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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Where is he?” Lilac muttered for what had to be the hundredth time. Or was it the thousandth? She slapped her fan against her gloved palm once again, at risk of worrying a hole in the delicate lace. The corner of her left eye was permanently crinkled from twitching so much.

“For someone who doesn’t even like the caretaker,” Boar mused, “you’re spending a good deal of your time thinking about him.”

“Plotting his demise,” she clipped, still searching the front doors as if they would open any second to admit him. She glanced out the closest window; it was so dark outside.

“And that’s exactly why he’s not here.”

“Boar!” She finally whirled on her brother. He was by the full-length mirror they had erected by the mask table, allowing any of the soon-to-be-arriving masquerade attendees to check their appearance at any time during the ball. “He’s been gone for hours . Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

“A little,” he admitted, shrugging into his suit jacket and adjusting his cravat. Like the rest of his siblings, he was dressed like a Victorian aristocrat, as if a Regency romance novel had come to life in Hawthorne Hall. “But he can obviously take care of himself, and he’s probably just giving you space since you’ve been so beastly towards him. He could be checking on the goats—”

“He’s not; I’ve already looked.”

“Or with the Roots—”

“I called; they said he wasn’t there.”

“And they were probably covering for him.”

“Then you call them!”

He gave her a stern look. “I’m not going to bother them, Lilac. Though, it would’ve been nice for him to lend a helping hand with the buffet.”

They’d all hurried to bring up the chafers of roasted potatoes, Brussel sprouts with candied bacon and red onions, and cranberry sauce spiked with Cassis liqueur without ruining their costumes. They’d portion out the roasted pig later after the Lighting of the Stars.

“Why don’t you quit being such a worry wort and cast a Scouting Spell?” Rose asked. She abandoned the hearth where she had been testing the cook on the hog. A rune on the spit handle kept it turning without physical assistance.

“I’m not strong enough to narrow a Scouting Spell down,” Lilac admitted begrudgingly.

The magical sonar would pick up every living thing in its radius, not just the one person she sought. The robed elders of the coven and some of the other uninitiated witches had honed their precision over time, but her talents had always lain with the cauldron.

“Boar?” she asked hopefully, pleadingly.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Rose demanded. “I’m the wild roamer of this family, yet I always find my home, not to mention food when I’m out on my sojourns. ”

“Ugh, you use the Scouting Spell to help you hunt? That’s cheating.”

“That’s using every resource to my advantage, thank you very much. Now, you want me to find your boyfriend or not?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” He was much more than that. He’s my mate. She glanced down at her palm, rubbing at its center where the glow of the green spark had originated.

Rose just snickered and closed her eyes. Her fingertips glowed with a pulse of green magic—the ping—and a moment later, she scrunched up her face in concentration. Another moment passed, and the tension drained out of her shoulders. She flipped her curly brown hair over her shoulder. “He’s on the edge of the forest, Lilac. Patrolling , just as he said he was. Avoiding you , just as Boar said he was.”

“See?” Boar said.

Lilac puffed out a breath and wrung her fan some more, not entirely convinced. Surely he would’ve swung by after a few hours just to check in with her? Or was this his lone wolf personality at work?

“Oh,” Rose added. “And someone unlock the doors. The guests are like twenty feet away from the doorstep.”

“Rose!” Boar admonished, hurrying the few yards from mirror to doorknobs and giving the latch a hasty swat. He opened the doors just in time for the first guests to arrive, and just like that, the Yuletide Masquerade had begun.

The string quartet arrived with the first volley of guests, quickly assuming their seats in the corner and striking up a merry tune. Rose and Lilac ushered the villagers—all dressed in their finest gowns and suits—to the mask table to choose which creature matched them best.

Lilac quickly snatched away the white wolf mask before anyone could claim it, hanging it on the nearby library doorknob with a note with Allen’s name on it. No sooner had she finished scribing the note did a navy-blue suit appear, its hanger hooked upon the library door lintel—Hawthorne Hall had indeed taken a liking to its new caretaker, despite him being a werewolf. Apparently Grandmother’s rules and prejudices didn’t apply within its walls.

Sam Barley had arrived with his crew from the Cat the Lighting of the Stars would provide plenty of illumination once the glass balls were activated. In the massive hearth, the fire popped and sizzled as the fat of the hog dripped upon the flames, and the smell of roasting meat mingled with the scent of evergreen and spiced punch. It was awash in color from all the costumes and finery, absolutely perfect.

Except Allen wasn’t here.

And Prue had an accomplice that he obviously hadn’t found yet.

As Darren Morton arrived, selecting a stag mask and sending Rose a lustful look, Lilac suddenly had second thoughts about picking a doe mask. She’d selected it in hopes of further rousing Allen’s prey drive, but now it seemed like she was meant to partner with Darren. She shuddered at the thought. She’d leave the brute to her sister, but only after a warning.

Lilac grabbed Rose’s elbow, pulling her in close. “Be careful tonight, just in case.”

“Always am,” she replied, smiling. That smile was for her mountain man, who had the crowd parting like minnows before a shark as he made his way over to them.

“Rose, I’m serious.”

Rose wiggled away. “I know , Lilac. Yeesh, lighten up.”

Darren stopped a respectful distance away, bowed, and extended his hand. “Lady Hawk,” he greeted, referencing her mask.

Rose practically jumped at him, taking his hand and allowing herself to be twirled away. Her girlish giggle was a lance through Lilac’s gut, jealousy rising that her own beau was nowhere to be found.

