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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“You’re leaving?” Boar slammed his hand against the front door, keeping it shut.

Allen didn’t like it either, not when every instinct screamed at him not to let Lilac— them , he corrected himself—out of his sight. But he couldn’t sit around here and simply wait for their adversary to plant another ill-wish where a Hawthorne would eventually find it. Where Lilac could find it.

He looked pointedly at Boar’s hand on the door. With his shifter strength, Allen could rip it open if he really wanted to, but that undoubtedly would’ve upset the Hall, and it had washed the breakfast dishes for him. “I’m coming back.”

“But after this morning, that ill-wish—”

“Whoever planted it isn’t stupid enough to try harming you again today, not after two attempts have already been thwarted.”

“Barely thwarted.”

“Let go of the door, Boar.”

He didn’t. Instead he speared Allen with a look that was half intimidation, half plea. “The girls still need you. They . . . they feel safer with you than they do with me.”

A pang of sympathy pulsed in Allen’s heart. Though Boar had a few years on him, he had more in common with a young second lieutenant assigned to a platoon of seasoned veterans. He had theory to guide him, not actual experience. Boar wanted—needed—help, yet he was still too proud to ask for it. At least in so many words. He hadn’t even told his elders what was happening at the Hall, preferring to handle it himself. Allen didn’t judge or blame him. He knew what it was like, that need to prove yourself.

“Then look at this as an opportunity to change their minds.” Allen gave the inside of Boar’s elbow a cheap shot, buckling the joint and relieving the pressure on the door. He opened it before the witch could muscle it closed again. “Stick together, stay inside . Don’t even go outside for firewood. I’m going to see Zofia and see if I can extend the wards. I’ll be back, Boar.”

His calm instruction seemed to soothe the witch, and Boar nodded once before stepping back to let Allen leave.

He took the Roots’ delivery truck into town, trundling down the main street slowly. With the winter solstice quickly approaching, and more festivities to look forward to at Hawthorne Hall, everyone was out and about. Shopping, mostly, but also decorating their storefronts and houses with garlands and wreaths, attending parties, and celebrating yuletide with events hosted by the local library. Annesley Valley’s main exports were handcrafted furniture, root beer, and wool, and everywhere these products could be seen in shop windows or lashed on top of vehicles or being carted down the streets.

Allen would’ve enjoyed the sights better had he not been so impatient to get to the little hospital on the south side of town. And with the truck missing a door, there was no point in turning on the heater, and the cold was making him even more irritable.

He kept his emotions in check when he entered the hospital and followed Kalina’s directions to Zofia’s room. She’d texted him the room number earlier, and his cell phone was pinging presently to tell him she wouldn’t be there when he arrived—she’d stepped out to get something to eat at the cafeteria.

Trepidation crept up from his stomach where he had subdued it, giving speed to his stride. Zofia’s room was open, and shadows moved across the floor and swept along the hall. Was it a nurse or a housekeeper? Allen hurried, wishing he had his trusty sidearm that the Coalition had confiscated.

He was only three steps away when a yowl sounded from inside the room.

Allen charged, rounding the corner to find Hobbles on his mistress’s stomach, except the cat no longer resembled a cat. It was six times its normal size and made of shadowy wisps that blew in an unseen wind. His yellow eyes were now orbs of blue flame, his teeth and claws like crackling electricity. The silver collar with its blue bauble blazed with power.

And at the foot of the bed was a hulking figure in a trench coat, hood drawn low to shield his face. Whatever magic spell he’d been in the middle of casting sucked back into his hands, interrupted by the shadow cat. He held his arm to his chest where Hobbles had scratched him, his teeth bared as he snarled at the cat.

His wolf roared, but Allen shouted, “Hey!”

The hooded figure’s head snapped towards him, but all Allen saw of his face was a strong jaw and clean-shaven chin.

“Allen?” Kalina’s worried voice sounded at the end of the hall. “Is that you?”

With Allen blocking the door and Hobbles the shadow cat ready to spring, the hooded figure bolted for the windows. Allen lunged after him, vaguely registering the aroma of plain soap before that grassy scent he recognized from the woods obliterated his senses. Bluish-green magic like English ivy vines manifested from the man’s hands, and the thick windows shattered as easily as frost .

The hooded figure dove into the night. Allen leapt into the window frame, bits of glass biting into his palms as he steadied himself to give chase, then the alarms on Zofia’s monitors pealed like the trumpets of an elementary school band during a Fourth of July parade.

Growling, he turned away from the figure running down the street to his friend.

The shadowy wisps that composed the frightening feline’s body condensed into the orange and white patches of the cat he knew as Hobbles. The not-cat gave Allen a plaintive meow before the old beast padded onto his mistress’s chest to touch her cheek with his paw. Kalina burst into the room a second later, looked wildly from the cat to Allen, then hissed, “Hide the cat!”

Allen didn’t want to touch Hobbles, for that cat was most definitely not a cat, but alerted by the panic in Kalina’s voice, he stuffed the beast into his coat. Hobbles didn’t like that one bit, but Allen clamped his arms over the cat, willing him to stay still.

