him with everything I had in me. As the kiss deepened, we held each other tighter, so I didn't know if the pounding heartbeat I felt was mine or his. How stupid,I thought dreamily, to have ever thought I could give this up. Not just the kissing, although, as Archer's hands cupped my face, I had to admit that part was pretty awesome. But all of it: joking with him and working beside him. Being with a guy who was my friend and could still make me feel like this.

So should I just conjure a boat?” I asked her now. She shrugged. “I’m not the one with magic. Just get over however you think is best.” “I could swim,” I suggested. “Ooh! Or maybe magic up like, a sweet Jet Ski?” I held my hands out in front of me as if I were clutching the handlebars of said sweet Jet Sky. Aislinn watched me for a moment before saying, “Is this what you always do when you’re nervous?” My hands fell back to my sides. “Pretty much.” I turned back to the water. “See, the thing is, I’m pretty sure I could make a boat. But then if I do, do I give it a motor? Or a sail? Or am I expected to row myself all the way-“ “Please be quiet until you think of something.” The words themselves weren’t particularly threatening, but Aislinn had a way of looking at you that made you feel like she was mere seconds away from kicking you in the face.

Still,there was this heavy feeling in the air, like everyone was trying too hard to have a good time. Laughs were too loud, and smiles looked forced. Maybe they were afraid Dad and I would vaporize them if they didn't act like this was the best party ever. I would have laid my forehead against the cool glass wall, but I didn't really want to see my reflection that closely. Lysander had brought the dress earlier that afternoon, and insisted on doing my makeup,too. Consequently, it looked like a glitter bomb had exploded on my face. Even my bare shoulders were dusted with sparkling blue powder.

I look at you and I see how absolutely each person is afflicted, regardless of station, by envy. How envy is the best distraction from the completeness of our own lives. How longing is sacred and envy is rotten longing. How hard we are on our own happiness and how generous we are toward just about anyone else, how willing we are to believe that anyone else knows how.

Maybe she’ll have a file labeled, My Evil Plan,” I suggested. “That would be super helpful.” It had taken us three days to come up with a strategy to get into the office. Cal was distracting Lara with questions about his own powers and how they might be useful to “the cause,” while Jenna and Archer kept an eye on Mrs. Casnoff. Since she’d taken to just wandering in circles around the pond, that wasn’t particularly challenging. Which left the most important part to me and Elodie using Elodie’s magic to get into the office and search it for anything that might help us stop the Casnoffs. As far as plans went, it wasn’t exactly D-day, but it was the best next step. Now Elodie looked at my reflection and said, “It’s weird. Looking in a mirror and seeing you.” Yes, I think we’ve established this is kind of awful for everyone involved. Can we go now? We don’t have much time.”

I sat down on my bed, trying to catch my breath, as Jenna opened the door. The Vandy stood there, glaring at us, and my heart plummeted. They knew. They’d sensed magic happening in here, and now they’d sent the Vandy to come collect us. I sat there, trying not to pant in terror, while Jenna openly trembled. “You were told to report to the greenhouse,” the Vandy said, her eyes going back and forth between us. “Now, get your skinny butts down there.” You know when you have the most inappropriate reaction to something ever? I was so happy that we weren’t being hauled off to be murdered that I burst out laughing. I mean, big, loud, honking laughter. Jenna shot me a panicked look as the Vandy’s scowl got even darker. “What’s so funny, Miss Mercer?” I stood up on wobbly legs and did my best to stop cracking up. “Sorry, it’s just, um…” “You said ‘butts,’” Jenna blurted out. “And Sophie’s got a really immature sense of humor.” “Right,” I said, seizing on that. “Butts. Ha ha!” I think if the Vandy could have murdered us right then and there, she probably would have. Instead she just thrust one finger toward the staircase and said, “Move it.” We scrambled from the room.

Do you know, I am putting off ending this letter as though the end would be the end of something I want to hold on to. That's not true of course - just a feeling like the quick one of hexing your trip so you couldn't go. The mind is capable of any selfishness and it thinks unworthy things whether you want it or not. Best to admit it is a bad child rather than to pretend it is always a good one. Because a bad child can improve but a good one is a liar and nothing can improve a liar.

