Page 96 of A Spell for Midwinter's Heart
“Now listen to me, young lady,” said Dennis, cutting her off.
“No,you listen!” The words exploded from her mouth, and magic came with them. Everyone in the room stared straight at her, rapt and utterly silent. Even Gavin’s eyes locked onto her face with an unnatural intensity.
A Spell to Draw Attentionhad become instinct.
She took a deep breath, eyes scanning the room. They could not speak, could not move, until she had said her piece. They were aware of the hold she had on them. Hayleigh’s eyes darted from side to side, as if looking for a way out.
Gavin knew too. This would not be like the Ferris wheel, nor the sign, nor any of the other times they’d sidestepped the truth of who she was and what she was capable of.
She needed to be sure it was worth the price.
Descending the stairs, she said, “Our proposal is good, Mr. McCreery. So good that she…” Her eyes flicked to Hayleigh. “Stole it. There’s more where that came from. If you’d only take a few minutes to hear us out, you’d realize that.” She paused in front of the old man, looking him in the eyes. “But you aren’t listening—because you don’t want to listen. Not even to your own son, who cares more about you than—”
Her voice hitched with a sharp upswell of emotion. She met Gavin’s eyes briefly before looking back at Dennis. “Anyone. You’re only thinking about you right now. And how all that money is going to feel. At least, that’s whatIthink.”
Rowan made for the door, pausing before leaving. “If you really care about this town, if you are actually trying to do what’s best for Elk Ridge, go on—prove me wrong. Listen, really listen, andthenmake a choice.”
She opened the door and stepped into the night, releasing the spell once she was out. As the door shut, she was already sprinting toward her father’s truck, stumbling over the snowy, uneven terrain in her borrowed, impractical shoes.
As magic and adrenaline abandoned her, she was left shaking, nauseated, forced to face what she’d pushed back to do what needed to be done.
Forgotten women. Unremembered living rooms. And worst of all was the powerful echo of her own words.
He won’t stand up to him. Not even for this. Not even for us.
And there was that creeping sense of déjà vu again. This was not the first time she had realized this about Gavin; she was sure of it.
Awareness returned to her body. She had overshot her father’s truck and stood in the field in front of the house. Déjà vu deepened as she remembered an altar in the snow below. An altar covered in spell components, and a grimoire opened to a forbidden page.
What was on that page?
The thing in her chest wrapped and wound, tightening. She was going to stop breathing any moment—she was sure of it. She’d forgotten how to breathe. She doubled over, nearly collapsing into the snow as she struggled to keep her chest going in a steady rhythm of rise and fall.
She needed to know. She couldn’t let the void inside overtake her anymore.
Then arms were there—looping around her, pulling her in close. “Rowan.” Gavin’s voice was soft in her ear. “Rowan, are you okay?”
She shook her head, gasping with the effort to take a full breath. “I—I can’t breathe.”
He placed his palm to her stomach and said, “Focus on pressing against this every time you breathe in. One after another. One after another.” He held her close and led her from the field toward the truck, repeating gently and firmly with every step.
“One after another. One after another. Until it passes.”
36
The hushed voices wound their way up the stairs and through her bedroom door, which had been left slightly ajar. The panic attack had subsided, but she was stuck in the nervous system hangover that had followed, curled up on her bed with her onetime comfort object, a one-eyed stuffed raccoon named Hooch, tucked under her arm.
She could no longer ignore the signs. When they had gotten home, Joe Midwinter had been chasing a bird around the living room with a broom—another ill omen. It finally bolted through the door as she walked in, slamming into her chest and falling to the ground. She’d stared at it, mouth agape and horrified, as her mother ushered her upstairs.
Her father appeared in her bedroom door with a hot cup of tea. “Hot cup, look out,” he said, pretending to juggle it before settling it on her bedside table.
She managed a weak smile. “Thanks. Can you send Mom up?”
His brows knit. “Not Gavin? He’s downstairs. Worried sick.”
She closed her eyes and bit her lip. “In a minute, but Mom first.”
Liliana appeared in the doorway moments later. She drifted over to settle at Rowan’s side, rubbing her daughter’s temples like she had when Rowan was sick as a kid.
