Page 37 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart

Rowan had forgotten the liberty of disguise.

With every step through the festival, she slipped further into the character and out of herself, leaving behind her anxieties as she allowed herself to play with her audience.

Inhibitions blunted as she became Frau Perchta, delighting and challenging visitors in equal measure.

With children, she simplified the traditional challenge of the Hunt to “Have you been good this year?” Most of them said yes, but some admitted they could do better, and promised they would. She gave them double shares of chocolate.

With the adults, she offered the full “Have you done all you need to before the New Year?”

Most visitors were eager to play along. Sometimes a little too eager—men, mostly, presuming they were entitled to touch and suggest ways she might punish their failures.

When it happened, she bared the mask’s teeth and snapped, unconcerned if it offended them.

As unconcerned as she was when people rolled their eyes or scoffed and waved her away.

They were responding to Frau Perchta, not to Rowan, and their reactions and judgments didn’t hit like the usual barbs to the chest.

Whenever she needed a break from being hunted by sugar-addled children, she pitched the plan for the Elk Ridge Wheel of the Year to any familiar face willing to listen, buoyed by a stream of excited responses.

She and Stephan were showing off their video to Arnauld in a corner of the festival public house when there was a tap on her shoulder.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” said a blond woman wearing a sweater dress the color of holly berries, above conspicuous furry boots. “Were you saying this place might be open all year soon?”

Rowan tensed—not yet trusting the pitch with strangers. Unfortunately, pheromones took the lead as her big brother noticed the woman and straightened up with a grin.

“Maybe,” said Stephan, leaning in. “What do you think about spending more holidays with us?”

Their visitor gave him a mild smile before looking back at Rowan with a curiously intense look. “Is that something that’s actually happening?”

There was something unsettling about this woman, an unknowable quality that set the hairs of Rowan’s arms standing on end and turned her stomach.

“Not exactly,” she hedged, her vision blurring confusingly as she tried to focus on the woman’s face.

“But people sure are excited about the possibility,” said Arnauld, eyes dancing as he looked at the intruder. “And if you don’t like the idea of coming back to see this guy, you’re free to think of me.” He winked.

“Good to know,” said the woman in a tight voice. Her eyes scanned Rowan with an intense focus. “Have we met before?”

As Rowan tried to place her, it was like trying to remember a dream in the minutes following waking. Slippery images flashed before splitting and falling away.

“I don’t think so,” she said finally.

They studied each other a moment longer before the woman shrugged and said, “Thanks for the intel. Enjoy your evening.” With that, she disappeared into the crowd.

Rowan watched as the slip of vermillion vanished into the crowd. The uneasy sensation in her body didn’t vanish, only spread and twisted in her gut.

“Stephan, was there something weird about—”

She turned, but where her brother had been a moment before now stood a tall figure leaning on a massive oaken staff. Rowan started, her eyes flickering over to where her brother and Arn had vanished into the crowd.

“Well, daughter,” the newcomer said, “have you done all you need to do before the New Year yet? Or do you have business yet undone?”

It was at that moment she recognized him. “You,” she said with a gasp, staring at the figure from the train.

The Holly King nodded before continuing, “I don’t hunt in the literal sense. I’m much too old. But that doesn’t mean I’m planning to let you off easy.” Even hunched, he towered over her. “You’re close, you know. Closer than you believe.”

“Close to what?” she asked in a whisper.

“Only you understand the whole of it,” said the Holly King. “But I would ask you—are you working for or against?”

“I don’t think I know how to answer that.”

He nodded. “Then you should keep asking yourself until you do. You have a little time left until the New Year. And it’s like you said, Rowan.

It’s easy to forget the way impossibly large problems are brought about by many small moments of failure, any of which could have been prevented along the way, if we’d only just kept our eyes on that which was right in front of us. ”

He waved his staff, and the crowd briefly parted, revealing Krampus kneeling in the snow to hand out candy to a small child.

Gavin.

Dressed in a sweaty, heavy, hideous costume without complaint, doing a favor for a woman who made her disdain of his family all too clear. Taking part in a tradition that wasn’t his own, and treating it with respect, curiosity, and an open heart.

