Page 143 of Summer of Sacrifice

His brown cheeks turned splotchy and he scratched at the back of his neck. “You think so?”

“Do I think you’re an idiot? Yes.” She smiled at him and he returned it. “Will you explore the possibility that you might be a mage?”

The smile slid off his face. She’d seen him snap at anyone who suggested such a thing, but with her, he only sighed. “Do you think I should?”

Guinevere blew whickered as Agatha shifted in her saddle to better look at Gaius. “I do. A man like you could do a lot of good with magic.”

“My mother didn’t have much, I likely don’t either.”

Agatha tucked a strand of hair back into her braid, thinking idly about what a nightmare it would be to untangle it. “You never know. In truth, a small amount of magic—nothing showy, nothing extravagant—but peaceful, small magic… That suits you. Suits the life you wish to lead.”

Gaius looked away, up into the treetops. Agatha had to look away, too, blinking against the burn in her eyes.

“Gaius,” she finally said tentatively. He turned to face her again, his face open. Safe. “Thank you for being my first friend in all this.”

His eyes went glossy, and he pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Dammit, Aggie. You can’t make men cry all the time, all right? If it’s not with sass or sword it’s with sentiment now? Gods, woman.”

They both laughed, riding on in companionable silence until Grimm’s voice in the bond broke through her thoughts.

Little witch.

Her eyes refocused on the path ahead. Where the trees had been dancing on the edge of Autumn’s death kiss, they were now giving way fully to crimson, russet, and ginger. She could feel the spirits of the witches deemed Hollow by the Church’s Hallowed. Feel as they swarmed around them, their hanging trees rustling. Their hope building.

Your Forest of Tombs, Grimm whispered.

Agatha exhaled, drawn out and slow, as they pulled their horses to a stop in front of her woodland cottage. The old sable house sat nestled in maple, oak, and sweet gum trees dripping with her Autumnal hues. Her lips curved as she lifted her face to the sky, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and spice. A chill breeze brushed her cheek, celebrating her abyss of vibrant gloom. Mabon flew at her next, chittering and pulling at her hair with his little teeth.

Agatha giggled, snuggling the bat close. “I missed you,” she murmured before he flew off, no doubt to find Grimm.

She dropped down from Guinevere’s back and immediately knelt before her pumpkins. Not a one had rotted. Peculiar.

Seleste came up behind her as she stood. “I’ve stopped by a few times,” she divulged as if it were a secret. “You always hated rotted pumpkins.” Sister Summer knelt to pick up a small one, holding it aloft and Agatha laughed.

“It has bits of gold sparkling in it.”

Seleste shrugged. “I don’t have Autumnal magic, so a bit of me snuck in there, I think.”

Agatha flung her arms around her Sister Summer’s neck, inhaling her scent of coconuts and sunflowers. “They’re perfect.”

“Blech!” Sorscha gagged, stomping over toward them. “There are so many godsdamned pumpkins.” She pointed a finger in Agatha’s face. “So help me, if you bake something pumpkin and make me eat it?—”

“Oh, hush,” Winnie censured, striding over. “Aren’t you helping to plan this wedding? Tell me you’re not making it what you want.”

Grimm approached, running a hand through his hair dishevelled by the wind, a bat nestled on his shoulder. “I’ve had to rein her in a few times.” He kissed Agatha on the cheek. “What’s the rule, Sorscha?”

Sister Spring stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes before saying, “No roses,” with as much disrespect as she could throw into the words.

“Good. And why?” Grimm prodded, sounding every bit a father, and Seleste grinned.

Throwing her head back, Sorscha put both hands on her hips like a petulant adolescent and heaved a sputtering sigh. “Aggie hates roses,” she recited.

“There. That’s not so hard, now is it?” Sorscha glared daggers at Grimm until he held up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t kill me before you see what’s in the barn.”

Sorscha’s face moved from exasperation to confusion to excitement in a dizzying span. With a screech so loud it sent all the birds into flight, she took off at a run for the barn.

“Asa, I presume?” Winnie asked, toying with one of Seleste’s braids.

“Indeed,” Grimm confirmed, scratching Mabon between the ears. “Laurent sent everyone on ahead, he’ll be back shortly. It’s just us tonight.”

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