Page 35 of The Witch's Spell
It’s still Thorne sitting beside me, but now there’s no illusion hiding his true face from me. And I know now why there are tales to keep us always wary of the fair folk, to keep us from losing our wits about them, from following them into circles of mushrooms or through doorways built into old oak trees.
But the tales don’t know the half of it.
They don’t know the wild beauty of a fairy’s face.
Thorne’s ears, previously hidden by his shaggy mop of white hair, now protrude elegantly from hair that is smooth and shiny as polished pearl, their tips delicately pointed. His eyes, already silver in his glamoured form, now looklike crystal quartz, with a depth and dimension to them that makes me feel as if I could venture inside their facets and become forever lost in a land of magic and moonlight. His cheekbones are higher and sharper, his jaw more defined. Even his neck appears slightly longer, sloped in a way that makes me wonder what it would feel like to press my frozen lips upon his skin.
And though I can’t be absolutely certain, I think he’s still glowing a bit, but I can only see it when I glance away, like it’s a trick of the light.
Or fairy magic.
“Yes,” he says.
And hisvoice. I thought it was lyrical when I first heard him speak that night of the storm, but now I know why bright young women get so easily swept away, seduced into Fairyland with but a word from a fairy’s smooth lips. If he were to tell me to grow wings and fly away, I think I may just do it.
“Of... Of the courts?” I ask, finding words difficult.
His lips pull up in the corners. I try not to stare, but his beauty is like a lighthouse in the inky dark, pulling my gaze again and again even when I try to look away, beckoning me to draw ever nearer.
“Yes,” he says again. “I’m of the Seelie Court.”
The Seelie Court.
This brings me back to earth. I remember Auntie telling me of the Seelie Court, of meeting one of the fair folk. Even when pressed, she wouldn’t say much, but now I’m wondering if this is where she met the fairy, if perhaps they crossedpaths right here in this old grove of oak trees, with its hill and flowers and the far-off burbling of the river when the weather is warm and the ice has melted away.
The pixie atop my head loses interest and flutters to Thorne’s shoulder instead. The tiny creature leans into his gently pointed ear and whispers something that to me sounds like a twinkling of tiny bells.
The smile that graces Thorne’s lips falls away. But even his frown is beautiful. It makes me want to do everything in my power to make it go away, to make the jovial light return to his eyes.
Without speaking, Thorne takes up his cane and pushes to his feet. The pixie uses a lock of his silver-white hair for balance, remaining perched upon his shoulder.
With purpose, Thorne crosses the snowy grove. I stand slowly, brushing the snowflakes from my cloak and dress, then watch as he circles the small clearing, a troubled look upon his face.
“What’s the matter?” I finally bring myself to ask. His sudden reveal left me feeling tongue-tied, but I’m getting my thoughts in order once more, regaining my balance about him.
The other fairy creatures move toward and around Thorne, seeming drawn to him. I believe they’re speaking to him, but I can’t make out a single word; all I hear are bells and breezes through trees and the pattering of rain drops on freshly unfurled flowers petals. It’s a language all their own, one my ears have never been graced with before.
Or perhaps I’ve just never listened closely enough.
Thorne kneels and reaches for one of the hedgehog creatures. This one fits in the palm of his hand, and it allows him to stroke a finger down its quills.
“It’s as I feared,” he says. When he glances up and catches my eye, I take a breath.
It will take time for me to no longer feel breathless in the presence of such inhuman beauty. The more I look at him, the moredifferenthe appears, like something truly not of my world.
“The portal has...” He casts his gaze about the trees, with their bare branches and gnarled trunks. “It has misfunctioned somehow. They tell me they’ve been stuck here since the storm arrived.” He gestures to the creatures crowded about his feet and lurking in the forest.
“Since the storm? Is that what caused this?”
“I don’t know.” Thorne narrows his eyes. “But I worry this is my fault, that I brought it with me when I crossed from our realm into yours. There was a storm that night, but I didn’t think...” He sighs. “Since then, we’ve all become stuck, trapped not only in your realm, but in this village. It seems none of us can return home.”
Home. In another realm.
“So, the fog...” I say, trying to piece together what he’s told me. “It’s from Fairyland?”
His lips pull up, his small smile dazzling even from this distance. “Fairyland.” The word makes him chuckle. “I’d forgotten those here call it that.”
One of my eyebrows quirks up. “Is that not its name? What do you call it?”
