Page 111 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“That bad, huh?” I held onto the chaise and pulled myself to my feet. Fennel smacked a stack of clothes—the ones I’d left outside by Red—with his tail. I stepped over Ronan and threw on my jeans and top.

The wolf sat up. He favored the hip a little, but I had the idea it didn’t hurt him. He probably wasn’t used to having persistent wounds on his body and was trying not to do anything to impede healing. A good sign that the human was close.

Of course that was the speculation of a tired, magic-depleted witch. Goddess, I needed a cup of coffee. Probably another dirt dive into Red’s roots, too.

Abuela would be scandalized to hear me refer to what we earth elementals did as “dirt diving.” Mom would’ve laughed.

A pang of homesickness hit me. I wanted to share mybreakthrough with the soil with them, assure them I wasn’t going anywhere, that I’d found my stopping place like Mom had.

I peered down at the wolf.

And my stopping person.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

“Where’s Cecil?”

Fennel took a step to the left, revealing Cecil behind him, sound asleep in his string-of-pearls plant, toes curled around the gilded edges of the mother-of-pearl planter.

“And the witches?”

He jerked his tail, indicating my house.

“Did Floyd show up again last night?”

“Meow.” No.

“Mason Hartman? Some of the pack?”

“Meow.Meow.” Yes. Yes.

“Did they try to get in?”

“Meow.” Yes.

“Evidently without success as Ronan is still here and so am I.” I zeroed in on the empty spot beside Cecil’s workstation. “Wait a sec. Where’s Cecil’s knapsack? It was hanging on that hook last night.”

Fennel’s mouth widened into a cartoonish Cheshire grin.

“What did you guys do?” I gave the gnome a closer look. Singed whitebeard. Sooty fingers.

Hell.

Ah well, as long as the wolves didn’t get in, I’d worry about the property damage later.

“I’m going in the house. Keep an eye on things out here, okay?”

Fennel nodded. He nudged the sleepy kitten into his bed and got in behind her. It was a snug but cozy arrangement.

“We’ll get Autry her own bed when everything settles down.” Because we were definitely keeping her. I didn’t see how Cecil would allow anything else—or Fennel, for that matter.

I left the garden room and veered left to check on Red’s sprout—which now was an astonishing foot tall—and ran my fingers through the soil, relishing the zing of magic in every organic molecule.

Thank you.

Ronan was alive and so was Bronwyn. Neither would’ve been without the magic here. I stood beneath the morning sun and said a little prayer of thanks to the goddesses, to the earth mother, and to the soil itself.

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