Page 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Boar began to grumble the moment he caught sight of her, but Lilac gave him her most frigid look—identical to Grandmother’s—and he choked off any protest. Instead, he yanked off his hat and fitted it over her head. She was only in her thermals, jacket, and boots after all. Once Lilac would’ve thought the gesture self-serving—see what a sacrificial leader he is?—but she’d come to realize that wasn’t always the case with her brother.

“Sweetheart,” he exclaimed, unzipping his coat with the intent to give it to Allen, “you’ll freeze out here in just a shirt!”

“I don’t need it,” Allen said, distracted.

He released Lilac’s hand and nosed the air, nostrils flaring. They’d caught up to Boar on the Hall side of the pond, its surface gleaming like a polished mirror under the moonlight. The surrounding snow dampened most sounds, including the merriment that continued within Hawthorne Hall. The hedge witches and practitioners of Cailleach Lodge were nowhere to be found—Prue had kept her word.

Allen’s shoes gave muted crunches as he stepped beyond their cluster, scanning the woods. Overhead, a few snowflakes drifted down to perch on his blond eyelashes. Lilac looked to the sky; half of its starry expanse was overshadowed by a storm rolling in from the mountains.

“You don’t need a coat?” Boar snorted. “I mean, I’m a fan of what a wet shirt does to a chest like anyone else, but—”

“She’s in there.” Allen took off at a sprint.

“Wha—” Boar stopped fussing with his jacket, snatched Lilac’s hand, and launched them both after the running caretaker. “By the Green Mother, how is he so damn fast? Allen, wait up!”

“He won’t,” she panted, her lungs already burning. She understood why, too: Allen had lost two families in his life and he wasn’t about to lose a third.

Allen was deep into the forest when they reached the tree line.

“We’re supposed to stick together,” Boar protested, calling green magic to his hand. He cast it upon the snowy ground to find the caretaker’s tracks now that the trees had turned the moonlight into a hazy patchwork upon the ground.

“Stop fussing.” Still holding his hand, she crouched down and pressed her palm to the footprint she knew to be Allen’s.

“You’re not Uncle Tod,” he told her, jerking on her hand. “Come on.”

She ignored his pull. “He still taught me a thing or two extra, so shut up and let me concentrate.” After discovering her delight for small animals, Uncle Tod had shared with her a very special spell to make it easier for her to find her little friends. Green magic pulsed at her fingertips as she chanted the Tracking Spell,

“Soft as feathers and a firefly’s light,

follow the steps of the walker this night.”

Allen’s footprint glowed with a faint gold light, the illumination spreading to the next and the next until his entire trail twinkled off between the trees.

“Whoa,” her brother breathed.

“Come on.”

Since the entire trail was illuminated, they were able to cut out the zig-zag parts and follow a straighter line through the woods. The compacted snow made the travel easier, though the snowflakes that were falling more earnestly now might eventually obscure the trail. Her magical core hadn’t replenished itself yet, and it probably wouldn’t for some time if she didn’t rest. But that wasn’t an option. Not when her younger sister was in danger.

They were both panting when they reached the terminal end of the glowing trail. Allen whirled upon hearing their approach, looking feral. He blinked, returning to his senses, then his eyes widened at the sight of his illuminated footprints.

“Your trail was backtracking a lot just now,” she said without preamble. “Is the scent weaker or something?”

“Scent?” Boar scoffed. “You make it sound like he’s a bloodhound. That’s my man you’re calling a dog.” He flicked her in the shoulder. “Rude.”

“I can’t smell her anymore,” Allen revealed, a panicked edge to his voice. “Something’s obscuring her and their tracks. It’s maddening.” His voice cracked at that last, his hands clenching into fists. He ducked his head, sucking in a ragged breath, his shoulders trembling.

Lilac stepped forward and cupped his face, lifting his golden eyes to meet hers.

“Hands off, hussy!” Boar exclaimed.

They ignored him. “Can you smell the forest?” she asked Allen. “The different trees, the passage of deer, the squirrels asleep in their hollows?”

He nodded .

“Something magical is afoot,” she said. “Maybe more of that fae magic, like the heretic’s fork. You said you can’t smell Rose anymore. Then don’t smell her . Smell the absence of her. It sounds like something is scrubbing all trace of her. So, track the nothingness left behind.”

“It’ll be a gap between scents,” he realized. “You’re a brilliant witch, you know that?” Then his gaze flicked to Boar. “I won’t be able to track that as a man.”