You’ll venture down there-alone-to collect as much demonglass as you can.” “Why does everyone keep talking like this is a walk in the park?” Archer asked. He tried to raise his hand, probably to push it through his hair, leaving me to dodge his elbow. “Oh, Sophie will just go skip down to the Underworld to put some demonglass in a basket!” “No one takes Sophie’s safety more seriously than her father and I do,” Mom said. Her voice was low and even, but her eyes were steely. I wasn’t sure if it was the Brannick in her, or just the mom. “I know that,” said Archer, backing down. “And I know…Look, I know Sophie is a demon. She could wipe the floor with any of us, magically speaking. But what exactly does going to the Underworld entail? I mean, are there other demons down there? Monsters? What could happen to her?” My parents exchanged a glance, and then Aislinn cleared her throat. “We don’t really know. No one has ever attempted this before.” “So, what?” Archer asked, clearly angry now. “You’re just sending her and hoping for the best? That’s insane! There has to be some other way to fight the Casnoffs.

Are broken windows a new decorating theme around here?” Archer asked, coming up behind Jenna and me and poking his head into the parlor. “So it would seem,” I said. I was still looking outside when a faint light appeared in the gloom. It took me a minute to realize that it was from Cal’s cabin. Was someone out there? Was Cal out there? But just as quickly as it had appeared, the light went out again. Frowning, I turned from the doorway, and I went to slip my arm through Archer’s. Then I remembered what Nausicaa had said earlier. Now wasn’t exactly the best time for PDA, probably. The three of us trailed behind everyone else into the ballroom. Here, at least, things looked more or less the same. Of course, the ballroom had always been one of the more bizarre rooms at Hex Hall, so that didn’t say much. Still, I was relieved to see the familiar jumble of tables and chairs and not, like, tree stumps or whatever.

Have you ever been in a demon rumble before, Jenna?” I asked. Hoisting her own demonglass dagger, she shook her head. “Nope. I have a feeling it’s going to be super violent.” “Maybe we can talk to them,” I said, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand. “Have a little sit-down chat.” “With tea.” “Ooh, yeah, with the nice china, and those little sandwiches that don’t have crusts.” Cal came to stand with us. Aislinn and Finley were getting to their feet, but I could tell they were far away from optimum Brannick strength. “I don’t want to kill these kids,” Cal said. “Neither do I. But I don’t want them to kill me, either.” “Not sure what we want is going to matter that much,” Jenna said. I stared out into the trees, hearing my fate move closer. And here’s the thing: I knew I was supposed to be courageous. I was supposed to use my magic for as long as I could, and be all Braveheart about it. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hug my mom and dad again. I wanted to see Archer. And I wanted to know that I’d done more here than just delay Aislinn’s and Finley’s deaths by a few minutes. So there was no stoic badass facing down the demon hordes. There was just a teenage girl with tears streaming down her face, her two best friends on either side of her, as all kinds of hellish creatures rushed forward.

Nestled in the valley, Penhaven College was a little gem of redbrick buildings and green grass, tall oak trees and neatly trimmed hedges, and Vivi loved it more than a person should probably love her workplace. But she did love it. Especially now with the first hint of fall in the air, the leaves orange, the sky purple. Penhaven was always at its best in the autumn.

Claire Hammer was an intimidatingly beautiful woman, except for a rather high forehead that she shouldn’t emphasize so much. On the way to the property they had talked about how to tackle the situation. Claire preferred an emotional approach and some sissy story about family ties and childhood memories. Grim was convinced that when dealing with these kinds of career geeks it was best to shoot straight from the hip, and he didn’t listen to her. It was because of her forehead. It distracted him. There was something expendable about a woman with an overly high forehead—especially if she emphasized it like that.

