Hex Me: A Friends to Lovers Romantasy, page 1
Hex ME
IMMORTAL VICES AND VIRTUES: ALL HALLOWS’ EVE
AMANDA PILLAR
Hex Me
Amanda Pillar
Published by Maatkare Books Copyright © 2025 Amanda Pillar.
Immortal Vices and Virtues universe Copyright © 2022 Kel Carpenter LLC.
Edited by: Rachel Theus Cass
Cover art by Aaricia
All rights reserved.
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-6487935-5-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Formatted with Vellum
For all those couples who start out as platonic but end up as iconic.
“I mean, they say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.” ― Banksy
Contents
Glossary
1. Tamsin
2. Max
3. Tamsin
4. Max
5. Tamsin
6. Max
7. Tamsin
8. Max
9. Tamsin
10. Max
11. Tamsin
More by Amanda Pillar
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Glossary
The Houses
House of Air and Amythest
House of Blood and Beryl
House of Death and Diamond
House of Earth and Emerald
House of Fire and Fluorite
House of Gold and Garnet
House of Sea and Serpentine
House of Spirit and Sapphire
House of Destiny and Dragomir
No Man’s Land
The Crossroads – St Louis, Missouri
No Man’s Circus – Portland, Oregon
The Portals
Himalaya Portal – Opens to a world of Gods
Sahara Desert Portal, Africa – Opens to the Witch World, the Old Country
Portland Portal, Oregon – Opens to the Shifter World, Arcadia
Amazon Portal, South America – Opens the Angels/Demons World, Celestia/Soleil
Near Fiji Portal, Pacific Ocean – Opens to a world of Merpeople
Giant’s Causeway Portal, Ireland – Opens to the Fae World, Avalon
Melbourne Portal, Australia – Opens to a Shapeshifter World, Vuulectus
The Crossroads Portal, Missouri – Opens to Tartarus
Chapter 1
Tamsin
HOUSE OF DEATH AND DIAMOND HEADQUARTERS, SCOTLAND
For Tamsin Redthorne, the future had never been particularly mysterious.
In fact, it had always been rather…predictable.
And, well, given the nature of her magic, she supposed it was to be expected. As a witch who could control space and time, she could see the future—and the past—a little too well. To the point where she had once been petitioned for fortunes on a regular basis. That had stopped, however, when her prices soared exorbitantly; sometimes, being a descendant of a god helped add to your credentials. Although, if you were to ask the gossip mill fed by the Houses all around the globe, she was only considered one of the world’s leading seers, despite her heritage. But if you were to ask her—well, she’d say she was the world’s leading soothsayer.
Not that anyone bothered to ask her.
But…if Tamsin were being honest, her particularly clear foresight didn’t exactly always get things right. The future still held on to its surprises, like a magician clutching their last trick up their sleeve.
This was especially true when it came to her own future.
She couldn’t see it.
No matter what method she tried, or how she worked to coax it out, it skirted away, like fate was playing an eternal game of tag with her—one with a set of rules she didn’t understand. And that fickle power very well might’ve been messing with her; fate wasn’t the kind of dinner date that liked to show up on time.
If at all.
But for everyone else…well, what surprised her was the way the future took shape. One road, but with many different paths spreading out along the way: some windy and convoluted; some uphill inclines with little chance to stop and catch your breath; while others were mazes with blind corners and endless wrong turns. Occasionally, there were so many potential outcomes that they fused together in her mind; what could be and what might have been blurring into a picture with far less definition but just as much chaos as a Rorschach inkblot.
And sometimes, just to make things even more difficult, she mistook what was yet to happen with what had happened, but was best left forgotten.
Like her broken engagement.
Without thinking, Tamsin clutched the gold charm that hung from a long chain around her neck, as she so often found herself doing. If she’d been able to foresee that Nigel Bigby would abandon her one cold winter’s day, well, she would have kicked his ass to the curb the moment their paths had intertwined. But, unfortunately for her, she hadn’t, and she’d instead had to endure the humiliation and hurt that had come with his rejection.
Best not to think about that.
No. She didn’t need to waste her brain power on that self-important prick. She’d done enough of that already. I made sure I moved on, she thought, as she let go of the charm. Plus, that was years ago; before she’d joined the House of Death and Diamond. Well, technically it was because she’d planned to join the House of Death and Diamond, not that it mattered.
She’d known for quite some time that when she left the House of Earth and Emerald, it would be for a House with diamonds. She’d seen—and may have helped—the rise of said House, but she had not foreseen all the finer details that would go along with it. And the devil did enjoy lurking in the details, after all.
