Page 15 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)
Aurora
ALDEN TAKES A brEATH AS he holds a lit torch aloft. The fire flickering upon its end is warm and inviting, as if it wishes to part the fog and help guide our way through the gray. Even so, I twist my fingers into my thick cloak and worry at my bottom lip.
Please work , I think.
Thorne stands back from the rest of us, one shoulder leaning against a sturdy pine. He’s rubbing a lock of his white hair between his fingers, mouth pressed into a firm line.
I hope we’re wrong about this. I hope the fires chase away the fog and we can get back to our lives.
“Here goes,” Alden says.
He steps forward and holds the torch toward the stacked pile of firewood. After a moment, the wood catches, and the fire starts slowly eating away at it, devouring it one flickering flame at a time.
Alden turns and hands the torch to Cathal. “Light the others, would you? ”
Cathal nods once. Then he turns and vanishes into the trees on quiet feet. Orla stays, arms crossed over her chest. She’s still wearing one of my dresses, but my boots are too small for her, so she’s borrowing a pair of Rowan’s. They look big on her, though she doesn’t seem to mind.
I turn my attention back to the flames.
It doesn’t take long for the fire to grow large and start putting out heat.
The warmth washes over me. It’s so comforting, I close my eyes and tip my head back, pretending for a moment that winter is over and spring is slowly unfurling, chasing the cold from the land so that flowers may bloom once again.
I love all the seasons, but I think spring might be my favorite.
To me, it represents hope, the opportunity for something new.
And my fingers want so badly to dig in the dirt again, to press seeds into the soil and be connected to the earth.
When I’m away from the garden for too long, I start getting anxious.
I suppose that’s just the earth magic within me.
“Look,” Rowan says.
My eyes open.
The flames have grown larger yet. The fog, lingering in the trees only a pace or so from the bonfire, appears to recede as the heat washes over it.
My heart leaps in my chest. I glance at Thorne, who meets my eyes, looking just as surprised as I feel.
Maybe we were wrong. Maybe this will work.
Hope flares inside me as the fog continues to curl back, like it reached curiously toward the fire only to learn that the flames burn .
If this works, we’ll have to tell the villagers. They can light fires all along Faunwood’s borders, chasing the fog back to whence it came.
“It’s working,” Alden says. His voice is warm, relieved. “Look, you can see the trees now.”
He’s right. The fog was so dense we could scarcely see through it, but now it’s thinning out enough that the trees on the other side are becoming visible once more.
Beside me, Rowan reaches for my hand. In the firelight, his hair shines, like perhaps it’s made of flames as well. His profile is sharp and beautiful, and for a moment, I remember how he looked with antlers atop his head and leaves woven through his hair.
He’ll always be my Horned God.
He twines his fingers with mine, and I squeeze.
The Highcliffs will still be able to visit. Which means I’ll need to tell Rowan what I’ve set into motion. We’ve still time yet until Yule arrives, so I—
Rowan’s grip on my hand goes rigid. I steal my gaze away from his face.
And my lips part with a tiny gasp.
The fog is moving like it’s alive, twining through the trees, lifting higher so it’s well over my head. I step closer to Rowan, tucking myself against his body. He stands firm, unyielding.
Behind us, Faolan growls.
Then, all at once, the fog pours back in. It wraps around us and the fire, dousing the flames immediately, as if offended by our futile attempt to get rid of it. The air turns so cold I can see my breath, and it steals everything from my lungs, leaving me gasping in the cold.
But Rowan’s hand is still holding mine. He’s still here, beside me, grounding me.
“Fuck,” I hear Faolan bite out. But when I turn to look back at him, all I find is fog.
The others have vanished into the gray.
“What happened?” I whisper.
Rowan’s grip on my hand is firm. “I don’t know. But I don’t think the fog is happy.”
He holds out a hand, and it almost disappears into the mist that has gathered so densely around us. Despite my warm cloak, I shiver.
“What do we do now?”
“We get out of it,” he says, tone resolute.
I nod once. Clinging to Rowan’s arm, I let him lead me through the fog. It’s difficult, and I have to be careful not to trip, given how hard it is to see. I’m just grateful he’s here beside me.
I can’t hear the others anymore. Perhaps they’re behind us, or perhaps they all walked off in different directions. The thought that we could all become lost in the fog makes my hands tremble.
“It’s all right,” Rowan says. “If this is like the fog in the village, we should find our way out of it shortly.”
We take another ten or so steps through the wall of gray. The snow is deep underfoot, crunching beneath our boots. And the air is still so cold . It hurts my lungs to breathe it in, like it’s freezing me from the inside out .
Slowly, as if I’m swimming up from a deep dark lake, light starts to glow through the veil. I hold my breath.
And a few steps later, the fog parts around us, depositing us at the edge of the forest line. Brookside stands tall in the winter sunlight, the cheerful yellow chasing some of the gloom from my heart, if only for a moment.
“We’re back,” I whisper, shoulders sagging with relief.
Rowan bends to press a kiss to the top of my head. Around the clearing, the others step from the trees, looking just as perplexed. When Cathal appears at the far side of the cottage, Orla runs to him. Seems he had no more luck than we did.
Thorne is the last to emerge from the trees. Even from this distance, I can see that his silver eyes are narrowed, and he’s worrying at a strand of hair again, smooth forehead furrowed in thought.
“It didn’t work,” Faolan says once we’ve reconvened in front of the cottage.
“What gave you that impression?” Cathal’s tone is mocking.
Faolan growls. It rumbles deep in his chest as our bond pulses with anger.
“Why are you still here? Go stay in the village.”
“We want to help,” Cathal says. He sounds dejected, but it’s just in jest.
“We don’t need your help.”
Cathal snorts. “You sure?”
“Stop it,” I snap, voice so sharp everyone looks at me. “Something is obviously very wrong here, and we don’t need you two making it worse. Either get along or get away from each other.”
Alden’s eyes widen, his brows lifting toward his hairline. Beside me, Rowan has to hide his laughter with a cough.
Faolan flexes his fingers into fists as our bond pulses with another wave of anger. His blue eyes narrow. Then he turns and stalks away, disappearing into the trees.
With the fog, I know he won’t get far. Still, his frustration and anger are only serving to make this more difficult. Things are hard enough as is, and I don’t need the twins arguing every time they’re asked to spend five minutes together.
Across from me, Orla nudges Cathal. Though he seems reluctant, he finally says, “Sorry, Aurora.”
But I’m already angry, and I’m thinking of the scars wrapping Faolan’s upper body, and Cathal’s apology does little to tame me.
“If you two are going to stay here”—my gaze flicks between Cathal and Orla—“you need to figure out how to make peace. Stop instigating. You’re well aware Faolan doesn’t want you here, and you’re just making it worse.
If you can’t control yourself, you can go stay at the inn.
I’ve had quite enough of your bickering. ”
Now Cathal’s eyes darken. I don’t think he’s used to being properly admonished by anyone —except maybe Orla.
She places a hand on his chest and whispers something into his ear.
Then, without a word, he turns on a heel and strides in the opposite direction, toward the distant trees.
Orla looks back at me, frowns, and then follows him.
Now it’s just the four of us .
I let out a heavy sigh.
“Well,” Alden says, “what do we do now?”
The guys don’t have any ideas.
I’ve got one, but I’m not so sure it’ll work.
Placing my hands on my hips, I say, “There’s only one thing we can do now: Read Auntie’s spellbooks. Every last one. She helped us with the thornbugs; maybe she can help with this too. She might be our only hope.”