Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Lilac almost threw herself from the wagon and ran when Hawthorne Hall finally came into view, sitting proudly on its hill overlooking the village, its four spires piercing the gray winter sky. It was tradition to arrive in old-fashioned clothes and via the goat-drawn wagon as a show of humility and benevolence, but it was a tediously encumbering and slow process. The ride did, however, provide plenty of time for conversation, and, of course, speculation.

Unfortunately.

“Soooo,” Rose drawled, head craned up towards the sky to watch the snow fall, “besides the Gala, what mischief are we getting into this year?” She slid her ivy-green gaze to Lilac. “Hmm? How many hearts you gonna break, Li? Five? Twelve?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” It was the reply expected of her, and that should’ve been that, but Lilac couldn’t help blurting, “And it’s going to be zero, thank you very much. I’ve got no time for boys.” Not unless they wanted to purchase magical hair-thickening serum, anti-inflammatory soap, or any of her other wares.

Rose jerked upright. “Since when? That’s, like, your thing . ”

Lilac batted away her sister’s hand as she attempted to test Lilac’s forehead for a fever.

“Leave her alone,” Boar said. “And we’re not twelve, Rose. There will be no mischief.”

“Since when did you become such a stick in the mud? If Otter were here, you two would be in the back of the wagon right now, scheming how you were going to spike the punch bowl with a watered-down love potion and then take bets on which idiot plucked up the courage to ask Grandmother for a dance.”

But their cousin, who was as playful and easygoing as his namesake, was away with the coven in Redbud, so there would be no spiking of the punch bowl this year.

When Boar only gazed stoically ahead, flicking the reins lightly against the goats’ flanks, Rose said, “Ohhh, Dad’s pep talk got to you, didn’t it?” She flopped back in her seat, propping her feet up on the rim of the box seat. “You really shouldn’t let him get under your skin like that.”

“Not all of us can afford to be as carefree as birds, Rose,” he snapped. “I’m responsible for you two—he didn’t have to say it. And we represent the entire Hawthorne family, whether you believe it or not, so we’ll all act like it. Put your feet down.”

Rose’s boots hit the footwell with a resounding thud , but she wasn’t finished yet. “Guys, this is one of the only times we get to leave the manor. I know we have responsibilities, but let’s try to have a little fun, okay? It’s the holidays! There will be mistletoe and cocktails and dancing and a whole roasted pig and music—we’ve already got the snow!”

She swiveled in her seat, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright. Snowflakes clung to her brown curls. “Boar, you can still be a leader without being an uptight dick; Lilac, you can do whatever you want with whatever you smuggled into the wagon; and I am going to live a little and have me a winter fling. That’s right, I said it! I’m gonna smooch me a fine wild mountain man and—”

“Shut up , Rose!” Boar exclaimed. “Lilac, what did you smuggle into the wagon?”

Lilac glared at her sister with all the frost she could muster. Which was a lot. “How did you—?” It didn’t even matter. She might not have secured the canvas covering properly, or her sister was just being her usual cat-curious self.

“Lilac!” Boar prodded.

“If it were your business, I wouldn’t have had to smuggle it, would I?” she snapped.

“It’s a bunch of bottles and some bars of soap,” Rose supplied with a mischievous snicker.

Lilac whacked her sister in the arm, hard.

“ Ow .”

Ha! Lilac gloated as Rose rubbed her arm. Not just a pretty face, am I?

“Ugh, Lilac,” Boar groaned. “Not this again. Grandmother said—”

“Grandmother doesn’t know what she’s talking about. None of you do! And she’s not here, and—”

“And you will do nothing to shame the Hawthorne name,” he interrupted harshly. “That includes peddling chintzy beauty products. Don’t you girls get it? We’re going to be under the scrutiny of the entire town. And Prue Stonewell, as well as all the other supes who owe us fealty tithes. We can give them no reason to gossip, to think we are anything less. The minute we get settled, you’re pouring that all down the drain, Lilac.”

Pour the work of the last four months and all the time she’d spent over her entire life honing her craft down the drain ? “Make me.”

Boar yanked so hard on the reins that the goats bleated. He shifted in his seat and set the full force of his brown gaze on her. He was physically intimidating, his thighs as big as tree trunks, his biceps larger than grapefruits, his shoulders like a mountain range. But she held no fear of him. He’d never hurt her, unless they were in the sparring ring.

“Is that a challenge , sister?” he hissed.

Lilac swallowed but continued to hold her head up high. He was talking about a witch duel. While female Hawthornes tended to be the stronger witches, Boar had stamina from all his years of hard physical training. His spells might not have the power hers had, but he was quick despite his size, and he could outlast her.

But his question was more than that. The Hawthornes functioned on a hierarchy, much like a military, for there was no other way to successfully manage forty-something powerful witches all living under one (albeit massive) roof. With her father’s proclamation, he had set Boar above both Lilac and Rose in terms of authority. To disobey would be met with dire consequences.

“No,” she forced out.

He continued to drill her with that fierce glower until she looked away, gritting her teeth.

“I thought not.”

The wagon squeaked as he swiveled his bulk back around and picked up the reins. The snap he gave them had the goats bleating again and jumping in their harnesses.

“Yeesh, Boar, ease up,” Rose muttered. “The goats never did a thing to you.”

