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CHAPTER TWENTY

He had smelled something when wrestling outside with Boar earlier that morning. It was human.

Mostly.

It was that mostly part that had Allen confused and agitated and grateful that his little gesture of French toast and a round or two with Boar had set the Hawthorne siblings on the right path for the morning. They would stick together now, the sisters intent on mercilessly pelting their brother with snowballs for the foreseeable future. No doubt they still needed to have a good scream at each other, but for now, a snowball fight let him know they were all together and relatively safe as he headed off into the woods. Clearing the pond of snow and testing its worthiness for ice skating would come later after they’d called a truce. If they called one at all.

“Hey, no magic!” Boar shouted.

His voice was a little strained, as if he was suddenly nervous his sisters wouldn’t play fair. Wonder what ever gave him that idea?

“Allen, a little help here?”

“Sorry,” Allen called back, already at the top of the little slope that overlooked the frozen pond. “You’re on your own with this one.”

“Are you going on another perimeter sweep?” Rose asked. The nosiest Hawthorne had figured out his habits alarmingly quickly.

“Doesn’t hurt to check,” he said, keeping his tone light.

“Shouldn’t you be inside washing the dishes?”

At any other time, Allen would’ve found her playful interrogation amusing, but not when an intruder had been so close to the Hall. Still, he forced himself to act as if nothing was amiss. “Wouldn’t you know it if the Hall wasn’t taking care of that right now?”

“Wait, seriously?” Boar asked. His break in concentration earned him a snowball right to the face. Lilac smirked triumphantly.

It was true about the Hall. Apparently it had sensed Allen’s intense need to investigate the threat. When he had returned to the cellar with his coat, the faucet was pouring hot water into the sudsy sink and the plates and utensils were ratting around as if they were in a top-loading washing machine with an agitator on overdrive. Allen hadn’t questioned the strange marvel, but instead said thank you. It never hurt to be polite.

“Why do you always bring that black trash bag with you?” Rose was asking now.

Spirits above, she should work for the analyst branch of any agency.

“Y’all stay together until I get back, okay?” he said, ignoring her question.

“Yes, Dad ,” she laughed, lobbing a snowball after him.

Unable to help himself, his attention shifted to Lilac. Like the rest of her siblings, she was bundled up in a coat with nothing but her face exposed against the cold winter air. The tip of her nose was already as pink as her hat. She looked, well, adorable , and Allen mentally kicked himself for staring a second longer than he should have.

Be safe, sweet girl , he willed her before traipsing off into the woods.

The second he was past the first row of trees, the din of the Hawthornes’ taunts and yelps of pain faded away. Allen was fully focused on his sense of smell, nostrils flaring.

Whatever other had come down out of these woods had left no prints behind, but it had come as far as the frozen pond. He’d seen some disturbances in the snow on the banks and the pond’s surface itself, but it was impossible to say if there was any direct correlation. Snow still clung to these trees, and a strong wind could’ve drifted it in any direction.

The scent was something strange, too, that otherness he’d never smelled before. It reminded him of springtime grass, but fresher, more alive if that was even possible.

He waited until he could no longer see the witches before ducking behind a tree and stripping out of his clothes. He stuffed the bag and hung it in record time, shifting into his wolf form less than a second later.

The wolf sensed the strange scent even stronger than the man had, and it took him directly to the place he didn’t want to go.

The grove.

The wolf knew better than to enter it, knew to give it a wild circle to determine if there was anything lying in wait. A new smell joined the first—grease. Tallow, specifically. And cinnamon? Musk? Something sweet, too, like fruit.

The wolf snorted.

Whoever had come to the grove, for there were still no tracks he could find, had come up from the village. He was smelling food, yuletide decorations, and old building. So, like, the whole village. Not surprising, since whoever had tripped the Hall’s wards had found refuge there yesterday.

But that grassy smell . . .

One mostly human, one full human—two scents. Two threats.

Growling, the wolf closed in on the empty grove and sniffed at the scratches on the tree bark. There were more of them, but it was still unclear who or what had made them or if they even meant anything. Still no prints, though the scents were stronger here. Old, too; whoever had come and gone having done so before sunup.

He would have to come back tonight.

