Page 1 of Merry in Moonvale (Moonvale Matches #3)

CHAPTER 1

Kizzi

A crisp, icy wind flowed through the open window of my apothecary shop, smelling of frost and burnt sugar. It caressed my skin with a frigid kiss and tossed my hair across my face, the strands dragging through my eyes and temporarily blinding me.

I hastily brushed my green bangs back with dust-covered fingers.

And then a small weight settled onto my shoulder, hot enough to nearly singe the fabric of my blouse. I flicked it off immediately. Dust plumed from my filthy hands. “Gods, Scarlett, I told you to stop doing that! You’re going to catch me on fire!”

The tiny fire sprite hovered a few inches in front of my face, arms crossed and steam puffing from her ears in small, wispy tufts. “It’s not my fault you’re so fragile, Godsblood. It never bothered you before.”

Godsblood. Ugh. It was the name the sprites had refused to stop calling me, even though it didn’t make any sense.

I didn’t care for an explanation. What they had to say about it was impossible. And absolutely fucking ridiculous.

I had accrued too many new aliases lately. Godsblood, assigned to me by the sprites. Hand of the Dragons, assigned to me at the witch over in Rockward. I missed being just Kizzi. Kizziah Cedarton, Moonvale’s favorite apothecary witch. And nothing else.

“It’s Kizzi. I told you that. You know that.”

Scarlett nodded solemnly. “Whatever you say, Godsblood.”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you want?”

Scarlett wrung her hands in front of her, her transparent wings fluttering rapidly. “Can you close the window?”

I pointedly held up my dust-covered hands, gesturing to the worktable in front of me. It was a mess. I had been smashing up quartz crystals, collecting the dust in jars for later use in my potions.

I had a new idea for a potion that might free the dragons from their impenetrable shells.

“I need to keep them open, sprite, or the dust will clog our noses and kill us all. Is that what you want?” That was a complete lie. I knew it, but they didn’t.

A chorus of small gasps echoed around the shop reflecting varying levels of horror.

“No!”

“Did she really say that?”

“We can’t kill the Godsblood!”

I could’ve sworn one of them actually burst into tears.

I chuckled quietly to myself. The sprites were easy to rile up. They spent years tormenting me, so it was poetic that I could now torment them right back.

Really, I was just keeping the window open to appreciate a few final dredges of fresh air. The freeze season was in full swing, and temperatures were plummeting, though it wasn’t miserable yet.

But it would be soon.

With the freeze season came one shining perk: Merry Day—a holiday celebrated throughout the entire realm, where friends and neighbors took an entire day off to relax, be happy, and occasionally, exchange gifts. I had yet to start preparing, much to my best friend Fiella’s dismay.

Scarlett dimmed, settling onto the edge of my new cauldron and tucking her legs beneath her. “The window must stay open. I was just a little cold, that's all. My flames don’t like the wind. But your safety is more important.”

Guilt prodded at my insides.

It was easier to mess with the sprites before. Before I’d softened to them. Before they’d stolen crumbs of my heart.

Before we could speak to each other.

Now, they never stopped speaking.

A handful of weeks had passed since magic had mysteriously returned to the realm of Aldova. Since the sprites had become more creature than wisp. Since they’d grown into tangible beings that could converse like any other folk.

Only weeks since everything had changed.

It was inconvenient, being soft.

With a heavy exhale through my nose, I drifted to the window, pulling it most of the way shut so only the tiniest of drafts could pass through. Though Scarlett objected, I could see the way her posture relaxed to a more comfortable position, how she brightened back to her normal orange color, and how other sprites began stirring again.

Annoyingly, it pleased me. I had grown to like when my apothecary felt full of life.

Not all of the sprites were brave enough to speak out in the open.

Scarlett was—the tiny fire sprite was brave but always irritatingly polite. And there was an outspoken water sprite, too. Dropp, her name was. There was also a wind sprite named Thrum who was never afraid to voice his opinions, but he was grumpier than the others. Moodier. He sulked in a dark corner just as often as he openly glowered.

The others were slowly coming around.

Hex, too, was coming around.

My purple cauldron sludge familiar that I had accidentally brought to life was now practically glued to me at all hours of the day.

Hex, in their gelatinous form, could often be found perched on my shoulder, slumped beside my ankle, or simply watching me from the broken cauldron they had claimed as their own. I still wasn’t sure what to expect from my new familiar. Old legends spoke of familiars as powerful creatures that strengthened and stabilized their witch. That were steadfast and strong, brimming with magic.

Mostly, mine just annoyed me. And stole my snacks whenever they thought I wasn’t looking. They had helped me on Hallow’s Eve, sure, but they hadn’t done much else.

They still made me shiver. Especially when I caught an unexpected glimpse of them from the corner of my eye.

Thinking about Hex prompted me to glance over my shoulder to the broken cauldron in the corner.

They looked… strange. Stiff. Tense.

“Hex?” I called out. “You alright, buddy?”

Hex didn’t respond, and they didn’t give a telltale gurgle or bubble pop either. That couldn’t be good.