A set of nurses rushed in behind Kalina, one shouting, “What happened?” while the other immediately got to work assessing Zofia’s vitals.

“Someone tried to kill her, that’s what,” Allen snapped. “I startled him, then he hurled himself out the window.”

“You two need to clear the room.”

“ Make me .”

The lead nurse’s glare was met with a glower, and she didn’t press the issue when Allen stayed out of the way by the broken window. A doctor appeared then, and Kalina squeezed herself back into the hallway to make room for them all. “She’s waking up!” the doctor exclaimed.

“Who keeps poking me?” Zofia’s voice, raspy from disuse, was still as ornery as before.

“Ma’am, I need you to remain calm. ”

“I am calm! Get away from me.” Before they could stop her, she pinched the catheter in her arm and plucked it right out.

“She shouldn’t be this alert,” the second nurse protested.

“Surprise, honey.”

“Mrs. Hollyoak, I really must insist you relax and let us do our work,” the doctor said.

“Don’t you use that tone of voice with me, Jill. I’ve known you since you were born. Now I want out of this bed immediately!”

“Crow, calm down,” Allen said.

The ancient house elf’s head whipped in his direction, then lowered to the bulge in his coat as if she knew that was exactly where he hid her not-cat. “Boy,” was all she said, leaning back against her pillows.

After they stabilized her, Allen insisted she be moved to the Roots’ home. “She’s not safe here. This is the second time she’s been compromised. If she’s stable but needs bed rest, she can stay with Kalina and Jim.”

James had a shotgun he wasn’t afraid to use, and Kalina knew more than one use for a cast-iron skillet. Allen would persuade a hedge witch from Cailleach Lodge to cast a protection spell over the townhouse, or even get the Hawthorne siblings to do it.

The doctor shook her head. “She needs further monitoring—”

“Shut up, Jill, and do what the boy says.”

The doctor snapped her fingers at Zofia, demanding her silence in a very familial fashion. “It’s against hospital policy to release coma patients so soon after awakening. She’s ineligible to sign the discharge papers due to her condition, and unless you’re her next of kin—”

“Who is that?” he demanded, his cell phone already out to contact them and bully them if necessary to release Zofia .

Jill snatched up Zofia’s chart. “Her grandson, it seems. An Allen Sharpe.”

Allen blinked in surprise. He looked down at the opal on his pinky finger and then at the house elf. She was smiling smugly. He returned that smile, digging out his wallet and handing the doctor his ID. Jill sent Zofia a foul look.

“I’d like to sign out my dear grandmother, please,” Allen said sweetly. “Right. Now.”

Prue Stonewell was waiting for them on the sidewalk when they arrived at the Roots’ townhouse.

“ You ,” he snarled, his wolf bristling.

“Something you’d like to say, Allen?” she quipped, standing her ground. Snowflakes spiraled up the length of her rowan besom, floating to rest on the brim of her pointed hat.

“What are you doing here, Prue?” Kalina tightened her arm around Zofia’s shoulders.

“She’s here to ward your home,” the house elf said. Zofia studied the hedge witch for a moment. “Isn’t that right, old friend?”

Looking sad but determined, Prue nodded.

“Well, get on with it, then.”

“Wait just a minute,” Allen protested.

“I’ll take the ring back when I’m able, boy, don’t fret.”

She would? It was as simple as that? Allen nearly sagged in relief at the promise of freedom, then his heart stalled. He wouldn’t be as free as he thought. His body might be free to leave the valley, but his heart . . . well, that was becoming a stickier situation by the minute.

“And you three can quibble outside,” the tiny woman was saying, thumping her cane, “but I’m going in side.” Zofia shuffled out of Kalina’s grip and let herself into her friends’ home. “James, the boilo. And some sardines for Hobbles.”

“Fifi!” Kalina exclaimed, chasing after her.

The door slammed shut behind her, only to open again so Zofia could stick her head out. “Boy, you can extend the wards, you just need to concentrate and visualize. But it’ll come at a cost—your own energy. So either put some more fat on that six pack or get used to taking three naps a day. Bye now.”

She plucked her head back inside and shut the door. The click of a latch sounded a second later, leaving Allen and Prue on the sidewalk.

Allen just stared at the closed door, wondering how on earth Zofia had known that’s why he’d come to see her. Prue must’ve seen the question on his face and answered simply, “She does that.”

He flicked his attention back to her, face hardening. He’d unpack his warring thoughts about his upcoming freedom and extending the wards later. “What happened at the Craft Faire, Prue?”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you heard all about the ill-wish, and know a thing or two about them too,” he pressed, withdrawing the handkerchief from his pocket. She extended only her neck like a curious turkey to see what he revealed when he flipped back the corners of the cloth. “What can you tell me about this?”

“Looks like a splinter to me,” she sniffed.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

“Your ego is massive, Allen Sharpe, thinking someone like you can order a hedge witch like me around.”

“Whoever is targeting the Hawthornes might very well be after you and your flock next. Unless it is you behind these attacks.”

“How dare you— ”

The was a sudden rapping of knuckles against the bay window, and Zofia stood there as if she could hear the entirety of their muted conversation. Cradled in her arms, Hobbles gave them a sour look, tail flicking. Zofia snapped her fingers at Prue then pointed to Allen.

