Page 12 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart

The sidewalks were jammed up by the time they arrived.

The Solstice parade, at least, had drawn a crowd.

Trying to push her way through the throng toward her family was appearing nigh impossible, and so when Rowan caught Gavin gazing into the distance with an intense look of wistfulness, she simply settled where he’d found a gap.

He acknowledged her presence with a nod. “Weren’t you meeting up with people?”

“Oh, the parade’ll start any second,” she said. “It okay if I watch from here?” Her nerves wavered as she waited out the second between question and answer.

But he only half smiled as he said, “Of course.”

Every light in the market, as well as in the nearby streets and businesses, winked out all at once. Everyone who had known what was coming had already put away their phones, and the crowd hissed at the few remaining spectators who weren’t getting the memo until theirs disappeared as well.

The town settled into comfortable darkness. Chattering settled to a rumble and then into silence. The world went still.

All that was left to do was listen to the soft murmurs of the heart, which the rest of the world so often drowned out.

Rowan stared into the velvety blackness and faced what she spent so much energy to ignore. The leaden coil of despair returned to her belly.

Every day she opened her phone to a fresh horror—the world’s ecosystems cracking, elections of autocrats, an exponentially widening gap between rich and poor—and instead of growing closer, unifying to overcome the challenge, it only seemed to drive people into tighter groups, each intent on being the one to survive.

She was overwhelmed. And afraid. She desperately wanted to make a difference, but she hadn’t. Not yet. What if she never did?

It all seemed so impossible.

Just as her thoughts got the better of her, the children arrived, floating in white robes, adorned in holly crowns and wrapped in ivy sashes at their waists. Their high, clear voices pierced the night, and the colorful Solstice lanterns they carried bobbed and dipped in the dark.

At their front was Rowan’s mother, wearing a robe of crimson and a crown of antlers, each with a burning candle at its tip.

Liliana Midwinter looked brilliant and beautiful, and every step she took carried the message of the Solstice. That every day forward from this one was a little longer, the night a little shorter. The world still turned.

Candles lit in every direction. From the sills of nearby windows to the awnings of festival booths, they blazed. The audience gasped in wonder.

Rowan’s eyes fixed on those bobbing lights and remembered the promise of the flame that unified so many winter holidays.

The months ahead would be hard, but no matter how long the night, no matter how bitter the cold, the sun would come again, and death would give way to new life.

It was an excuse—nay, a calling—to manifest joy at a time of year when joy was scarce.

There was no wishing away the winter, only preparing as best you could to endure it.

She didn’t realize how much she needed the reminder until she was forced to sit and watch the candles burn.

A hand settled around her shoulders, fingers loose enough that it would be easy to shrug them off if the touch was unwanted but firm enough to soothe. A few tears had slipped from her eyes, and Gavin, it seemed, had noticed.

She lifted an arm to wipe away the evidence, but his eyes were shining too, and she stopped and allowed herself to accept his comfort. They watched in silence until Liliana and the children had traveled far enough away to be swallowed by darkness.

The rest of the parade erupted onto the streets in a bombastic celebration as the solemn moment passed.

The high school marching band led them all in a jubilant carol.

A group of Korean dancers, many of them members of Zaide’s extended family, danced by in robes and colorful scarves, beating drums. Members of the local synagogue rolled by with a car-sized menorah, candles erupting in multi-foot flames.

Queeriosity sponsored a float carrying a massive Solstice lantern banded in the colors of the Progress Pride flag.

Members of the Presbyterian congregation came at their heels, dressed as figures from the nativity story.

One after another, the diverse spectrum of the local community celebrated together in the season.

This is worth taking every chance on.

Pressure eased from Rowan’s shoulder, and she registered that Gavin had finally removed his hand. He wandered away from the curb, his gaze fixed on a hand-painted sign at the entrance to the festival grounds.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He considered his answer before responding. “Being here…I can’t help but think about her.”

“Your mom?”

He nodded, eyes dark and solemn. “She loved the holidays. She loved this place.” He pressed his palm to the worn wood of the sign. It featured a snowy queen standing at an ice castle, haloed in dull, burned-out bulbs. Sarah McCreery had painted it, as well as many of the festival’s other signs.

“The lights haven’t worked in years,” he said, “but they keep it up anyway.”

“Mom’ll never let them take it down,” said Rowan. She reached out to place her hand on his forearm. “I need to apologize again. I’m sorry I ever doubted that you cared.”

His face tilted in a smile. “I get it. I am a McCreery, after all.”

With a flush, she said, “Yes, well, by my count, there’s only one McCreery I actually have issues with, and two who are pretty great.”

Gavin looked down, bringing attention to the fact that her hand was still resting on his arm.

Rigid muscles flexed and blood pulsed, and she found herself thinking about the moment back at the choir where she thought he might put his arm around her and pull them together.

Her lower lip tingled with a shivering sweetness that swept its way down her body.

At that moment, every bulb in Sarah McCreery’s sign came alight in a flash of hot white.

The full effect was dazzling. A cascade of bulbs down the woman’s back formed hair of pure light, and her eyes twinkled.

Gavin’s eyes widened, and he murmured, “What?” He peered around the sign as Rowan stood frozen in place. “Is this even plugged in?”

Rowan snatched back her hand from his arm, blurting, “I need to go.”

Her blood pounded in her ears as she took a step away from him, gazing in apprehension at the sign. It was her doing. She was sure of it. Which made this the third time that magic had come unbidden in Gavin’s presence. He stared at her quizzically.

“I…I need to find my family now,” she said. “We’ve got people coming over for Solstice dinner.”

“No need to explain,” he said, accepting her rambled excuses at face value. “The holidays are busy.” Then, after a pause, he added, “Thanks for the shopping advice and the company.”

“Of course,” she said, hands extending the pockets of her jacket as she took a few more hurried steps back. “I can’t promise we got your cousins something they’ll like, but they would definitely have hated those hats I talked you out of.”

His brows knit. “Ms. Dorothy promised that all the kids in her classes wear them.”

“Uh-huh, and who was going to be making money on that sale?” He didn’t reply. “That’s what I thought.”

They both laughed, and his face relaxed. “Good night, Rowan.”

“Good night, Gavin.”

And then his eyes were back on the sign, bathed in its pale luminescence. She left him that way, trying to shake off the uneasiness that followed.

But whether it was the unintended magic or his imagined touch that brought it out, she did not give herself time to wonder, only fled the unwelcome questions that either might force her to ask.