Chapter Three

The council house buzzed with the clashing energies of twenty-some witches stuffed into one poorly ventilated room. The ancient ceiling fan overhead spun slowly, more decorative than functional, like the kind of spell that technically worked—but only if you squinted and believed hard enough.

I eyed the oak table warily, already regretting my life choices.

Darcy took her seat with the groan of old bones and an exaggerated sigh, as if the mere act of sitting down after storming into my cottage was heroic. Tonya nudged my shoulder, eyes wide with anticipation. Around us, familiar faces shifted restlessly: Rowan and her permanently arched eyebrow, Mira with her herbs braided into her hair, and Ursula—who still dressed like she’d just emerged from a Victorian funeral.

Marlene, all robes and wrath, called the meeting to order with a pointed bang of her cane on the floor.

“Silence,” she snapped. “Unless someone here can conjure a miracle, we’ve got a political circus to plan.”

A few groans echoed, followed by someone muttering, “You mean host.”

“Regardless,” Marlene said, cutting through the noise, “we’ll be hosting a joint gathering with the local vampire court and the werewolf pack. In our sacred grove.”

More groans.

“It’s neutral ground,” she added sternly, “and it’s the only place with enough magical insulation to withstand whatever nonsense they bring with them.”

“Or whatever we cause,” Tonya murmured beside me.

“Now, we need everyone assigned to key roles,” Marlene announced. She unrolled a parchment so long it draped onto the floor. I got the sudden urge to hex it on principle.

“First,” she said, glaring at us all like we’d personally offended her, “Seating arrangements. Mira?”

A young witch with soft blue streaks in her otherwise graying hair raised her hand.

“You’ll be in charge of organizing the layout. Guests must be separated by species and temperament. That means no vampires seated next to werewolves unless you want a disemboweled centerpiece.”

“I already started on color-coded aura maps,” Mira chirped, holding up a scroll.

“Of course you did,” I muttered. Overachiever.

“Next. Catering,” Marlene continued. “Rowan—you’ve got the stomach to deal with vampire dietary restrictions and werewolf allergies. Try not to poison anyone.”

Rowan rolled her eyes. “As long as no one tries to substitute raw heart tartare with beetroot again, we should survive.”

Darcy crossed herself dramatically. “Never again.”

“Ursula,” Marlene barked, “you’re in charge of ordering candles and incense. I want calming scents. No pine. No patchouli. Absolutely no blood musk this year.”

Ursula sniffed haughtily. “Fine. I’ll go with moonflower and dragon’s breath. It masks tension better than lavender.”

“That works,” Marlene grumbled. “Brenna, you’ll oversee brewing the single-use potions.”

A squat witch with fingers stained periwinkle from potion residue raised a gloved hand. “You want the classics? Clarity, Calm, and Compulsion Resistance?”

“And maybe something explosive,” I suggested under my breath. “For emergencies.”

Tonya stifled a laugh.

“Oh, we’ll need explosive backups,” Brenna agreed far too eagerly. “In case diplomacy fails.”

“Or someone spills red wine on a werewolf,” I added.

Marlene narrowed her eyes. “Which brings us to you, Thea Davis.”

I opened my mouth.

“Assigned,” she said before I could argue, “as the official Peacemaker and Babysitter.”

“You can’t possibly—” I started.

“You already have a stray werewolf curled up on your couch,” she cut in. “Consider this your formal promotion.”

Tonya whispered, “Congratulations on your new full-time unpaid internship.”

“You’ll be responsible for all guest interaction mediation,” Marlene continued. “If a vampire gets handsy, a werewolf gets snarly, or a witch gets too mouthy—”

“So, everyone,” I said.

“—you’ll be the one to de-escalate. And no turning people into frogs this time.”

“One time,” I muttered.

Darcy cleared her throat. “You’re the only one stubborn enough not to flinch when things get tense. And you’ve got a decent track record of avoiding murder.”

“Decent,” Tonya echoed with a grin.

Marlene looked around the room. “Does anyone have any useful input before we proceed with ceremony rehearsal protocols?”

Rowan raised her hand again. “Do we have a weather enchantment scheduled? Because last year’s thunderstorm nearly fried the harpist.”

“Scheduled and sealed,” Mira responded. “No lightning. Just dramatic clouds for ambiance.”

Someone in the back muttered, “What about bathrooms?”

“Potions of rapid evacuation are being brewed,” Brenna announced proudly. “One sip, and you’re back home on the toilet.”

“Gods help us,” I whispered, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Marlene finally closed her scroll and tucked it away. “That’s it. Roles are assigned. Disasters are expected. Now go prepare yourselves. This coven has exactly six days to pull off the event of the century without starting a supernatural war.”

We all sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the magnitude of what lay ahead.

Then Tonya leaned over again. “Still think babysitting one werewolf was bad?”

“I miss him already,” I deadpanned.