Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

W hit tried not to squirm as he glanced at Clover in the dimly lit apartment hallway. It had been a while since he’d worn a kilt, and the fabric itched his legs. But even if he did nothing else the way he was expected to for the rest of his life, he knew it was a right, honored tradition for his family.

Beside him, Clover wore a long-sleeved green linen dress that laced up the back. She had a wreath of flowers on her head with all the colors of a summer’s day.

His heart squeezed when her eyes met his, and he had to remind himself he wasn’t in love with her.

“She’s expecting us,” Clover assured him, mistaking his staring for something else.

He nodded and turned his attention back to the crooked seven nailed into the apartment door.

Clover sighed and lifted her hand to knock again, but the door swung open before her fist met wood.

The woman before them had long blonde hair—her circlet a little askew—and wore a blue Scandinavian-style apron dress common to witches who worshipped the Norse gods.

“Hail and wel—Clover!” she started seriously before cutting herself off. She stared Clover up and down, her blue eyes wide with shock. “ You’re the one getting married! Why didn’t you say?”

Clover grinned but shrugged. “Surprise!” she said.

The priestess laughed a giggle that was pure joy. “I am surprised!” Then she turned her eyes to Whit, who stiffened.

It won’t take a priestess long to figure out I’m a winter sorcerer.

But if she knew, she didn’t let on. She smiled broadly. “Come in! Oh, but watch your step, I didn’t get to clean as much as I wanted to.”

Whit bumped a tennis ball with his foot as he followed Clover into the cluttered space.

The living room they entered held more furniture than it warranted with a bookshelf stuffed with hastily folded fabric, a couch with a teddy bear head—the stuffing hanging out of its neck hole—a sewing machine table with a half-made project, and a sheet hanging over the television—before which sat a table with ritual supplies.

A high-pitched whine pierced the air, and Whit winced at the heart-breaking sound.

“Erik!” the priestess shouted. “That’s enough.” She turned to them, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry. Erik is my husky. He’s upset that he can’t meet you.”

“Oh,” Clover glanced at Whit. “We don’t mind if you want to let him out.”

The priestess shook her head seriously. “Oh no. He doesn’t understand personal space. He’ll jump all over you, and we’ll never get the ceremony done.”

The dog let out a pitiful howl that resulted in the priestess admonishing him again.

“So,” the priestess said cheerfully, turning back toward them. “When will everyone else get here? I hope there aren’t a lot of people. My apartment can’t hold many.”

“Oh, uh.” Clover looked around. “We, um, we didn’t really invite anyone actually… We just…” Her words trailed off.

“We just couldn’t wait,” Whit supplied, assisting Clover in a tough situation. It was obvious she knew this woman, and that it was strange for Clover to get married without telling anyone.

The priestess flushed, then grinned. “Ah, I see. A whirlwind romance.” She sighed happily. “Well, you don’t need any witnesses in this state, but if you want, I can ask one of my neighbors.”

Clover shook her head. “No, that’s all right.”

“Okay. No worries. Do you have everything you need? Rings? Something to bind you together?”

“I have the rings,” Whit said, offering them to the priestess after retrieving them from his sporran.

Clover dug into her purse and pulled out a long red knitted cloth—around three inches wide with a cable running down the center. “I have the cloth.” She offered it to the priestess while looking at him. “I…made it a long time ago.”

Whit’s heart jumped into his throat. For the first time in this whole business, he thought about what Clover might be giving up. Had she hoped and dreamed of meeting a true love when she was younger? Of being swept off her feet, getting married, and starting a family?

He hadn’t coerced her into anything. If she’d given up on all that, then she’d done so of her own accord. But he still felt bad about it in that moment. He couldn’t be that for her, and therefore, she’d never have it.

“Great! We’re all set, then,” the priestess pronounced. “I’m so excited you’re the first person I’ll marry, Clover!”

Whit’s suspicions of the priestess were confirmed. He hoped her credentials were legal at least.

“First, I’m going to cleanse you both.” She turned her back to them to face the ritual table.

The sound of a lighter flicked multiple times before she turned back, holding a cereal bowl with smoldering rubbed sage. The priestess grinned unabashedly. “I forgot I used the rest of my smudge stick last week, but this will do.”

Taking a deep breath, Whit closed his eyes and tried his best to get into the ritual mood.

The priestess walked around each of them, wafting the smoke over them to cleanse them and the space.

“Hail to the gods, the goddesses, the ancestors, and to any and all spirits who would bless this union and wish these two souls well. Be with us this day to witness and bless this binding of hearts.” As she spoke the unmistakable energy of witchcraft, the heavy presence of otherworldly entities traveled through the space.

The priestess turned to Clover. “Do you, Clover Bronwen, enter this space with an open heart and of your own free will?”

Clover nodded seriously. “I do.”

The priestess cast her eyes toward Whit. “And do you”—she lowered her voice—“what’s your name?”

Clover stifled a laugh.

“Whittaker Crawford,” he said as seriously as he could in the face of Clover’s giggling.

The priestess’s eyes widened, finally realizing he was a winter sorcerer. Her gaze flicked between the two of them. Clover gave her an encouraging nod. And, to the priestess’s credit, she cleared her throat and continued as professionally as her ability would allow.

“Do you, Whittaker Crawford, enter this space with an open heart and of your own free will?”

Whit dipped his head. “I do.”