After another sweep of the area, the wolf returned to the black plastic bag that held his clothes. Allen dressed angrily, stuffing himself back into his clothes as if they were the source of his frustration.

Someone had come to Hawthorne Hall. Someone who knew where the invisible barrier was. And that someone had stopped at the edge of the pond, which was right outside Lilac’s window. The idea that someone might’ve been watching her made his blood boil.

As he shoved his feet into his boots, he vowed to return to the Hall and learn how to extend its barrier. He’d get that thing all the way to the forest if he could, maybe even further.

A crow cawed, nagging at the edges of his thoughts.

Allen shook his head, concentrating. He needed to call Kalina, too, see if Zofia was awake and could aid him in that endeavor. Or even take over. But then he’d have no reason to be up at the Hall, to—

The crow cawed again, fraying his last nerve.

He glared up at the sky, ready to release a howl that would send everything in the vicinity scurrying for its nest or den, when he heard it again .

Not a crow after all.

A woman. No, women .

Shrieking.

“Lilac!”

Allen shot off at a sprint, his wolf cursing him for not shifting. Four legs could run faster than two, after all. He ignored his panicked wolf, fighting for calm himself.

It was the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

In the back of his mind, he chastised himself for being so reactive, so volatile, instead of thinking through the situation and how he was going to maintain his cover.

Except it was Lilac .

He had to get to her. Now .

Allen broke through the tree cover, his sharp eyes absorbing every detail of the scene below him in rapid-fire succession.

The Hawthornes were alone, just as he’d left them.

A third of the pond had been cleared of snow with a push broom, which now lay abandoned on the ice.

The ice was a marvelous pale blue, indicating perfectly frozen water.

The girls had apparently left the grunt work of clearing the pond to Boar, for there were two tracks of skates across the ice and through the powdery snow that covered the rest of the pond.

And a weak spot at its center, where Rose now knelt as she fought to haul Lilac out of the water.

It must’ve just happened, for Boar, though he was running across the pond, hadn’t even reached his sisters yet.

Allen launched himself off the slope, landing at the bottom of the little hill. The jump robbed him of his boots, the snow his socks, and he hit the frozen surface of the pond with his bare feet .

His wolf howled, and sharp nails sprouted from his toes to better grip the ice as he raced to help them.

“Something’s pulling her down,” Rose wailed.

“It’s her clothes,” Boar shouted back, finally reaching them. He grabbed Lilac’s other arm and pulled, cursing when she didn’t rise even an inch out of the water. “Rose, I’ll hold her up, you get that coat off her.”

“My. Feet,” Lilac protested, fighting against the chattering of her teeth. Spirits above, her lips were already blue. “It’s got—”

“Damn it, my fingers are frozen.” Tears streamed down Rose’s cheeks as she fumbled with Lilac’s coat buttons. “Li, you need to kick. You need—”

Lilac screamed as something jerked her down, the slushy water swallowing her up to her neck.

Allen jumped into the water.

The cold shocked him, but his anger, and his wolf, kept him plenty warm. They wouldn’t for long. Not unless he shifted.

He gripped Lilac’s waist and gave her a shove up, but she was correct about her feet. Something was dragging her down, and it wasn’t her ice skates.

What is that ?

Even with his enhanced vision, he only saw it in the murky depths of the water because it was pulsing with a faint yellow light. It looked like tumbleweed had mated with a burdock burr, and it was wrapped around the blade of her right skate like a tiny octopus.

A tiny murderous octopus, for it was actively pulling her down.

His wolf snarled, and Allen’s hand transformed into a paw. The yellow light of the ill-wish illuminated the impenetrable golden-white of his fur, turning it an ugly tawny color. Ugly or not, his nails still dug deep into the weave of the spiky tumbleweed, ripping like Allen was intent on digging the heart out of an enemy’s chest. The outer twigs broke away, revealing the source of the ill-wish’s light—a strange-looking knot.

Its pulsating yellow light winked out as its fragments sank into the dark. Allen shuddered—it should have floated.

There was a sudden rush of bubbles as Lilac was hauled from the water. Allen followed after them and the liquidy orb that represented the December sun back to the surface. He barely remembered to shift his hand and toes back into their human appearance before he wrestled himself out onto the lip of the hole. Boar dragged him out the rest of the way.

