Back in a Spell (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #3)(82)
As soon as the stone hit the lake’s surface, the whole of the water turned a scintillating, blazing white, dancing with pearly effervescence, little bubbles of silver rising to the top. The air seemed to warm around us, dispelling some of the wintry frost. And I could hear the goddess in my mind again, though I didn’t think she’d spoken aloud—at any rate, none of the others seemed to register the enormity of her belling voice, caught up instead with the blinding dazzle of the lake.
O MY NINA
MY VERY CLEVER NINA
I KNEW THAT YOU WOULD FIND YOUR WAY TO UNDERSTANDING
AND WHAT OF YOUR NEW LOVE . . . WOULD YOU BOTH KEEP IT, OR RETURN THAT, TOO?
I turned to Morty, tears shimmering hot in my eyes.
“She wants to know . . .” I began, my throat tightening, “if we want to keep the bond, or break it. If we break it, I don’t think you’ll get to keep the magic; that isn’t how that works. But if we keep it . . .”
“Then I stay a witch, but we’re bound forever,” he said gently, his delicate face luminous in the flood of light shining from the lake. “No matter what. Even if we decide we aren’t for each other, right?”
“Yes. It would make conscious uncoupling kind of tricky, at the very least. And you and I . . . you know how different we are. Who knows if we’re going to want the same kind of life?”
He huffed a laugh, brought my gloved knuckles to his lips for a grazing kiss. “I mean, does anyone ever know that for sure, when it comes to another person? What I do know is, I’m willing to take that risk if you are. So, what do you think?”
“I think that yes,” I whispered fiercely, leaning in to press my forehead against his. “I think that out of all of this, you were the best gift by far. And I think we see where it takes us.”
The light in the lake flickered once, twice, and then three times, as if in acknowledgment. Then it winked out, leaving us all engulfed in the chill mountaintop night.
26
A New Era for Us All
After everything, it seemed profoundly strange that the Wheel of the Year continued to turn as it always did—leading inexorably to Yule, the return of the light after winter’s deepest darkness. But that was the point, and the comfort of it, too; no matter the weight of your pain or loss, the world only ever knew how to move on.
And so did you, even if you’d lost something like a goddess ember, even if you were only just a witch again.
One who possibly no longer even had a family, depending on how things shook out. In the week since I’d relinquished my power, nothing had happened yet with Lyonesse and Igraine; Gareth and I were still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Emmy hadn’t made any move to impose sanctions on us, either, for the way we’d kept things from her—but that, I suspected, was just a matter of time, too.
And what better time to lay down the law than when we all gathered for the Winter Solstice ball.
This year, the Thorns were taking their turn to host at Honeycake Orchards. I’d always loved a good Thorn Yule; rather than hosting inside Honeycake Cottage, their demesne proper, they liked to erect what was functionally a greenhouse made of magic. A vast weatherproofing spell yielded a transparent dome to keep out the cold and snow, trellised by a network of living plants shoring up the casting. This kind of elemental working fell more squarely within my family’s wheelhouse than the Thorns’ affinity for green magic—so they tweaked it, relied on their facility with flora to boost the elemental spell itself.
This year, the dome looked slightly different than I remembered from previous Yules. I could see fine skeins of wispy darkness lacing through the green, as though ectoplasm had also been braided through the casting for even more stability. A nod, most likely, to the unexpected new alliance between the Thorn and Avramov families—Isidora Avramov and Rowan Thorn, partnered since last Beltane, had probably cast this dome between the two of them.
The end result was like standing under a smoky glass bell full of plants; curling ivy and flowers creeping up an invisible curvature, upon which also hung mistletoe, holly, and pine-needle wreaths with clusters of candles suspended in their centers. The warm air smelled like sharp pine, mulled wine, and cinnamon, along with a hint of woodsmoke even though there wasn’t any fire beneath the dome. Above, you could see the unabashed glitter of Thistle Grove’s diamond stars embedded in the night, the feathering drift of snowflakes that spiraled all around the dome. Some of the topmost plants were even enchanted to glow like chandeliers, shedding a natural luster on the witches gathered below.
And the moon was close to full, bright and enormous as a lantern, so radiant we could have celebrated by its light alone.
“Okay, well, maybe you are Bo,” Jessa had said breathlessly when I’d led her into the dome with my arm looped through hers, Morty on my other side, Jessa’s eyes wide and enthralled as she took everything in. “Because this is, absolutely, some other fairy shit.”
“Witch shit, Kenz,” I’d corrected gleefully, giving her a squeeze. “Though I will say I feel like you’re bringing much more of that spicy succubus energy than I am tonight.”
She’d shimmied her shoulders, bare above the black fur trim of her extremely clingy and low-cut black-and-silver cocktail gown, with an enviable lacy train included. “When one gets invited to their first witch party, one does not hold back, you know?”