Page 47 of The Witch’s Spell (Season of the Witch #4)
Aurora
“LOVE YOU,” I WHISPER TO Lydia as she and James step off the front porch and into the softly falling snow.
“Love you too, sis,” she says back, her cheeks already turning pink in the cold. She reaches for James, tucking her mittened hand into the crook of his arm. Then she turns back around and says, “Oh, and you too, Alden.”
Beside me, Alden huffs out a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, love ya.”
We watch Lydia and James until they’re swallowed up by darkness and the stillness of the night.
“That’s the last of ’em,” Alden says, easing a warm arm over my shoulders and pulling me in so he can place a kiss atop my head.
Lord and Lady Highcliff headed back to the inn first, followed by Orla and Cathal. Ciaran left a short while ago—only after I made him promise to return on Lughnasadh and tell me more stories of Auntie. And now, with Lydia and James gone, Brookside suddenly feels almost too quiet.
“What do you say?” Alden whispers, lips still pressed to my head. “Ready for bed?”
I wiggle closer to him. “Almost. But first...” I pull away and look into his eyes. “Presents.”
Harrison, Alden, Rowan, Faolan, Thorne and I all sit in the parlor, stuffed and sleepy, cuddled up in warm socks and wrapped in handstitched blankets.
Lucy, Marigold, and Whisper are in the cottage as well—Rowan didn’t want to exclude them, so they’re pecking around in the kitchen, cleaning up the crumbs from our full day of baking and eating.
Before we gathered here, everyone crept off to their hiding places to pull out their gifts, and I have a big basket full of goodies sitting in front of me.
“Okay, Harrison, you’re first.” I reach into the basket and pull out a tiny pouch pulled taut with a drawstring. “I made them for you this summer, knowing how much you miss them over the winter.” After loosening the pouch, I pour a few of the dehydrated berries into my palm.
“Starberries?” Harrison asks, his tail and ears perking up. He takes one from my palm, crunching it loudly, and then nibbles down two more in short order. “Thank you,” he says, crawling into my lap and pressing his head against my chin. “You’re my favorite human.”
“And you’re mine,” I say, pulling back and stroking a hand down his head. “Just don’t tell the others. ”
Harrison flicks his tail and grabs the tiny pouch in his teeth, then jumps up onto the couch with it, guarding it closely.
“Okay, next up...” I reach into the basket and pull out another bag. “Alden.”
His eyes widen as he holds out his hands to take the gift. He opens the bag slowly, a smile tugging his lips up as he reaches inside and lifts out the pair of mittens I knitted him.
“I used the yarn you got me,” I say. “I made some for the baby as well, so next winter, you’ll be twins.”
“Thank you.” He pushes up from the rocking chair to press a kiss to my lips. Then he reaches down to the floor beside the chair and picks up a small wooden box. “I made you something too. Well, a few somethings.” He holds out the box, and I take it in nervous hands.
Everyone—including Harrison—watches as I settle the box into my lap and carefully open the hinged lid.
And inside are six beautifully carved wooden figurines. I hold them up one at a time.
“A rabbit for you,” Alden explains. “A bear for me. A stag for Rowan—our Horned God. A wolf for Faolan. A cat for Harrison. And a fox for Thorne, because he was clever enough to send that fog back to where it belongs.”
Tears swim in my eyes. Not wanting to damage the gorgeous wooden carvings is the only thing that prevents me from slinging myself across the parlor and into Alden’s arms.
“They’re beautiful,” I say. “I’ll treasure them always. Thank you.”
Alden smiles softly. “You’re welcome, little witch. ”
I give Rowan his gift next, and we all share a collective laugh when he pulls it from the bag and holds it up.
“Is that,” Harrison asks from behind me, “a chicken sweater?”
I’m laughing too hard to answer him, watching as Rowan pulls the knit sweater over his head and looks down at the brown hen I stitched right on the front.
“It looks just like Lucy,” Rowan says.
“Please wear that into the village tomorrow,” Faolan says, wiping tears from his eyes from his laughter. “You can wear it over your armor.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Rowan ties his long red hair back so we can all better see the brown hen stitched into the green sweater.
“I’m going to wear this everywhere . Thank you, Aurora.
” He reaches behind his back and pulls out a small bundle wrapped in paper packaging and tied with a ribbon from Lydia’s mercantile.
“These are for you. My mother brought them along, and I thought... Well, I thought you’d like them. ”
I take the bundle and gently unwrap the ribbon. The paper packaging falls away with a crinkle to reveal a small stack of children’s books. The book on top is titled The Boy Who Chased the Moon .
