Page 56 of Wedded Witch

I blink, surprised. “Wait, it still exists? I thought it might’ve... I don’t know, been abandoned or destroyed over the years.”

“It’s still standing,” Kel says, his voice firm. “Maybe not in the best shape, but it’s there.”

The weight of this new information presses down on me, adding another layer of confusion and frustration to everything I’m already dealing with.

His words settle heavily in my chest. It makes sense, I suppose. If my family’s magic is tied to Spells Hollow, it’s no wonder we would have had a residence here.

Kel’s voice is softer when he speaks again. “I can show you the house, Swyn. If you’re ready.”

I hesitate, glancing up at him, then at Ri and dog-Sol, who both seem to be waiting for my answer. There’s a part of me that’s terrified to see it—this piece of my family’s history that’s been hidden from me for so long. But there’s also a part of me that knows I have to face it if I’m ever going to break this curse.

I nod, taking a deep breath.

“Show me.”

Ri leads the way once more, his pace quick and determined. Sol stays close, still in his dog form, his quiet presence grounding me as we move deeper into the trees.

As we step out of the woods, the town square opens up before us. The air feels thick with energy, buzzing against my skin, and I catch my breath as I take in the sight.

Spells Hollow is quiet, almost too quiet, and yet there’s something about it that feels more alive than any place I’ve been. The cobbled square is eerily still, but the looming presence of the ancient buildings around it sends a shiver down my spine.

My eyes flick to Kel, who nods at one of the coven houses. “That’s your ancestral home, Swyn. It’s one of the original coven houses.”

I follow his gaze, and my heart skips a beat when I take it in. It’s an old Victorian house, much like the one in my family’s stories. White, wooden, and elegant despite the overgrown vines crawling up the sides.

The roof is steeply pitched, and at the very top, a small lighthouse-like tower juts out, casting a shadow over the picket fence below. The windows are dark, but I can almost feel something stirring inside them—memories or maybe even ghosts.

The fence creaks as I push open the gate, the sound startling in the silence. The moment my hand touches the wood, warmth surges through me, familiar and foreign at the same time.

Magic.

Old, ancient magic, like it’s woven into every fibre of this place, waiting for me.

I gasp, jerking my hand back. It’s like the house recognises me—like it’s welcoming me home after all this time. My pulse races, and I glance at Kel and Ri, who are watching me closely. Sol is still in his dog form, but I swear I see a knowing look in his eyes.

“Feel that?” Kel asks softly, stepping beside me. One hand rests gently on the gate, though it doesn’t react to him the way it did to me, and he places the other lightly on the small of my back.

It takes immense effort not to lean into his warm touch. “This house belongs to you, Swyn. Your family’s magic runs through it. It’s been waiting for you.”

A chill runs down my spine. I didn’t grow up in Spells Hollow, but the stories of my ancestors—of the Galdur line—were passed down to me, though never with this kind of intensity.

This place, this house, holds all the secrets of my bloodline, including the curse that’s been haunting me since the day I was born.

Swallowing hard, I take a step forward, my hand brushing the gate again. The warmth tingles through me, soothing and unsettling all at once. It feels like stepping back into a life I never knew I had.

KEL

Swyn hesitates at the gate,her hand hovering over the latch like she’s not sure if she should go in. There’s this look on her face, one I haven’t seen before—part wonder, part fear, like she’s stepping into a dream she can’t quite remember.

The house seems to hum with recognition, like it’s been waiting for her. Hell, maybe it has.

I glance at Ri, who’s standing too close to her, his eyes narrowed in that overprotective way he gets. Sol’s beside me, still in his dog form, but his ears twitch as if he’s picking up on something.

Then, without any shame, he trots off to the side of the garden and lifts his leg against the crumbling stone wall of the house.

I smirk. At least he didn’t piss up her family’s fence. Small mercies.

Swyn takes a step forward into the overgrown garden, her boots crunching on the wild, untamed grass. The place looks like it’s been abandoned for years—vines twisted around rustingrailings, with ivy creeping up the walls like it’s trying to reclaim the house for nature.