Page 31 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart

Blanketed in snow, the coven’s circle was even more beautiful than it had been when last they assembled.

The candlelight reflected off its smooth white surface and the hopeful faces of the coven.

With little light pollution, the velvety night sky was lit with brilliant pinpricks and the smears of distant galaxies.

Despite her fatigue, raising power came easily this time, and Rowan simply enjoyed the feeling of her voice joining that of her family and her oldest friends.

Her body synced to the music they made, luxuriating in ripples of muscle and a rhythmic tapping of feet.

The pulse of unity swept her up, and she appreciated how, when her energy would naturally dip, someone else’s magic rose to meet it, buoying her and the spell until she had recovered.

It was a far cry from Rowan’s normal existence, in which every day was a careful measure of exactly what she and she alone could accomplish, and if she was sick, or waylaid, or simply exhausted, it all backed up, like logs snagging in a jam to dam a river, requiring her to triple her efforts to make up for it all before the flood waters burst.

To return to that in a week—back to a life where she had to solve every problem and wash every dish and woke up most mornings only to move to the desk under the window. Well, the thought of it all arrived with an ever-mounting dread and resistance.

There was no plan to reconvene inside after they returned to the Midwinter house this time, but Rowan was desperate to talk to someone about what had happened on the mountain and that person would not be her mother.

Before Zaide could climb into her car, Rowan snagged her by the sleeve.

“Can you stay?”

Zaide took one look at her face and said, “Of course.”

The two of them settled under heavy blankets on the porch swing.

It was the same spot they’d staked as teenagers to go over plots, gossip, and plan.

They didn’t cuddle up with the same intimacy they’d once shared, but the distance between them was no longer as wide as it had been on Rowan’s first day back in town.

Zaide finished rolling a joint and lit the end with a flicker of flame that appeared with a snap of her fingers.

Its burning red ember flared with her inhale.

As she released a trail of smoke, she leaned back and propped her leg up against the railing of the front porch.

She held it out in offering, but Rowan waved it down.

“Still afraid of letting go of the reins for a bit, huh?” said Zaide with a chuckle.

Rowan wrinkled her nose in consternation. “It’s not about that.”

“Oh, really?”

“Okay, maybe…Ugh. Pass it over.”

Zaide handed her the joint, and she considered it a moment before putting it to her lips and taking a big hit. The scorch of it hit her lungs, and she coughed in a spasm, passing it back while waving smoke out of her face.

“That’s why,” she said, with another coughing fit.

“It’s because you don’t know,” said Zaide, taking another puff. “Goes away with time and practice.”

“Because you kill all the nerves, you mean…You still buying from my uncle?”

“Of course. There’s no pot like witch pot, and his prices aren’t bad.” When Zaide offered it again, Rowan shook her head, preferring instead to drink in the cool night air. “So, why’d you drag me out here?”

The entire story of her day came out then. Zaide was rapt, cheering at all the right moments, letting out noises of frustration when it was appropriate. When Rowan admitted to bringing an end to the sauna encounter with her breakdown, Zaide blew a raspberry.

“Hurry up and fuck, you two,” she said, pounding on the arm of the chair with each word in emphasis.

“You’re not going to scold me for ‘fraternizing with the industrialists’?”

Zaide snorted. “First off, I’m not eighty. Second, I’m not part of this long messy history you all cling to like it’s a core part of your identity. Third, I already told you—it’s always been obvious you two wanted to tear each other’s clothes off. Even back in high school.”

Rowan was stunned. “Excuse me? You did not say that—you said he got under my skin.”

Zaide’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Exactly.”

The accusation sank in, and Rowan held out a hand for the joint to take another hit, coughing again but keeping the smoke down a little longer this time.

Was it possible that this had been more than a decade in the making? Was that why this desperate wanting came on so fast, so strong, denying common sense?

“You know,” said Zaide, “there was a time I almost thought you two finally did it.”

Rowan’s head rolled her way. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, there was this period of a few weeks, maybe a month, where the two of you seemed…” She gazed into the distance, taking a hit as she considered how to say it.

“Like you were up to something together, and you were happy as shit about it. Anyway, it didn’t last. Things went back to normal pretty quick.

