Page 49 of The Witch's Spell
Something is happening—I’m sure of it.
All is silent but for the beautiful singing of the bowl.
A swelling of intense energy washes over me, stealing the breath from my lungs.
And then I hear a crystal crack, the sound so loud it jolts me from my focus.
Like ice fracturing atop a lake or a great heavy bough splintering from its trunk, the crystals crack under the pressure of the energy, their structure too weak to contain the wildness that is fairy magic.
With every splintered crystal, every echo through the clearing, I feel a greater and greater sense of despair.
This was supposed to work. It was supposed to stabilize the chaos energy and allow the portal to open once more. It was supposed to fix everything.
But it failed.Ifailed.
With one final shattering of crystal, the clearing falls silent, just like the tears that gather in my eyes and drip slowly down my cheeks to plink against the copper bowl still held in my palm.
Harrison and Thorne are there a moment later. Harrison crawls into my lap, pushing his head against my chin, prompting me to lower the bowl and mallet.
“It’s all right,” he purrs soothingly. “You’ll figure this out. I know you will.”
Thorne kneels in the snow in front of me. He takes my face in his mittened hands and tips it up so I’ll meet his eyes, even as mine still swim with tears.
“It didn’t work,” I say. “I’m sorry . . .”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” His voice is sturdy, firm. “This is my fault; I’m the one who brought the storm through and caused the portal to malfunction. The responsibility is mine. And I’m sorry I’ve sought to place it upon your shoulders.”
Another tear streaks down my cheek, and the cold wind makes it sting my skin. But Thorne’s mitten is there a moment later, dabbing away the moisture, his eyes soft and swimming with emotion.
“What now?” I whisper. Reluctantly, I pull my eyes from Thorne’s and look out over the fairy hollow. The gathered fairy creatures look upon me with sorrowful expressions. I’m sure they long to return home, to be able to travel freely, asthey typically do. “I don’t know what to do next. I really...” I sniffle. “I hoped this would work.”
I think of Rowan’s parents, who’ve agreed to visit us for Yule, trapped outside Faunwood, unable to make it through. I think of Faolan and Cathal and the bitter feelings swarming between them. I think of Niamh, unable to get home, and of all the villagers who’re depending on me.
Suddenly, my eyes fill with a fresh storm of tears, and I pull away from Thorne’s gentle touch to bury my face in my hands. “I wish Auntie were here,” I say between tears. “Sh-she’d know exactly what to do.”
Thorne sighs softly as he takes a seat beside me, and Harrison continues to purr, trying to comfort me as best he can.
“Is this the same aunt who showed you this place?” Thorne asks after giving me a moment to shed my tears.
This question makes me smile. “Yes. And hers are the spellbooks we went through in the cottage.” I sniffle again and scrub my mitten across my cheeks. They’re already starting to feel sensitive in the cold. “She left me Brookside when she passed away. If not for her, I’d probably still be living with my mother in Wysteria.”
“Wysteria,” Thorne says, rolling the word around in his mouth as if unsure of it. “This is the nearby human city?”
I snort out a laugh. “Well, mostly human, yes. But plenty of others live there as well. Witches and warlocks, shifters, vampires, probably even some orcs. The big cities attract all kinds of people.”
“And do you like it there? In the city?” He readjusts himself in the snow beside me, wincing slightly as he moves his hip and knee. With one knee propped up, he drapeshis arms around it, elegant even under the bulk of his long woolen cloak.
“No,” I say quickly, looking down at Harrison where he’s now lying in my lap. I scratch him behind the ear, and he tips his head back so I can scratch his chin. “I’ve never liked the city. I was always made for open spaces, like this.” My eyes trace the tree line, then rise to the pale blue sky. “I don’t do well in places where I can’t put my bare feet on the ground or smell the forest after a big rainstorm.” I breathe in, and the cold winter air helps calm me. Letting out the breath, I turn to Thorne. “What about you? What’s it like where you live? You’ve not spoken much about it.”
“There’s not so much to tell. We’ve cities and villages much like yours. I come from a place called Eldrasyl.”
“Eldrasyl.” Even the word tastes like magic on my tongue. “What is it like there? Is it where you grew up?”
“It’s...” Thorne thinks for a moment, then shakes his head and laughs. “It’s where I grew up, yes. At times it felt more like a prison than a home, but now that I’m older, I appreciate it for what it is.” He casts his gaze to the sky. “It’s larger than Faunwood, though perhaps not by much. And it always smells of flowers, no matter the season, like the air doesn’t care whether it’s winter or summer.” A smile captures his mouth as he continues to speak. “And at night, if you listen closely, you can hear the trees speaking to one another.”
“The trees speak?” I ask, eyes widening. “What do they say?”
Thorne shrugs one shoulder. “I can’t say. They speak a language far older than ours. Even our most ancient texts areyounger than the trees. They were the original inhabitants of our lands. We have reverence for them.”