Alone, Lilac suddenly found herself at the mercy of a dozen suitors, a recovered Landen and a two-sheets-in-the-wind Brandon among them. She gave them all pretty smiles and weak excuses before a new wave of people demanded her attention—repeat customers. Lilac’s delight at being barraged by endless inquiries as to when she would have new stock available for purchase soon turned to dismay. These people were near-rabid for her potions, and they weren’t taking “I don’t know” for an answer. Edith, ever the clever friend, diverted their attention to another sign-up sheet and vague promises of when the next wave of Potions by Lilac would hit her shelves in the Fireside Tales Book Shoppe.

Freed from both suitors and customers, Lilac fled to the mask table under the guise of assisting the newcomers. In reality, she was smuggling a new mask into each pocket of her ostentatious Victorian dress. She even stuffed one into her satin purse. If James Bond could change out a license plate to avoid detection, then surely a mask switcheroo would keep everyone guessing until Allen arrived. With his towering, strong build and that wolf mask, he’d scare anyone away from her, keeping her all to himself.

She shivered at the prospect.

“ Lilac .”

Her name came harshly to her ears—someone had been trying to get her attention for some time.

She whirled. “Boar?”

Her brother in his tusked mask (how fitting) held out his arm. The candlelight glittered on the green velvet and gold brocade, turning the tips of his brown curls golden.

“The Lighting of the Stars?” he prompted.

“Oh thank the Green Mother,” she muttered, quickly taking his arm and leaving the pack of bachelors behind. As they walked to the center of the ballroom, she rose up on tiptoe. “Do you see Rose?”

“Of course not. She’s probably in a corner somewhere trying to suck that man’s tongue out of his head. She’s randier than a rabbit.” He snorted. “But she knows the cue music and this is her favorite part of the Gala. She’ll show up.”

“Let’s hope,” Lilac grumbled. “Have you seen Allen yet?”

“Lilac . . ..”

“I’m not wrangling that hog off the spit in this dress,” she shot back. “The man needs to show up and do his job. There’s no use patrolling anymore. Everyone is here .” She only meant half the vehemence she put into her words—of course she wasn’t above slicing off pieces of roasted pig and serving her guests, she was just desperate to put eyes on the caretaker, to steal a reassuring touch from his hand.

“After the Lighting of the Stars, I’ll go find him,” Boar said, nearing the end of his patience. “Relax.”

“A word of advice, Boar, since you’re on the marriage mart yourself? Don’t ever tell a woman to relax.”

She released her brother’s arm and stalked off to her position on the ballroom floor. The villagers knew to back up, creating a large circle of space under the chandelier. The string quartet struck up a short but merry jig—the cue music—allowing everyone to stop what they were doing and jostle into the best positions possible to watch. It took a second or two, but Rose did appear, chugging the rest of her punch cup before shoving it into Darren’s hands. Then she pressed a passionate kiss against his mouth, rousing a bawdy cheer from the crowd. Flicking her skirts like a flamenco dancer, she flounced—a little wobbly—to her mark.

Lilac rolled her eyes. Oh my Green Mother. She’s drunk.

The music changed into a waltz, and on the fourth beat, the Hawthornes began to dance. There was no male or female part, just a single form of sweeping steps and outstretched arms. The three danced in shrinking concentric circles towards the center of the dance floor amidst the murmuring crowd. Lilac was a picture of grace, they said, Boar proud and masculine, Rose delightfully eccentric.

It was a dance Lilac knew by heart, allowing her to cast glances along the ballroom without fear of stumbling over her feet. It was a sea of masks, to be sure, but she could still distinguish a familiar body or two. But no Allen. His mask and his suit still hung on the library door nearest the Hall entrance.

Worry gnawed at her.

“Be careful,” Allen’s phantom voice warned her. “Be prepared for anything tonight.”

“Lilac,” Boar hissed.

Right! They were almost shoulder to shoulder now, and she needed to summon her magic. As the siblings dipped inward towards the center of their little circle, magic bloomed on their right hands. Glittering leaves for Lilac, contained fireworks for Rose, a steady glow like a green sun for Boar. On the next beat, they spun away from each other, slinging green light to the oohs and aahs of the onlookers. Then it was a skip and a jump, their backs arching as they landed in a lunge position, pointing their glowing hands to the crystal chandelier.

Three jets of green magic streaked for the chandelier, bathing it in what seemed like green flame. Their magic licked around the closest glass ornaments, the gold confetti inside igniting with bursts of light and sparking a chain reaction throughout the entire Hall. Crackling like the report of faraway firecrackers rippled through the air as the voluminous space became alive with light. The “stars” reflected in every upturned eye as mouths gasped in wonder.

Lilac risked a glance at her siblings. Boar had a satisfied smile on his face; Rose gaped like a child, no doubt partially due to that spiked punch. Their magic had snuffed out after jettisoning it upwards, but Lilac hadn’t released hers yet, Allen’s warning still fresh.

A sharp crack wrenched her attention upwards as the light of the glass ornaments darkened from yellow to amber to orange. Her sharp eyes caught sight of a black rune in stark contrast against the molten-hot glass of the ornament directly above Rose’s head.

“What the—?” Boar breathed.

The ornaments exploded.

Rose was the first to scream.

Shards of glass like icicles speared down to the upturned faces of the crowd, aiming right for their necks.