Page 14 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)
Thorne
SEATED ON THE SIDE PORCH stairs, cane across my lap, I watch as the man I now know as Alden carries wood from the shed and into the forest to the south of the cottage.
The bigger man, Faolan, trails behind him, face still contorted into a scowl.
He looks in my direction, blue eyes narrowed, and I stare back, not breaking eye contact.
Just before he vanishes into the trees, his lips pull up into a snarl.
A shifter. Can’t say I’ve come across one of them in a while. And now I’m trapped in a cottage with three .
Behind me, the kitchen door opens, and soft footsteps sound on the wooden porch.
“I’m sorry about Faolan,” Aurora whispers. “He’s not usually like this. It’s just that he doesn’t get along with his brother, and now the fog, and...” She lets out a fluttering sigh. “I’m just sorry.”
I turn slightly to look up at her. She’s got one hand on her stomach, the other propped on her hip.
Her long green hair hangs to her waist, and there’s a flush to her freckled cheeks.
I feel an odd sort of appreciation for just how simple she is, from what appear to be hand-stitched dresses and knit socks to the bit of flour dusted along the edge of one sleeve.
Averting my eyes, I say, “It’s fine. I’m a stranger here. He’s right to be suspicious of me.”
Since this afternoon, I’ve been turning his words over and over in my mind.
“It has something to do with him ,” he said.
And then his brother, the short-haired shifter, chimed in with, “It smells like him.”
I reach up and snag a lock of hair, then begin rubbing it between my fingers, worrying at the strands as I ponder the fog and its purpose here. Could they be right? Does this have something to do with me ?
I need to get closer to it, to study it without everyone’s eyes on me. Only then will I know for sure.
With a heavy sigh, Aurora settles onto the second stair beside me. One of my brows quirks up. She seems to have no aversion to me despite having known me for less than twenty-four hours. Maybe this is why the shifter is so protective of her. Perhaps she trusts too easily.
When she catches me staring, her cheeks go pink, like the fresh buds on the trees in spring back home. “Sorry,” she says, trying to scoot over to make more room for me.
Dropping my hand from my hair, I smile. “It’s fine.”
Her feet, clad in warm socks, wiggle on the wooden stair beneath ours, and she bites her bottom lip, a furrow forming in her brow.
“Do you think this is going to work?” she asks, voice low.
The other shifters—Cathal and Orla, if I’m not mistaken—have returned from the woods to grab two more armfuls of firewood.
I believe Aurora wishes for them not to overhear.
Once they’ve vanished again, I sit back, elbows propped on the stair behind me.
“No,” I say truthfully. Aurora doesn’t strike me as someone who would appreciate lying.
In my periphery, she sits a bit straighter, then lets out a big sigh and slumps against the banister beside her. “I don’t either.”
My gaze slides her way. I study her, then guess, “But you want to give them hope.”
She nods.
“And when it doesn’t work, what will you do?”
One of her shoulders lifts in a tired shrug. “I don’t know.”
The weight of that statement settles over us softly, not so unlike how the snow blankets the ground. Aurora meets my gaze. Her eyes are so green . They remind me of the height of summer.
“Why did Cathal say the fog... smells like you?” she asks. Her tone is tentative, like she’s afraid of what my answer might be.
“Perhaps the source of the snow and the fog are one and the same,” I offer. “I was caught in the belly of that storm, so its scent may still cling to me.”
Aurora makes a thoughtful sound, eyes searching mine.
I don’t think she believes me. But I don’t know what else to tell her. Until I have a chance to study the fog on my own, without all these humans and shifters lingering around, I won’t know its origin.
Alden and Faolan return. The shifter glares some more. I stare right back. I wonder if he’s going to give it up eventually or if it’ll be like this until I leave.
Until I leave . . .
I don’t know when that will be, but if I’m here much longer, I may need to restock on my pain potions. The cold makes my knees and hips ache more than usual, and my trek through that storm did a number on me, though I’m trying not to let it show.
“Does your village have an apothecary?” I ask Aurora.
She nods but doesn’t smile. “Yes. Niamh. But she’s the one who left for the city, and...” With one hand, she gestures toward the woods, where the fog lurks in the distance. “And now she can’t return.”
My stomach pinches.
If the apothecary is gone and I’m stuck in this village, how will I obtain my potions for the pain? I suppose I can go without—they’re not necessary to live—but the thought of not having anything to take the edge off...
I look down at my knees and can already imagine the pain.
If I’d known I would get stuck in the human realm like this, I would’ve brought more potions. Or not left home to begin with. But it’s too late to think about that now. I’m here, and I need to deal with the consequences.
“But,” Aurora continues, drawing my focus back to her, “maybe I could try to help.” When she meets my eyes, her gaze is a bit shy, and I can’t tell if her cheeks are turning pink again or if her skin is just flushed from the cold winter air.
“I’m not as talented as Niamh, of course, but I do have some knowledge. Is there something you need?”
“You know the magical arts?” I ask, pushing up off my elbows and turning my body to more fully face her. I prop one foot on the stair and lean my back against the banister opposite Aurora.
“Well, I know some .”
Yes, I can tell now that her cheeks are growing pink again, and not from the cold. The delicate color blossoming upon her face makes a sudden and surprising yearning rise up inside me, a desire to trace my fingers over her cheeks, to feel the heat in her skin—
“I’m an earth witch.”
That halts my musings in their tracks. And good thing too.
I’ve not yet worked out exactly what the situation is here, but it seems very much like the three men—Alden, Rowan, and Faolan—all have individual relationships with Aurora, likely romantic and sexual ones.
I don’t believe it would do any good getting involved in that .
Assuming Aurora would even be interested in the first place.
“A witch,” I echo. “Of course.”
The green hair, the many glass jars and vials lining the shelves in her tiny kitchen, the fact that she seems able to understand the cat’s meows.
I should’ve realized it sooner. Granted, there aren’t any witches where I’m from, and I’ve only met a few during the course of my travels through the human realm, so I’m not well versed in how to tell them apart from regular humans.
“Yes, well...” Aurora shrugs again. “Like I said, I could try to help. What is it you need?”
She tips her head, green eyes focused on me, and I realize how very much she reminds me of home—of the green fields, the forests rich with verdant growth, the flowers that unfurl from their beds of moss to touch the golden light.
And at the same moment, I realize that I find her... beautiful. Startlingly so.
She’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer.
I give a shake of my head. “It’s nothing. Just wanted to stock up on a few things. But it can wait.”
My presence here seems a burden enough; I don’t need Aurora trying to brew me pain potions while I’m taking up space on her couch and eating her delectably sweet and tart blackberry jam.
No, she’s done quite enough already. I’ll try to hold off as long as I can.
Hopefully the fog disperses promptly so I can be on my way.
“But thank you,” I add quickly when Aurora’s face falls just a bit, subtly enough that I would’ve missed it had I not been watching carefully. “That’s very kind of you.”
My arm is draped over the top step, and Aurora surprises me when she reaches out and places her hand over mine. Her skin is warm and soft, like the underbelly of a kitten or the silky midnight feathers of a raven. Her touch is so unexpected, I just freeze, unsure how to respond.
Until the red-haired one, Rowan, appears from around the corner of the cottage. I pull my hand away quickly, not wishing to create any further problems for Aurora.
“The piles are ready,” he says. “I’ll grab your cloak and boots. ”
Aurora and I exchange a look. Neither of us voices our doubt.
“Help me up?” Aurora says, reaching out a hand. Rowan takes it and eases her to her feet with a gentleness even I take note of. “Let’s light some fires, shall we?”