Okay,” I finally said. “Can we all agree that this is maybe the most screwed-up situation we’ve ever found ourselves in?” “Agreed,” they said in unison. “Awesome.” I gave a little nod. “And do either of you have any idea what we should do about it?” “Well, we can’t use magic,” Archer said. “And if we try to leave, we get eaten by Monster Fog,” Jenna added. “Right. So no plans at all, then?” Jenna frowned. “Other than rocking in the fetal position for a while?” “Yeah, I was thinking about taking one of those showers where you huddle in the corner fully clothed and cry,” Archer offered. I couldn’t help but snort with laughter. “Great. So we’ll all go have our mental breakdowns, and then we’ll somehow get ourselves out of this mess.” “I think our best bet is to lie low for a while,” Archer said. “Let Mrs. Casnoff think we’re all too shocked and awed to do anything. Maybe this assembly tonight will give us some answers.” “Answers,” I practically sighed. “About freaking time.” Jenna gave me a funny look. “Soph, are you…grinning?” I could feel my cheeks aching, so I knew that I was. “Look, you two have to admit: if we want to figure out just what the Casnoffs are plotting, this is pretty much the perfect place.” “My girl has a point,” Archer said, smiling at me. Now my cheeks didn’t just ache, they burned. Clearing her throat, Jenna said, “Okay, so we all go up to our rooms, then after the assembly tonight we can regroup and decide what to do next.” “Deal,” I said as Archer nodded. “Are we all going to high-five now?” Jenna asked after a pause. “No, but I can make up some kind of secret handshake if you want,” Archer said, and for a second, they smiled at each other. But just as quickly, the smile disappeared from Jenna’s face, and she said to me, “Let’s go. I want to see if our room is as freakified as the rest of this place.” “Good idea,” I said. Archer reached out and brushed his fingers over mine. “See you later, then?” he asked. His voice was casual, but my skin was hot where he touched me. “Definitely,” I answered, figuring that even a girl who has to stop evil witches from taking over the world could make time for kissage in there somewhere. He turned and walked away. As I watched him go, I could feel Jenna starting at me. “Fine,” she acknowledged with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “He’s a little dreamy.” I elbowed her gently in the side. “Thanks.” Jenna started to walk to the stairs. “You coming?” “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be right up. I just want to take a quick look around down here.” “Why, so you can be even more depressed?” Actually, I wanted to stay downstairs just a little longer to see if anyone else showed up. So far, I’d seen nearly everyone I remembered from last year at Hex Hall. Had Cal been dragged here, too? Technically he hadn’t been a student, but Mrs. Casnoff had used his powers a lot last year. Would she still want him here? To Jenna, I just said, “Yeah, you know me. I like poking bruises.” “Okay. Get your Nancy Drew on.

Once I had a girl stay over who used your toothbrush, thinking it was mine,” Cleo says. “Okay, gross,” Sabrina says. “I could’ve gone to my grave without that second one.” “I’m the one who lost those vintage Ray-Bans we used to share,” I admit. “God, that’s actually a huge load off.” “Oh!” Cleo chirps. “I told that one shitty poet you dated that I was a witch, and that if he ever contacted you again, I’d hex him so his dick fell off.” Sabrina touches her chest, evidently moved. “See, this is why you’re going to be a great mother.” “I didn’t know you did that,” I tell Cleo. “If I had, I probably wouldn’t have told the same guy that my dad was in the mob.” A laugh cracks out of Sabrina. “I have the best friends.” “Best family,” Cleo says.

Dina had meant to get a black cat when she'd gone to the cat shelter a few years ago; she loved the way they looked like little pockets of midnight. But then she'd heard a grumpy yowling coming from a small cage near her feet. "That one's just come in, the vet reckons it's a feral one. No microchip," the man who worked there had said. Dina had crouched down and locked eyes with the cat, who was mostly black but with a golden crescent shape on top of her head and a creamy white belly. Heebie, who hadn't even had a name then, had bumped Dina's outstretched knuckle with her head, and Dina had felt the warmth of the cat's cheek and known instantly that she had found her familiar.

As soon as they entered the forest, Dina felt something stirring in her magic. Normally it lay dormant within her until she needed it for a spell. But now it was thrumming in her blood, reacting to this place. The trees were tall and thick, little sunlight made it to the forest floor, and the narrow pebbled path they walked along twisted out of sight ahead of them. "There's something here," she whispered to Immy. "Like magic?" "Yeah. Like, I don't know how to put it--- like this is an old and powerful place. Like the land is breathing." "Ooh, I'm going to write that phrase down for my next book," Immy said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. As Immy slowed down to make her note, Dina walked on, feeling the power of this ancient wood flooding through her. She felt as if she were walking into the mouth of a great, slumbering goddess. But it didn't scare her; it wasn't meant to. It was just nature, older than history, older than bone. The path curled around to the left, revealing a small cottage in the dappled light, dwarfed by the surrounding oaks. The lights were on inside, illuminating the ivy and wisteria vines that had twined themselves around the outer walls of the cottage. The windows were sashed in dark green wood, complete with window boxes filled with daisies. Daisies that Dina was sure shouldn't have been able to grow in such little light, but this wood seemed to play by its own rules.

You don't have baths? How--- how?" She couldn't comprehend it. "I don't know," Scott replied sheepishly. "I just never know what to do when I'm in them." "I could show y---I mean, I could tell you what you need. Bubbles. Books. And candles." Heat pulsed around Dina's body. Had Scott heard her slip up?

Dina slipped out of the bathroom and nearly walked directly into Scott. Well, fuck. He was shirtless. She definitely hadn't been wrong about his body. His wasn't the chest of a man who spent endless hours in the gym or kept to a strict diet. Scott's muscles were heavy, densely packed. His shoulders were broad and rounded with thick cords of muscle. He looked like some kind of Scottish war hero or Greek god. Dina was definitely staring and she didn't give a fuck. She had been right about the hair too. A mass of dark brown--- almost black--- hair peppered his chest and trailed down his stomach to the V-shape of his hips.

