Page 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

While there were still plenty of people ice skating and enjoying the bonfire, the string quartet had moved inside the Hall. Their melody drifted up to the chandelier and through every hall and room, brightening the space even as the sun began to set.

After a quick stop into her room to make herself more presentable, Lilac joined her siblings downstairs for the Hanging of the Green. For the first time in her life, she was thankful for her grandmother’s training. On the outside, she was the definition of quiet composure, but on the inside . . . she was nothing but fireworks. Her happiness was a hot air balloon, brilliantly colored and vast and rising ever higher. She wanted to share her secret with Rose, but she would inevitably blab to Boar, and Lilac wasn’t ready to face her brother quite yet. With any aspect of her life.

So she kept the secret of her elation to herself, controlling her jitters, as they grew the greenery from seed and magic. Garlands and wreaths and kissing balls and mistletoe festooned every inch of the function hall until it resembled an evergreen forest. A massive blue spruce dominated the far right corner between hearth and window, and Yule spiders, beautiful silver arachnids, painstakingly decorated it with their tinsel silk before scuttling back to their little den to feast on a box of ribbon candy and hibernating until next year’s Hanging of the Green. An enchanted kettle popped popcorn on the hearth fire and there was a table mounded with squares of walnut fudge and citrusy Turkish delight.

The ice skaters and spectators drifted in and out of the Hall to get warm, mingle, sample the confections, and generally ooh and aah over the decorations the Hawthornes grew. Lilac noted Prue Stonewell, looking sour as she sampled the Turkish delight; Talia, Darren Morton, and Rose all chatting like old friends; Edith tapping her cloven feet in time to the music. Lilac had been quick to greet the little faun, gushing her gratitude and promising to reveal a most interesting development . Even Sam Barley was here. The pub owner had stolen an hour or two away from the Cat & Cauldron to enjoy a quick lap around the pond and a nice block of decadent fudge.

Despite the hustle and bustle, she couldn’t take her eyes off Allen. A thrill coursed through her every time he winked when he caught her watching him. She wet her lips, remembering the feel of his shoulders tensing as he pleasured her, the kisses that left her pulse zinging, the smell of his sweat mixing with the cologne, the golden glow in his eyes as he’d watched her erupt. And, Green Mother help her, the feel of his cock hard and thick in her hand, straining against the fabric of his pants. Her thighs clenched at the memory of it all, seeking more of the friction he’d so generously given her.

“Eyes on your work, sweet girl,” he teased as he passed by with another armful of wood. “Your garland is sagging.”

Rose looked like she was just about to say the same thing, so Lilac straightened it hastily with a quick wave of her glowing green hand .

“Wake up , Dolly Daydream,” Rose laughed at her. “If this garland doesn’t swoop all symmetrical-like around the balcony, you know Boar’ll bite off our heads. I swear he’s got a protractor or something in his pocket.”

“And I’m not afraid to use it,” he hollered from where he hung a gigantic wreath on the exposed stone of the chimney.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” Rose sidled in close. “You go missing nearly all day and then you come back with this dopey look on your face.”

“I don’t have a—”

“Oh my Green Mother,” she squealed. “Did you just have a yuletide fling? That’s it , isn’t it?”

Lilac leveled her with a cool look and started growing a kissing ball. She realized her choice in decoration was essentially a confession a little too late. “Rose, don’t be ridiculous.”

Rose snatched the kissing ball from her hands and shook it in Lilac’s face triumphantly. “Who is it?”

“Even if there is a who ”—Lilac shot the kissing ball out of Rose’s hand with a lance of magic, sending it to hang in the dip of the garland above their heads—“it’s none of your business. Besides, I’d much rather hear about Darren Morton instead.” She’d seen the blond, burly mountain man around quite a bit, a handful of women salivating over him. He seemed only to have eyes for Rose, so that was something.

Rose ran a hand through her wild, curly hair. “There’s, um, not much I can tell you about him.”

“What? You’ve been snogging him all week!”

“Yeah. Snogging being the operative word.”

“Oh my Green Mother, Rose.” She flicked her sister in the shoulder. “Do you even know a thing about him?”

“He’s got these amazing tattoos all over his arms. And he’s got this birthmark in the joint of his left leg—”

“I meant things about his personality, not his groin!” A spear of jealousy stabbed her in the stomach, though, as she thought how much she would’ve enjoyed getting closer to Allen had the circumstances permitted. She could only assume what he looked like from running her hands over his clothed body. And if her imagination and reality had anything in common, then he would look divine naked.

“He’s dedicated,” Rose replied seriously. “Dedicated at kissing me so hard I can’t feel my face afterwards.”

“Go away,” Lilac told her snickering sister.

Rose pranced off to grow some mistletoe, her booted feet stomping in time to the string quartet, and Lilac looked for Allen longingly. She couldn’t find him, and a panic rose within her.

“Darren Morton sounds like a selfish lover,” Allen whispered into her ear, right behind her. She jumped, not turning around, her breath hitching as his hand curved possessively over her right buttock. “When I kiss you, I know you feel it thundering into your toes.”

“Allen,” she breathed.

He gave her a firm, lustful squeeze and moved away from her before they could be noticed being familiar with one another. Boar called out not a second later, asking him to hurry up and bring that ladder over. It was time to hang the ornaments. Lilac dragged her gaze from where it had anchored on the space where Allen’s legs met his back and opened her first box of ornaments.