He had stuck himself between everyone, trying to be a bridge, and just like a bridge, he’d been walked all over for his trouble.

Choking on everything she should have said, she turned back to the Holly King, but he was gone, replaced by a hypnotic swirl of snow.

All her enthusiasm for the Hunt’s games drained away.

Rowan wanted—needed—to get to Gavin. She glanced back to the path the Holly King had revealed, but it rapidly closed with the regular foot traffic of the festival.

She could only just make out the shape of Gavin as he removed his horns and mask to turn around and greet the blond woman in the red dress.

Oh no.

The dread that roiled through Rowan’s stomach didn’t make any logical sense, but it was a feeling that any witch knew better than to ignore.

There was something off about that woman.

She could have hit herself for letting Gavin out of reach on this of all nights.

For at least not giving him some sort of protection charm to help keep him from being led off into the woods.

Not before she had a chance to apologize. Not before she had a chance to explain that trust was hard, but the thought of losing him was worse.

She called up the wind to muffle her steps and plucked a piece of cold charcoal from an unlit fire. Grinding it to smoky black dust, she prepared a suggestion that anyone who caught her in the corner of their eye should dismiss her as a passing shadow.

With a sprinkle of dust, she muttered her incantation, unconcerned if anyone noticed.

Half the Hunt’s attendees understood the truth of magic, and the other half would dismiss it as character work.

Raising power in this crowd was simple. With so many practitioners in one place at one time, energy all but seeped from the ground.

Swathed in spells, she darted through the crowd unhindered.

He’d moved from the spot she’d seen him in before, but she spied a familiar face by a fire nearby.

“Birdie?” she said.

“My goodness!” shrieked the old woman, nearly tumbling back in her seat with surprise.

“Well, look at you! All wrapped up in spells like you never even stopped.” She gestured between Rowan and the group she was sitting with.

“Everyone, this is Rowan. A wayward witch only recently returned to the path. You might remember her as the knobby-kneed granddaughter of Madeleine Midwinter.”

“Hi,” said Rowan, torn between impatience and the desire not to be rude to a group of elder witches.

Roy Joseph sat at Birdie’s side, but he was the only one at the fire who didn’t reek of magic. A wizened woman in a deep purple turban with ocher skin gave her a slow nod.

“Of course,” said the witch in the turban, “Maddy’s girl. Tell me, Rowan, do I have to keep up my mental shields around you too?”

“Rowan’s equal parts Maddy and Liliana,” said Birdie, bristling. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

“Hmm,” said the witch, seeming to defer her judgment.

“Loosen up, kid, your duty’s done.” Roy shoved a mug of spiced mead into Rowan’s hands. She downed it all in a single long drink, hoping to quash her anxiety.

“Well,” said Birdie with a laugh, “someone’s ready to party!”

“Have you seen Gavin?” asked Rowan.

“Ah, I’m afraid not, dear. I can tell from your aura how eager you are to find him.” Then she looked at the others. “Twitterpation of the highest order.”

Rowan regretted stopping as the circle nodded sagely. “Have a good night, everyone,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Not as good a time as you’ll be having, I’d wager!” called Birdie.

Their circle cackled in delight as she fled, closing her eyes and muttering, “Witches.”

Kel was at the next fire, surrounded by a group of other teens. It was nice to see them with their own people. None of their friends were obvious with magic, though one had it simmering in a latent way.

Her cousin looked at ease, out of the Yule Lad costume and back in their own baby Goth uniform. The group was tossing the stuffed sheep Kel had been carting around as Sheep-Cote-Clod over the fire in some kind of keep-away game.

“Rowan,” said Kel, unusually chipper. “Hey.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, she asked, “Have you seen Gavin?”

“Mm, no. Do you want me to send the birds?” They circled a finger overhead.

“That would be great, but I’m going to keep looking. So if one of them finds him…”

“Zo’ll find you.”

“You’re the best, Kel.”

They shrugged. “The crows’re doing all the work.”

Rowan glanced at the bird hopping around the fire, splitting open peanuts in the shell and stuffing their contents into his beak. “Okay, you’re the best, Zo.” The crow raised his head, looked her in the eye, and let out a double caw in a “Damn straight” before taking to the air.