When he'd turned to look at her and noticed that she was naked, his eyes were suddenly all darkness and desire. Wetness had immediately slicked her inner thighs. Her pussy had throbbed for him. Ached for him to touch her. And then he had, and she was moaning against him and it was like they fit together.

The roughness of his beard as he settled his face between her legs was excruciatingly delicious. Scott's tongue flicked her clit, sending a shudder through her. Before Dina could catch her breath, his tongue parted the wet folds of her pussy, pushing inside. His lips were everywhere, sucking against her wetness as if he wanted to taste all of her. Dina hooked her legs around his shoulders. "You taste so good," he groaned. Damn, this man knew exactly what he was doing. She opened for him, and Scott slid a finger into her smooth heat. She moaned, bucking her hips into him. He only fucked her harder with his fingers, curving his hand so that she could rock against him. "Good girl, just like that," he whispered, the heat of his breath on her cunt.

"Please," she begged. Scott didn't need to ask twice. This time, three fingers plunged into her, two at the front and one teasing her at the back. His tongue lapped her up, circling her clit. Building, building. "You're so perfect... fuck, Scott, there, right there, right---" The orgasm shattered through Dina, an ecstatic ripple from deep inside that rove all over her body. Just as she came, Scott thrust his tongue deep into her and drank her all in. Her body was jelly, her limbs heavy and sensitive and deliciously warm all at the same time. She knew he would make her come again tonight. Scott's beard was all wet--- with her. It shouldn't have turned her on so much to see herself all over him, but it did. Scott groaned, palming his own cock, as if he couldn't stand another second. That wouldn't do. "Dina," he moaned as she crawled off the sofa, pushing him back and slotting herself between his legs so she could see his full erection up close. There was just... so much of it. Veined thick ridges, and dark hair at the base. She felt slick again just looking at it.

She was acutely aware that she was naked, her thighs splayed on either side of Scott's, her pussy only inches away from his cock. All it would take was for her to lift up her hips and tip forward, and she could feel him deep inside her. She'd always known she fell into a more submissive role, but she'd never been able to give in to it as much as she had tonight. It was like Scott had seen into every one of her fantasies and brought them to life. She could trust him to take charge and to keep her safe. And she wanted nothing else than to be pounded into oblivion.

Scott seemed to have similar ideas, because his hands had moved to cup Dina's butt cheeks, massaging them. He let out a sound that was partway between a moan and a vibration, as he slipped a finger, and then two, into Dina's soaking pussy. Dina bit her lip, but a small squeak came out. They were going to need to be a lot quieter if they were going to do this. "Such a pretty cunt," Scott growled, moving lower. And then his face was buried between her legs. He lapped at her wetness with his tongue, first soft and then harder, flicking her clit in such a way that it sent shudders through Dina. She never came this easily, this quickly. Yet now she could feel it building with each motion. Scott's fingers plunged in and out of her, while his mouth sucked, kissed and did all sorts of wondrous things. He was everywhere at once. Dina ran her fingers through his hair, relishing the feeling of having him between her thighs. Like he was meant to be there. The voices still spoke on the other side of the door, but they were a whole world away. Nothing else mattered now. "Come for me, good girl," Scott whispered, his mouth still moving against her. Scott knew what Dina wanted; he would give it to her. Dina wrapped her legs around Scott's upper back, resting them there. From the way Scott shifted himself, she knew he liked it. And--oh fuck-- she couldn't hold on anymore, not when he did that thing. The orgasm swept over her in delectable waves, bright spots of light dancing before her eyes.

