Page 1 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)
Aurora
OUTSIDE THE KITCHEN WINDOW, THE sun gleams over the top of the forest, making the frost-covered trees glitter.
Everything is encased in a thin layer of ice, and what remains of the snow from our first storm is still clumped beneath the pine trees, clinging to the shadows lest the sun melt it all away.
Our first snow arrived exactly when Faolan said it would—we returned home to Brookside from our run through the woods just as the big flakes started to fall. That night, we huddled by the fire and ate mushroom soup and watched snow blanket the world outside in white silence.
After that, the men doubled down to finish the expansion on the cottage, and now we have another bedroom and washroom right off the parlor, and it’s provided some very necessary breathing room.
As moving up and down the stairs has become more difficult for me, I’ve taken to sleeping in the new room, and it’s made maneuvering around the cottage so much easier on me.
In my belly, the baby shifts. It feels like a gentle fluttering, or like butterflies.
I cast my gaze down, away from the winter wonderland out the window, and run a hand lovingly over my stomach.
I’m a full seven months pregnant now—so close to meeting the little one that I can almost feel their weight in my arms already.
I’m so excited to meet you , I think.
And it might be my imagination, but I think the baby moves again in response.
“Harry’s here!” Harrison calls from the parlor, and I immediately perk up. A burst of nervous excitement goes through me. I need to get that letter before anyone else can get their hands on it.
Turning from the kitchen counter, I pad into the foyer, feet warm in a freshly knitted pair of socks. Despite the fires in the hearth burning night and day, cold clings to the wooden floors, and my days of flittering barefoot indoors and out are sadly over, at least until spring arrives.
Popping my head through the parlor doorway, I find Harrison perched on the back of the couch, staring out the window, fluffy white tail swishing to and fro.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He glances my way, green eyes bright in the winter sunlight, and gives me a knowing nod.
Harrison is the only one who knows what I’m planning—or what I’m trying to plan, at least. This letter will reveal once and for all whether or not my many weeks of plotting will come to fruition.
My stomach flutters again, but I can’t tell if it’s the baby or just my nervous excitement .
A light knock sounds at the door. I sweep it open, and there’s Harry, our young mail carrier. He smiles up at me, bundled in a thick cloak and woolen gloves, his cheeks beet red from the cold.
“Hello, Miss Silvermoon.”
“Hello, Harry. Come in, come in,” I say, stepping back and waving him in.
He doesn’t hesitate to step into the cottage and out from the cold. I close the door firmly behind him, trying to keep as much heat inside the home as possible. The men have been chopping wood nonstop to keep our woodshed full, and I’ve no intention of wasting it.
“Got another one for you,” Harry says. With his thick mittens, he struggles to sort through the letters crammed into his shoulder bag.
Smiling, I leave him to search through his satchel and head into the kitchen, where fresh blackberry cookies sit on a platter, steaming in the sunlight.
I made plenty of blackberry cobbler this past autumn, but the bushes around the cottage were heaped with such abundance that I still have a few baskets left over, and making cookies and muffins with them has become one of my new routines—and the men certainly haven’t voiced any words of complaint.
I snatch two warm cookies from the platter and carry them back into the foyer. Harry has just found the envelope he was looking for, and he holds it out to me. We exchange the cookies for the letter, and his eyes light up as he takes his first bite.
“Can you teach my mom how to make these?” he asks, blue-tinted crumbs clinging to his lips .
With a giggle, I nod. “Of course. I’ll write it down for her, and you can pick it up next time you’re here.”
“Thank you, Miss Silvermoon!” He finishes off the first cookie, then starts in on the second as I open the front door.
“Stay warm out there!” I call to him as he leaps off the porch, stumbles, and then rights himself and continues happily down Brookside Road.
Letter held firmly in one hand, I close the door.
“Who’s that from?”
“Goddess!” I squeal, clutching the letter to my breast and whirling around to find Rowan standing at the bottom of the stairs. His red hair is pulled back from his face, and his verdant eyes gleam in the light. My chest thunders from the surprise. “You startled me.”
