Payback's a Witch (The Witches of Thistle Grove #1)(13)
“The Harlow stomach still in full effect, I see,” Lin said, amused by my rapture. That I could eat her under the table, despite her being the enviably taller and curvier of the two of us, was one of our longest-running jokes. “Fried cake for brunch was a good call. Though now I’m thinking maybe it also qualifies as first aid. Tore it up a little your first night back, I take it?”
“More or less,” I admitted. “I stopped by the Cauldron and accidentally had a little too much fun. As one does. And here I thought the shower at least masked my transformation into hungover hag from beyond the grave.”
She tilted her head solemnly from side to side, considering. “I mean, we’re not talking Samara from The Ring or anything. But a touch deathly, yeah.”
Lin, on the other hand, looked lovely. Though she wore her hair natural now, in a twist-out that just barely brushed her shoulders, her deep brown skin and huge doe eyes were exactly the same. She wore yards of ivy-patterned teal scarf over a slouchy eggshell sweaterdress, along with impossibly dainty, feather-shaped silver earrings; courtesy of her little sister, no doubt. Lark Thorn had been into designing jewelry even before I left.
“Might I offer my services?” she asked, holding up her hands and waggling her fingers playfully. Though all the families technically had access to the same healing spells in the Grimoire, the Thorns were the most skilled healers of the bunch, by far. The talent tied in somehow with their affinity for nature-based green magic, a lineage they could trace back to druids in Ireland.
“By all means, do give me the hands,” I replied, leaning across the table toward her. “As much as I’d like to pretend I’m still the gritty party animal you remember from high school, my situation’s actually pretty dire.”
“Oh, yeah, the party animal who used to set her own Saturday night curfew so as to not ‘waste’ too much of her Sundays being hungover,” she teased, pressing her fingertips to my temples.
“Establishing a sustainable work ethic is important, Linden.”
Scoffing fondly, she closed her eyes and murmured a low incantation. A honeyed swirl of warmth spiraled through my head, vivid scrolls of amethyst and emerald green unspooling in the darkness behind my eyelids. Healing magic felt wonderful; comforting and somehow ineffably luxurious, like an aromatherapy massage complete with one of those gingerbread-scented pillows warm under your neck.
“Ugh, I can’t quite get it all, sorry,” she said when she drew back, grimacing and shaking out her hands, as if some of my hangover ick was physically adhering to her skin. Maybe it was; having never been strong enough to pull one off, I had no idea how healing spells worked in practice. “Unfortunately for you,” she added, “Rowan’s still better at this than I am.”
I swiveled my head experimentally, relieved to find that the pounding ache had eased quite a bit, though I still felt sludgy and a little green around the gills.
“How is your brother?” Linden’s twin and I hadn’t been close, but I had fond memories of him as a quiet, wiry boy with an exceptionally sweet smile, doctoring sparrow fledglings with bent wings and smuggling barn kittens into his bedroom. “Still trying to heal every fallen bird and stray he can find?”
“Pretty much. He actually took over for our dad as barn vet last year.”
Before she could continue, a baby-faced server raced over with a coffeepot and ice water, thirsty for a tip on a slow morning. A cursory glance at the menu confirmed that Angelina’s offerings hadn’t changed much since I was last here. After he took our order, I pulled the chilly glass closer and took a long sip, raising my eyebrows at Lin.
“Does that mean Aspen’s officially retired?”
“Nah, he’s just pulled back from daily operations a little. Calls it his semiretirement. He still oversees most of the orchard logistics with me, though, what with him being too damn obstinate to actually take it easy a day in his life. Mama and Lark are good, too, always asking after you.”
I smiled at the thought of Linden’s stately mother, Gabrielle, who’d basically been my third parent, and her exuberant little sister.
“And what about you?” I gave her a meaningful look. “The romance updates have grown alarmingly sparse of late. How am I supposed to keep my friendship card current without knowing who’s attending to my bestie’s carnal needs?”
Lin nibbled on the inside of her cheek, giving me an uncharacteristically restrained twitch of a smile. “Not that much to report, really. Just taking a little step back from dating, kind of a break. Focusing on myself instead, and prioritizing work.”
I squinted at her, bemused. Linden was one of the most energetic daters I’d ever met, a devout believer in the idea that the pursuit of love was ultimately a numbers game, a lottery you were bound to win as long as you maximized your entries. The idea of her “taking a step back” from putting herself out there felt fundamentally wrong, as if the entire universe had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.
“I find that . . . a little challenging to believe, Lins,” I said, striving for tact. “Seeing as you’ve never taken a break from dating the entire time I’ve known you, which is your whole life. You were dating in the third grade—or must I remind you of Tommy Giacomo, of the Bieber hair and worm-collecting habit verging on life-ruining addiction?”
She laughed a little at that, still avoiding my eyes. “I did start pretty damn early, didn’t I? Guess it was past time for burnout.”