Will you beg if I don't give it to you, Dina?" he whispered in her ear, sending a tremble right to her core. She would, she'd beg. With one rough tug he pulled her underwear off. "Yes," she hissed as he caressed the seam of her pussy, his fingers rubbing against her clit with just the right amount of friction. She wasn't sure how long she could last. When he plunged his fingers inside of her, Dina cried out. How could it feel so good? Had it ever felt this good with anyone else? "Tell me, Dina. Is this all for me?" Scott growled against her throat. "Yes, take it. Take me." She shuddered as his fingers pressed deeper, as she rode the palm of his hand. "So fucking wet," he groaned. The hard press of his cock against her ass cheeks nearly sent her into a frenzy as he continued to fuck her with his fingers. "Bend over for me so I can see you," he said, and Dina bent forward, resting her arms on the bed. Scott was gone for a split second, and as his fingers left her she already felt bereft. "Please, please," she moaned again, now on all fours. "Such a pretty cunt," Scott said, his voice breaking apart behind her. Then suddenly the emptiness ended, and Scott's mouth was there, licking, sucking at her pussy. Drinking her in. Dina let out a cry of pleasure as the tickle of Scott's beard brushed against her folds. He buried his face in her pussy, his tongue pushing inside her, flicking back and forth. And then his fingers were there as his mouth found her clit and sucked and kissed and then the orgasm broke through Dina, arching her back in pleasure, and she grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets. Scott didn't let up; he continued to hold her there, burying his face deeper into her seam. "Good girl," he said, lifting Dina back up as if she weighed nothing. She was glad to have his hands on her. She wasn't sure she'd be able to use her legs at that moment. She faced Scott, looking up at him through half-closed eyes. The aftermath of the orgasm still rippled through her in electric shockwaves. But she still wanted more, needed more. She needed to be filled by him.

Dina couldn't tell where she ended and where Scott began; it was hot and messy and every millisecond of it felt excruciatingly good. "I want to see you," he said, scooping her up and swinging her on top of him, so her thighs straddled his. "Ride this cock," he ordered. The command shivered through her deliciously. Dina was on top of him, and as he lay back she planted her palms on his chest, feeling the rollicking beats of his heart, knotting her fingers around the black curls of his chest hair. This was all new; she'd never been on top of a man before. It had never really felt like there had been time for it, like the guy had always been chasing his orgasm, and having Dina on top would have been as a waste of time. But not for Scott. He hissed with pleasure as Dina ground down on his cock, her hips thrusting back and forth, each movement sending a surge of delicious pulsing through her. It was almost too much for her, taking him all like this. Scott gripped her ass, keeping her moving with him as the wave of pleasure rocketed over her, the jagged, raw orgasm rushing through her. "Scott, Scott," she whispered, and he was there. His huge arms wrapped around her, his chest pressed against her, rocking gently as pleasure throbbed through her. "I can feel you coming. Come for me, sweetheart, come on this cock," he hissed into her neck, licking up the sweat that beaded there.

Can I fill you up? I want to fill your pretty pussy." He bent over her so he could whisper in her ear, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth. "Yes," she begged, "inside me," and that was all Scott needed to hear. He let out a loud hiss of pleasure, his fingers rubbing Dina's clit just right at the same time, and the orgasm broke apart, shattering over them.

He teased the tip of his cock right at her entrance, desperate to feel her smooth heat around him. Dina hissed, shifting herself so she could take more than just the tip. "Should I make you beg for it, Dina?" He reached around her, caressing her clit with his thumb. "Please," she moaned, and that was all it took. Scott thrust in, pleasure cascading from the tip of his cock all around his trembling body. Everything about Dina was perfect, and she was his, she was his. Scott fisted his hand in Dina's curls; every inch of him sank into her warmth as she writhed in pleasure. "Come for me again, sweetheart, come all over this cock." It wasn't long before she shuddered against him, letting out a delicious moan. Scott rolled her over and scooped her into his arms, resting her ass on the desk. Down on his knees he tasted her again, sweetness and salt and something indescribably Dina.

Lemon verbena, though. That's my favorite. It's a pretty hardy plant, and you can turn it into a tisane. In Morocco we call it louiza." "Louiza?" "You add the leaves to boiled water and they let out the most deliciously sweet fragrance. Not exactly lemony--- more like a honey balm." "What does the tea taste like?" he asked. "Sort of like chamomile, maybe, but with more body, and sweeter.

And the smell was so... thick, you know? Best way I can describe it. Like honey cake, and fresh watermelon and treacle all rolled into one. I could taste it in the air, it was so strong. I bought so many bottles of rosewater on that trip I must have looked like some kind of smuggler at customs.

Power twitched at her fingertips. It was Samhain after all, and her power swelled within her, aching to be used. The magic that came with Samhain was different from the other dates like Ostara or Beltane. It was wilder, and it came with its own shadow. And with the old woods at her back, and the rolling fields before her, she was all but breathing the magic in. It seeped from the soil into her body and wound its way like deep green tendrils into her heart.

From the ceiling, lanterns in sage green and robin's egg blue hung like jewels, glowing gently. Flowers were gathered and tied to the seats that flanked the aisle: irises, bluebells, peonies. All of Immy's favorite blooms, some of which weren't even in season at this time of year. That had been a maid-of-honor task for Dina's magical expertise. Immy had asked for multicolored sunflowers and Dina had made them for her.

