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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

A gentle heat spread from Allen’s hand up his arm and into his chest. Joining it was the sensation of pins and needles, like his arm had fallen asleep and was now waking. Except his whole body felt that way, excluding his butt and the backs of his legs. Those were completely numb.

Allen forced open his eyes. His sluggish heart picked up until it thundered at the sight of the night sky. Stars glittered overhead, his view marred by skeletal branches—he was in the forest. He was sitting in the forest, his back against the coarse bark of an elm tree. How had Talia moved him? The heretic’s fork?

Grunting, he strained forward only to be met with a body of cement.

His wolf whined pitifully, lying on his side.

“Hold on,” Allen croaked aloud. His hand tightened down around the hexafoil in his pocket.

He’d been convinced of its identity after Talia had turned that heretic’s fork on him, and the hexafoil was a potent protection charm. It’s what Prue had flung at Lilac, not in attack, but in defense. Prue had never been their enemy .

As the hexafoil continued to nullify the effects of Talia’s fruitcake, clearing his thoughts, a lot of what Prue had told him over the past few days took on a different meaning.

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

That’s what she’d told him on the sidewalk outside the Roots’ townhouse. She’d known, or at least suspected, that one of her flock had been causing trouble for the Hawthornes. No doubt she’d intended to confront the antagonist and discipline them within the confines of Cailleach Lodge, all to prevent the power struggle that would be destined to occur otherwise. That was occurring now .

Talia had duped them all, except she wasn’t alone in her endeavor. “They are blights upon this valley.” That’s what Prue had said, and the hedge witch hadn’t been talking about the practitioner.

Allen suspected Talia had been preyed upon—the weak and hurt often were. Someone in need of a patsy often promised grand things to those most susceptible, and after being so publicly humiliated by Prue in the Cat & Cauldron, she had been ripe for manipulation.

That doesn’t excuse her , his wolf snarled. She is going to hurt our mate! We will taste her blood before the dawn.

We can’t protect Lilac if you don’t do your wolf thing and burn through this poison , Allen countered. The hexafoil had given them a boost, but now it was up to them to eradicate it. Aren’t you supposed to run hot or something?

I do. And I am. I wasn’t the one who ate the food!

We ate it. We are one, remember?

His wolf snarled at him, fighting to roll himself into a sitting position. He managed it, and Allen felt new strength flooding into his limbs. He pulled the hexafoil out of his pocket and placed it against his chest, hoping closer contact to his heart would speed up the process .

It did, thank the spirits, and Allen shifted restlessly, eager to get out of the snow. His senses were sharpening with every second, bringing to him the scents of the forest and the sounds of the Hall and even the village below.

And of the mob that was approaching.

It didn’t take him long to figure out who they were. From the sight of knobby shillelaghs, leather skirts, pelts slug across their shoulders, and bits of forestry and hand-carved charms dripping from their belts and necks, these were the hedge witches and practitioners of Cailleach Lodge come for their leader.

“A coven war ,” Lilac’s voice echoed in his mind.

Gritting his teeth, Allen shimmied his feet under him and shoved forward. He caught the tree to steady himself, waiting a precious minute for the feeling to return to his legs.

He swept his gaze from the approaching mob to the Hall, strained his ears to pick up the sounds of jovial music and general revelry. If Talia had already made her move against the Hawthornes, or was in the process of it, there would be screaming. He still had time to thwart one attack so his wards wouldn’t be caught in a pincer maneuver between two enemies. But only if he could move.

Inside, the beast shook out his golden-white fur and threw his head back with a howl.

Allen felt the itch to shift, since he could heal faster as a wolf, but the longer he could keep his true identity a secret, the longer he held the advantage. He was finally strong enough to walk now, though, then jog, and soon, he was sprinting down the hill towards the road to the village.

His approach was spotted, an alert rising from the hedge witches at the front. The mob spread out to cover more ground—the better not to hit their friends with their attacks if violence broke out .

“It’s the Hawthornes’ dog,” one of them spat. “The caretaker.”

“Evening, friends,” he said, keeping his palms open at his sides. He hoped the peaceful gesture would help lighten the mood, but it most certainly did not.

“Friends?” the woman in the center sneered—Beverly Traskell, Prue’s best friend. He remembered her from all the time he’d spent learning about the village’s major players. “ Friends don’t lock each other up in prison cells.”

“Don’t waste your words on him, Beverly,” the first one hissed. “He’s their lackey.”

“Prue’s in the cellar suite, actually,” Allen corrected genially. “It comes with a bed and working plumbing, not a cot and a bucket. Big distinction. I’m surprised an educated and precise woman like her didn’t make that clear when she contacted you all by . . . charm, probably?” His eyes flicked to the man who liked to insult him. “And I’m no one’s lackey.”

