Page 5 of Thistle Thorns

Her praise lacked the effect the same words would’ve had on me four months ago. Back then, I would’ve beamed a smile, maybe even spun a twirl—in private, of course, I was twenty-five years old, not ten—but now I only nodded. In acknowledgement. Not acceptance.

“So what now?” Aunt Hyacinth prompted.

“We take Meadow back to Hawthorne Manor—”

“No!” I immediately protested, startling myself. To return home was what I’d always wanted, from the moment I’d fled beyond the gates four months ago, but now… Now it felt like I was giving up.

“—and return here with the supplies needed for the summoning,” Grandmother finished firmly. “If we can travel and acquire them all in time.”

“I’m sorry,” Mom said, “I just thought you said the word ‘if.’ What do you mean, if we can travel and gather the necessary supplies in time? There is no ‘if’ here! Only a time frame we will adhere to!”

Grandmother was growing impatient. “Each second you all defy me, question me, is a second we’re not working towards retrieving Marten. The spells are intricate and take time. There are ingredients to gather and potions to make and—”

“Such as?” I asked, eager to get a start on retrieving my brother. “Give me a list and we can see what’s already available here.”

My grandmother snorted and made a show of looking around. “I doubt Redbud has any loblolly pine.”

I bristled at the implied disrespect to this little town, and so did Flora, for Daphne had to release one hand from Shari to keep the garden gnome from charging. Redbud hadn’t just become a haven to me, but a home away a from home. And it had enabled me to break the curse on the grimoire, which was no small feat.

“It doesn’t,” I answered crisply.

“Well,” Grandmother began, as if her perceived notions about Redbud had just been verified.

“But it does have plenty of jelly fungus and blackberry lily rhizomes, which when boiled in a mixture of honey and witch hazel tincture for an hour results in a perfectly suitable substitute for loblolly resin, which is what you’re really after, right?”

“It really does,” Aunt Peony agreed, nodding before Grandmother sent her a scathing look.

“Next?” I asked, with more than a little challenge in my voice.

Her ivy-green eyes became slits. “Mouse stair ferns.”

“Oh, the Cedar Haven forest has got plenty of those. What else?”

“A mirror.”

“Got a nice big one in my attic.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is it framed in equal parts cherrywood, rowan, ash, and oak?”

“No, but I know a guy who sells wood and is a fantastic carpenter.”

She pursed her lips. “Turkey tail mushrooms, marsh marigolds, and redstem dogwood berries.”

“Already in stock on my shelves.” While I tried to keep the smug triumph from my voice, I didn’t think I succeeded very well. “I didn’t spend the last four months just twiddling my thumbs and consorting with shifters, you know.”

“Fine.” Grandmother flung her hands back down to her sides. “I suppose that cuts out the travel time, so we might just make it by the skin of our teeth. You, however, are still going home.”

Arthur’s fingers tensed in the small of my back, and Sawyer hissed, both of them clearly hating the idea.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I thrust a finger in the direction of the farmhouse. “That’s my hearth in that house, not yours. It will not provide the same spell efficacy and protection to you, to us, if I am not the one sustaining it. And the coven is weak.”

Grandmother’s eyes blazed that I’d revealed that weakness aloud, especially within the hearing distances of two shifters, two familiars, and three women with no ties to the Hawthorne family.

“Marten was taken because of me,” I said, tightening my hand over Arcadis’s ring and drawing it to my chest. Away from her. “I’m going to help get him back, not sit behind the wards of the manor like a princess in a tower. I am the knight in this story, make no mistake about that.”

Grandmother took a sharp step forward, and Arthur immediately rolled his weight to the balls of his feet in expectation of another fight. By my ankles, Sawyer bristled with a low yowl. Thistle thorns, I was so tired of the fighting. I just wanted my brother and my life back. Whatever remained of it after all this dust settled, anyway.

“I love my grandson,” she said in a low voice so the other witches couldn’t hear, “but he is not Violet’s heir and will never be as important as you. You will stay here, under the protection of your hearth, and we will get him back. And when we do, we all will be returning to Hawthorne Manor to discuss the next steps.”

---