Page 42 of The Witch's Spell
“I wouldn’t say my magic is the opposite, really, but it takes more intention to work with, to control.” I push to my feet to begin pacing the rug in front of the hearth. Thorne’s silver eyes track me as I walk to and fro, my thick socks whispering with every step. “As an earth witch, my magic is deeplytied to plants, the seasons, the natural flow of energy. It’s the opposite of untamed; it’s gentle, subtle.” I move my hands as I speak, trying to work through this one idea at a time. “There’s a rhythm and pattern to it.” Then I stop and turn to face him. “Perhaps I could use my magic to somehow... balance it out. Restore stability to the portal.”
Thorne is nodding, forehead furrowed again. “How? What would such a thing even look like?”
Chewing my lip, I cross one arm atop my belly and reach up with the other hand to grasp the necklace my mother gave me when she was here for Samhain. My fingers find the crystal quartz and black tourmaline, and an idea occurs to me.
“Maybe I could use one of my grounding rituals. I could cast a circle, use crystals for balance and protection. Perhaps I can counteract the chaotic energy that came through with the storm, soothe it just enough for you to attempt to open the portal again.”
“That could work. It’s worth a shot.”
“Then . . . we have a plan?” I ask.
Thorne’s smile is soft in the waning firelight. Overhead, the sunlight has shifted, and it slants through the windows in such a way as to darken the corners of the library, making it feel like you might get lost should you take a wrong turn down one of the aisles. But it’s comforting, in a way, like being embraced by warm arms in the dark.
Welma emerges suddenly from one of the back rooms, and I jump at her appearance.
“Sorry, dear,” she says, removing her spectacles from her nose. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Any luck with the book?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “I’d like to take it home, read it all the way through.”
“Of course, of course. Bring it over.”
I fetch the book and carry it to the desk, where Welma fills out the slip of parchment tucked inside the front of the book.
“No rush,” she says. “This isn’t exactly one of our popular titles.” Her smile is small and friendly. Then her eyes flash open. “Oh, gooseberries. I was supposed to meet Liora for tea ten minutes ago.” Hurriedly, she flutters around the desk and toward the front door, where our cloaks are all hanging on hooks in the entryway. “I’ll be back in a half hour or so. I’d be happy to pull more books for you when I get back.”
“Oh, all right.”
“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Blackveil,” Welma says as she clasps her cloak about her neck.
“You as well, miss,” he says in return.
Her cheeks flare pink again, and she waves him off with a chuckle. Then the door opens and closes, letting in a cool draft that makes the flames whip about in the hearth. As soon as the door clicks behind her, the two of us are left in relative silence.
And I feel Welma’s absenceacutely, the fact that Thorne and I are in the empty library all alone, with dark corners and a crackling fire and—
“Do you want to look for more material?” Thorne asks.
When I turn, I find him standing beside the armchair, leaning on his cane, his free hand tucked into the front pocket of his trousers. He’s wearing a vest atop his cotton tunic, with gleaming buttons and a slim fit that accentuateshis shoulders. It’s not so unlike the fine clothing Rowan wore when my family visited for Samhain. Maybe it’s of fairy make.
“Or perhaps one of those love stories you enjoy so much?” His lips pull up on one side.
The idea of taking a few books back home and getting lost in a fictional world for a while sounds lovely—even if I know the most responsible thing to do would be focusing on getting the fairy portal functioning again.
“I don’t know,” I start to say, but Thorne turns away, already heading for the shelves, his cane thumping pleasantly on the lovingly worn floorboards as he goes.
“Are they here?” he calls from an aisle of books, his melodic voice weaving through the hundreds of books organized so meticulously on each shelf.
Finally stepping away from the desk, I placeSecrets of Fairylandnext to my teacup on the table beside the armchair, then go in search of Thorne. I find him in a section on animals and pet care, his head tipped curiously to one side. It makes me giggle, and his eyes flash to mine.
“What?”
“They’re over here.” I wave for him to follow, and he trails behind me as I find the section I’m looking for.
There are a number of books still on the shelf from when I was younger, a teenager first discovering love and the feel of a boy’s innocent touch. But it seems Welma has added a number of new titles to the library’s collection since last I was here. One catches my attention. It has a light purple cloth cover, and the title stamped upon the spine saysUnder Lavender Skies.It’s on the top shelf.
I press onto my toes, reaching for the novel. But the shelves are a bit tall even for me, and my fingers just barely graze the spine.
Then Thorne is behind me, his chest brushing my back, his hand passing over the top of mine to grasp the book and pull it smoothly from the shelf.