“Those were my books when I was a boy. Well, mine and Lucy’s.” Rowan smiles. “Now we can read them to our child.”
Tears swim in my eyes, distorting the artwork on the front of the book. I scrub a hand across my face and say, “These are lovely. Thank you, Rowan. ”
He nods once, then scoops Marigold up when she comes strutting through the parlor, tucking her comfortably into his lap.
I give Faolan his gift next. As he removes the book from the bag and slowly opens the front cover, I say, “It’s a guide to our constellations, so we can track the stars together.”
“Where did you get this?” Faolan asks, not looking up at me. He’s already immersed in the painted illustrations, his fingertips delicately tracing the pages.
“I was able to convince Welma to part ways with it”—I tip my head—“at the cost of a few jars of blackberry jam.”
“Aw,” Rowan says, shooting a sharp look at Faolan. “I liked that jam.”
“Too bad.” Faolan flashes Rowan a fanged smile. “Guess Aurora likes me more.”
“You’re joking, right?” Rowan tugs at the bottom of his sweater. “She made me a chicken sweater. Doesn’t get much better than that.”
Faolan rolls his eyes and turns to fetch something from behind him. “It’s not much,” he says to me, “but I found this on a run in the woods, and it reminded me of you.”
He holds something out, and when he places it into my palms, it makes them droop beneath the weight.
I open my fingers. It’s a beautiful chunk of crystal quartz, and I can tell Faolan took the time to clean it, because the different faces and facets gleam in the firelight, not impeded by dirt or debris.
“Like I said...” Faolan clears his throat. “It’s not much.”
“Nonsense.” I push forward and capture his warm lips with mine, then whisper, “It’s fantastic. I know just the windowsill to put it in. Thank you.”
I ease back into my seated position, then reach into the basket to pull out the last gift: Thorne’s gift.
“You . . . got me something?” he whispers.
“It’s nothing special,” I say, suddenly feeling a bit shy as Thorne opens the bag and everyone turns to watch.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe it’s a ridiculous gift. But it’s too late now. Thorne is already pulling the gift free, setting the roll of parchment across his lap, and tugging the ribbon binding it loose.
The parchment unfurls, and Thorne studies it, brow furrowing.
“What is it?” Faolan asks.
With a curious tip of his head, Thorne holds up the parchment. “It’s empty.”
Everyone’s eyes find me. But I’m looking at Thorne.
“It’s the start of a new map,” I explain, voice low.
“A map of what?” Thorne asks.
Oh my goddess , I think. This was such a silly idea!
“Of...” I glance away from Thorne’s silver eyes. “Of all the places we’re going to travel together. I know you love journeying, and I don’t want to stop you. So, when you go someplace new, I’ll go too. If you’ll have me.”
Silence stretches through the parlor, punctuated only by Marigold’s gentle rumbling as she sleeps in Rowan’s lap and the crackling of flames in the hearth.
Thorne breaks my gaze to look down at the map, and I’m quite sure his fingers soften on the edges, as if he wishes to be delicate .
“There’s only one problem,” he says as he rolls it up carefully.
My heart thuds. “What’s that?”
This time when Thorne looks at me, his lips are pulled back in a gleaming white smile. “It’s a bit small, given all the places we’re going to go.”
Faolan rolls his eyes and makes a subtle gagging sound. Rowan shoves him, shaking his head. And Alden just crosses his arms and laughs.
“It’s brilliant,” Thorne says. And then he pushes up from his rocking chair and presses his mouth to mine, right in front of everyone.
“Watch yourself, fairy,” Faolan growls. “That’s my mate you’re kissing.”
Rowan draws a gentle hand down Marigold’s feathers as he laughs. “Get used to it. We’ve all had to.”
Meanwhile, Thorne moves his mouth to my ear and whispers, “This is the best gift I’ve ever been given. Thank you, Aurora Silvermoon.”
My throat is feeling clogged with emotion, so I can only nod.
“Now, my gift to you,” Thorne says. He twirls a hand in the air, and a gust of wind dances around us, making Marigold squawk.
From the back bedroom, a potted plant comes floating into the parlor, held aloft by Thorne’s air magic.
I hold my hands out, eyes wide, and let out a tiny squeal of delight as the tiny pot settles into my palms.
“Winterflare blossoms!” I say. Thorne’s magic makes them dance, and they send a gentle burst of warmth across my face .
“They usually don’t thrive in the human realm,” Thorne says. “But I think they’ll like being here with you.”
“I’ll take good care of you,” I whisper to the orange-red flowers. “I promise.” There’s a burst of laughter from the guys, and I look up sharply. “What?”
Alden shakes his head, saying, “We just love you, little witch. For exactly who you are.”