Page 21 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)

Aurora

AS I STARE AT THORNE, he starts to shimmer gently, so gently I may have missed it were I not looking right at him. Light shines from him as if he has a tiny sun glowing just beneath his skin. And when the shimmering stops, I can do little but draw a breath.

It’s still Thorne sitting beside me, but now there’s no illusion hiding his true face from me.

And I know now why there are tales to keep us always wary of the fair folk, to keep us from losing our wits about them, from following them into circles of mushrooms or through doorways built into old oak trees.

But the tales don’t know the half of it.

They don’t know the wild beauty of a fairy’s face.

Thorne’s ears, previously hidden by his shaggy mop of white hair, now protrude elegantly from hair that is smooth and shiny as polished pearl, their tips delicately pointed.

His eyes, already silver in his glamoured form, now look like crystal quartz, with a depth and dimension to them that makes me feel as if I could venture inside their facets and become forever lost in a land of magic and moonlight.

His cheekbones are higher and sharper, his jaw more defined.

Even his neck appears slightly longer, sloped in a way that makes me wonder what it would feel like to press my frozen lips upon his skin.

And though I can’t be absolutely certain, I think he’s still glowing a bit, but I can only see it when I glance away, like it’s a trick of the light.

Or fairy magic.

“Yes,” he says.

And his voice . I thought it was lyrical when I first heard him speak that night of the storm, but now I know why bright young women get so easily swept away, seduced into Fairyland with but a word from a fairy’s smooth lips.

If he were to tell me to grow wings and fly away, I think I may just do it.

“Of... Of the courts?” I ask, finding words difficult.

His lips pull up in the corners. I try not to stare, but his beauty is like a lighthouse in the inky dark, pulling my gaze again and again even when I try to look away, beckoning me to draw ever nearer.

“Yes,” he says again. “I’m of the Seelie Court.”

The Seelie Court.

This brings me back to earth. I remember Auntie telling me of the Seelie Court, of meeting one of the fair folk.

Even when pressed, she wouldn’t say much, but now I’m wondering if this is where she met the fairy, if perhaps they crossed paths right here in this old grove of oak trees, with its hill and flowers and the far-off burbling of the river when the weather is warm and the ice has melted away.

The pixie atop my head loses interest and flutters to Thorne’s shoulder instead. The tiny creature leans into his gently pointed ear and whispers something that to me sounds like a twinkling of tiny bells.

The smile that graces Thorne’s lips falls away. But even his frown is beautiful. It makes me want to do everything in my power to make it go away, to make the jovial light return to his eyes.

Without speaking, Thorne takes up his cane and pushes to his feet. The pixie uses a lock of his silver-white hair for balance, remaining perched upon his shoulder.

With purpose, Thorne crosses the snowy grove. I stand slowly, brushing the snowflakes from my cloak and dress, then watch as he circles the small clearing, a troubled look upon his face.

“What’s the matter?” I finally bring myself to ask. His sudden reveal left me feeling tongue-tied, but I’m getting my thoughts in order once more, regaining my balance about him.

The other fairy creatures move toward and around Thorne, seeming drawn to him.

I believe they’re speaking to him, but I can’t make out a single word; all I hear are bells and breezes through trees and the pattering of rain drops on freshly unfurled flowers petals.

It’s a language all their own, one my ears have never been graced with before.

Or perhaps I’ve just never listened closely enough .

Thorne kneels and reaches for one of the hedgehog creatures. This one fits in the palm of his hand, and it allows him to stroke a finger down its quills.

“It’s as I feared,” he says. When he glances up and catches my eye, I take a breath.

It will take time for me to no longer feel breathless in the presence of such inhuman beauty. The more I look at him, the more different he appears, like something truly not of my world.

“The portal has...” He casts his gaze about the trees, with their bare branches and gnarled trunks. “It has misfunctioned somehow. They tell me they’ve been stuck here since the storm arrived.” He gestures to the creatures crowded about his feet and lurking in the forest.

