Page 19 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)

Aurora

AS SOON AS THE DOOR closes behind Alden and Lydia, I slump against the foyer wall. Worry turns my stomach into a twisted mess, and even my chest feels tight.

The villagers assume I’m as talented as Auntie, but the truth is, I’m not .

Of all the women in my family, I’m probably the least gifted in the magical arts.

Getting through Coven Crest was hard enough, and I thought everything would be better here, easier.

And it has been in many ways. But without Niamh here to help me, I have no idea what to do about this fog.

I never expected the villagers to need me for anything—except perhaps magical pests in the garden, and that I can handle.

But this?

This is so out of my comfort zone I don’t even have the slightest clue what to do. If Auntie’s spellbooks don’t reveal anything, we’ll be back to square one.

“Hey. ”

The voice startles me from my reverie, and I look up to find Thorne leaning in the parlor doorway. His eyes are like winter ice in this light, and he has to push his shaggy hair back lest it impede his vision.

Harrison stands at his feet, head canted at me. Of all the guys I’ve brought home, he’s warmed up to Thorne the fastest. Add it to the list of oddities Thorne is stacking up.

“You okay?” Thorne continues.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine.” My tone is higher pitched than usual, and though I’m smiling, it feels forced.

Thorne doesn’t look convinced. He pushes off the doorframe and says, “I wanted to take a closer look at the fog. Would you care to join me?”

I’m not so sure I want to get anywhere close to that magical anomaly, but if everyone is depending on me to fix it, I suppose I’ll need to try to figure out what it is , exactly. So, with a small nod, I say, “Sure.”

After donning our boots and cloaks, we step out the front door and into the crisp air.

The sun is bright, but I can still see my breath as I descend the steps and wait at the bottom for Thorne.

Despite his cane, he traverses the stairs with relative ease, and then we’re off on our walk toward the woods, Harrison trotting along with us.

“I’m sorry I’ve not done more to make you feel comfortable,” I say, realizing that Thorne has been in my home for two days and I could probably count on one hand how many conversations we’ve had. “It’s just been...” I sigh. “A lot lately.”

Beside me, Thorne chuckles. “You’ve nothing to worry about. I’m no responsibility of yours, and you’ve done quite a bit more than I would ever have expected. Truly.” He glances down at me, and when his pale eyes meet mine, my heart skips a little bit.

I can’t deny he’s handsome, in a strange and otherworldly sort of way.

With his white hair and silver eyes, I almost wonder if the storm deposited him here, made purely of cloud and snow.

I’m not sure I’d be very surprised. He looked like an icicle when first he arrived, dripping slush and snow all over the foyer.

“What are you hoping to learn?” I ask as we step out of the sun and into the shadows of the trees. “About the fog, I mean.”

His face changes then, expression morphing as his eyes narrow and his gaze shifts to the distant trees beyond. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Hopefully something. Anything.”

He offers nothing more, and we lapse into silence. I glance down at Harrison, and he meets my eyes but says nothing.

Our pace is slow; each step is a struggle, and despite me wearing tall boots, my knit stockings are already getting wet from me sinking knee-deep into the snow with every other step.

I hit an icy patch, and before I can get my bearings, my foot slides out from under me.

My body jerks, and I flinch as my arms whirl uselessly.

Then there’s a firm grip on my arm, the pressure so sure and unyielding that I’m certain Faolan has caught up to us. But when I find my balance and turn, it’s still just Thorne, his hand wrapped around my arm. I glance down, then back up at him, confused.

He’s . . . strong . Incredibly strong. Like, shifter strong .

“Sorry,” he says suddenly, extracting his long fingers from about my upper arm. “Are you all right?”

“F-fine,” I say, a touch of embarrassment coloring my tone. “Thank you.”

He nods once, eyes sweeping over me as if to assess for any damage. Then he continues on his way, perhaps struggling less than I am even though he has to use a cane.

We walk for a short distance. The fog becomes visible through the trees, lingering like a specter, moving but never dispersing. It hangs in the air, unchanged.

“Don’t step into it,” Thorne says. When he tosses a glance over his shoulder at me, he’s smiling.

“I’d hate for you to have to traipse all the way back here.

” His gaze flicks to the hem of my dress, which is already soaked and covered in snow.

His smile is small, then vanishes when he returns his focus to the wall of gray in front of us.

“What do you feel?” he asks me. He presses his cane into the snow in front of him and leans both hands on it, head tipping to one side. “When you touch it, I mean.”

My heart is beating a little faster now, though I’m not sure if it’s from the hike, the fog, or...

Or Thorne himself.

Being out here with him, alone, in the trees, I’m seeing him in a different light. The angles of his face, the way his long arms and legs remind me of ancient willow branches—it’s like he’s meant to be out here, in the woods. Maybe just as much as Faolan is, and yet they’re so very different.

I steal my gaze away from him and take a tentative step closer to the fog. It doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t try to sweep me into its gray void. When my fingers brush through it, I’m shocked by the frigid touch.

“It’s cold,” I say. “Almost... unnaturally so. And it has an energy to it.” Closing my eyes, I focus and home in on the trembling energy buzzing through my fingertips. “Like it’s alive. Pulsing. Breathing.”

My eyes open. Thorne is staring at me. I announce with certainty, “It’s magic, but I don’t know why it’s here or where it’s from.”

Thorne reaches up and rubs a lock of hair between his fingers. His smooth forehead furrows. Then he says softly, “I might.”