She looked down and saw in surprise an elegant pattern of flowers and vines that wove around her fingers, and in the center of her palm, an open eye. "This is so you will see yourself as I see you," Nour said, her eyes prickling with tears. Dina stood and turned to face the mirror. For a moment she did not recognize her reflection. That woman was beautiful, glowing, beaming a smile, kindness and joy radiating from her. That woman was Dina. That's me. The hex had felt insurmountable, impossible to break, even once she had known she was the cause of it. It was one thing to be told she needed to love herself to break the curse, but quite another to do it in practice. But as Dina looked at herself, everything fell into place. Her family accepted her for who she was. And if she told herself that she was worthy of love, then it was true. And if it was true, there was no need for the hex anymore. No need for that wall that she had built between herself and others to keep them from seeing her as she truly was. Scott loved her, and she loved him. And they would be okay. She shuddered in a breath as the insidious magic of the hex began to dissipate, like ashes blowing away after a fire's gone out. Then her ears popped, and the hex was gone. Dina looked across at her mother, smiling through her tears. "It's gone," she cried. "Mama, I'm free.

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She hummed under her breath as she rolled out and began kneading the proved dough for the cinnamon buns. Usually, this was when Dina would lace a spell into the bake. For something like a cinnamon bun or a muffin, she might put in that feeling you get of wrapping yourself in a soft, woolly blanket. Baking magic worked best when it was peppered throughout the process.

forcing her to spend most of her days performing cooling spells on her armpits.

Then Dina heard a familiar meow, and she pushed past a family of four to find Heebie contentedly licking her paws and resting in the arms of a tall dark-haired man who was studiously tickling her under her chin. "Heebie, what are you---" she began to say, but her thoughts dissipated as the man looked up. It was the same man from the café, with his strong nose and lopsided smile. The man she had so easily fallen into conversation with; the man who had taken her breath away. His eyes widened as he recognized her. "Hello again," he said, his voice smooth as honey. "Is this cat yours?" Heebie's purr switch was turned up to maximum; she clearly liked this guy. And she generally wasn't a fan of men, so that was saying something.

As Dina walked down the hall, the floorboards seamlessly transformed into blue and white tiles beneath her feet. She found herself standing in the heart of the house: a riad with a bubbling mosaic fountain, vines twisting up the walls and, above her, fuchsias blooming in terra-cotta pots and miniature date trees coiling around the pillars. It was more of a garden than a room, really. The ceiling was open to the night sky, burnished stars in an inky darkness. It wasn't the real sky of course, but the house's magic was powerful. Dina could even hear crickets chirping in the distance and the cinnamon scent of the earth in Khemisset, where her mother had grown up. She exhaled deeply, the feeling of being home sinking into her bones.

She had woken the house up with screams at 6 A.M. when she'd discovered that her mother's spell had changed her hair to a mermaid-blue color overnight. After the initial shock, the whole bright blue hair look had kind of grown on her, but she wasn't convinced it would be the best look for the wedding, so she had begun the painstaking process of charming it back to its original aubergine brown with flecks of purple.

He was probably just sleep-deprived and insatiably horny and it was messing with his head. "Was your head feeling particularly full of something?" she asked innocently. He couldn't help himself any longer. He looked down at Dina and, fuck, she was there, stark naked. His brain short-circuited; it was too much. Moonlight bounced off her deep honeyed skin. "Fuck, Dina. Look at you." Scott's voice was hoarse. She stared up at him with molten eyes. She was perfect, fuck, she was perfect. Just as he'd imagined--- no, better than he'd imagined. The curve of her hips, the softness of her belly and the swell of her breasts, her nipples stiff. For him. His eyes feasted their way down her body, to her inner thighs. If he kissed her there, would she be wet for him? Her face was only hunger, only lust. He needed to have her.

I need you, but not here." She looked up at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. And then Dina took off at a run, rushing back through the trees toward the cottage. Christ, the way her ass bounced up and down as she ran; he was ruined. He was going to make her scream his name, again and again. She was making him chase her, and he was more than happy to. With a growl, Scott began to run, chasing Dina through the winding trees and onto the path to their cottage.

The stewards of Honeywell House had really outdone themselves with the decorations. As with the rehearsal dinner, everything was lit by candlelight. Delicate crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, light danced from the brass sconces on the walls, and there were pillars holding bowls of water with small tealight candles floating on the top in the shape of water lilies. It was like a set from one of those Nancy Meyers movies his mums had made him watch growing up.

