Rhys turned slightly to see who had managed to come in—he was sure he’d locked the damn thing—but before he could, there was a nearly deafening blast and a flash of blue light that had him throwing his free hand up against the glare.
When he lowered it, he saw that there was nothing left of the skulls save for a few stray pits of smoking plastic and one red blinking eye that flashed off and on a few more times before slowly dying out.
In the silence that followed, Rhys was very aware of the smoky haze still lingering over the store, the scorch mark now scarring the floor in front of him and the fact that Vivienne was holding his hand.
He looked at their interlocked fingers, her palm almost hot against his, and then up at her face. Her cheeks were pink, eyes wide, and when she sensed him looking at her, her gaze shot to their hands.
Flustered, she dropped hers, stepping away from him as her aunt moved farther into the store.
“What,” Vivienne’s aunt said, her chest moving up and down with the force of her breathing, “have you two done now?”
Chapter 11
Maybe those toy skulls actually killed us and now we’re in hell, Vivi thought as she sat in her favorite chair in the storage room, the golden velvet wingback that she’d spent so much time in, there was probably an impression of her butt in the cushion.
It seemed like a good explanation for why she was stuck in this night that wouldn’t end. First the caves with Rhys, then that nightmare here at the store and now, despite being nearly thirty years old, she had to explain to Aunt Elaine that she’d broken one of the most sacred rules of witchcraft because a guy hurt her feelings.
And that guy was currently here.
“It was an accident,” she said again for what felt like the twentieth time this evening. “We were just . . . being silly.”
“There is no being silly with magic,” Aunt Elaine said, as stern as Vivi had ever heard her. She was standing in front of one of the wardrobes, her arms folded over her chest, her hair pulled back from her face. Several earrings sparkled in her left ear, a long strand of silver dangling from the right, and she looked every inch the powerful witch she actually was. “As I told both of you, constantly,” Elaine went on before walking over to the wardrobe and pulling out a T-shirt.
“What does this say?” she asked, shaking it, and Vivi saw Gwyn roll her eyes from her own spot, sitting crossed-legged on one of the trunks.
“Mom,” Gwyn started, and Elaine raised a hand. “Oh, you will not be ‘Mom-ing’ me, young lady.”
Rhys, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they’d all retired back here, walked up to Elaine and took the T-shirt from her.
“‘Never mix witchcraft with vodka,’” he read, then nodded. “Solid advice, that.”
“Okay, no,” Gwyn said, standing up from the trunk. Her mascara was smudged and there was a run in her tights, but other than that, she didn’t seem that much worse for wear, given what had happened tonight. “You don’t get a say in any of this. This is all your fault.”
“Because I did the curse?” Rhys asked, raising one eyebrow as he tossed the shirt back to Elaine. “Is that why it’s my fault?”
Hands on her hips, Gwyn faced off with Rhys. “Because it’s your fault we had to curse you in the first place. If you hadn’t shattered Vivi’s heart—”
“I didn’t shatter anything,” Rhys scoffed, and Vivi’s heart sped up as she watched him pause, thinking it over.
Then he looked at her with those blue eyes and asked, “Vivienne . . . did I shatter your heart?”
Now not just the night that would never end, but possibly one of the worst nights of her life.