Page 54 of Thistle Thorns

Aunt Peony passed around the silver case with the last of the neon-blue grub gummies, and every Hawthorne took one to build back some of their strength. I didn’t think about it—I just chewed, swallowed, and grimaced. Then the six witches hastily formed a circle around the mirror and repeated what I’d come to call the Frame Fusion Spell to repair any cracks and strengthen any weaknesses. After the frame creaked and sparkled with the magic healing its stress points, they returned to that droning summoning incantation.

“Meadow,” Grandmother hissed, snapping her fingers to get my attention. She’d already plucked the censer from my hand and had opened it in front of the mirror.

I shook my head to clear it and summoned my magic as Aunt Eranthis, Grandmother, and I once again attempted to tack the red thread into the mirror.

“The tension is less,” Aunt Eranthis murmured, rubbing the portal’s echo thread between her thumb and forefinger like it was a rare piece of Angora yarn, “but still not ideal. We must hurry.”

As the two women began weaving again, I recited the spell that would fuse each connection in place.

Dimly, I became aware of Sawyer clawing free of my foraging bag and climbing up to my shoulder. Facing backwards, his tail looped around my throat for balance and support. He was literally watching my back, as well as the rest of the Hawthornes’ who were occupied with the summoning. His whiskers and ears twitched incessantly, his little claws digging into my shoulder as his balance shifted, but after all our time together, these little movements didn’t prove distracting. Overhead, Dart whizzed in a nervous circle.

Just as before, the shimmering opalescence of the mirror brightened and began to clear. I tried to keep my attention on the connections of the portal string I needed to fuse and fuel, but the magic being performed before me was beautiful. And not just the flashy lightshow that was occurring, but the intricacies of the weave, the way the ornate frame shimmered and hummed an almost musical note as it channeled the power of the summoning.

When the last connection was in place, Grandmother and Aunt Eranthis quickly took hold of my hands to form a smaller circle around the mirror, lending their voices to the incantation I recited. The six witches of the outer ring joined in on our spell, and when all nine voices blended as one to chant the words together, there was a burst of silver steam from the mirror as the last of its opalescence vanished.

Arcadis stared back at us, his crimson eyes furious. “I’ve been expecting you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

In the moment when the silver steam from the spell was still dissipating and obscuring the mirror, Grandmother shoved me out of the way. Away from Arcadis’s notice.

A small yowl escaped Sawyer as he clung on tight, and I hissed as his claws bit into my shoulder. Aunt Eranthis quickly collected me and held me still outside the mirror’s field of view, Grandmother smoothly stepping to the center to command Arcadis’s full attention. Around us, the rest of the family continued the summoning incantation in a low hum, keeping the connection strong and intact. Their eyelids were half-lowered, green magic glowing under their lashes.

Before the mirror, Grandmother spread her hands out to her sides in a gesture of weaponless goodwill. “Arcadis,” she began in a soothing voice.

“I want to talk to the thief,” he snapped. “It is her or no one, Iris Hawthorne. And I know the strain this kind of spell is having on your coven. Make. Haste.”

Swallowing to maintain her composure, Grandmother inclined her head slightly and stepped off to the side. A flick of her fingers told me to present myself before the mirror. Immediately.

Not wanting Sawyer to draw any unwanted attention, I peeled the cat from my shoulder and dropped him to the ground. The tomcat quickly hunched low in the dead grass and leaves, Dart swooping down to hide in his fur, and I stepped in front of the mirror.

Arcadis’s crimson eyes flared scarlet, illuminating his high cheekbones and the curve of his horns. He appeared just as I’d remembered him in Victorian aristocratic garb, the necktie tight enough to strangle him. “What is your name, thief?”

Off to the side, Grandmother gave me a warning shake of her head. I dimly remembered something from one of Mom’s lessons about never giving your name to the fae. Names held power, after all.

“What is your name, thief?” Arcadis roared.

The fae’s voice held power, just like Grandmother’s, just like my own, compelling my answer. “M-Misty!” I blurted out.

The demon’s upper lip curled in satisfaction. “Misty Hawthorne,” he purred. “You’re a troublesome little thing, aren’t you? First my hellhound, then my half-heart, and now you’ve stolen my ring. And all before you’ve become initiated. Someone like you bodes ill for the Unseelie Court.”

I didn’t say anything, not even knowing how to respond to that. But I did my best to keep from looking like a cornered rabbit. I was a Hawthorne, after all, and a force to be reckoned with if you believed the prophecy.

“Best tread carefully then,” I finally said. While I had to link my hands behind my back to keep him from noticing the trembling in my fingers, internally I was giving myself a high-five for sounding like such a boss.

“That was not a compliment,” he rejoined flatly.

I shrugged. “It’s open to interpretation.”

To my surprise, Arcadis flashed a feral smile. “Such sass. Perhaps you’re an Unseelie changeling instead. If that’s truly the case, a simple command from your elder will be sufficient enough: Give me my ring.”

“Give me my brother,” I countered immediately.

His expression soured, obviously having hoped for the easy way out. Then his face hardened, all the angles of his cheekbones and carved mouth and jawline sharpening enough to cut glass. “Marten Hawthorne is payment—”

“You have a choice, Arcadis,” I interrupted irritably, really leaning into that boss persona. “You can satisfy your fragile little ego and keep my brother as your personal punching bag, or you can get your ring back.”

“I get my ring back, I’m coming for you,” he snarled.

---