Dina looked up and found herself in a quiet glade, though that was the only thing her eyes could make sense of. Sunlight, much brighter than the tepid dawn, beat down through a circle of sky above her, a deep summer blue. Her skin prickled with an awareness that magic was at work here, though she wasn't sure if it was a witch's or the woodland itself. The entire glade was impossibly carpeted with bluebells. It was November, they shouldn't have been in bloom. But there they were, a dense meadow of bluish-purple flowers swaying in the breeze before her eyes. Impossible. Magical.

Dina raised her arms, palms facing upward, the teacup held high. The forest grew dark around them. Like any sliver of moonlight was vanishing, leaving them in absolute black. Only it wasn't for long, as a pool of silvery substance--- not liquid but not air either--- began to swarm around her, like it was raining moonlight. She turned her face to the sky and was bathed in a milky glow. Sometimes she forgot how much joy raw magic brought her. The rivers of moonlight twisted in rivulets across her body, until they all collected into the teacup in a shimmering liquid. For a moment, the air around them was scented like fresh coffee and spices. Dina met Scott's eyes, testing him. He couldn't speak, but he wasn't running away. With an ecstatic smile, Dina flicked the teacup, flinging moonlight outward, splashing it against the trunks of trees, coating ferns and shrubs near the path like silver luminescent paint. As it landed, it began to fade, until--- within seconds--- full night had returned. Dina set the teacup down on the front step of the cottage.

Dina hummed to herself as she pulled out an empty jam jar from a busy cupboard. It was still labeled "Apricot Jam" from the batch her mum had made for her last year--- jam that tasted like bottled sunshine. There wasn't an exact science to the magic, but Dina often found that the best tea blends were ones she put into secondhand jars, ones that had been full of delicious, wonderful things. She clipped her curls out of her face and headed into the pantry. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with all manner of jars and boxes, all individually labeled in Dina's messy handwriting. She kept her spices together, along with other baking essentials like fish vanilla, cake flour, and a tin that was labeled "Eye of Newt" but actually contained nutmeg. Her tea selection had several shelves dedicated to it. Aside from the specialty blends she made for the shop, Dina kept a collection of tea and tisane ingredients, which she could mix into more personal blends at a moment's notice. Dina never felt more in her element as a kitchen witch than when she was looking through her pantry. Scott's tea blend needed to be something that encapsulated his energies yet also helped him in some way. A tea to drink in the middle of a long work day, Dina decided. She twirled a curl around her finger as she focused. She hadn't met any of his fellow curators yet, but from what Scott had told her they could be a bit of a handful. So the kind of tea that would help him get through a long meeting. Something to sharpen a tired mind. Dina knew just the thing for it. She scooped up several jars and laid them out on the counter before her. Black tea--- a full-bodied assam, cacao nibs, dried ginger and... it was missing something. Dina stepped back into the pantry and surveyed her shelves with her hands on her hips. She knew that this would need one more ingredient to be perfect for Scott. Lion's mane mushroom? Perhaps a little too earthy. Clove? Too heavy. It would overpower the other flavors. As her eyes skirted over the rows of jars, she spotted it. A small glass jar with a dark red powder in it. Dried beetroot! Perfect! Energizing yet slightly sweet and smooth, and it would make Scott look like he was drinking some kind of red-velvet-themed drink. Which was also his favorite cake flavor.

What had he witnessed? She had looked like a wild and beautiful creature, a goddess, something ethereal and undecipherable. Dina had filled his vision, the pale light dancing around her, as she'd broken his world, and everything he thought he knew, apart. He was ninety percent sure that Dina was a witch. The other ten percent... well. He was flirting with the idea that she might be some kind of djinn, or succubus, but neither of those terms felt quite right. And "magician" made him think of rabbits in hats and coins collected from behind ears. No, if there was ever a word to describe Dina Whitlock, it was "witch.

It was a fairy moon. Pearlescent, glowing, and hanging low in the sky---cit was the kind of moon that spelled mischief and delight. Dina stood at the edge of the north field, where the fire was already burning. It had all been arranged by Nour, a kind of witchy wedding gift. Dina inhaled the midnight air, sweet and smoky. Her mother was silhouetted by the fire, loosening her hair from the updo she'd styled it in for the evening. Dina would be like her mother tonight: untamable, wild.

It was a fairy moon. Pearlescent, glowing, and hanging low in the sky---it was the kind of moon that spelled mischief and delight. Dina stood at the edge of the north field, where the fire was already burning. It had all been arranged by Nour, a kind of witchy wedding gift. Dina inhaled the midnight air, sweet and smoky. Her mother was silhouetted by the fire, loosening her hair from the updo she'd styled it in for the evening. Dina would be like her mother tonight: untamable, wild.