“Since the storm? Is that what caused this?”

“I don’t know.” Thorne narrows his eyes.

“But I worry this is my fault, that I brought it with me when I crossed from our realm into yours. There was a storm that night, but I didn’t think.

..” He sighs. “Since then, we’ve all become stuck, trapped not only in your realm, but in this village. It seems none of us can return home.”

Home. In another realm.

“So, the fog...” I say, trying to piece together what he’s told me. “It’s from Fairyland?”

His lips pull up, his small smile dazzling even from this distance. “Fairyland.” The word makes him chuckle. “I’d forgotten those here call it that.”

One of my eyebrows quirks up. “Is that not its name? What do you call it? ”

He says something—I’m sure of it, for I see his mouth move—but like when the creatures were speaking to him, all I hear is distant birdsong, the wind through leaves, and even the burble of a far-off river. It’s like he brought summer with him, wrapped up in the melody of his voice.

“There is not a proper word for it in your tongue,” he then says in my language.

“So I suppose Fairyland suffices.” He leans on his cane with a sigh.

“But yes, I believe the storm was pulled through the portal with me. I’ve never heard of such a thing happening before.

When I stepped through, I thought we were simply having similar weather patterns, both caught in winter’s chill.

But I know now that’s not the case.” His gaze shifts, and I believe he’s looking into the shadows of the trees, where I know the fog lurks.

“This is of Fairyland. I’m certain of it. ”

“Do you know how to send it back?” I ask, hope rising up in my chest. “If you open the portal, will the fog leave?”

He shakes his head, and the movement sends the pixie fluttering from his shoulder on silent wings.

“The portal isn’t working. It’s like it became warped, or like the fog is a broken piece of it, transporting us from one place to another, but never where we intend to go.

” Catching a silky lock of hair with his forefinger and thumb, he begins rubbing it between the pads of his fingers, gaze troubled.

Then he whispers, “I’m sorry, Aurora. I never meant to bring trouble to your doorstep. ”

His eyes look like storm clouds, his face a mask of worry. And before I know what I’m doing, I find myself crossing the grove, standing right before him so that I have to tip my head back to look into his otherworldly gaze.

“I know,” I say softly. “I’m not upset with you. And this is a good thing. At least we have a better idea of what it is , even if we don’t yet know how to get rid of it. It’s a start.”

His gaze washes over me, pale and crystalline. I’m overcome with the desire to touch him, to know what his skin feels like beneath my fingers. I don’t know if it’s the magic in his blood or the beauty of his face, but I feel inexplicably drawn to him, incapable of turning away.

I lift my hand slowly, giving him every opportunity to pull back and out of my reach. But he doesn’t. Instead, he releases the lock of hair he’s been worrying at and regards me with glittering eyes.

When my hand finds his face, I’m surprised by how warm he is.

The heat radiating from his skin isn’t like Faolan’s, which feels always like a fire burns inside him; rather, my fingers feel a gentle tingle of warmth, like I’ve reached out from a shadow to allow the sun to gently kiss my skin.

It’s a soft type of warmth, one that I wouldn’t mind at all being wrapped in, embraced by.

With my hand still upon his face, his sharp cheekbone beneath my thumb, Thorne lifts a hand and captures a strand of my hair.

“You are... different,” he says, voice lilting with curiosity. “I’ve met many humans, but none like you.”

My lips curve up as I say, “Perhaps that’s because I’m a witch.”

Thorne’s resulting smile is more beautiful than it has any right to be. “Perhaps.”

We’re quiet on the walk back to Brookside. Thorne keeps pausing to reach into the fog and stare into its murky gray depths, but he doesn’t tell me what he’s looking for. I’m not so sure even he knows. But at least we’ve a place to start now.

If the fog was brought through the portal, there must be a way to send it back.

Maybe we’ve been looking for the wrong information this whole time.

Auntie doesn’t have anything in her spellbooks about magic from Fairyland, but the Faunwood library might have something worth reading.