Back when she’d been reading tarot cards in a pub in the middle of London—five and a half years ago, now—she hadn’t fully known who Sabrina Fhearchair was, even though the woman had been bussing tables not far away from where she herself had sat. But Tamsin had an inkling. She’d sensed that the red-haired, human-appearing waitress was going to be important to the world, and that she was a harbinger for a new supernatural race.
She’d just not seen the full nature of what all that entailed.
That leaving her former House would cost her more than just a broken engagement.
That she’d become one of the seconds-in-command of the new House.
And that she’d be stuck working with an annoyingly arrogant phantom on an unfortunately regular basis.
She’d since come to realize that the reason she hadn’t been able to see those details was because her fate was so intricately intertwined with Sabrina’s. As a result, the specifics stayed murky.
The fact she couldn’t see her own future didn’t really impinge on her day-to-day life. No more than it should, anyway. The people around her didn’t know squat about what was going to happen tomorrow, or tomorrow’s tomorrow, and they were perfectly okay with it. She envied them that. But it was frustrating when the people she spent time with developed shrouded futures, just because their tomorrows were tangled with hers. There were quite a few of those individuals in the castle she now called home, deep in the highlands of Scotland. Although, she thought, clenching her teeth, I’d prefer if some individuals were not affected by my proximity, so I could gauge the expiry date on our…forced interactions.
To be fair, it was only one person.
But that was one person too many, in her humble opinion.
Tamsin came to a stop in one of the castle’s many halls and glared at the solid wooden door in front of her, as if it had personally committed a sin against her. Mentally, though, she was picturing the subject of her irritation: Max Fhearchair.
With a sigh, she pushed open the heavy door, her skin tingling from the presence of anti-listening spells as she crossed the threshold into the ‘war room’, as Sabrina insisted on calling it. There was nothing particularly military about the room—if you ignored the spyware enchantments, anyway—as it looked like an over-sized dining room that had been converted for meetings. Which is exactly what it was.
A huge, twenty-seater walnut table took up the bulk of the space in the middle of the room, with the walls covered in red and gold wallpaper that had discolored rectangular patches, indicating the places where paintings used to hang. She figured the empty spaces were from family portraits that hadn’t aged well…in that the subjects hadn’t aged. Navy blue carpet hid the cold stone floor; an attempt to hold warmth, she suspected; although in reality, it didn’t do much. The castle was damned chilly, even in summer, not that it mattered to the phantoms who lived there.
Ghosts didn’t feel the cold, after all.
Still, she wasn’t about
Tamsin’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the castle’s noticeboard, which had been moved into the war room—for reasons beyond her. It normally lived in the kitchens. A few items were circled on it in black marker, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, even if its new location was. She wandered over, the beads in her hair brushing together as she moved. She read over the varied messages, some banal, some ridiculous, some serious.
Who used all the shampoo in my bathroom?!
Since it wasn’t signed, she had no idea whose shampoo had been used. Most of the castle’s inhabitants could shift into a ghost form that meant doors were…optional. A phantom could have easily used the shampoo and left without anyone the wiser. Plus, Tamsin wasn’t about to waste magic finding a potential haircare product thief—not unless her shampoo also became a target. No one would be safe then.
She focused on one of the circled items:
ENTER YOUR SHIP NAME FOR SABRINA AND KIERAN.
That was new. A series of emojis were drawn under the heading, but Tamsin decided they were better left untranslated. Surprisingly, people had already added a few suggested names: SabRan; Kierina; Kiebrina; Kierabrin; Sabki.
She scoffed at the suggestions and picked up a marker and added ‘Sabrien’ and ‘Sabrie’.
How had they missed the most obvious ones?
Tamsin’s hand lowered as she read the next circled entry.
“There’s another body on the lawn?” she asked herself, wondering who the hell it could be this time.
A deep sigh came from the other end of the room. “Aye. Another one.”
Tamsin hadn’t even heard the door open.
She turned to take in the tall, irritatingly handsome man standing a few feet away. How had he gotten in? Could there be a secret passage into the war room? There were hidden routes all over the castle, she’d learned, and she had yet to map all of them. Her corporeal body also meant that some were simply inaccessible to someone like her.
Later, she’d irritate Max about it, until he couldn’t take it anymore. Hopefully, he’d tell her then. Having planned her future onslaught, she eyed Max Fhearchair, her gaze raking over his body, doing it just to annoy him. His gray eyes were partially hidden by the pair of glasses he’d recently taken to wearing, though she wasn’t entirely sure why; he didn’t need them as far as she could tell.
He wore a crimson sweater vest that should’ve looked ridiculous on him—but somehow only served to accentuate his narrow waist and broad shoulders. The phantom’s annoyingly thick hair was swept back from a face that hadn’t aged a day in the five and a bit years she’d known him. By all accounts, he’d been a professor back when universities were still a thing, which meant that he was at least a hundred years old, yet he didn’t look a day over thirty.