Lilac gave him a reassuring smile as she dropped her hands and stepped away. She linked arms with Boar, who seemed to want nothing to do with her now that she’d put a move on his man. “Do it. I promised to protect all of you, didn’t I?”

The trust in his smile warmed her all the way down to her toes.

Between one heartbeat and the next, there was a cacophony of ripping fabric, and a golden-white wolf stood where Allen had been. The beast shook the remnants of the white dress shirt and navy pants from his fur, then gave the Hawthornes an expectant look.

Boar, his brown eyes as wide and round a molasses cookies, emitted a strangled note like that of a yowling cat, then: “L-lover?”

“It’s alright, Boar,” Lilac assured confidently. She squeezed his arm linked with hers. “That’s still Allen. Isn’t he wonderful?” While she kept her tone upbeat and confident, she still channeled every ounce of magic into her free hand, ready to sucker punch her brother if he even thought about hurting her wolf.

Boar took a staggering step or two forward. The Nemean wolf remained still, though Lilac could tell it was with effort since all Allen wanted to do was find Rose. But he had to secure this ally so he wouldn’t get nailed with a blast of green magic when he turned his back.

Her brother lifted a hand, and the wolf gently licked his fingers. Boar yelped, mostly from surprise, then wiped his hand off on his jacket with a laugh. “Aww, who’s a pretty boy? You are, aren’t you? Who wants cuddles?”

The wolf snorted, rolled his golden eyes, then spun around to nose the air. His bushy tail stood straight out from his body, his ears pricked, his fur rippled in the winter breeze. Lilac snatched Boar’s hand back before he could pet him. With a yap, the wolf bounded northward.

Lilac and Boar could keep up this time. The wolf moved purposefully but stopped often, confirming he’d found the gap between scents before leading them deeper into the forest. Then, he stopped pausing altogether, moving with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was headed. Lilac took notice of her surroundings then, wondering how Allen clearly recognized this part of the forest. She knew he’d gone on daily patrols—had he marked this place somehow?

She realized they were walking more or less in a curved line; no longer were they weaving in and out of the trees like they had before. The trees no longer grew randomly, but seemed to radiate from a central point. These were all of one species of tree, too, though she wished Aunt Hyacinth—the forager and forest expert of the family—was here to confirm.

“Allen, stop,” she whispered.

The wolf obeyed, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“We’re headed into a witch’s grove—a place of power. I-l read about them in Edith’s book. We need to be careful.”

“When we’re done here, it’s my turn to read that damn book,” Boar grumbled, summoning magic to his hands.

The siblings separated, giving each other room to maneuver and flanking the wolf. They darted from tree to tree, pausing for a breath to listen before continuing, but they heard nothing except the creaking of branches and the rattling whisper of the air through the leaves which still clung to them .

Slowly, the wolf’s golden hackles rose and his lips peeled back into a white-fanged snarl. Boar inhaled sharply, his features settling from cautious anticipation into rage. Lilac snuck another look from a different angle, and her blood turned to icy sludge in her veins.

In the center of the witch grove, Rose slumped on her knees. She was still in her Regency-era gown, appearing all too similar to a fancy version of Snow White at the mercy of the Huntsman. A hooded figure in a stag mask stood before her with a hand clutching each side of her confused face. His forearms were bare, the sleeves rolled past his elbows, and strange bluish-green markings writhed on his skin like snakes. They slithered down his arms to plunge into Rose’s temple and neck, seemingly extracting orbs of green light and gulping them away.

“He’s draining her,” Lilac gasped, starting forward. “He’s stealing away her magic!”

To her surprise, Boar caught her around the middle and hauled her back, but not for the reason she thought.

“Look at those runes.” He pointed to what looked like scratch marks in the bark, except they were all the same and held none of the precision Aunt Forsythia had instilled in them. These looked like they’d been hacked into the trees with a dull knife.

Boar began to shake, not from fear, but from rage. “We can’t go in there. Those runes are nullifiers—we won’t be able to use our magic. It’s how he’s keeping her subdued, powerless against him.”

“That and she doesn’t even want to,” Lilac said bitterly. “Because of me .”

“I can risk it,” he said, wetting his lips. “Even without my magic—”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course you could take him in a physical fight, but he has magic and you won’t. He won’t play fair. I’ve only got enough magic for one more spell, so we’ll need someone who can wield. If anyone goes in to distract him or whatever, it’s me.”

In a blur of golden-white, the wolf launched himself into the witch grove.