Page 46 of A Spell for Midwinter’s Heart

The Tenth Day of Yule

Zaide had been scheduled to work at the Magick Cabinet the next morning, but when she and Naomie arrived with armloads of Oreos and Pringles, Liliana only took one glance at them and nodded. “Calling out sick. Got it.”

“I’m sure your parents have this place filled with amazing food,” declared Zaide as she stomped around the living room. “But this situation calls for junk. ”

From her place on the sofa, Rowan mumbled, “You’re the literal best,” and popped a can of Pringles. As Zaide and Naomie settled in on either side of her, one taking her feet and the other her head, she mumbled, “What are we going to do? The Goshen Group stole our plan.”

“At the moment?” said Zaide, arching an eyebrow. “We are going to eat junk food. And we are going to watch comfort movies. Because you are in no state to be trying to take care of Elk Ridge right now.”

“We take care of you,” insisted Naomie.

Rowan opened her mouth to protest, but her resistance gave out, and she nodded. “You guys pick the movie.”

As the two women cocooned her in their support, she remembered with a stabbing ache what it had been like in the days following her breakup with Dade.

She might not have been in love with him, but he’d still been a consistent presence in her life, and in losing him, she’d been entirely alone.

She’d had nothing but Netflix and doomscrolling to get her through the messy internal reorientation of the breakup, and Netflix didn’t show up with your favorite trash food, or massage your feet, or give you any sense, really, that it would be okay, because whether you had a significant other or not, there were still people of significance by your side.

“No rom-coms,” Zaide declared as Naomie moved toward the Midwinters’ ancient DVD rack.

Unfortunately, they chose The Muppet Christmas Carol, which seemed safe enough, but the Midwinters still had their old DVD copy—which meant the full, unedited breakup song between Scrooge and Belle.

“Let’s just turn this off,” said Zaide, exchanging a panicked look with Naomie as the Belle onscreen belted out, “The looove is gone.”

“No,” said Rowan, insisting on watching the whole thing. By the time they watched Michael Caine’s tender weeping and the shuddering sobs of Rizzo the Rat, they were all crying along.

When it was over, Zaide ventured, “You know, that’s not you guys. The only miserly landlord short on lady love in this scenario is old Dennis McCreery.”

“The love is very much there,” agreed Naomie, running her hands through Rowan’s hair. She was busy untwisting knots left by fitful sleep. “It’s just…wounded.”

But Rowan said nothing. She didn’t even have it in her to argue, which seemed like a bad sign to the others.

“I can’t believe you were dyeing this hair,” said Naomie, letting a snow-white curl fall. “People pay good money for this color.”

Rowan ignored the compliment, rapt as the cheerful laughter of the Ghost of Christmas Present echoed through Scrooge’s house. By the time the spirit appeared onscreen, with his long green-and-gold robe and crown of holly, she was sitting up.

The Holly King.

“Um, Rowan?” asked Zaide.

“I got called out the other night,” she explained, getting to her feet and sticking her nail between her teeth, signifying that an idea was on the horizon. “At the Hunt. It was the Holly King himself.”

“That’s some big juju,” said Zaide with a whistle of appreciation.

Rowan paced. “He said we were close, but there was something we were missing.” Then it hit her.

“Dennis is convinced that Elk Ridge wants what Goshen Group is selling. He will go on believing that unless Elk Ridge tells him, in no uncertain terms, that he’s wrong.

” She stopped. “We should give Elk Ridge a chance to speak for itself.”

“What if they choose the Goshen Group?” said Zaide. “I mean, given it’s basically our plan…plus Starbucks. People love that shit.”

“Except not exactly,” said Naomie. “Because our plan is for Elk Ridge, by Elk Ridge…”

“And of Elk Ridge,” finished Rowan. Naomie nodded knowingly her way.

Rowan cracked her knuckles and paced. Her training in outreach coordination rose to the surface.

“Call everyone. We need to amplify this fast. Both traditional canvassing and digital. Whatever spells you and Kel might have to boost your posts on social media, Naomie, we’re going to need all of them. ”

“I don’t—” began Naomie, her cheeks flushing.

“Yeah, you do, babe,” said Zaide with a smile. “Your stuff is good. It deserves the chance to compete with racist algorithms and people out there with the money to pay for engagement, but we need every card on the table right now.”