Lilac continued to look straight ahead, her back ramrod straight, as the wagon trundled ever onwards to Hawthorne Hall. It was agonizing to sit here, embarrassed and belittled, and knowing it would be childish and fruitless to just spring off the box seat and run the rest of the way. She’d just have to face them again when they arrived, and if she ran, she would be leaving all her hard work—her future—behind. She wouldn’t put it past Boar to just shot-put the entire crate off the side of the road in her absence. So she stayed, clinging to the minuscule hope that perhaps her brother would forget all about it by the time they reached the Hall and other duties demanded his attention.

Though, knowing Boar, probably not. She might call him a meathead sometimes, but he was anything but.

A silent tear slipped down her cheek, freezing into a little diamond against her skin. Followed by another. And another. By the Green Mother, she wanted to sprout wings like the barn swallows she used to watch growing up and just fly away.

“Lilac,” Rose whispered so Boar couldn’t hear her. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— I didn’t know Boar would—”

“How about you shut your mouth before you ruin my life some more?”

Lilac didn’t look at either one of her siblings the rest of the way, her attention fixated on the Hall. She imagined casting a line, hooking one of the spires, and reeling it closer at double time.

The Hall was three stories tall, not counting the four spires that rose another twenty feet above the roof. Great double doors of polished rowan wood decorated with an embellished H opened up to a hardwood function hall that dominated most of the ground floor. There were a few other rooms there, mostly offices where Grandmother could conduct business, and a sizable hearth. The caretaker, Mrs. Hollyoak, whom the younger Hawthornes affectionately called Nan, kept the hearth smoldering year-round, rousing the flames to their full height and power during Gala week.

Stairs in the back led to the gallery-style second floor with a wrap-around balcony overlooking the function hall and the sleeping quarters of whichever Hawthornes were in residence. The third story was just a glorified attic, though it had also served as a playroom for any Hawthorne youngsters. Oftentimes a young squirrel would find its way inside and make a nest in the bay window seat; it was Lilac’s favorite pastime to befriend the little creature for the week before removing it to a more appropriate nesting site in the woods.

The kitchen and pantry were in the cellar, along with the caretaker’s suite and all the other appliances necessary to run the building. That’s where she’d go when they arrived. While her siblings were greeting Mrs. Hollyoak, Lilac would snatch up her crate, circle around to the rear of the Hall where the walk-out cellar door was, and hide it somewhere down there. It would be the last place Boar looked because it would be the last place he’d ever suspect. While she was a hearth witch, yes, that didn’t necessarily mean she enjoyed cooking.

“What’s this?” Boar muttered as the wagon arced around the circle drive.

A white delivery truck, Homegrown Roots Grocers printed on the side in bold green letters, blocked the driveway directly in front of the path that led to the front doors. Its driver was missing, its wares unpacked. Mrs. Hollyoak, who always met them without fail under the awning, was nowhere to be seen.

“On me,” Boar ordered.

The grievances of the past fifteen minutes were momentarily forgotten as the three siblings silently dismounted from the wagon. Lilac set the wagon’s parking brake as Rose tied the goats’ reins to the hitching post; Boar moved to the front doors, a glowing green hand raised in front of him.

“The shield is open, but it’s intact,” he whispered to them when they joined him.

“Only Nan can do that,” Lilac said nervously. “Maybe she fell inside and that’s why she didn’t greet us here?”

“She’s pushing a hundred and twenty, so it makes sense,” Rose agreed .

“Maybe, but what is the truck doing right here?” Boar asked. “Everyone knows to use the side road to go to the back. I don’t like it.” A second hand wreathed in green magic joined the first.

“Scouting Spell?” Lilac suggested. It worked like a magical sonar ping, revealing the location of any living thing within a certain radius. If there was indeed an intruder inside, it would find them. Except the ping would reveal the spellcaster as well, so there was no element of surprise to be had.

“Battle magic?” Rose whispered, hiking the sleeves up on her shirt to reveal a set of iron cuffs. They were cast to resemble hawthorn leaves and berry clusters, and each Hawthorne wore them. When activated, they summoned magic far stronger and fiercer than they normally wielded.

Boar shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll save our strength. Rose, you follow me. Lilac, you’re in the rear. Say when.”

A petulant sibling might’ve accused Boar of giving her the bitch assignment, but it was the smartest move. Rose was bigger than Lilac and exceptionally scrappy in a fight. She was a sledgehammer, and her more observant and deliberate sister was the scalpel. The sniper. Lilac would pick off anyone who tried to escape or alert her siblings if they were being outflanked.

Her uncle Tod, the family’s combat instructor and tracker, had done his best to drill the nerves out of her, but to this day, Lilac had shown no aptitude for fighting outside of sniping. She wanted a ranged attack where her target couldn’t hit back. At least not right away. If she’d had her druthers, she’d be in the medic tent with her potions and poultices.

How is it that in this circumstance—when I’m shaking like a leaf—I’m trusted to guard their backs and uphold the family name, but when it comes to my potions, they treat me as a laughingstock?

The begrudging thought must’ve shown on her face because Boar hissed, “Focus, Lilac.”

Before she could reply, Rose said, “Ready.” The magic clinging to her fingers resembled the glittering green light of constantly exploding fireworks, though it made no noise.

Lilac removed the little satin purse from her wrist and stuffed it down into her bodice for safekeeping, then summoned her magic. It manifested as glowing green leaves swirling soundlessly around her hands. “Ready,” she echoed.

Boar led them inside.