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Chapter Thirty-One

W hit glanced over his shoulder at the cemetery his mother’s family had run for generations. This was where he’d grown up—playing peek-a-boo with ghosts among the graves, traipsing through the woods between here and his grandparents’ house. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the front door of his childhood home before heading inside.

“Mom?” he called out, announcing his presence more thoroughly than his knock.

She didn’t respond.

But considering the door had been unlocked, he knew either she or Alexandre was home.

He tried the den first. If her habits hadn’t changed, she was usually reading by the fire this time of night.

And that was exactly where he found her—a book resting on her bent knees, her bare toes peeking out under her long purple skirt at the edge of the armchair.

“There you are,” Whit said from the doorway.

Slipping a bookmark between the pages of her book, his mother turned her dark eyes on him, the firelight reflecting her mask of reservation.

She didn’t speak, which was somehow worse than a biting remark.

“I asked if you trusted me, and you said you’d hear me out at least,” Whit reminded her of her words from the week before.

Mom lifted her chin, reluctantly signaling he should go ahead with his explanation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I got married, but Clover and I worried that our families would try to stop us if they found out.”

“Was this the bad news you were referring to before? The reason you didn’t want to be around family for the ritual?” Her question was soft, her tone tired.

Whit frowned, hesitating. He didn’t like to lie to his mother, and she was pretty good at knowing when he did. “It’s related, yes.”

“But why keep it from us?” she asked, her tone hurt while trying to understand. “We’ve all wanted to see you settled for a long time. I, for one, am thrilled to finally have a daughter-in-law though I can’t say she’s ingratiating herself by not inviting me to the wedding.”

“It’s not her fault,” Whit defended. “She didn’t invite her family either, and they’re just as upset as you are.”

Mom’s brow furrowed. “Does she not value family? Family is the most important thing for the winter faction.”

Whit sighed heavily. “She’s not a winter witch. She’s a…summer witch.”

Mom’s eyes bulged, but she clamped her mouth shut. She was showing restraint, holding back her emotions, swallowing them down. Whit knew the expression well.

“That’s why we didn’t tell anyone. She was afraid her family would stop her, and I…”

“B-but she didn’t seem—I mean, from the picture I saw, she didn’t look like a summer witch.”

Whit raised an eyebrow. “The green dress and the flowers in her hair weren’t a clue? In any case, she’s a witch same as us. She’s not an alien. Why would she look different from any other witch?”

Mom frowned, deep and thoughtful—her eyes losing focus as she considered something far away.

The sound of thumping on the stairs announced Alexandre’s approach before he popped his head into the room. “Hey, Mel, I’m headed to the store. Do you need—? Oh, Whit. I’ll, uh, I’ll give you two some space to talk. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

Mom shook her head, and Alexandre retreated as quickly as he’d appeared.

The soft hiss and crackle of the fire were the only sounds in the room as Whit waited for his mother to say something—anything.

“I’m trying to understand,” she said quietly. “My mind is whirling with so many questions. I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone. I’m upset that I’m so far out of your life that I didn’t know that for so long. I don’t even know how you would have met a summer witch, but I suppose that hardly matters now.”

Whit relaxed a little, relieved she didn’t press for more information. He didn’t want to tell her he hadn’t dated Clover, and he didn’t want to lie about or expose Alexandre’s part in the whole thing.

She sighed heavily. “I might have guessed a summer witch was involved,” she murmured. “You would never have made such a big decision without forethought. You wouldn’t have chosen to hide it from the family.”

Whit held up his hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. I don’t want you blaming Clover for any of this. I know we’ve stood on the opposite side from the summer faction for a long time, and we all have our biases. But the fact is I proposed to her. And even though she agreed, she was very surprised. And I’m the one who suggested we keep it a secret first. So don’t accuse her of something that was my doing.”

“I…I don’t know what to say, Whittaker,” Mom said flatly. “This is just so unlike the boy I raised. I taught you to be thoughtful and to plan things thoroughly. It doesn’t seem like you thought this through. If I laid undue blame on the summer witch, it’s because I couldn’t imagine the son I know doing something like this.”

“Her name is Clover, not ‘the summer witch.’” Whit kept his tone calm. “And I can understand that you feel this was unlike me. To be honest, I haven’t felt quite like myself since I met Clover. But then, she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. She told her family she knew with everything in her that marrying me was the right thing to do. From where I stand now, the divide between the winter and summer factions seems artificial and forced. None of us are ordinaries. We all worship the old gods. Why is there a distinction between summer and winter? We don’t draw lines by pantheon. You’re training Alexandre to take over the cemetery even though he doesn’t worship the same gods as us.”

Mom stared at Whit in silence as the moment drew out uncomfortably. He resisted the urge to squirm under her steady gaze. He believed in what he’d said, but her stare still had a way of making him feel like he’d done something wrong.

“You love her,” she said finally.

A thrill ran up Whit’s spine.

“That’s the only explanation for this behavior. Love makes people do strange and out-of-character things. It makes you feel like a different version of yourself. It makes you believe anything is possible, even closing the rift between warring factions.”

Whit fought the urge to correct her. This was what he wanted. If his mother believed he loved his wife, that would only be good for everyone involved. So without a word—which could betray him in tone or quality—he dipped his head in a single nod.

“I’m glad,” Mom said though she didn’t sound glad at all.

“So…would you like to meet her?” Whit asked. “I think she’ll be happy to know someone approves of us.”

Mom shook her head. “No, not yet. I need to sit with this for a while. And I didn’t say I approve. I said I’m glad. I’m glad you’ve finally found someone who makes you feel the way she does. It’s like nothing else. And I hope it will open up the facets of winter witchcraft that have eluded you until now. But that is a far cry from approval, Whittaker. I want you to grow and learn and feel everything life has to offer. But I never would have wanted you to know the hardships you’ve just thrust upon yourselves.”

Whit wondered what facets she referred to. If there were things about being a winter sorcerer he didn’t know, he certainly wanted to know. And since he didn’t actually love Clover, he wondered if he could learn those things his mother meant.

Rising from her chair, Mom approached Whit and lifted her hand to his cheek.

“Don’t look so worried,” she said, misinterpreting his expression. “I’ll meet her soon enough. Let me get used to the idea first, and let her settle in. It’s a big change getting married and moving into your husband’s house. She’ll need your attention now. She doesn’t need a meddling mother-in-law.”

Wrapping her arms around Whit, Mom whispered to the spirit of his father, “I can’t believe our little boy is finally married, Grady.”