Page 38 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart
She pressed on. The longer it took, the more unreasonable her thoughts grew.
She scanned the forest beyond the festival edge, anxious that she might catch him drifting away behind an ethereal glow, or alongside a pair of furry boots.
She pushed her way through a throng, clipping a woman dressed as Lussi.
“Sorry, Naomie.”
“Mmm, I’m not who you think I am,” came a tinkling reply in an unfamiliar voice, and then everyone around the white-clad Lussi laughed.
The leaping fire at their center cast the costumed figures in a shifting, unearthly light—at least, she hoped it was the fire.
None of them looked exactly right. They were too long, too narrow, and when she turned her head to catch them in the corner of her eye, she swore they were shimmering.
Was it the fae or the mead? Who could say? She only hoped that if they were fair folk, they enjoyed the party and the offerings and would leave feeling generous for the rest of the year.
Rowan pressed on, following the cawing of a crow she could somehow hear through the bustle of the festival.
More crows circled above the main stage, where the witch trio was setting up to play Celtic tunes on violin, bodhran, and guitar.
All three were tall and willowy, with hair so pale it almost appeared white.
Gavin was here, she was sure of it, but where? She craned her neck, searching.
There he was—on the far side of the performance area, out of the costume and back to himself, watching the band assemble with the woman in red at his side. The woman held up her hand and gave a twirl, seeming to be asking for a dance.
Rowan plunged into the audience in panic. At that exact moment, the violinist started finger-picking a familiar jig that had everyone clapping and stomping their feet with the percussionist as she joined in on the bodhran.
The floor erupted around Rowan in an ecstatic dance, and whenever she thought she’d found a path through, the dancers shifted to swallow it whole.
Finally, she broke through the dancers to land at his position and rushed to his side, ready to warn him away.
He was alone—no trace of the woman in red. His gaze landed on her, and he lit up without seeming to help it. Everything she’d wanted to say escaped her mind as her joy at finding him came out in three words.
“Dance with me?”
Gavin hesitated, and for a moment, she was afraid he’d say no. But then he half smiled in his cool way. “I don’t know this dance.”
“You’ll pick it up.” She took him by the hand and their fingers tangled.
“Please don’t lose me,” he said, holding fast.
She raised her eyes to his face. “I’ll find you. Even if we get separated, I’ll find you. I’ll always find you—I promise.”
At that, his posture softened, and they were off. She flowed through the crowd, keeping him in the corner of her eye, so that when the music slowed for a partner interlude, his hand could find hers.
He hesitated briefly before she gave a cue that he should raise their arms and take a brief walk with the other dancers through a downbeat section.
The music picked back up, and he spun her out and around, first once and then again and again, and finally snatched her in close as they skipped to the beat, hips swaying in tandem.
He might not have known the exact steps, but he was a confident lead, and their bodies had no trouble picking up each other’s subtle cues.
The musical notes rippled through Rowan’s muscles.
Heavy beats guided her back and forth, up and down, in slow sinuous spirals and in rapid undulations.
His eyes followed her every move, drinking her like she was the sweetest wine.
Energy mounted as synchronicity of bodies and rhythm spurred a commingling of spirit.
It was no mystery in that moment that dance—like singing, and sex—was a surefire way to raise power.
They opened a person’s spirit wide to give and receive.
On the dance floor, bodies became bridges for hearts to travel on, and hers went straight to him. The coy distance between them drove her to the edge of her senses, and the ache that normally only plagued her when they were apart reared up—sharp and demanding.
She was ready to open, but she had to apologize first.
As they moved into a walking section, she said, “I’m sorry about yesterday. When it comes to your dad, I’m…always on the attack. It isn’t fair.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “And I’m sorry about what happened on the mountain. He got in the way. But I…”
He glanced away. Whatever was coming next, she could tell it was hard for him to say. Even though the music picked back up, they kept to their own slower pace so they could keep talking, sticking to the edge of the dance floor.
“He’s never really dealt with losing my mother,” Gavin continued.
“The only reason I did was my grandparents, who were clinical psychologists in their first lives. They helped me through it, but Dad, he…refused the help. After a while, it was clear that as bad as I was, he was worse. I was afraid I’d…
” He swallowed the exact words. “Lose him too. I was his only anchor. It’s been that way ever since. ”
“I understand,” said Rowan, even as she thought, as she had more than once before, that it was too much to have put on a child. But she held it back. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“I want to share everything with you,” he said, his voice lower, eyes ablaze with invitation. The song came to an end, and he ran a hand along the side of her face.
Even though she’d long since ditched the mask, she still wore Frau Perchta’s dress, and something of her earlier boldness followed. Why did she care who judged her? They weren’t living her life, so why let them set its terms?
She kissed him, and not just with her mouth, but with her whole body. Somewhere in the distance, there was a hooting cheer, but it didn’t stop or slow her.
She devoured him until there was no question of what she wanted him to know.