Naomie straightened up and nodded. Then she glanced between them. “What about Gavin? Should we include him?”

Rowan’s heart rose into her throat. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Of course,” said Naomie.

“Besides,” said Rowan, her voice weakening, “you were right, Zaide. He isn’t as invested as the rest of us. Either way, he comes out ahead.”

To her surprise, Zaide looked ashamed of the echo. “I shouldn’t have said that, Rowan.”

The admission startled her. She swallowed back a heavy lump and said, “Well, someone else call him—please?”

“We will,” reassured Zaide, and Rowan looked away, unable to take any more pity. There was no time to wallow. Elk Ridge needed her.

Her broken heart would have to wait.

That night, the coven assembled to cast one last spell together for Yule. This time a cell phone sat on the altar—Naomie’s cell phone—opened to the festival’s social media. Their pitch video for the Elk Ridge Wheel of the Year sat in her drafts, ready to travel across wires and signals.

Imagine a place where the year turns in a complete circle, and every season brings people together to celebrate…

While the social media mavens had been spreading the pitch video, everyone else canvassed in the traditional sense. They talked to their neighbors and put up flyers around town that directed people to show up at the festival offices the next day to make their voices heard.

Rowan tried to use her focus spell to banish thoughts of Gavin, but they kept coming, even after she cast the spell again and again.

Every time she pitched the festival to someone particularly shrewd, she would sense him there, just beyond her shoulder, and she channeled his voice as she outlined the plan’s financial merits.

The effect was so convincing that more than once she’d whirled, her heart at the edge of her throat, thinking maybe this time the lilting baritone giving her patient notes on cost-benefit analysis was actually there, just beyond the periphery.

But it was never him, and she felt a fresh death of the spirit every time. All she had left were his words, and the ghost of his touch on her skin.

Still, she got through the day by coping the best way she knew how: throwing herself into action. But unlike the ghosts of Rowan past, it was decisive action toward an achievable goal, and she was not alone.

Uncle Drew eyed the cell phone. “I can’t believe you agreed to this,” he said, prodding his sister.

Liliana closed her eyes and sighed. “I can’t say I understand it, but…” She opened them back up and scanned the faces of the younger generation. “They do.”

“Welcome to technological obsolescence!” cackled Birdie. “You will find it liberating on the other side.”

They all mellowed, taking hands as they moved through the now-familiar rhythms of ritual preparation. Naomie’s voice rang clear in the night.

Carry it far, carry it wide,

Through the channels I provide,

By the power of three by three,

As I do will it, so mote it be.

The messages were off. It was up to the community to judge what happened next. Everyone filtered away, jittery with anticipation.

“If it goes badly,” offered Naomie, “reports are Albuquerque is nice.”

“I am too old and pale for desert magic,” said Birdie. “I’ll live and die here, whatever the industrialists do. You, though…” She tweaked Naomie’s cheek. “It would do you well to reconnect with your mother’s side. They could teach you things this old white lady never could.”

Zaide looked between the two of them, a vulnerable expression flickering over her face. She put an arm around Naomie’s shoulder. “Let’s not talk like we’ve lost yet.”

“No, of course not,” said Birdie. “That’s a surefire way to send a good spell astray.”

Liliana paused at the edge of the clearing, noting that Rowan had lingered behind. “Are you coming?” she called back.

“No,” said Rowan. “I have something else to do out here. I’ll be back soon, though.”

When they were all gone, she knelt at the edge of the clearing by the stream. Though it was iced at the shore, the center still ran unrestrained. She pulled the hedgewitch pendant from her pocket and stared at it.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” she murmured. “I feel you sometimes. That was you, wasn’t it? The first night? Telling me the spell would work out?”

There was no answer, of course, but a draft of air gently shimmied across her cheek and through her hair.

She put the back of her hand to her mouth and blinked away tears. “I don’t know what to do with what you left me. How to use my magic without losing myself. But…I’m going to figure it out.”

She picked a flat piece of wood and laid the pendant on it, then set the makeshift raft into the running waters, watching until it had floated out of sight.

Maybe someone out there needed it and could put it to good use, but if that was the case, she knew for certain it would find their way to them.

As for her? She had a coven.

And that was what she needed.