“Prison cell, cellar suite, she shouldn’t be anywhere but safe in her own house,” Beverly snapped. “I don’t know what those Hawthornes accused her of, but she didn’t do it!”

“I know.”

His quiet agreement stunned the mob to a beat of silence. Only the wind whispered by on the snow-covered fields. A strain of jovial music wafted down from the Hall behind him, shattering their truce.

As outraged voices lifted to the sky, the hedge witches pressing closer, Allen took a step back and lifted his hands high. “I know Prue Stonewell is innocent, because she tried to protect me with this.” He showed them the hexafoil. “And as a token of goodwill, I return that to you, along with her witch’s knot.”

He tossed both charms at Beverly. The hedge witch caught them and passed them off to the two beside her, her flinty gaze never leaving his face .

“He stole those from her!” said the male hedge witch—Mitch the Hedge Witch Bitch, Allen decided to call him.

“You think a human could rob someone like Prue of her witch’s knot?” Beverly scoffed.

“She lost it in battle,” Allen supplied. “Against Talia.”

“Talia?” Mitch snorted. “A mage newt’s got more magic in its little toe than that girl’s got in her whole body. There’s no way—”

“She had a heretic fork.”

That shut him and the rest of Cailleach Lodge up real quick. A few exchanged glances, but Beverly’s attention remained glued to Allen’s face. “And how do you know what that is, Allen Sharpe?”

“Scorned people like to gloat when they finally have the upper hand.” He jabbed a finger in Mitch’s direction. “They grow in toxic environments fostered by the likes of him .”

“Why you—”

“The heretic’s fork is how Talia disarmed Prue,” he said loudly, smothering the man’s protests. “That’s how she rendered me unconscious and stashed me in the woods so I couldn’t warn the Hawthornes of their mistake until now.” He gestured to the tracks he’d left in the snow. “Go check my story, if you want.”

“This is complete bullsh—”

“Dave, shut your mouth and take Emilia with you,” Beverly interrupted. “Follow the caretaker’s steps to the woods and run a Memoria Spell.”

Allen’s lips twisted into a pucker. He preferred calling the belligerent man Mitch to match his personality. As the two trudged off, Beverly asked him, “Why did she spare you?”

“Because apparently I’m nice,” he snapped, golden eyes glinting. People were always so surprised how a little decency and kindness could go so far in this world. “And I’m also true to my word. ”

“Meaning?”

“Give me ten minutes. Ten minutes to get into the Hall and release her and we can explain everything. And hold the real culprit responsible.”

“Don’t do it,” the woman to Beverly’s right cautioned. “The minute he’s back within the wards, he’ll be untouchable.”

“Until we break them down,” the one on Beverly’s left snapped.

“Can we even do that?” someone whispered. “I mean, we’re just hedge witches and—”

“By Mab, Bernice, what do you think we’re doing here?” a fourth voice hissed. “Of course we can bring down the wards. It just might take a while. Maybe.”

Beverly held up a hand, demanding silence. Her eyes narrowed on him. “I’ll need collateral. You are known about Annesley as a good man, Allen Sharpe, but you’ve only been here two weeks. Your reputation is not enough.”

Allen had nothing to give them that he hadn’t already, and promises were just empty words at this point. All he had left was his secret. “Come forward to collect it. Alone .”

There was another murmuring of protests that only grew louder as Beverly stepped forward out of line. Her steps were resolute as she trudged up the slope and stopped an arm’s length away. “Well?”

He held out his hand like he was preparing to drop something into her palm. When she looked down, golden-white fur sprouted from his skin and his fingernails transformed into long white nails.

Beverly gasped, shrinking back, but Allen seized her wrist with his shifted hand, holding her in place. “I give you my secret,” he hissed down at her, his golden eyes flashing. “Because I know of your reputation, Beverly Traskell, too.” She was fair-minded, kinder than Prue, and fiercely loyal to her friends .

Her eyes widened at the sound of her full name. Then she ceased resisting him, and he let her go. “If Iris Hawthorne finds out, she’ll kill you.”

“I know,” he said flatly.

“Then why on earth—”

“Because I love her granddaughter.”

Her expression softened. “Oh you stupid boy.” She stepped back. “Go. You have your ten minutes, or I crow your secret to the world.”

“Thank you.”

Just as he turned, the music drifting from the Hall shifted. There was a screech of bows against violin and cello strings, a chorus of screams, and then the front doors burst open.

A cloud of glittering green light funneled out of the Hall, twisting into the moonlit sky like a rogue tornado. No sooner did the writhing cloud vacate the protection barrier than the Hall doors snap shut. The cloud burst like a soundless firecracker, sprinkling green glitter harmlessly against the snow.

Lilac! his wolf howled.

Frantic, Allen bolted up the hill.

“This changes nothing,” Beverly shouted after him. “You have ten minutes, Allen Sharpe, or we raze Hawthorne Hall to the ground!”