Page 24 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)
Aurora
THOUGH OUR PACE INTO FAUNWOOD is slow, it doesn’t bother me; rather, I enjoy it, and it gives me the opportunity to appreciate the beauty that is winter, with its blankets of glittering snow and frost-tipped pine boughs.
There’s something so very magical about wintertime, even if you sometimes have to enjoy it through an icy window.
But my favorite season will still always be spring. I get tingly just thinking about my garden and all the seeds I’ll sow come the thaw.
When we arrive in Faunwood, Thorne’s silver eyes grow wide.
He slows to look at the tall guardhouse and Lydia’s mercantile, then the town square and Niamh’s quiet apothecary.
By the time we make it to the library, I swear Thorne has spent half an hour just observing the buildings and making passersby stare.
He opens the door for me, and I step into the library .
Overhead, wooden rafters run the length of the building, wound with devil’s ivy.
The windows on the second floor let in the winter sunlight, and candles flicker in domes upon tabletops.
On the far wall, a hearth is roaring with flames, making the parchment-scented air warm enough that I strip out of my cloak and hang it on a stand beside the door.
I loved it here when I was a little girl.
When Auntie would bring me, I’d collect an armful of books so tall I couldn’t see past it, then collapse upon the rug in front of the fire and read until it was time for Welma to lock up for the evening.
I vaguely recall begging her to lock me in here with the books so I could read all night, but Welma just laughed and sent me home with a pocketful of sweets and enough books to keep me busy for the whole of summer.
“Welma!” I call as Thorne closes the door gently behind me. “Are you here?”
A few moments later, the librarian appears from behind the shelves of books. “Oh, Aurora. I thought that was you.” Her spectacled gaze flicks over my shoulder. I can feel Thorne standing there, his gentle heat warming me even from a distance. “And who might this be?”
“Thorne Blackveil, miss,” he says.
Immediately, Welma’s cheeks go pink. “ Miss ? Well, you certainly know the way to a woman’s heart.” Her laughter is warm and gentle. “Now, tell me, what are we looking for today? Come to read those love stories you enjoy so much?”
I smile and shake my head. “Unfortunately not. We’re looking for books on...” I glance back at Thorne, but he makes no outward indication of concern. So I turn back to Welma. “On Fairyland. Fairy magic, specifically. Do you have anything of the sort?”
“Fairyland?” Welma’s tone is surprised. “Why, that’s an odd request. Can’t say I’ve heard that in a while.” She adjusts her glasses, then sets off into the maze of bookshelves. “Perhaps I’ve still got one or two... But where did I put them?”
Thorne and I exchange a small smile. He gestures for me to go ahead, the brilliant white of his hair catching and reflecting the firelight from the glowing hearth.
I reach out and touch the bookshelves as I pass them by.
There’s not a hint of dust. The spines of the books are different colors and sizes, some with names embossed in the leather or cloth, others bare, beckoning me to pull them from the shelves and delicately open their covers to discover what secrets they hold.
It would be so easy to get lost in the different worlds inside these books, to curl up in a chair beside the fire and read until I can’t remember what day of the week it is.
Perhaps once all the fog nonsense is sorted, that’s precisely what I’ll do. I could use a good break from having to worry about everything.
“Ah, here we are.” Welma pauses at a bookshelf in a back corner of the library, where it seems very few visitors frequent, if the lack of empty spaces on the shelves is any indication.
The old librarian adjusts her glasses and pushes onto her toes to reach a wide-spined tome on a top shelf.
Without a stool, she struggles to reach it, her teeth slipping out to bite her lower lip in concentration.
“Let me.” Thorne, who approached silently behind me, reaches easily past me and over Welma’s head to grasp the book and pull it smoothly from the shelf.
As it comes away in his hand, the light from the overhead windows catches the front cover.
Embossed in gold, the title reads, Secrets of Fairyland .
Thorne’s lips quirk up when he reads it, but he says nothing. I’ll be curious to know how much the author got right about Fairyland—and whether the book contains any information about fairy portals or the magic that powers them.
My stomach turns with nervousness.
