This was probably a suicide mission.
I'd wager that I was probably the only witch in years (or probably ever), that was brave enough to enter a Pack House. Well, either brave or reckless. And from past experience, I was never found lacking in both departments.
If given the choice, I would've never wanted to see Magnus again, let alone speak to him. But Halloween was fast-approaching, and the last thing I wanted, on top of succumbing to the Winterhaven Curse, was to be blamed for holding the ugliest Dark Masquerade Ball in recent history. My ego simply would not stand for it.
So here I was at the Blood Moon Pack House, somewhere deep in the Catskills mountain. Surprisingly, the place looked a lot less like the frat house I envisioned in my head, and more like a quaint holiday home for the Kennedys...or Marsha Stewart.
I snapped my broomstick back to it's original portable size, slipping it into my leather wristlet. The brass sign affixed to the brick fence beside me spelled 'FUIL GEALACH' in bold, ominous letterings, which (according to a quick Google search) meant 'Blood Moon' in Scottish Gaelic. I was relieved to find the directions Nicky had given me yesterday were accurate.
My Doc Martens would've been more suitable in the outdoorsy environment, but the situation called me to whip out my lucky heels: Christian Louboutin patent leather pumps with signature red soles. I was once stuck in an elevator with Henry Cavill whilst wearing these exact heels. Those short five minutes with Superman was the highlight of my enchanted life—that's how lucky they were.
Today I needed them to work their magic again; for protection against Magnus' magnetism.
Stone gravel crunched underneath me as I walked (no, hiked) up the steep driveway like a baby giraffe, knuckles white from clutching my iPad. Last night, I created a mood board in a frenzy fuelled by Skittles and disgusting instant coffee. The mood board was rough alright, and looked more like a Pinterest board than a fully fleshed out idea, but at least it was some sort of progress.
The sun was leaking light through the spiky balsam trees, and I narrowed my eyes through the glare, barely making out three large figures lumbering out of the main doors. I mustered a cheek-hurting grin that rivalled the sun, but when I recognised Callum amongst them, the smile faded.
"What are you doing here?" Callum asked, sounding like he meant to say 'get lost before I rip your witchy limbs to pieces'.
"Good morning." I ignored Callum's evident hostility and forced my cheeks upwards again. I studied the other two werewolves by his side. They looked so identical with their cropped ginger hair and slim roman noses that they were probably twins. "I'm here strictly on business. I need to speak with Alpha Magnus, is he around?" I explained.
"Is this the Winterhaven witch?" The twins asked in unison, straight brows cocking in appraisal.
"This is she," I confirmed suspiciously. "People call me Lena for short."
I suppressed the niggling thrill at the thought of Magnus talking about me to his Pack, but the thrill was quickly replaced with dread when the corner of Callum's mouth turned down to resemble an upside down croissant.
"People should call you trouble, instead," Callum said. "What business do you have with the Alpha? Not that it matters because you're not going to see him. But just for curiosity's sake."
I squared my shoulders and put my iPad in the air, like the device alone explained my presence. "It's regarding the Dark Masquerade Ball. Now, do you want to let me through or do I need to inform the Dark Society that a werewolf on a power trip named Callum is hindering the progress of the Ball?" I retorted in a sing-song voice.
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BEWITCHED & BOTHERED
الخوارق☆ 2022 WATTYS SHORTLIST ☆ Leonora 'Lena' Winterhaven is a witch on a dry spell. Somehow, she is the only one left in her coven (and possibly all of New York!) to still have her virtue intact at the age of twenty-nine. This would be fine and dandy, i...
