Sex With Your Hex

by Riley Ashford

  “You can’t do that,” said Ginger, though it was likely the Brubres not only could, they would. “You would not have the deed at all if you hadn’t blackmailed my parents, the same way you’re trying to blackmail me.”

  “We did no such thing,” exclaimed Mrs. Brubre. “Could we help it if the Thornes were plagued by bad luck? Problems with the plumbing, not getting suppliers for herbs, losing valued customers… Such a shame.”

  “Funny how all that bad luck ceased the instant my parents signed over the deed.” Ginger wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her blow her top. They were trying to use her family’s welfare to gain her cooperation. It sickened her the way they wielded money and power. Where were the karmic consequences? Surely the Brubres would have been repaid for their unkindness and greed many times over, and yet they only grew in power and gained more wealth. And no inquiry brought against them had ever yielded evidence of black magic.

  “Isn’t your sister Sage applying to study curative magic?” asked Mrs. Brubre in a bright voice. “It’s a shame she can’t attend the Brubre Center for the Healing Arts. I understand she has quite the talent for healing and herbology. How sad she’ll be denied the best facility and most experienced instructors because your family is too poor to afford a quality education.”

  Rage rolled over Ginger in thick, hot waves. A spell to weld the Brubres’ feet to their marble floor hovered on her lips but she resisted the urge. She would derive petty satisfaction from the act, and yet it would mean getting the same back threefold. No. She would not curse herself. Instead, she took several calming breaths. “Let’s be clear. Are you saying that you will return the herbal shop deed to my parents and pay for Sage’s education at the Brubre Center if I find Nigel for you?”

  “Find him, return him, and make sure he marries Lorette,” said Mrs. Brubre.

  “No. I’ll find him. And I’ll bring him back to this house. But I cannot guarantee he will marry anyone.” Ginger couldn’t believe she was consenting to this nonsense. “I want our arrangement in writing. And the contract must be examined and approved by my lawyer.”

  “We agree,” said Mr. Brubre. “But you won’t get the deed or the scholarship unless you produce Nigel.”

  “Fine.” Unable to stand another second in the presence of the smarmy Brubres, she hurried out of the house and into the beauty and light of the afternoon. The idea of getting back her parents’ rightful property and ensuring Sage got a premium education was too big an incentive for her to ignore. And, if she was honest with herself, she wanted very much to see Nigel.

  I need to know if what we had together was a one-night stand…or the reason he ran away from his impending marriage.

  And there was only one way to find out…

  * * * * *

  Ginger sat on the floor of her bedroom. As was tradition for an unmarried witch, she still lived with her parents. Warlocks, however, often left their parents’ home when they turned eighteen. Some witches bucked the old ways and got jobs and apartments before marrying. Those who did so rarely made a marriage match within the clans. No, those witches often married mortals.

  Despite her independent nature, Ginger honored the traditions of her people. Some day, she wanted to marry a warlock and have little witchlings. But for now, she was content to develop her psychic gifts and use them to help others.

  Even the Brubres. Argh! She’d bartered with the cousins of the devil, hadn’t she? Despite all that her family would gain from the contract signed and approved by the Thornes’ lawyer, it still galled her to give that awful couple what they wanted—Nigel.

  Her heart jolted. Nigel. So very sweet. So patient. So…unattainable. He had known who she was that night. She’d been willing enough, too. She couldn’t be angry about his deception, not when she’d examined his aura and known the truth about him. He had not technically lied…he’d just never given his name. And he only wanted to please her. Whew, baby. He’d done that in spades!

  And he’d given himself to her at great cost.

  She grimaced as she lit the last candle. The Brubres had been unable to track their son by other means. It seemed that clever Nigel had paid oodles for a complicated spell that made it impossible to trace him. Not only had the spell wiped away his unique magical signature, which most trackers used to find runaways, it had also wiped the memories of any who might’ve seen him traveling.

  In addition, there were many Ovate sects all over the world. Nigel could’ve fled to any of the retreats. The Brubres hadn’t attempted bribery. For one, any attempt to influence an Ovate meant automatic penalties and for two, no Ovate was accepted into a sect if he or she cared even a teeny tiny bit about personal gain. If Nigel had been accepted into an Ovate sect, that meant he didn’t give two damns about material possessions.