I heaved out a sigh. “Hang on. I’m coming.”

One thing I had learned about Hex was that they were impressively temperamental. If something unpleasant became stuck to them, they would freeze up like a stone until I came and removed the offending object. It had first happened with a loose strand of my hair. And then later with a small dirty pebble. I wondered what had caused them to freeze up this time.

They could engulf just about anything to sustain themself but when it came to small nuisances… I didn’t understand how they worked but I knew that not helping would only get me spat on. Or worse.

I drifted to the washbasin to quickly rinse the crystal dust from my hands, dabbed them dry on a towel, and then made my way to the cauldron.

“Alright, Hex. Let’s see what’s bothering you.”

My feet tapped quietly across the wooden floor of the apothecary, joining the muted hush of the sprites conversing with each other and the whisper of wind whirling through the crack in the window.

I was still adjusting to the sound of their voices. It was jarring compared to the silence I had grown accustomed to during the years of them inhabiting my shop.

I grasped the edge of the giant broken cauldron and leaned in to get a good look. Hex was their usual bright, glossy purple color, but instead of being soft and malleable, they were rigid. Like crystal instead of slime.

And they were curled around the three dragon eggs.

Red, blue, and green, the large, scaled eggs were nestled comfortably in the bottom of the cauldron, as they usually were when I wasn’t actively trying to crack them open.

Hex was curled around them, even more protective than usual. It would be endearing if it didn’t set the hairs on my arms to standing.

Something about the situation put me on edge.

I reached in and tapped Hex gently, where they met the edge of the cauldron. “Hey, Hex. Are you good? What’s the issue here?” My fingernail clicked on their surface instead of sinking in.

I got the impression that they didn’t want to move. But I needed them to, if I was going to ease their strange tension.

Quickly, I twisted my green waves back into a knot to keep them out of my face (and out of Hex’s surface). And then, cringing, I slipped my fingers between Hex and the cast iron of the cauldron.

“Sorry about this, but I’ve got to get you out if there is something stuck to you.”

They resisted. They really resisted. A zap of magic traveled through my fingers, into the bones of my hands, and up my arm. Nausea curled in my stomach at the sensation.

I grumbled under my breath. “Gods be damned. Bitch. Don’t attack me, I’m just trying to help.”

They resisted harder, liquifying for just a moment so my hand jerked through their surface and nearly smacked my own face.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine! Be miserable then. Insolent familiar. You’re supposed to follow my rules.”

They gurgled, clearly annoyed, which was a pile of shit because I was the one who should be annoyed.

“Don’t come crying to me next time you have fuzz on your face, then. Brat.”

A bizarre stab of worry tore through my chest, nearly doubling me over. I rubbed my collarbone to ease the sensation.

With one last glance (glare) at Hex in the cauldron, I turned to finish up my latest concoction.

But the worried sensation intensified.

My palms broke out in a clammy sweat, and a cold shiver straightened my spine, entirely different than the cold drifting in through the window. This was the cold of fear, of despair, of anxiety.

I wished Tandor was here. My mate might have been a softie when it came to some things, but he always soothed my worries and eased my fears.

“What is it, Hex? If you won’t let me help you, then at least let me get back to work.”

My stomach tied itself in a knot.

Fighting the nausea, I returned to the cauldron, to my annoyingly needy familiar.

“Fine. You win. What do you want me to do?”

I waited. Slowly, Hex loosened from around the dragon eggs, exposing them fully to my view.

What I saw made me squint my eyes and question my sanity.

I leaned in, bracing my hips on the rim of the cauldron and bringing my face within inches of the red dragon egg. It was shiny, with an indescribable shimmer that could only be magical in origin. Swallowing down my nerves, I reached out trembling fingers.

There was a small, black line decorating the surface of the dragon eggshell. The scaled surface made the line difficult to identify, but it was certainly something .

I ran my fingertips over the surface, entirely prepared for the black line to be one of Hyacinth’s hairs, a local witch with long black locks. But it didn’t brush aside. A tiny, almost imperceptible divot could be felt along the black line.

My brain struggled to put the pieces together.

Fiella and I had been trying for weeks to crack the dragon shells open. And not just the two of us. Tandor tried, too, with his orcish strength. And Fiella’s mate, Redd, who had all sorts of woodworking tools at his disposal. And a few of the witches that we could trust to keep the eggs a secret from Mayor Tommins.

We worked relentlessly. We had tried potions. Tonics. Flames. Ice. Rituals. Brute force. Nothing had worked.

But now, impossibly, a small crack marred the egg’s surface.

I barely noticed the weight of a sprite settling on my shoulder, grabbing onto my tunic for stability. My mind whirled.

This was what Hex had wanted me to see.

The dragons were finally hatching.

My heart thundered in my ears, my jaw unhinging and hanging open.

I dipped, planting a quick smacking kiss to Hex’s surface before yanking myself upright and flying to the door.

“Fiella!” I screamed. “It’s happening!”