Page 19 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart

The Third Day of Yule

Dawn lightened the matte black of the morning sky to a velvety blue through massive picture windows in the common room at the Crescent Inn and Spa.

A massive stuffed grizzly bear, the hotel’s mascot, sported a slouching Santa hat while a silvery tree glittered in the corner, its base stacked with presents wrapped in festive paper, identical green tags taped to their tops.

It seemed the Haks were still running their annual gift drive for families in need.

Rowan let out an indelicate yawn and chased it with a swill of harsh coffee from the complimentary carafe at the hotel entrance.

She’d slept little and rested even less.

Zaide had been awake when she’d fired off her SOS, and they’d stayed up chatting well into the night, until the details settled into place.

From the initial proposal of “Devise a scheme to trap me in a room with Hayleigh??? Tampering with door handles or something?” Zaide had quickly gotten them to “Or instead of Home Alone hijinks, we get you both naked at the spa and let my aunties scrub the shit out of you. She won’t be going anywhere—trust me. ”

The Korean-style spa at the Crescent featured a large open room with hot tubs at multiple temperatures, behind which clients received body scrubs on a row of beds set up in a communal area.

Assuming Hayleigh took the bait, Rowan would cast the truth spell and question her from the next bed over, and hopefully get her talking about what the Goshen Group had in store for Elk Ridge.

Hopefully.

“Special delivery!”

Clop. A glossy black hairbrush stamped with gold lettering landed in Rowan’s lap. Its bristles were tangled with strands of pale blond hair—this was Hayleigh’s hairbrush.

“How did you get this?” asked Rowan.

“She went out for a run. I borrowed a control key.” Zaide slid into an overstuffed chair in front of the fire at the Crescent Inn, across from where Rowan had been drinking her coffee.

Her black-booted feet came to dangle over one arm, landing against the damask upholstery in a series of gentle thuds.

“Ahjin!” Across the room, Mr. Hak looked up from where he was going over paperwork behind the main desk, giving her a withering look as he called her by her Korean name.

“Sorry, Appa.” She swung around to right herself with an apologetic smile, landing crisscross applesauce so that her feet came to rest inside the chair still.

Though he let out a grunt, he said no more.

Her father had long since accepted there was no sitting up straight with her—nor doing much of anything straight, for that matter.

“Morning, Mr. Hak!” called Rowan. She realized after she said it that she had long since gotten old enough to call friends’ parents by their given names—Hwan, in his case—but old habits died hard.

The older man’s face crinkled with good humor as he grinned back. “Good morning, Rowan. Don’t torment my customers too much, hmm?” Then he gave a wave and disappeared into the bowels of the inn.

“How did you get him to agree to help with this?”

Zaide let out a long groan. “I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise, but she has been the literal worst. Imagine all the ways she’s treated you, then add the ‘interacting with immigrants who she thinks are here to serve her’ factor on top of that.

My family left South Korea during the dictatorship—my dad doesn’t suffer fools. ”

“Brilliant,” said Rowan with a grin. Her fingers worked to unwind hair from the black bristles, grimacing. “Goddess, I wish this weren’t necessary.”

“I mean, it isn’t totally, but if you want to make sure she tells you the truth, instead of just speaking in Latin or something…”

“I know, I know.” The less control she exerted over the spell via careful ritual and reagents, the more likely the chances it would “work, but not as intended.” And she needed this to work as intended.

Rowan shivered one last time as she finished winding the hair in a ring around her finger, where it would remain until it was time to cast the spell.

“Well, the voucher’s under her door,” said Zaide. “So now we play the waiting game.”

“You’re sure there are two openings at the spa this morning?” asked Rowan, fidgeting with the crystal in her pocket.

“Yep, last-minute cancellations. Plus, a little clever rescheduling.”

Rowan cleared her throat and asked, “And the other thing?”

“She spent the night alone. Your boy’s modesty is intact.”

The answer to the question shouldn’t have mattered, but Rowan’s back muscles still loosened all the same.

Rowan’s phone lit up. Mom: Where were you off to so early?

She hesitated a moment before typing back, Met up with Zaide for breakfast.

Mom: Would you mind working the info booth at the festival later?

Sure thing. It wouldn’t be her first time working at the festival.

Before she’d left home, she spent most of her free time in December helping.

Manning booths, assisting with repairs, assembling and disassembling things, running the children’s crafts—whatever needed to be done, someone from the Midwinter family was there to do it.