” She studied Rowan. “You have no clue what I’m talking about? ”

“None,” said Rowan, shaking her head. “I wish I did. Maybe we were really excited about a project we were working on together?”

Zaide snorted. “If it was a ‘study of the human body.’ Please, no one looks that happy about school projects. Not even you nerds.”

Not knowing how to parse the revelation, Rowan changed the subject. She leaned over, excited. “Speaking of that, Gavin’s in on Operation Holly and Ivy.”

Zaide was quiet. She took a long drag off the joint and studied it, avoiding Rowan’s eyes.

“What?” asked Rowan.

“There are just…reasons it might not’ve been so smart to involve him.”

“I thought you were too enlightened for the feud?”

Zaide shook her head. “It’s not about that.”

“What then? Something about Gavin? You were literally pounding your fist in support of me jumping his bones like a minute ago.”

Zaide crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “Screwing someone and screwing them out of millions are two different things. One kind of complicates the desire to do the other.”

“Those are his dad’s potential millions.”

“And who inherits it all when the old man goes?”

Rowan opened her mouth to reply, but the question stopped her in her tracks.

“Look,” said Zaide, “he’s a good egg, but he doesn’t have as much riding on this as the rest of us. Not by a long shot.”

“Maybe not,” admitted Rowan. “He’s on our side, though. Trust me on that, please? Plus, we need him. Someone in this group needs to understand things like ‘What does ROI stand for?’?”

“I do not want to have to care about that,” said Zaide. She relented with a sigh. “Okay, okay…Just try to remember: He wins however this ends.”

A humming had started in Rowan’s center, moving slowly outward. The pot was hitting. Her head was lightening, and her words drifted out, sad and sincere. “I will…”

Zaide leaned against her. “For the record, my position on ‘fuck already’ has not changed.”

“So supportive,” said Rowan, leaning back.

“Speaking of supportive…I’ve got something to show you.” Zaide pulled out her phone, flashing an email Rowan’s way. It was an application to apprentice with a tattoo artist. Rowan gasped and clapped her hands together.

“Z, this is huge!”

“I don’t have it yet. And this shit is expensive, but…

” Her smile was light, pleased. “It’s the first step.

Toward something that’s all mine.” She shot back up, jittery with excitement, raking a hand through her short black hair.

“I’ve got this idea…Tattoos with, like, intention magic.

I work with my client to figure out what the fuck they want from their lives, and we commit it to their skin. ”

“I just got tingles.”

Zaide grinned goofily. “So you think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Rowan leaned back in her seat. “Wow. You’re gonna change lives, Zaide.”

“I’m sure as shit gonna try.” Zaide settled back into place beside her, and they lay that way for a minute, enjoying the slow spread of the oncoming high.

Finally, Rowan broke the silence. “So Gavin and I…We came up with a pitch. It’s good, but we’re going to need everyone to make it real before New Year’s Eve…”

By the time she had finished explaining, Zaide had already pulled out a notebook and was sketching. She flipped it when Rowan was done, revealing a quick view of the festival grounds, transformed from a quaint winter town to a ghoulish village of the dead.

“How did I know you’d dive right into Samhain?” asked Rowan with a clap of delight.

“Winter holidays’ve never really been my thing, but this right here? This is my shit. Goddess, how are we just now thinking of this?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Rowan, the shimmying sensation of her oncoming high spilling out into laughter. “I needed elves to give me the idea. They basically had to throw candy in my face.”

“We’re fucking hopeless,” said Zaide, giggling through her fingers.

“No, we’re not,” said Rowan, eyes going wide as she watched the stars expand and dance overhead. “Not anymore.”

At that, the magical humming intensified.

The world seemed to reverberate—a chorus of wind rustling leaves, pebbles clattering across shores, rhythmic breath, gurgling streams, the slow churn of magma in the Earth’s core, stars pulsing in distant galaxies.

The world song. She was a part of it. A part of everything.

What had once seemed empty was now so very, very full.

Rowan reached out for Zaide’s hand, and when she saw the expression on her old friend’s face, she was certain Zaide heard it too.

“Witch pot,” she whispered.

“Fucking witch pot ,” repeated Zaide.

They burst into laughter, and the laughter joined the song, and in that moment, the possibilities seemed endless.