Page 6

Chapter Six

C lover stared beyond the horned mask of the man beside her, her hand still in his as their gazes met. He was tall and wore a sleek black suit. In the dim light of the fire, she couldn’t see the color of his hair or eyes, but she saw the strong line of his jaw and the plump curve of his lower lip. His facial hair was short, maybe a week’s stubble—certainly not long enough to pull off the goat mask he was wearing.

Did I imagine it? For a moment during the conjuring of fire spell, she’d exchanged magic with him, and it had felt like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Small snowflakes drifted lazily down from the sky, sparse but unmistakable.

She squinted, trying to see past the mask in the firelight. But she was already sure she didn’t know him. At the very least, they’d never done magic together.

“Now that the ritual is over”—Brandr, who was dressed as the Swedish Chef from The Muppets , grinned—“we’re going to play satyrs and nymphs.”

Clover’s fixation on the sorcerer beside her broke with this announcement, and she pulled her hand from his, her face heating at having held it for so long.

Her eyes found Rune across the circle, and she marked his progress toward her. “Hey, I think I’m going to head out,” Clover told Ari, who stood next to her.

Ari frowned even as Rhys wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling the back of her neck in anticipation of the game. “Aww, already?”

Clover nodded. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Rune during a game like satyrs and nymphs, though she was a little disappointed to let him ruin what could have been a nice party. “Yeah, I was up early anyway. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

Ari agreed.

Lifting her hand in farewell, Clover gave her friends a little wave, then turned to head back to the van. She could feel the excitement in the atmosphere growing as the summer witches giggled, some of them already running into the woods with happy squeals—completely ignoring the freezing temperature and drifting snowflakes.

Clover reached into her apron pocket for her phone as she stepped out of the circle of light the fire provided.

“Clover?”

She flinched at hearing Rune’s voice call out for her. Shoving her phone back into her apron, she decided walking carefully along the dark path was preferable to being easily found by Rune.

Her heart pounded in her ears—as loud as the shrieks of mirth echoing into the night. She could feel the mulch beneath her shoes, and she knew as long as she stayed on the path, she would reach the parking lot. Concentrating on her footing, Clover slowly made her way.

“Clooooveeeeer,” Rune called cheerfully after her, farther than before.

She clicked her tongue. Dude can’t take a hint. Shaking her head, she sighed and glanced up at the sky. Now that she was deeper in the woods, well away from the light of the campfire and not yet close to the parking lot, she saw the night wasn’t so dark after all. The moon was two days past full, and it shone through the trees, their branches crisscrossing over its surface like veins.

She still didn’t like the night, but she understood its allure. There was something so mysterious, so magical, about the moon’s distant glow. It filled her with wonder as well as fear. It was indirect, providing no warmth, and changeable. Did its shadows hold truths or simply illusions? It was beautiful. It was dangerous.

A stick cracked nearby, and Clover jumped.

“Clover? Is that you?” Rune asked, much closer than Clover expected.

How did he find me? Glancing around herself, her eyes dropped to the green glow at her chest. She cursed internally, clutching her pendant in her fist to cover it.

Out of the night, a hand gripped her wrist, snatching her off the path.

She gasped and filled her lungs to scream. Her eyes whirled around to her attacker.

“Shhh,” the sorcerer in the horned mask hushed, putting his finger to his lips.

“Hey! Where’d you go?” Rune said, not far away now, his light flashing as he searched.

Clover’s heart ran wildly as her body pressed against the solid warmth of the masked sorcerer. She lifted her chin to gaze up at him, trying to see more than just his outline in the moonlight.

Releasing her wrist, he laced their fingers. “ Shadows surround us, hide us from sight / let us be one with the darkest night,” he whispered.

Magic swirled around them, flowing between them in an alluring but unfamiliar exchange. Clover shivered as his magic poured into her. It was sharp and refreshing like balsam fir and cedar wood and had the sweetness of candied apples and winter berries and the spice of cinnamon and clove, tickling her stomach like sparkling wine.

“As long as you don’t make too much noise,” he murmured to her in an intimate low voice, “he’ll walk right by us without seeing us.”

Clover strained her eyes to see the masked sorcerer. She was sure now. She’d never felt anything like his magic. Who is he? It was strong and serious with just a hint of mischief.

“Clover?” Rune’s voice was uncertain now, and it came from not five feet away.

Clover hunched her shoulders, curling into the sorcerer who still held her hand. She strained her ears, closing her eyes as if that would hide her from Rune’s view more effectively.

Rune groaned in frustration before retreating back to camp, his light dimming with distance.

Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Clover pulled back a little from the shelter of her savior’s arms though she didn’t yet release his hand. “Thank you,” she said in a hushed voice, still trying to see something of him in the darkness.

“You’re welcome, Clover.” His voice caressed her name.

She smiled as her stomach fluttered. “I’m at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours. Who are you?”

He hesitated.

Clover huffed a laugh through her nose. “You want to stay a mystery, huh? Well then, I’ll just think of you as a merry elf out for a stroll while the veil is thin. Shall I? That way, I can excuse you not sharing your name. What would you have in trade for your assistance? I’d hate to be in debt to one of the Fair Folk.”

Silence answered her question. But a moment later, he unlaced their fingers and brushed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a stray snowflake.

Her breath caught at the gentle stroke. There was something so tantalizing about not being able to see him properly. It made his every move, his feathery touch, his soft breath, all the more vivid.

She tilted her face upward, wetting her lips. “Would a kiss suffice, my merry elf?”

She could hear his smile. “A kiss is far more precious. That is not a fair exchange.”

A tingle ran over her skin. “I’m fine with that,” she murmured. Clover waited, her breath slow but shallow, as anticipation mounted within her. For a shadow, he was solid and warm. And though the cold night blew its promises of winter around them, she felt flushed and feverish.

His soft lips met hers in the darkness, fleeting and delicate as the memory of a dream.

Clover’s heart leapt, and her chest swelled as she tasted his sparkling magic—his essence as a sorcerer—on her lips.

He was the dancing fire on a snowy night. He was the twinkle lights shining off the silver and blue baubles on their solstice evergreen. He was the creamy melted marshmallow in a steamy hot chocolate.

And as Clover languidly opened her eyes, he was gone.