“There was something in the water,” he forced out.

He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from rattling out of his head and shook the water from his clothes like a dog. Then he bent, snatched Lilac from where Rose cuddled her on the ice, and swept the witch into his arms.

“You two do something about that,” he barked at Rose and Boar, stomping away to the closest bank. The order given, Allen could focus solely on the woman in his arms. “Lilac, sweet girl, open your eyes.”

Her eyelids only fluttered. She was as pale as porcelain.

Allen let out a string of curses that she probably would’ve slapped him across the mouth for had she been conscious. On the bank, he set her down and immediately started to remove her coat. Flashbacks of a similar action with Zofia Hollyoak made his chest tighten.

“I need you, Hawthornes,” he told the others, “so finish—”

The harsh sound of metal grating against metal punctured the air. He shot a glance over his shoulder—red runes and yellow sparks illuminated on the siblings’ activated cuffs. Their emerald-green magic darkened to a hue more reminiscent of an ancient pine forest.

Battle magic .

There was a conjoined burst, then Rose and Boar were running across the ice like a demon was chasing them.

The pond exploded.

Slush shot into the sky, chunks of ice arcing in every direction like shrapnel from a frag grenade.

Allen braced himself on hands and knees above Lilac, shielding her with his body. He grunted when a piece of ice the size of a grapefruit crashed into his shoulder and another in his kidney. When the assault ended, Allen ignored the pain, pushed back onto his knees, and continued stripping the witch.

Rose reached her sister first. She pressed a glowing hand to Lilac’s forehead and another over her heart. Allen worked on her ice skates, casting furtive glances at her face.

Lilac gasped, her exhale turning into a scream.

For a second, every bone in Allen’s body turned to jelly. She was alive. He allowed himself a shaky breath before attacking her skates with renewed vigor.

“You’re safe, Li.” Rose grabbed her shoulders. “Allen got you out. But you—”

“Stop thrashing or you’ll cut me in the face,” Allen snapped when Lilac fought to rise. Spirits above, he hated yelling at her, but he was a wreck and the only thing he wanted was those cursed skates off her so she could get warm. “Done. Get her up out of the snow.”

Lilac had regained some of her motor function thanks to Rose’s healing, though she was still wobbly as Rose helped her rise.

“Here.” That was Boar’s deep voice. He already had his coat open, green healing magic glowing not just from his hands, but from his skin.

Lilac hesitated for only a heartbeat before falling against him. His arms closed around her immediately, cradling her head against his neck with a glowing hand. Her stocking feet perched on his boots.

“Oh, Lilac,” he said into her wet hair, a single sob shuddering through him.

Jealousy shot through Allen like a bullet to the gut, and he looked away. His wolf was snarling and snapping, livid that the witch was comforting Lilac when it had been them who had rescued her.

We’ve rescued hundreds who never knew our name and you never wanted glory then , he pointed out, though he still felt sick to his stomach.

They weren’t her, his wolf seethed.

Then Allen startled as a warm hand curled over his shoulder. Still on his knees, he glanced up as a flood of heat entered his body. Rose. The witch gave him a tumultuous smile before turning back to her siblings. She opened her coat and hugged Lilac from behind, wrapping her arms around Boar and sandwiching her sister between them.

From the sound of three strong heartbeats, Allen knew they would all be fine. But he wasn’t. Far from it. Shoulders trembling with rage, he stood and traipsed back up the little hill to reclaim his boots. This wasn’t about proving himself to the Coalition anymore. Someone had attacked his wards, his friends , for the last time. When he got his hands around their tormentor’s neck, he was going to rip—

Allen hadn’t realized his hands had clenched into fists until a sharp lance of pain shot under his fingernail. Lifting his hand, he spied a tiny splinter under the nail of his middle finger.

The ill-wish!

He brought it immediately to his nose, inhaling deeply. Pond water, rowan wood, and . . . something fruity.

It nagged at him, so teasingly faint—he’d smelled it before yet couldn’t place it .

Growling, Allen pried the splinter loose, but he didn’t flick it away. He pulled his handkerchief free and carefully folded the tiny piece of wood inside. The Hawthornes might not know much about this arcane piece of magic, but he was willing to bet that a certain hedge witch with a rowan broomstick did.