Page 77 of A Spell for Midwinter's Heart
Liliana looked away from Rowan to Cal and then to the pastor and through the crowd, and finally back at Dennis. She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Sarah would have hated everything about this.”
At that, Dennis’s face went beet red. “Don’t youdarebring her up.”
“You know I’m right.”
With a pivot, Dennis turned away, tossing his last words over his shoulder. “December thirty-first. Be there, or hear about what happens after.”
Rowan’s mother stormed away as well, heading in the opposite direction, and their clans followed. Only Gavin and Rowan lingered, facing the divide between their parents.
At that moment, it seemed impossibly wide.
28
December 26
The Sixth Day of Yule
A dark cloud settled over Liliana after the confrontation with Dennis, and it followed her into the next day. Rowan woke up to find the usually bustling kitchen still, her mother at the window, face wan in the cool morning light.
Liliana Midwinter had spent her life casting spells for the benefit of others, and it had always seemed like the rule of three brought that back to her. She was never sick, and she’d always looked ten years younger, with most people assuming Drew was older. But in the stark light, she looked exhausted—whittled thin by her endless endeavors.
She needed help, and she had never been taught how to ask for it.
Slipping into her coat, Rowan went outside to gather up ingredients for breakfast.
First stop was the chicken coop, where noisy hens huddled inside heavy batting. She didn’t expect to recognize anyone, but from the back came a loud “Cluuuck.”
A greeting? A dismissal? It was impossible to say with OurLady Ambrosia. The massive, speckled old hen strutted toward the front of the coop, the spurs of her legs grown long and thick. She eyed Rowan and squawked with further judgments.
“Well, I don’t need Kel to translate that for me,” murmured Rowan.
Her next stop was the herb garden, where she peeked under the frost blanket to trim some sage. Then into the greenhouse, where she snipped chives. When she returned to the kitchen, her mother still sat at the window, fingers worrying a frayed curtain edge.
“Does this thing still have buttons?” asked Rowan as she dropped pans onto the stove.
Her mother turned in time to see Rowan wave a hand, flames erupting beneath the steel grates. The sight of her daughter doing hearth magic brought a smile through Liliana’s gloom. She tried to get up and enter the kitchen, but Rowan shooed her off. She looked startled but settled on a stool at the counter’s edge as Rowan set about chopping the sage, trying to channel Gavin’s patience.
“Can I get you some tea?” asked Rowan, filling the kettle and settling it opposite the pan.
“Hmm. How about lavender mint?”
Rowan turned to stare at the expansive stretch of unlabeled jars overhead. “You’re going to have to tell me which one that is.”
Her mother pointed to one in the topmost corner, well beyond Rowan’s reach. There was no step stool, and so Rowan reached out for magic to float it down. It hopped from the shelf with a little shimmy and spun through the air as if in a downdraft, landing with a satisfying clatter on the counter.
Liliana’s eyes shone. “I guess you’ve been doing more than just our circle magic?”
“I’ve been…dabbling,” Rowan said, shifting her attention to cracking eggs and sprinkling sage.
“You know,” ventured her mother, “I haven’t had a chance to say thank you.”
“Oh, it’s okay, you don’t have to…”
“No, I do.” Liliana reached across to place a hand on her arm. “I know how hard it was…So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Thanks for helping with the festival too. We appreciate it.”