She shook her head slightly, knowing it would irritate him to no end, and turned back to the noticeboard.
“Done with yer inspection?” he asked, his deep, accented voice surprisingly mild.
Heat washed over her as he closed the distance between them, and she gritted her teeth against the sensation. She hated knowing where he was in a room, just by how her skin felt in relation to him.
“What’s with the glasses?” she asked instead of answering him, tone snippy, as she tossed a chunk of her long hair over her shoulder. Some of it may have whacked him in the face. Oops.
Instead of growing annoyed like she expected, he carefully picked up a lock of her hair, inspecting the beads, shells, and charms she’d added to the waist-length mass. Each one spelled for protection—or some other task. “What’s with the beads in yer hair?”
The scent of heather and woodsmoke—his scent—reached her.
She tried not to breathe.
Tamsin turned her head to glare at him. “None of your business.”
He ran a thumb over her hair, and she swore it almost felt like he was stroking her skin instead. She yanked her tress back and his grip loosened as he let it slide slowly through his fingers, the image of her hair gliding in his hand burning into her mind.
Fuck.
She swallowed, hating the way she suddenly felt—as if her body was attuned to his every move, eagerly awaiting more.
She decided that she hated his hands.
No, that wasn’t true, and she well knew it. He had the kind of hands that appealed to her on a visceral level: long fingers, clean nails, sinewy—like he knew how to use his hands, and how to take care of them. She just hated that he had those hands.
“Physics professor, my ass,” she mumbled to herself.
Sure, he might dress like one, but he acted like a damned alpha shifter half the time. He toned it down when he was with the House’s co-ruler, Kieran Aspen, because the phantom wasn’t an idiot. And he also muted it with his family, because they were, well, his family. But it was a mask.
“I can assure ye,” Max said, leaning in a little too comfortably, “I was verra much a physics professor.”
Her entire left side felt like it was being scalded by the heat of him. She didn’t dare look in his direction—if she did, she might try to strangle him.
And add to the body count on the lawn.
That was absolutely what she would do, and nothing else.
She decided to ignore his deliberate taunting and pointed at the circled news item. “Is this a dead body that’s actually dead, or is it a phantom pretending to be dead to scare newcomers?” she asked.
The House of Death and Diamond was too new to have major enemies, but it still had its unfair share. And the folk who lived at Braemar Castle had no qualms in killing said enemies if they got too close to their headquarters. But sometimes, the younger phantoms would play ‘dead’, trying to freak out the new members of the House. Hence a dead body may not actually be a dead body.
“Well, that’s the fun part, isnae it, lass?”
Tamsin hissed at the nickname. She was not a ‘lass’, or his ‘lass’, or anyone’s ‘lass’, for that matter. “Don’t call me that.”
“I feel like ye may have a wee anger problem if ‘lass’ upsets ye,” Max murmured, the deep resonance of his voice settling into her bones.
Tamsin scowled. She opened her mouth to set him straight, when the door opened suddenly. They stepped apart automatically, making her realize just how closely they’d moved to each other to begin with.
“Ah! My two favorite employees!” Kieran Aspen announced, a little too happily, and with much more enthusiasm than he approached, well, anything except Sabrina. He strode into the room like his mate owned it—which she did.
Sabrina’s consort was an improbable half-fae, half-vampire hybrid, who could see not only ghosts but also phantoms without even trying. He wore his black hair in a manbun today, along with his usual ensemble of black clothes and a leather jacket. He claimed the combination didn’t show the blood as much, and that leather was easy to wipe off, making sure he stayed both clean and efficient.
Tamsin fought the urge to roll her eyes at the manbun.
Sabrina quickly followed her mate into the room, her red hair curling around her pale face, and her mouth creased into her usual smile. She was a surprisingly happy person, considering she’d been murdered, turned into a ghost, ignored for years, and then handed a title she’d never wanted. Oh, and as if that wasn’t enough, she’d also ended up mated to a psychopath.
And said psychopath? Well, he was an asshole to everyone but Sabrina.
Their relationship oddly worked.
“That greeting was a little too…friendly,” Tamsin muttered to Max out the side of her mouth, previous annoyance set aside under burgeoning suspicion.
Max tensed beside her—either from coming to the same conclusion as her or from something else, she wasn’t sure—as the phantom turned to face his niece and her consort, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made his biceps extremely noticeable.
Look at Sabrina. Look. At. Sabrina.
Tamsin hated how aware she was of this man’s proximity, no matter where they were or who they were with. And she had no idea why. He just…got under her skin.