After a while Heebie's tentative tail swishes and cautious sniffs around her cheeks. Dina shifted to her side so Heebie could crawl into the curve of her lap, kneading Dina's belly with her sharp little claws. "What are you baking today, Madame Heebie?" Dina sniffed, tickling the cat under her chin as she kneaded. She liked to imagine Heebie in a little baker's hat and had once even tried knitting one--- but Heebie had hissed when Dina had tried to dress her in it. She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, petting Heebie's soft black fur, but slowly the pain in her chest started to loosen, as if gentle fingers were prying open a stiff knot thread by thread. It wasn't gone, but it was a little quieter for now.

For spring and summer, Dina baked delicate and light pastries fragranced with rosewater, meskouta orange bundt cake, and delicate raspberry macarons. When strawberries were in season in early June, she made airy fraisier cake. For autumn and winter, Dina worked with heavier ingredients: thick, dark chocolate, cinnamon, cardamom, gingerbread, and pumpkin. As the days grew colder and the light dimmed earlier and earlier, people started to crave that feeling of warmth and comfort. And Dina would give that to them, even if only for a short while. One special bake for this season was a ginger and persimmon cake, yellowed with saffron strands, which Dina had bought on her last trip to Morocco, and fresh vanilla pods, their sweet scent so potent that it wafted across the café. This was in addition to all the regular pastries and cakes she had on offer, which were all recipes her mother had taught her to bake. The cake made with dark honey from the Atlas mountains was an all-time customer favorite. Dina had imbibed it with a very specific spell, a childhood memory of a time that she must have fallen asleep on a car ride home, and although she was a little too big to be carried, she remembered her father lifting her into his arms, her mother closing the car door softly so as not to wake her, then carrying her upstairs and tucking her into bed. When she'd been fashioning the spell for the first time, it had occurred to Dina that one day your parents put you down and they never picked you up again, and so she'd made the honey cake to recreate that feeling of childhood comfort. That sensation of someone taking the utmost care of you, holding you close, was a feeling that many in the rushing city of London didn't experience often. Sometimes she wondered if she was really in the business of café ownership, or if she was more of a fairy godmother in disguise. Undeniably, the magical pastries were great at keeping customers coming back for more, so that was a bonus on the businesswoman side of things.

Pulling out a stick of lilac chalk, Dina added "besotted briouats" to the list, followed by "rosy-cheeked ghriba." The briouats--- melt-in-your-mouth filo pastry filled with honey and almonds--- were heavenly, even without the spell that made you feel like you'd been kissed on the forehead by a loved one. The ghriba, decadently soft sugar cookies with rosewater essence and lemon zest, were laced with a spell to warm up the fingers and toes.

She would have been particularly suited to the life of a Regency gentlewoman.

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Claire preferred an emotional approach and some sissy story about family ties and childhood memories. Grim was convinced that when dealing with these kinds of career geeks it was best to shoot straight from the hip, and he didn’t listen to her. It was because of her forehead. It distracted him. There was something expendable about a woman with an overly high forehead—especially if she emphasized it like that.

Es reichte nicht, dass er sein Bestes gegeben hatte, denn sein Bestes war nicht gut genug für die Bewohner von Ternilus, und eine Hexe hatte ihn erst verfluchen müssen, damit er das erkannt hatte.

One learned early that it was best not to put a hex on the things one cared about.

And here we are hundreds of years later and you would think the male species would have evolved beyond punishing women over miscarrying, but sadly they have not, they keep repeating history. They use the female’s greatest gift, their ability to create life as a control method. And it's time it stops; the men need to grow and evolve. And nothing does that better to a human than suffering. It's the best teacher.

I, er, might be bisexual though.’ ‘All the best people are,’ Iris said.

when an honest-to-God succu-bitch (succubus who was also part witch, yet total bitch) and her evil minions tried to kill me and my best friends. The skank had some sort of magik va-jay-jay that apparently ensnared men with ease. Part of me was jealous. The other was thankful it wasn’t catching. I didn’t need or want my vag acting like the Pied Piper.

Pyper.” Kat, my best friend, shook with laughter, her curly red hair falling into her eyes.

Belladonna was still trying to call her best friend Murielle when the broom in the corner of the room fell over. “Company’s coming.” She said to Sterling and knelt down to rub the cat’s furry belly. A

That’s what my best friend back home calls my little concoctions—potions, like I’m some witch here to steal your soul.