“Thank you,” Welma says, sounding slightly out of breath from straining to reach the book. “There’s certainly an advantage to having a tall man around.” With a light laugh, she reaches out to touch Thorne’s arm.
He gives her an easy smile in return, then offers me the book. It’s heavy in my hands, its pages packed with information. I can only hope it has what we need.
“Why Fairyland?” Welma asks, removing the spectacles from the bridge of her nose. “Does this have anything to do with that fog?”
I exchange a look with Thorne, but yet again, his expression gives nothing away. I’ve never been one to fib, and I don’t want to start now.
“We believe it does,” I say softly. “But I’m not so sure we’ll find anything of use in here.” My fingers drum the cover of the book thoughtfully. “It would probably be best not to tell the other villagers, just in case...”
In case I fail , I finish to myself.
Thorne seems to understand, for he shifts slightly closer to me, and his gentle warmth brushes over my arm. I have an overwhelming urge to lean against him, seek him for support, but I don’t.
“I understand, dear. I won’t tell anyone; your secret is safe with me.” Welma mimes drawing a seal across her lips. “We all appreciate you, Aurora. You’re a treasured member of our community, I hope you know. Just like dear Lilith was before you.”
Her kind words, mixed with the pressure I’ve felt these last few days to solve all the problems I suddenly find myself wading through, make me tear up. I clutch the book to my chest with one hand and use the other to wipe the moisture from my eyes.
“Thank you, Welma. It means a lot.”
“Of course. Now, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.” She smiles at me—and casts a lingering look at Thorne—before meandering away through the shelves, humming to herself as she goes. Once she’s out of earshot, I turn to Thorne.
“Would you like to stay awhile? I’m not so sure I’m ready to head home.”
He nods once. “I’d love to.”
His smile makes my chest warm. With the book held tight to my breast, I lead the way back down the aisle of books, and we take a seat in two armchairs near the crackling hearth. The fire chases what remains of the cold from my bones, and I sigh into the soft embrace of the well-worn chair.
Thorne sets his cane aside, then removes his satchel and reaches inside to extract a bottle of the shimmering golden liquid.
When he pops the cork, I catch the gentle scent of honey and cinnamon.
He lifts it to his lips and takes a swallow, and the bobbing of his throat catches my eye.
His skin looks so soft in the firelight.
My mouth wants badly to taste the spot just below his ear—which I know is beautifully pointed beneath his human glamour—but I don’t allow myself the luxury.
Instead, I clear my throat and open the cover of the book.
“ Secrets of Fairyland ,” I start as Thorne slips the vial into his satchel and leans back in the deep armchair. “We’ve”—I flip quickly to the back of the book—“approximately three hundred pages to get through.”
Thorne tips his head at me, silver eyes glittering. “We’d best get started, then.”
With his eyes still on me and the fire keeping us company, I turn to chapter one and start to read.
“Chapter seven,” I read aloud. I’ve shed my boots, and my legs are tucked up beneath me as we sit before the fire. Welma poured tea earlier, and my half-full teacup sits on a low table beside the armchair. “Crossing the Veil.”
At this, Thorne opens one eye. I thought he fell asleep at one point, but he’s been quietly listening over the past hour or so, making small humorous noises and smiling at some of the information in the book.
“That sounds promising,” he says.
I nod once, then continue to read.
“Portals into Fairyland are rare gateways existing at the thin boundaries between the human world and the enchanted realm of the fae.
Hidden in plain sight, portals often appear as an ordinary object or place—a forgotten door, a secluded pond, or an ancient tree—waiting to be discovered by those attuned to its subtle magic.
However, crossing the veil is not as simple as stepping through, nor is it considered wise.
“A portal itself is a conduit for powerful energies that flow between the realms, and its stability depends on a careful balance of magic. When the energies of the human world and the fairy realm are in harmony, the portal opens smoothly, allowing for passage between worlds. But a disruption of that balance can lead to unexpected and dangerous consequences.”
My eyes widen. I look at Thorne. He’s sitting forward in the armchair now, brow furrowed in concentration. I wiggle around in my chair to face him more fully. Turning the page, I continue to read.