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CHAPTER THIRTY

The practitioner grinned at Allen, her smile wavering when she saw the look of astonishment on his face. “Hi . . . Allen. Is, um, everything alright?”

“What are you doing out here? Master Boar told you to stay home. Where it’s safe.”

He hadn’t meant the words to come out so harshly, but the girl seemed to have no common sense. She’d just challenged Prue Stonewell, the strongest hedge witch in the valley, and no doubt had put a target on her back. Prue’s accomplice, or her allies in the village, would be sure to take their wrath out on the girl.

She swallowed, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. Her little nose was a cherry on the end of her face, red with cold. “I came to see you, Allen.”

“M-me?” Spirits above, that’s right. She knows I’m a wolf.

Inside, the wolf bristled, preparing for violence.

Easy , he soothed. Let’s not jump to conclusions.

Talia thrust the basket at him. When he didn’t take it, she yanked back the cloth to reveal a fruitcake wrapped in a red bow, a jar of jam, and a thermos. “You protected me last night. I’m here to say thank you. You know, before all the hustle and bustle of the ball.”

“Oh.” He took hold of the basket and drew it to his chest. “This looks . . . lovely. Thank you.”

“Fruitcake has a bad reputation.” Talia said, crossing her arms and arching her brow, daring him to refuse her gift. “People make the mistake of adhering too closely to tradition. Most don’t consider anything beyond glacé cherries, candied peel, rum, and walnuts, simply because that’s what’s always been done.” She tapped her temple. “They don’t open their minds to the possibilities, and thus miss out on something truly unique and wonderful.”

Allen wondered if she was still talking about fruitcake. “So what’s in this one?”

“The trick is to try new things and put what you love into it. That one is made with all sorts of stone fruits, soaked in port, and a mixture of walnuts and pecans.”

That actually did sound good, and he was already ravenous again. “And the jam?”

“From my family’s orchard—it’s really good smeared on the cake. And that’s hot chocolate from the Cat & Cauldron, unspiked.”

“This is all very kind of you, Talia, but—”

“Please take it,” she whispered. “I-I know you haven’t been here in the valley long, b-but I’m a bit of a laughingstock here. People see me as this silly goose—” She shook her head, slinging a tear or two into the snow. “But you never patronized me, not like the others. You’re nice.”

“You do know what I am, Talia, don’t you?” he asked gravely. “ Nice isn’t a term I normally hear.”

She looked him in the eye, defiant. “Shifters are run out of town because of the Hawthornes, not people like me. Man, wolf, what do I care? That doesn’t change who you are. Not to me. ”

He softened, his wolf settling. It was a relief that the only other person in the valley who knew he was a shifter accepted him too. It would make his stay easier here, if that’s what Lilac decided to do: stay in Annesley Valley and build her potions business locally.

“Thank you, Talia.”

She smiled happily, no more tears in her eyes.

He crouched down, setting the wicker basket lightly in the snow and uncapping the thermos. He took a sip, then a long swallow. Followed by another. The Cat & Cauldron certainly knew its business when it came to hot chocolate.

“So, um”—Talia glanced around, clasping her hands in front of her—“what are you doing out here? I mean, I expected to find you in the Hall.”

“I’m trying to put the puzzle pieces of last night together.”

“Prue attacked me,” she said sharply. “What else is there to know?”

He lifted an eyebrow at her tone, hands stilling where they were in the middle of unwrapping the fruitcake.

She rubbed her hands together, not looking at him. “I’m sorry. I’m just still shaken from the whole ordeal, you know? You look up to someone your whole life, and then they, they betray you, a-and—”

“And it’s hard.” Memories of the desert cave, the looks of horror on his brothers’ faces, came to the forefront of his mind, unbidden. “Trust me, I know.”

Talia sucked in a shuddering breath, nodding, then puffed out a misty exhale. Then she nodded to the half-unwrapped fruitcake. “I hope you enjoy. Family recipe.”

Allen tore off a chunk the size of his fist, gave it a sniff—plums, cherries, cinnamon, and port—and sank his teeth into the cake. Talia’s family recipe surprisingly didn’t disappoint. He took another bite then moved on to open the jam .