  Ginger smiled. Nigel Brubre had the mind of a scholar and the heart of a gentleman.

  Candles sat at each corner of the five-pointed star she’d drawn with her magic. Murmuring a prayer to the Goddess, she then put her arms straight out over the pentacle, palms out. As her red magic weaved patterns designed to aid her psychic abilities, she closed her eyes and thought about Nigel.

  Within moments, a picture formed in her mind.

  Built into the side of a steep, cold mountain was a forbidding structure with dark gray walls. It was as tall and sharp as broken glass and surrounded by thick ice, whipping winds, and constant snowfall.

  Across the entrance gate were the words—The Ovate Order of Warlock Scholars, Sect of the Dragons. Underneath it were the words Gnothi se auton. Ginger muttered a translation spell and the words wiggled into, “Know thyself.”

  Breathing deeply, Ginger pushed forward but could not move through the gate. She wrapped her magic tighter around her, inhaled long, deep breaths, and tried again.

  Who are you? boomed a man’s deep voice into her mind.

  Startled by the sudden and powerful interference of a guardian psychic, Ginger almost lost her connection. She steadied herself and refocused her energy. I am Ginger Thorne. I seek Nigel Brubre.

  I appreciate someone who seeks knowledge. What do you hope that Nigel will teach you?

  I don’t need his wisdom. I need his cooperation.

  The man’s disapproval felt like a lead weight dropped into her mind. No one who wants personal gain may enter our doors.

  I want nothing from him. Though others will benefit if he returns to his parents.

  Ah…you want Nigel to forsake his calling so that others may profit? His sigh of disappointment whispered through her. I think, Miss Thorne, that you believe you fulfill a lofty purpose. It is a sad justification. If one person’s suffering rewards another with favors…then it is personal gain.

  I see your point. Had she not told the Brubres the very same thing? She had refused to help them because to do so was to harm Nigel. Only when they offered to alleviate her family’s financial problems did she cave into their demands. She’d had no thoughts for Nigel’s welfare then. Shame heated her cheeks. Please forgive me, Guardian. Be assured that I will not reveal Nigel’s location.

  I never said Nigel was here.

  Ginger smiled. Yeah, right. Nigel was certainly safe in this mountain fortress. He could live the life he wanted without the interference of his parents. In case you do know the location of Nigel, would you tell him that Ginger Thorne said thank you for a beautiful birthday gift. And let him know that I wish him happiness through all his days.

  Is that all?

  She hesitated. If I asked you to tell him that I wanted to see him again…that I wished we had the chance to be together…would it be personal gain?

  What do you think?

  I think to reveal my heart to him, which might influence his calling, is selfish.

  Hmmm. I see. Then before you go, I give you one gift, so that you might have the answer to your question.

  Into Ginger’s mind poured a series of images.

  In the first, she was a gangly ten-year-old. She’d hated
her red hair and freckles and knobby knees then. She was in the Dark Forest, lost and afraid. Sitting on a fallen tree, she’d cried and cried. Her parents forbade her to go into the Dark Forest alone, and while the place was creepy enough in the daylight, it was very dangerous at night. Then a blond-haired boy appeared. He took her hand and led her out of the forest. She thanked him, kissing his cheek, and ran all the way home.

  In the second, she was fifteen, attending her first school dance. Halfway through the evening, her first boyfriend of one whole month dumped her for his ex-girlfriend. She’d been too stubborn to go home and made a point of dancing, drinking punch and talking to her friends. Then the last song of the evening played, a ballad meant for slow-dancing couples. She was left, alone and heartbroken, in the dark corner of the gymnasium. Then a blond-haired boy with the kindest eyes she’d ever seen asked her to dance. He held her gently, saying nothing, and made her feel cherished. When the song ended, he kissed her cheek…and faded into the crowd.

  In the third image, she saw herself wandering the gardens of Dundrury Castle and there was her knight again. He took her into his arms and carried her away…into a singular night of passion.