Compared to the Craft Faire, the Hanging of the Green was a more sedate affair. It was all in preparation for the crowning event of the Yuletide Gala: the Yuletide Masquerade. The Hawthornes served the village a feast and there was music and ball gowns and the Lighting of the Stars. The myriad glass ornaments they now hung amongst the greenery were filled with one of Peony Hawthorne’s potions (desiccated to resemble golden confetti) and would burst with light when activated by their magic tomorrow.

It was a truly wondrous affair, and Lilac was incandescently happy that she got to share it with the man she—

Oh my Green Mother. I . . . love him.

The ornament slipped from her hands as the realization sank into her bones. The glass fractured and skittered across the hardwood floor like a hundred crystal cockroaches. In the palm of her right hand, an echo of the green spark remained. She supposed she’d known it for a while now, but she’d never said, or even thought, the word until now. It has always been want and need and this burning ache in her heart that wasn’t lust.

For a moment, her confidence wavered. Did he feel the same way? He hadn’t said that word to her either, though she had assumed the other phrases he’d used had been the equivalent. You’re mine, Lilac. My sweet girl .

Yet, how many times had she used similar terminology on a mark?

“Lilac?” Boar called down from where he stood on the top of the ladder, hanging ornaments from the chandelier. “You alright?”

Allen, who held the ladder steady for her brother, gave her a concerned look. Concern wasn’t unwavering devotion. Wasn’t two paths becoming one . She needed to talk to Allen, right now, before her heart could break like the ornament she’d dropped.

“Just clumsy,” she replied lightly. “I’ll just get a broom.”

Whereas Boar just grunted his acknowledgement, Allen gave her a harder, knowing look. He’d heard the waver in her voice. His golden brow furrowed low over intense golden-brown eyes. You’re not okay, are you?

Before she could reply, the ladder jerked and Boar shouted in surprise.

The garlands they’d hung from the second-floor balcony to the chandelier had come alive like snakes, coiling and wrapping around Boar’s body. And his throat. His flailing feet kicked the ladder aside as he clawed at the greenery with glowing hands.

The villagers screamed, some rushing forward to help while most fled for the exit.

“Boar, hang on!” Allen scrambled to right the ladder.

“Rose!” Lilac shouted.

Her sister appeared, slashing wildly with her magic. Her blasts severed snake after snake of malevolent greenery, but the garland regenerated like a hydra, coiling even tighter around their brother and suspending him midair, out of reach.

Lilac yanked her sister’s hands down. “Stop! We need a concerted effort.”

“Find its heart,” Allen shouted, dashing up the ladder in an effort to reach Boar before he strangled to death. He was completely encased in writhing garlands. There was a sickly creaking of boughs that could’ve been bones breaking.

Rose wrested free of her. “I can’t let him just hang up there!”

As her sister resumed her barrage, Lilac desperately searched along the chandelier. This had to be another ill-wish, she just knew it. It must’ve activated at Boar’s touch, or at least his proximity. Sucking in a deep breath, she reached for the calm and shrewdness Grandmother had trained into her. She was the scalpel, the sniper.

Then she saw it. The ill-wish was crafted of fir, easily camouflaged amongst the greenery they had grown. No doubt their attacker had just secreted it amongst the piles of garlands before they had been hung.

Summoning her magic, Lilac sent a glowing green bullet shaped like a leaf straight through the heart of the ill-wish. The weave of fir needles burst like confetti from a pinata, and the cluster in the center dropped like a stone into Allen’s stunned hands. The garlands constricting her brother snapped and fell lifeless to the floor.

“Boar!” Rose cried.

Allen dropped from the ladder like a pouncing panther, hands disappearing into the greenery. With a mighty twist of his shoulders, he tore the boughs from Boar’s head and neck. Then he cursed, scrambling to get out of range. A second later there was a roar and a flash of green light. Their brother burst free of his green cocoon and collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. The angry rash where the evergreen needles had grated against his throat resembled a rope of red tinsel.

“Stay with him,” Allen ordered as he scooped up the ill-wish he’d dropped to free Boar. As he sprinted towards the front doors, the opal ring on his pinky finger twinkled madly. “And call your damn elders!”

“Allen, wait,” Lilac cried.

“Don’t follow me!”

She shot one look at her brother—still gasping, but Rose already had her healing hands on him—and gave chase. What was he thinking, going after their attacker alone? He was just a man, a human man, and the crafter of the ill-wishes obviously knew a thing or two about magic. This was a fight he couldn’t win, and she wasn’t about to let the man she loved die.

When she reached the doors, a blast of cold air robbed the breath from her lungs. She skidded to a halt, pausing to acclimate to the fierce outdoors. The temperature had plummeted, and snow was falling again. There were no more revelers on the ice, and the bonfire was nothing but a pile of charred sticks and pale gray smoke. Rushed movement through the swirling flakes snapped her attention to the path leading down to the village—Allen.

By the Green Mother, how was he so fast?

Shoving away from the doorframe, Lilac followed Allen’s trail down the path. The icy air hurt her lungs and numbed her flesh—in her haste, she had forgotten her coat. At least the snow wasn’t too deep here, having been compacted by hundreds of feet over the last few days. It was mighty slippery, though, and Lilac had to force herself to slow so she wouldn’t twist an ankle. Allen, however, plowed ahead like he had cleats on the bottoms of his shoes.

With a yelp, Lilac lost her footing, slamming down hard on her butt. The path suddenly became a slide, and she shot downhill. Green magic burst from her hands like vines, hooking into the compressed snow with their thorns and dragging her to a painful stop. Groaning, she pushed herself upright and was immediately seized by the caretaker. Without a word, he shoved her behind him, and a second later, she realized why.

Prue Stonewell and Talia were in the middle of a witch duel.