Allen tried—and failed—to keep the smug satisfaction from his face.

Smacking her lips in displeasure, Prue flicked her fingers over the splinter. It rose on an unseen current, fizzing and popping like a miniature firecracker before dropping back onto the handkerchief. Allen barely noticed the reaction, his gaze riveted on Prue’s face. The old witch gave nothing away . . . except for her mouth. The thin line of her pursed lips turned down in either confusion, concentration, or recognition.

“It’s made of rowan wood,” the hedge witch said. “Quite common around these parts, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Anyone could get their hands on it.”

“Anything else?” he pressed. That fruity scent still nagged at him. It smelled so similar to her blackberry scent, but not quite. Though, its integrity could’ve been compromised by environmental factors. It worried him, to think that he couldn’t fully trust his nose. Was he slipping?

“The spell was rudimentary. Basic. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Prue squared off in front of the bay window and lifted her besom.

He snatched her broomstick before she could utter whatever enchantment she had planned and wrenched her to look at him. To her credit, she didn’t let go. Allen’s attention drifted from the ire on her seamed face down to the bandolier of charms strung across her chest, to the one that looked like a knot. “Fascinating charm you have there, Prue.”

It seemed woven from a single sapling, four points ringed by a circle. It was a much more elegant design than the crude one he’d discovered in the center of the tumbleweed ill-wish . . . or the one fashioned to resemble a harmless spice.

“It’s a witch’s knot, something you’ll find in every hedge witch’s arsenal, and if you don’t remember your manners, Allen Sharpe, I’ll use it to knock you clear across the street.”

His gaze sharpened on her. “I have no doubt that whoever placed these ill-wishes is either wholly responsible for what happened to Zofia in the hospital, or at least an accomplice, and when I find out—”

“You think Zofia would let me ward the Roots’ home if she suspected it was me?” Prue tried to yank her besom out of his grip, and when he wouldn’t let go, she slapped him across the face.

He didn’t even flinch. “Well, she was just in a coma, so who knows if she’s in her right mind?”

“I heard that!” Zofia rapped her knuckles against the bay window again. This time, her irritation had a different target. “Let her do her job, boy. Shoo.”

“You heard her,” Prue said triumphantly. “ Shoo. ”

Allen kept his grip on the besom for a second longer before releasing it with a sneer. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You take care of yours, Allen, and I’ll take care of mine,” was her reply.

He was itching to return to Hawthorne Hall, and Zofia obviously wasn’t protesting Prue warding her and Hobbles’ new living arrangements, so he turned back (still begrudgingly) to the truck.

“Oh, Mr. Sharpe!” a high female voice called to him as he opened the door.

He recognized the little doe faun as she trotted in between the taller passersby, clutching an envelope to her chest. She wore a blue spruce wreath on her head today, a scarf of a matching pale blue bundled around her neck. Little white snowflakes embroidered along its length gave her the appearance of being caught in a puckish winter wind. The black faun waved a red-nailed hand to get his attention, and he shut the door to wait for her. She arrived a moment later, breathless but excited.

“Mr. Sharpe—”

“Please, call me Allen, Miss Edith.”

She bobbed her head, smiling brightly, and offered him the envelope. It was surprisingly thick. “I saw you from the shop window, and, well, I couldn’t wait until the Hanging of the Green tomorrow. Please, would you give this to Lilac for me?”

“Of course.” He slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat. “Is there a message you want me to give her too?”

Her smile widened as she turned on her hoof. “Not one for your ears. Ta-ta! And thank you!”

With a bemused smile on his face, he watched the little bookseller weave through the bustling streets back to her shop. When she was safe inside, he returned to the truck and headed to Hawthorne Hall.

After the ice skating incident, Lilac had locked herself away in her room. Her refusal to see anyone—except Rose when she brought up tea and soup—had hurt, but maybe she’d open the door for him when she learned he had a letter from her friend.

Then again, maybe not. As he now stood in front of her door, knocking gently a second time, there came no sound of movement from within. He could tell from her heartbeat and the rhythm of her breathing that she was physically fine, but he and his wolf were desperate to put eyes on her. To see the color in her cheeks, smell that fresh waterfall scent of hers . . . and maybe even receive a little reassurance ?

With a sigh, he told the door, “Edith gave me an envelope for you in town. I’ll slip it under the door.”

He did then walked away. Misery—a feeling he was startled to recognize—threatened to rise, but Allen tamped it down like he did with every other useless emotion.

You don’t need her to like you, remember? In fact, jobs get more complicated when you do like your clients.

And that was the problem. He did genuinely like Boar, Rose, and Lilac. They’d only known each other for a handful of days, but Boar was already treating him like a trusted friend, Rose, like another brother, and Lilac . . .. She confused him, turned his mission—world—upside down and inside out. There was no reason for him to feel so strongly about her, and yet he couldn’t help it. And so he had opened himself up to hurt. To rejection.

Like it was anything different than what he experienced day in and day out of being a Nemean wolf.

With an angry huff, Allen jogged downstairs to see what he could do about extending those wards.