Page 8

Chapter Eight

C lover sat on the window seat with her elbows resting on her knees, staring out her attic bedroom window at the trees in her backyard. It was still dark outside, daylight savings having yet to take effect, even though it was already time to be up and about.

The temperatures had dropped overnight. She could tell by how hard the furnace was working, her vents rattling as they pumped warm air into her room. The bundled herbs hanging from the exposed crossbeams of the ceiling swayed in response to the circulation.

The slanted walls were made to look squarer by bookshelves lining the width of the room. Jars packed with dried herbs and blended teas neatly labeled took up more space than actual books on the shelves. At the center of the room was a round table with two chairs, currently holding an open paper bag and a bowl.

The scent of dill hung in the warm air. Clover had planned to harvest her dill seed, the drying flower heads waiting in the paper bag. But something on this cold November morning made her restless. It was a mindless activity, pinching the dill seeds into the bowl, but she couldn’t seem to force herself to do it.

Why staring unfocusedly out the window should be any better, she didn’t know. A sense of expectation fluttered in her chest and tingled across her skin.

Most of the trees outside were already naked, but one blazing maple still shone brightly amongst its fellows—speckles of last night’s snow glittering on its colorful leaves.

The bright orange reminded her of the bonfire from the night before and the way it had shone off the silver mask of the sorcerer she’d met.

She smiled to herself as she thought of him again, not that he’d been far from her thoughts since she’d first felt his magic travel through her.

What a deliciously summer encounter . Just the way to end the season.

Their exchange had been beautiful in its fleetingness. No name, no expectations, just a gentle kiss with no farewell spoken.

The fact that her unnamed sorcerer hadn’t even said goodbye left the door open in her mind. He was so mysterious, swooping in at her moment of need and gone without a word. But even though he’d left her in the dark, she hadn’t felt alone. On her way back to the car, she got the feeling she was still safe, safe enough to turn on her phone flashlight anyway.

And then to find a crow waiting for her. Well, it was almost too good to be true. Something was changing. She could feel it. She always interpreted crows as a message of change.

She wondered who the sorcerer was and if they would meet again. Her heart leapt with hope and expectation. It was the feeling of the unknown, a joyous summery feeling. That small hope one feels when they plant a seed in rich soil and wait to see if it sprouts.

If for nothing else, Clover was grateful to her masked sorcerer for giving her this feeling. Was he the herald for the change that was happening or its cause?

A shout came from downstairs. “Clover!” Her mother’s voice was high with panic.

Clover’s heart jumped into her throat as she raced toward the stairs leading down from her attic bedroom to the second floor.

She flung open the door.

No one was there, but she could hear a commotion coming from downstairs.

Her slippered feet thumped heavily as she ran down the stairs and rounded the corner to find mayhem in her living room and chanting filling the space.

Llew sat on the couch, his teeth chattering despite the heap of blankets wrapped around him. Mom knelt before him, her hands hovering over his exposed foot. Even from the doorway, Clover could see there was something wrong with her brother’s foot. His baby toe was nearly black.

Standing behind Mom, Dad rested a hand on one of her shoulders, and holding his free hand was Ash, then Royer—two of Llew’s longtime friends.

Clover had no idea what had happened, but she knew what to do. Stepping forward, she broke into the circle, taking Royer’s hand and resting her other on her mother’s shoulder to complete the circle. Then she joined their chant.

“Willow, rowan, elder, and ash,

Summer winds blow and waters lash.

Primal forces of sun and sea,

Bless and heal him, we ask of thee.”

The magic of summer swirled through the circle. Clover was filled with the sounds of lazy summer days, when cicadas chirped and the gentle wind blew the full trees. She could feel the sunbaked earth under her feet, and her eyes swam as if distorted by hazy heat.

This was the summer magic she knew well, and as it entered her, she pushed it into her mom to aid in her work.

After a few minutes, Llew stopped shivering, and Mom sighed in relief.

“It’s gone,” Mom announced.

There was a collective easing of tension, and the inevitable exhaustion that followed. Healing someone was always a difficult job, but it was far worse when their magic was waning.

Mom glared at Ash and Royer and pointed to the couch. Clover hovered nearby to find out what had happened.

The three grown men sat on the couch with their heads hung low, looking very much like children who’d broken a window with a baseball.

“Explain yourselves,” Mom demanded with her hands on her hips. Dad stood over her shoulder, silent and serious.

“It was just a joke,” Llew said, his voice tired and quiet.

Mom squinted at him. “What was? What did you do?”

Royer, a very tall man with blond hair and a lampshade mustache, lifted his blue eyes guiltily. “I mean, if you really think about it, we were doing something nice.”

Ash nodded, his sloppy topknot bouncing as he did so. “That’s right. Those snowman fuckers are in the wrong here.”

Mom’s voice was quiet, which made it that much more terrifying. “Someone better tell me what you did, or so help me?—”

“We went to a graveyard on the north side and made flowers grow on some of the graves,” Royer said in a rush.

“You made flowers grow?” Mom asked flatly.

The men nodded.

“On Halloween? When there’s snow on the ground?”

They didn’t respond.

“In a graveyard frequented by winter witches?” she raged.

They flinched—even Clover jumped, and she wasn’t getting yelled at.

“What would make you do something so—you are grown ass men! Why—?” Mom was so angry she couldn’t even finish a sentence.

Dad rested his hand on her shoulder. “Then what happened?” he pressed, calmer but not gentler.

Ash sighed. “I guess we should’ve assumed those corpse lovers would be hanging out in graveyards after dark. They caught us and blasted us with something.”

“Must’ve been a frostbite spell,” Llew said. “I got hit, and I felt really cold. Then I started losing feeling in my foot.”

“I should have let you lose the whole damn thing!” Mom snapped. “You’re going to sit there and tell me you didn’t think the winter faction would be in a graveyard last night? When you know very well that’s when they honor their dead.”

Dad shook his head in that look of disappointment that was somehow worse than Mom’s ire.

Clover sighed heavily. Some things will never change. This is why the feud will never die. She turned on her heel to head into the kitchen for breakfast.