Everyone pitched in. Everyone, that was, except Madeleine Midwinter, who abstained from large community gatherings.

Zaide pulled out a sketchbook and twirled a pen between her fingers.

“Is that more branding work?” asked Rowan, leaning over to steal a peek.

“Oh,” said Zaide, and her voice was small and quiet in a very un-Zaide-like way. “No, this is, um, well…”

She thrust the book Rowan’s way with no further explanation, eyes darting in the direction her father had gone. What could turn Zaide self-conscious?

The pages featured drawings in a heavy inky style. She’d been working on an athame plunged through an outstretched hand, alongside a delicate flower surrounded with Korean script.

Realization dawned. “Are these tattoos?” asked Rowan.

“They are indeed.”

“Are you thinking about becoming a tattoo artist?”

Zaide nodded, her energy zinging. “There’s this badass woman I’d love to apprentice with.”

Rowan continued to flip through more designs. “Do it. These are amazing.”

“It costs money. Money I don’t have, and besides…

You know, showing my parents I had these was harder than coming out as a lesbian or a witch?

For a while, I actually…” She passed a hand down her arm, and her skin appeared momentarily tattoo-free in an apparently well-practiced spell.

“Until one of my aunties saw it and forced me to tell before she did.” She sighed.

“Saying I want to ruin other people’s bodies would not go over well. ”

Rowan passed back the book. “So the whole ‘no tattoos’ thing is still big in Korean culture?”

Zaide nodded. “People get arrested for it. Younger people are moving on, but the older people, well, it’s complicated. They associate it with gang shit, but not like, gang shit we even chose. Gang shit that was forced on us.”

“That is thorny,” admitted Rowan.

“Thorny is right,” said Zaide.

After a moment, Rowan offered, “I’m sure they’d come around when they saw how good you were. I’d let you despoil this virgin skin.”

Zaide barked a laugh. “Thank you.” She rubbed the top of her journal, looking oddly vulnerable again.

“I mean it. Naomie, she…she’s supportive, but I think she’s also worried about me causing a rift with my folks.

Family’s everything to her. She’s been missing her parents a lot since they moved to New Mexico.

Her abuela’s got a ranch, and she’s always showing me pictures of her family, and the horses, and… ”

“I get it,” said Rowan. “But…you are also a part of your family. All of you. You shouldn’t have to be any less than who you are to be a part of it.”

“Maybe…” murmured Zaide, and then she clapped her hands. “We need a name.”

“A name?” asked Rowan, caught off guard by the sudden change in subject.

“For this operation. It’s tradition.” It was true. They’d always named their schemes. In order to get the school to stock free menstrual products, they’d planted tampons painted red in the men’s staff bathrooms for weeks, until finally their efforts bore fruit. They’d called it Operation Red Tide.

“What about…” said Rowan. “Operation Holly and Ivy?”

“I like it,” said Zaide. And that was it. The mission to save Elk Ridge Winter Fest was formal enough to have a name. It felt good to be working with someone again, especially when that someone was Zaide.

Rowan glanced in Zaide’s direction. “So…you and Naomie?”

A dreamy smile spread across Zaide’s face. “Me and Naomie.”

“Did you two get together before or after you started practicing?”

“Almost the same time,” said Zaide. She tipped her palm toward the ceiling and a small spark of flame erupted above it. “She saw the magic in me before I saw it in myself. I mean, I had an idea, but I was kind of in denial…Can’t keep anything from Naomie, though.”

Rowan shook her head, remembering how Naomie had hidden away her magical insights when they were teenagers in favor of social acceptance. Most people wouldn’t be comfortable having someone around who could see through all the little lies they told themselves.

Zaide snapped the flame out of existence. “And, y’know, once she showed me the magic”—she waggled her eyebrows—“she also showed me the magic. ”

They both giggled at that, and then Rowan sobered, glancing at the ground. “I wish I could’ve helped you find the path earlier.”

Zaide shrugged. “I wasn’t ready. But you trusted me with your secrets. Made me realize the path even existed. I wouldn’t be here without you either.”

At that moment, a short woman with gray hair emerged from the back to wave at them. Zaide shot up in her seat. “She booked it?” The older woman grinned and gave a thumbs-up. “We’re on!”

The words triggered a flare of nerves, and Rowan reached for Zaide. “It’s okay I’m doing this, right?”

Zaide looked confused. “What do you mean?”