It would at least be better than sitting around staring at the fog, waiting for it to swallow us whole.

The idea makes me shiver.

But then a burst of warmth comes through my bond with Faolan; I guess he finally woke up. He’s probably wondering where I am.

When I look over at Thorne, I realize he’s still wearing his real face, not the glamour to make him appear more human.

“Are you going to tell the others?” I ask. “About the fog and...” I gesture at his face.

This makes him smile again. “Would you prefer I not?”

We come across a particularly icy patch of ground, where the trees grow so dense that very little light can filter through to the forest floor below. Before I can reach to steady myself with a branch or tree trunk, Thorne offers me his hand.

“I don’t want to pull you down if I fall,” I say, trying not to eye his cane. I’d feel terrible if I slipped and we both crashed into the ice and snow.

Thorne’s smile doesn’t falter. “I’m steadier on my feet than I look.” He extends his hand a bit farther .

And this time I take it.

His fingers seem longer now than they did when he grabbed my arm earlier, when he was still wearing his glamour.

And they’re strong too, completely firm and secure under my grasp.

Like earlier, in the fairy hollow, there’s a warmth to his skin that is just gentle enough to chase the chill from my fingers.

My toes, though, are another story. When we get back to the cottage, I plan to pour a cup of tea, grab a cookie—or three—and curl up under a blanket in front of the parlor hearth.

Once I’ve had a chance to wrap my head around everything Thorne revealed to me today, I’ll come up with a plan. Or I’ll try to, at least.

A knot forms in my stomach, and the baby kicks in response.

I really don’t want to let the villagers down, and now that I know all the fairies are stuck here too... We have to figure this out—and soon if I want the Highcliffs to be able to visit for Yule.

Once we’ve maneuvered through the icy patch, I release Thorne’s hand, then immediately regret it when the cold rushes back into my fingers.

“I think,” I say in way of distracting myself from reaching for him again, “you should do whatever you’re comfortable with. It would be best to tell them about the fog, but if you want to keep your identity a secret, I certainly won’t say anything.”

He regards me quietly, his cane and our boots crunching through the snow.

Without skipping a step or pausing for even a moment, he casts a glamour over himself once more.

His lustrous hair loses some of its shine, his icy quartz eyes transition back to silver, and the subtle shimmer that’s been glimmering around him dims until it’s gone.

Now he’s back to the Thorne I met in the foyer that night, with his shaggy hair and gentle smile. I truly had no idea what lurked beneath his false appearance.

“Thank you,” he says. “You are kindhearted. I’m glad to have met you.”

The knot in my stomach turns to butterflies, and I turn away lest he see the blush rising into my cheeks, if the warmth in my face is any indication.

“Y-you’re welcome,” I stammer, then grip my fingers into fists, trying to look anywhere but at him.

Next to me, he chuckles, but he says nothing else.

When we step out of the trees, Faolan is sitting on the side porch, eyes trained on the tree line. In a flash, he’s crossed the clearing and is standing in front of me, taking my face in his warm palms and tipping my head back to look into my eyes.

“You weren’t here when I woke,” he says. Worry drifts through our bond as his blue eyes assess my face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Thorne and I went to get a closer look at the fog. And we may have learned something new.”

The concern creasing Faolan’s brow lessens. “What did you learn?”

I glance at Thorne, who is standing beside me with both hands on his cane, head canted to one side.

I still can’t believe he’s a fairy—and of the Seelie Court, no less.

I wish Auntie were here to see this. I wish she would’ve told me more about the fairy she met.

Even her spellbooks and old journals reveal nothing .

“Let’s wait until Alden and Rowan return,” I say, reaching up to place one of my cold hands over Faolan’s warm one.

“There’s much to discuss.” I rise onto my toes and press a kiss to his cheek, his scruff rough beneath my lips.

He grumbles but doesn’t protest further.

“Now, I’m in desperate need of a cup of tea. Lavender, anyone?”