  That was him…all those times? I didn’t know. Why would Nigel do such kind things for me?

  Sometimes the soul recognizes its other half. Nigel knew what you did not…that you were meant for each other. But love should be given freely, without expectation of return. If his parents taught that young man anything, it was that love cannot be bought, sold or traded.

  Thank you, Guardian.

  Blessed be, Ginger Thorne.

  Chapter Three

  The next day, Ginger found herself in the same living room, sitting on the same couch, as she prepared to deliver bad news to the Brubres. Their robes were blue today, and the jewelry adorning their necks and fingers was made of gold and sapphires. It was a pity such beauty held such emptiness.

  Instead of attempting to intimidate her by standing, as they had last time, they sat on the opposite couch and stared at her. Mr. Brubre’s gaze was as cold as black ice and Mrs. Brubre’s blue eyes snapped with impatience and temper. They hadn’t offered her tea, a serious breach in manners. All guests entering the home of a witch or warlock must be offered hospitality.

  “I am unable to procure the location of your son,” said Ginger.

  “That’s impossible!” said Mrs. Brubre. “You are the only one who can find him.”

  “Why do you think that?” asked Ginger. “Is it because…oh, I don’t know…a soul recognizes its mate?”

  The woman paled. “You are delusional! You are not Nigel’s mate. That’s absurd! A Brubre would never, ever marry a Thorne.”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” asked Ginger. “I did some checking and found out that Nigel’s arranged marriage happened very quickly—as in two days after my birthday. You thought Nigel was going to be an Ovate. And you were okay with that because he was following the tradition of most youngest sons—scholarly pursuits.

  “Ah. But then you found out he’d been with me. So you arranged the marriage with Lorette Rhia. You wanted Nigel to marry someone who would profit the Brubres.”

  “A very nice fairy tale,” said Mr. Brubre with a razor grin. “You have no proof that such an absurd situation occurred.”

  “Yes, it is a hypothesis,” said Ginger. “But if Nigel had intended to be an Ovate all along, why the sudden push into an arranged marriage? And now that he’s gone and away from me, why the desperate need to find him?”

  “We’ve entered into a marriage contract with the South Rhia Clan,” said Mr. Brubre. “And we have every intention of seeing that Nigel fulfills his obligation to Lorette.”

  “You have every intention of seeing that Nigel never has the chance to marry me. An Ovate has the same rights as all warlocks. If he wishes to marry and have children, he can.” Ginger smiled. “You know what I found out? When a warlock becomes an Initiate, all parental rights and obligations transfer to the Order.”

  “He’s already an Initiate then,” said Mrs. Brubre in a trembling voice. “And Ginger knows which Order he has chosen. He’s been preparing his whole life to be an Ovate. All he ever wanted was to be a scholar monk…and you, of course. We’ve always known he wanted you.”

  Mrs. Brubre’s admission that she and her husband knew of Nigel’s love for her was a lance to Ginger’s heart. Oh Nigel. How she ached for the chance to know him, in both mind and body. He had awakened her to the possibilities of love. At least now he was protected by his Order and able to carry out his studies free from parental manipulation.

  “You would destroy your parents’ business and your sister’s career to protect our son’s location?” asked Mr. Brubre.

  “I told my parents and Sage what you asked of me, and they said to me what I should’ve told you, ‘Do what thou wilt, but harm none.’ I will not give you back Nigel because it will most certainly harm him. And if you think to exact revenge upon my family, feel free. One day, and if the Goddess is merciful it will be soon, you’ll reap all you have sown with your greed and your inhumanity.” Ginger stood, purse in hand, and nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to give the traditional goodbye, so she said, “Good day and good riddance.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Mr. Brubre. He looked at his wife, who nodded, then at Ginger. “Please, Miss Thorne, sit down.”

  Ginger reluctantly retook her seat. “There is nothing you can offer me that will affect my decision.”

  “Nonsense,” said the man. “Everyone has a price.”

  “I’m sorry you believe that.” She resisted the urge to whap him upside the head with her purse. He really didn’t understand the value and the bliss of love. And he would probably never be able to comprehend that loving someone deeply, unconditionally, meant risk, meant sacrifice.