“You two were slinging runes and charms around like they were Mardi Gras beads, too,” he told her after he swallowed. “We’re going to have a bunch of visitors to the Hall in a few hours, and I can’t have someone accidentally finding them. So I’m on retrieval and disposal duty too, you could say.”

“Oh! I’ll help you.” She clomped around in the snow, peering and swishing away powder, completely directionless.

“It would be easier if I did it alone, Talia,” he said, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice.

She wasn’t safe out here, and he wanted to process his findings without biased opinion, especially after discovering Prue’s daisy charm. He took his irritation out on the jar of jam, the seal popping like a muted firecracker as he gave the lid a vicious twist. Maybe if he ate her food and praised her some more, she’d be content to just walk away.

Then he froze as a familiar scent wafted upwards.

He looked down at the jar, at the dark gelled spread inside. “What is this?” he asked, tensing. He knew this scent. Had confused it with another all too recently.

Allen was suddenly aware that Talia wasn’t clomping around anymore, that she was bending over and retrieving something from the snow. From the corner of his eye, he saw what looked like a two-pronged fork made of antler gripped in her fist. Strange markings like ivy vines were etched into its surface, bluish-green runes in stark contrast to the yellowish bone.

“Boysenberry,” Talia answered, her voice pained.

Allen twisted slowly from where he crouched in front of her basket, his wolf snarling.

“It’s cousin to the blackberry,” she told him. “In fact, many confuse them, especially their scents.”

He clenched his jaw. His nose had been right all along—that hadn’t been blackberry he’d smelled on the ill-wish splinter. Nor the scent in the strange grove .

What he’d previously thought was a villager’s scent—cinnamon, tallow, and musk—were her scents. Those, and the faintest hint of boysenberry. And on that antler charm . . . fresh green grass and soap.

“Talia,” he growled.

She leveled the fork-like charm at him, the runes glowing with sinister bluish-green light—the same color as the magic wielded by Zofia’s attacker. Talia’s brown eyes were glassy, her bottom lip trembling, but her voice was sure. “Don’t come any closer.”

“You think that can stop me?” he snarled. “My wolf?”

“No. Not alone anyway.”

Allen surged upright only to collapse to his knees. Spirits above, it was like someone had filled his legs with cement. His pulse suddenly roared in his ears, and his wolf howled in alarm. “The fruitcake?” he wheezed.

“It was all laced,” she said. “Every bit of it. Wolfsbane and blue foxglove, infused in the port to mask their scents. I might be rubbish when it comes to most runes and the small magics, but there are some things I can still manage.”

She crept forward, the antler charm still pointed ahead of her. From the way her arm shook, she wasn’t just afraid of him—she was struggling to control the magic she insisted she could manage .

“Back off,” he snapped, attempting to rise again and failing.

“Don’t fight it,” she whispered, rushing forward to catch him as he sagged backwards.

He wanted to wolf out, to bite her traitorous head clean off her shoulders, but the poison locked his limbs and the magic of the charm kept him human. That’s what had stuck him last night, he realized, not a magic missile. It had shot out of Talia’s hand purely by accident.

“What is that thing?” he forced out. Was his jaw locking up? He struggled to wedge his hand into his pocket before his muscles seized entirely.

“A heretic’s fork. Old magic from Elfame, the land of the fae. Just goes to show you that the Hawthornes aren’t as all-powerful as they think they are, that stronger magics exist besides their own. Haven’t you wondered why the Hall’s wards haven’t been sounding the alarm?”

“Why?” he rasped. His fingers wiggled deeper into his pocket, seeking that which was inches away yet impossibly out of reach.

Talia shook her head. “I meant what I said, Allen. You’re a good man—you don’t need to be a part of this. The herbs’ll wear off around midnight—your wolf will keep you warm—then you can go and rid yourself of the Hawthornes’ prejudices—”

“I love her.”

The practitioner paused, eyes widening. “Who?”

“Li—” His jaw locked.

“Lilac,” she finished. A sympathetic smile curved her mouth. “She was always so nice to me, despite the others calling her an ice queen.”

Allen stared up at her, willing her to be merciful. To not go through with whatever she had planned.

“I’m sorry,” Talia whispered, brushing her hand over his eyelids and sealing him in darkness.