His smile is quick and easy. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to.” Glancing at the letter, he cants his head.
I fumble for words. “Oh, um, just from Selene. We’re planning her next visit.”
“Ah.” Rowan nods once, curiosity satisfied. “I’m glad.”
Thank the goddess.
Behind him, footsteps sound on the stairs, and Alden descends into the foyer. He’s dressed in layers, prepared for the cold outside. His beard is longer now, thick and unruly, but his smile still shines through.
“Off to chop more wood?” I ask.
“Yup. You know where Faolan is? He said he’d help me today.”
I nod toward the parlor, which now leads to the extra bedroom and washroom. “Still sleeping. ”
Alden’s brows pull together. “What? At this time of morning?”
“Get his ass up,” Rowan says. He eases past me to fetch his cloak from the hook in the foyer. “If we have to work today, so does he.”
Alden grumbles something under his breath, then thumps into the parlor, socked feet padding over the floorboards. I hear the bedroom door open, then Alden’s voice telling Faolan to get up. My bond with Faolan tingles with his irritation at having been awoken, and I smile.
Brookside might still be cramped, even with that extra room, but if it’s bursting at the seams, it’s with love. And I couldn’t be more delighted.
“Don’t fall asleep again,” Alden says, jostling Faolan where they’re standing in the foyer.
It’s a tad comedic, given how much bigger Faolan is.
They’ve all got their cloaks and boots on, but Faolan still looks half asleep, like he might slump over against the wall at any moment.
When he yawns, I catch sight of his elongated canine teeth, which stay with him even in his human form.
One at a time, I press a kiss to each of their cheeks—Rowan’s clean-shaven, Alden’s thick with a beard, and Faolan’s prickly with dark stubble.
Faolan’s hands come around my waist, and he prevents me from stepping back.
His breath is warm on my skin when he nuzzles his face into my neck, and it makes me giggle.
“You’re tickling me,” I say, squirming in his grip .
But he doesn’t release me. Instead, he reaches up to push my hair back—it’s gotten even longer now thanks to my pregnancy—and tugs the collar of my thick winter dress aside. There, on the side of my neck, is his claiming mark. The scar is still pink, in the shape of his wolf jaws.
Stooping, he presses a tender kiss to the spot. Our bond warms, and I soften into his touch.
“All right, wolf, get a move on,” Rowan grumbles.
“I will end you, tiny knight,” Faolan growls in return.
If he’d said that a couple months ago, I would’ve believed him. But now this is normal, part of Rowan and Faolan’s daily routine. I don’t even feel any anger through our bond.
Alden, ever the neutralizer, grabs hold of the both of them, one in each hand, and shoves them toward the door.
“Be back for lunch,” I tell Alden, and he nods.
“And I’ll see you for dinner,” I say to Rowan.
The other two are venturing into the forest to chop more dead trees for firewood, but Rowan is heading into Faunwood for his knight duty, so he won’t be home until later this evening, after the sun has gone down.
“Love you, my queen,” Rowan whispers. The other two step through the door and into the chill winter day, but Rowan hesitates and steals a kiss from me, his lips still tasting of the licorice tea I made him for breakfast.
“Love you too,” I whisper against his mouth.
Then he trudges into the cold, and I close the door firmly behind him.
Once they’ve departed, Harrison comes trotting in from the parlor and takes a seat on the hardwood floor, staring up at me .
“Well?” He tips his head to one side. “What did she say?”
I pull the letter out from my deep dress pocket, where I hid it so no one would ask any more questions. I didn’t want to have to lie again. I hate feeling like I can’t tell them the truth. But it’s for a good cause... I hope.
The penmanship on the front is swirly, elegant.
But it’s not Selene’s.
“I don’t know yet,” I say, cradling the letter in my hands like it may turn to dust at any moment.
“Open it up,” Harrison says around a yawn, “and let’s find out.”