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Chapter Twenty-Eight

C lover carefully slipped the glass bottles into her jacket pocket along with the drawstring pouch. The house still smelled of freshly baked bread even though it had been done for over an hour. She’d already left a slice—generously buttered—on the dining room table to make friends with the house spirits of her new home.

She breathed deeply, the autumn air swirling softly around her as she stepped out of the kitchen door. It was the perfect day for a walk outside, with only a hint of bite on the wind. She knew the resurgence of warmth wasn’t likely to last long, and she was determined to take advantage of the dying embers of summer.

After closing the door behind her, Clover started toward the thick woods that surrounded the backyard. Whit had already shown her around the property, but he hadn’t given her a thorough tour. She’d seen the original house—a modest one-room cottage that likely belonged in a museum. But that wasn’t what she was after today.

There wasn’t much of a lawn behind the house; it was made up of mostly trees and dirt paths. If I’m to have a garden, Clover thought, following a path that led deeper into the woods, it will have to be in the front yard.

Clover’s gaze swept across the trunks around her, looking for a good place to make her offering to the land spirits.

The rustle of leaves made her freeze, and a flash of white caught her eye.

She gazed at a fox, not ten feet from her. It had white fur with red ears and red eyes. A tingle ran over her skin. This was no ordinary fox. This was one of the Other Crowd.

Clover dipped her head to the creature. “Good afternoon,” she said softly.

The fox turned its back on her and started farther down the path. It paused, looked back at her, then trotted ahead.

Normally, Clover wouldn’t follow a fae she was unfamiliar with. Who knew where it might lead her? But then again, the winter faction didn’t interact with the Good Neighbors. And any good will she could show them would only benefit her in her new life, especially if this one lived nearby.

Clover blinked, and the fox was gone. Still, she followed the path where it had been headed. To her surprise, the trail led to a small clearing, a tree standing in the center. It wasn’t a large tree, but it was already naked for the winter.

Clover bent down and picked up one of the many leaves at its base. A lone hawthorn. She smiled. This had to be where the fox had wanted her to go. Taking out the pouch she’d put in her pocket, she untied the strings. Then she knelt atop the fallen hawthorn leaves.

“I make this offering to the land spirits of this place. My name is Clover. I honor you this day. May there be friendship between us.” Clover then gently poured the birdseed from the pouch into a crevice made by the tree’s roots.

She cleared away some of the leaves to expose the bare soil beneath. Pulling out the larger of the two bottles, she twisted off the cap. It was peppermint and eucalyptus tea for clear and open communication. She took a sip of the brew, cooled before she’d bottled it, and poured the rest on the bare ground.

Finally, she removed the last of her offerings.

“Ancient Ones of the Otherworld, I make this offering to you now so you might know me and my goodwill. May there be friendship between us.” Clover poured the honey from the small jar onto the roots of the fairy tree.

She knew they were there; the fox was a clear sign they were watching. And she hoped her offerings might smooth over any disturbance her sudden appearance on this land might cause. Of course, the Gentry wouldn’t be much fazed by her having moved. They moved around themselves. But the land spirits didn’t know her.

Her goal accomplished, Clover said her goodbyes, pocketing her empty containers and promising to visit again.

But as she moved to return to the house, she paused. She didn’t have much to do there. She’d put the pasta sauce to simmer in the slow cooker, and she’d already unpacked. Whit wouldn’t be home until dinner, and knitting group wasn’t until after that.

Turning back toward the lone hawthorn, Clover continued her walk. It had been a while since she’d just enjoyed a nice, quiet day outside. Most of her free time was spent with family and friends or running errands.

A sudden sadness made her stomach heavy, but she pushed it aside. Just because I’m alone, doesn’t mean I have to feel lonely.

And though she knew it was true, the fact was she didn’t know how long the fallout with her family and Ari would last.

She’d tried to call Ari that morning, but the line went to voicemail after one ring—telling her Ari had rejected her call.

Clover’s steps slowed as she continued to think about the situation, the crunch of leaves softening in volume. But as she let her feet wander, the carpet of leaves gave way to still-green grass.

Looking up from the ground, Clover found herself in a cemetery. A green plain stretched out before her, waving in gentle hills. A two-story house sat at the top of a hill, and a mausoleum stood on the far side near the road.

The tombstones near Clover were a mixture of old and new—some weathered and hard to read while others shined in the afternoon sun.

The unmistakable tingle of magic hung in the air, not strong but easy to recognize. Clover glanced around to find its source.

“Oh!” a woman exclaimed, standing from a crouch. Her hand was full of leaves she’d just swept from a sunken gravestone.

Clover jumped at her exclamation, just as surprised. She smiled in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I was just out for a walk. I didn’t even know this was here.”

The woman’s dark eyes analyzed her as if trying to place someone they’d seen before. But Clover was certain they’d never met. The woman had long salt-and-pepper hair tied at the base of her neck and dark eyes—shiny and sharp like a crow’s. She wore a long purple skirt and a thick sweater, and the magic Clover had felt wafted off her.

Clover nodded politely at the winter witch—for no summer witch would willingly hang out in a graveyard.

“Would you like any help?” Clover asked. She didn’t want to disturb the woman, who’d probably come to visit her loved ones’ graves. But she didn’t know what else to say with the witch’s eyes on her so keenly.

The woman tilted her head, blinking in surprise. “What?” Then she looked down at her handful of leaves and dropped them. “Oh, no, thank you.”

Clover dipped her head, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll just be going. Oh, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Wait—” the woman said, her protest cut off by the sound of her cellphone ringing. She pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at the screen but didn’t answer, letting the phone ring.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Clover asked.

Frowning, the woman shook her head. “Not right now.”