  “We’ll give back the deed. Send Sage to school. We’ll buy you a house, furnished however you like. We know many, many influential people. We can send them to you when they need help. You’ll benefit greatly from their donations.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes. “So what?”

  Mr. Brubre looked taken aback. “Does nothing I’ve offered entice you, Miss Thorne?”

  “Not really.”

  “Fine. You can have anything you want. All that I’ve named so far and whatever else you like. Tell us what you need, and we’ll provide it. For the rest of your life. In fact, you can have a relationship with Nigel. Hell, live with him for all eternity if you so choose.”

  Ginger frowned. Why were the Brubres so desperate to gain her cooperation? “What is the price I must pay for your generosity?”

  “You must never, ever marry Nigel,” said Mrs. Brubre. “And though you may sleep with him all you like, you must never, ever bear his child.”

  Ginger had to admit it was tempting to think about the Brubres bankrolling her every whim and want. A life of luxury for herself and for her family…and all she had to do was to never marry or have children with the one man who might give her real happiness.

  Mr. and Mrs. Brubre looked at her, their smiles smug, their eyes blazing with triumph. She felt genuine pity for them. How sad that neither of them knew true love or the abundant joy of giving from the heart.

  “No, thank you,” said Ginger. “I would not trade Nigel’s happiness for all the gold in the world.”

  “If you will not reap the rewards,” said Mr. Brubre as he and his wife stood, clasping hands. “You will suffer the consequences.”

  Ginger felt a jolt of fear. The Brubres were formidable. And it still galled her that no matter what misery they caused for others, they always prospered. The laws of magic were absolute. What you sow, you reap threefold. And yet, the Brubres seemed immune.

  “Choose your fate,” said Mrs. Brubre. “Will you take our munificent offer…or ensure that you and yours will know nothing but misery?”

  Okay, that was it! She was sick and tired of these horrible people. She didn’t care if they were Nigel’s parents.
They were mean hearted and undeserving of such a wonderful son. Ginger popped to her feet. “I refuse any token from you. And as for all the rest,” she looked them up and down as if they were mold between a troll’s toes, “bring it on!”

  Mr. and Mrs. Brubre’s joined hands pulsed with purple energy. Each pointed an open palm at Ginger and muttered an imprisonment spell.

  “Hold!” shouted a deep male voice. A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in blood-red robes appeared. He surrounded the Brubres with a silver bubble, forestalling their spell…and freezing them.

  “Hello, Miss Thorne.”

  Ginger assessed him, though her heart still thumped wildly from almost getting bespelled into a permanent prison. “Guardian of the Ovate Dragons,” she guessed. “How did you know to arrive in the nick of time?”

  “I pay attention,” he answered. Gray threaded his brown hair and his dark eyes were deep with wisdom and mischief. “I heard you turn down their offer. Numerous times. And so did someone else…”

  In the blink of an eye, Nigel, looking yummy in his white Initiate robes, appeared next to the Guardian. Ginger felt her mouth go dry. “Nigel.”

  “My love,” he said, smiling. He pointed to the bubble surrounding his parents and it popped.

  The Brubres stared in horror at the Guardian then at their son. Their gazes shifted to Ginger, who lifted a shoulder in casual denial.

  “What is all this?” shouted Mr. Brubre. “Nigel, get over here. And everyone else leave my house this instant!”

  “Stop blustering, you fool,” said the Guardian. He pointed an accusatory finger at the Brubres. “The time has come, William, for you and your family to pay your debt—in full.”

  “What debt?” asked Ginger.

  Nigel shyly reached out his hand and she grasped his fingers, thrilled when he yanked her into his embrace. He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “I have missed you.”

  “And I you,” she said.

  “There’s time enough for that, you two,” said the Guardian, chuckling. “Now, to business.” He nodded toward Mr. and Mrs. Brubre. “Just after many witch-warlock families had come to settle California, the ancestor of William Brubre sought council with a powerful witch named Giselda. You see, Josiah Brubre had fallen in love with a woman…a woman betrothed to Michael Thorne.”