Page 7

Chapter Seven

W hit pulled his cloaking spell with him when he stepped away from Clover, watching as she slowly opened her eyes to find him gone.

He could see her clearly by the moonlight as she blinked rapidly into the darkness in search of him.

His heart still raced in his chest. He’d seen her slip into the night after the ritual, hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a moment. It was obvious she didn’t want to deal with couldn’t-take-a-hint Dracula. The green glow at her chest had been easy to follow through the night. He’d told himself he only wanted to see her safely to her car; it was the decent thing to do.

He hadn’t planned on casting a spell with her, sharing his magic with her. It was far too risky to do so. He wasn’t supposed to be there. And who knew how the summer faction would retaliate if they found out two winter sorcerers had crashed their party?

He’d done it without thinking, pulled her close and held her in the shelter of his arms—of his magic.

Never in a million years did he expect to be offered a kiss for his trouble.

He shouldn’t have taken that offer. But in that moment, with the moonlight shining in her eyes, the warmth of her magic swirling around him, and her face tilted upward expectantly, he couldn’t stop himself.

She was the cool ocean breeze that broke the summer heat. She was a pink and orange sunset that painted the dusky sky. She was the sweetness of cherry ice cream with chocolate chips.

He’d felt summer magic before; of course, he had. But that magic had been different, oppressive like desert heat or gusty and loud like a hurricane.

Never had he felt summer magic be so sweet, never had it been shared in good will. He watched as Clover smiled softly before turning back to the path.

She pulled out a light and started toward the parking lot.

As he trailed after her, careful to make as little noise as possible to keep his spell in place, he wondered if all summer magic was like hers.

He could still feel the echo of her lips on his, still hear her soft intake of breath as his face neared hers. His chest swelled with the memory of her curling into his protective embrace. He shook his head. He couldn’t believe that all summer witches were like her. It wasn’t possible. Besides, every witch’s magic wasn’t quite the same. Everyone had their own special signature.

Still, he was glad for one thing. At least he had the wherewithal to keep his identity to himself. With a name like Crawford, and especially because it was shared by his antique shop on the north side of Forest Haven, it wouldn’t be hard for her to figure out he was a winter sorcerer.

A few steps ahead of him, Clover’s foot struck on a root. She stumbled, and Whit flinched—reaching out to her by reflex. But she caught herself before she fell.

Whit froze, his hand uselessly extended toward her, and the absurdity of the situation hit him. Here he was, under a cloaking spell, following a summer witch he’d just met—and just kissed—to her car. Why? To make sure she wasn’t accosted by unwanted attentions, sure. But she felt safe enough that cheap Dracula wasn’t following her to turn on her light. So why?

He frowned. There was no accounting for it. Perhaps because he’d never felt magic quite like hers, he wanted to analyze the feeling by being near her a little longer. Perhaps he was just fascinated by a woman who would kiss a complete stranger in the dead of night. She’d clearly not wanted anything to do with cheap Dracula. So why would she offer a kiss to him?

Her reaction to him had been a surprise, but his reaction to her was infinitely more so.

Maybe she had history with dollar-store Dracula, and that was why she was avoiding him. Maybe it wasn’t uncommon for her to kiss strangers.

In any case, it was certainly uncommon for him to kiss someone he’d just met.

In truth, he wasn’t much different from most winter sorcerers. He valued a well-laid plan, organization, and quiet contemplation. He didn’t mind solitude, and he was predictable if nothing else. There were the occasional pranksters—trickster gods were usually winter gods after all—within the winter community, Alexandre for instance, but most were solemn and hardworking like Whit.

He wasn’t one to run away with his emotions. He had goals and benchmarks to meet those goals. He’d studied hard, worked diligently, and built his business from scratch.

Sure, he’d had a few relationships along the way—mostly just a handful of dates other than his stint with Faustina. But it didn’t take him long to figure out that those emotional entanglements were more trouble than they were worth. Ordinaries were too much drama; he couldn’t even talk magic with them. And as for winter witches, well, what he wanted from his life just didn’t match up with what they wanted, so they simply parted ways.

Did women—and a few men for that matter—proposition him on occasion? Yes, but he never took them up on it.

So for him to follow this summer witch through the woods, for him to kiss her, was so out of character that he hardly recognized himself.

As they approached the parking lot, the streetlights provided enough light for Clover to see. She shut her phone and stuffed it into her apron pocket. Whit tilted his head at seeing that it was a basic flip-phone. He didn’t know they still made those.

Staying in the shadows beyond the lamplight, Whit watched as Clover took out her keys and approached a white van with the words “Bronwen Floral and Gifts” decaled on the side along with a telephone number.

A loud “Caw!” shrieked into the night. Clover jumped, dropping her keys as a result. She retrieved them from the pavement and raised her head to find the source.

On top of her van stood a crow—its beady eyes glinting in the overhead light. She stared at the crow, and the crow stared at her.

Clover spoke to the bird, and Whit strained to hear her words, but he couldn’t make them out.

After another tense moment, the crow let out another call, then took flight.

With a wide smile, Clover climbed into the van and closed the door. Whit shed his spell and pulled out his phone to text Alexandre that he was in the parking lot and ready to leave.

He wondered if Alexandre was still raiding the food table or if he was playing some joke on the summer faction as they romped through the woods. He hadn’t bothered to look once Clover had caught his eye.