Page 63 of Thistle Thorns

“Jackpot!” Flora exclaimed softly, seizing her wand and wiping the gunk off it. “Now you and I stand a better chance against him, cider witch.”

“I can barely even stand,” I grunted, trying to do just that. The great oak tree of my magic flared, spurring me upward with what little healing magic it had amassed. By the Green Mother, I shouldn’t have revived so fast even with Flora’s help.

Movement caught my eye, but the Stag Man was still locked against my grandmother. “Daphne,” I exclaimed softly as the older woman, doubled over with one arm hugging her chest, hurried over.

“Got him,” she told me, unfolding her arm. “Druid blood for the win!”

The not-Sawyer squirmed in her arms, trying to free himself of her smothering. He wasn’t feral, but he definitely wasn’t friendly.

“He was over by Arthur,” she informed, fighting to keep hold of him when I didn’t take him. I couldn’t bear to touch him and have my beloved cat claw me to ribbons because he didn’t recognize me. “Meadow, that man’s in a bad way.”

“I know,” I growled. “Stay out of the way,” I warned them, channeling every ounce of strength and magic I’d regained into my legs to march for Ossian.

The Stag Man either sensed my approach or was finished molesting my grandmother, and he broke the kiss just in time to catch my fist swinging for his head. Moaning, half from pleasure and half from exhaustion, Grandmother slumped to the ground with the rest of our sluagh-chilled family.

“Don’t be jealous, love,” Ossian said with a beguiling half-grin. “I was just using her for a boost. Didn’t want to waste your magic on something paltry.”

With that, he snapped his fingers, and the world disappeared with a flash of copper light.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

We reappeared in the backyard of the farmhouse. All of us—Ossian, the coven, the Crafting Circle ladies, me, and Arthur. The hearth went wild, flinging warning pulses and illuminating the windows with red light. A moment later, there was the sound of stampeding feet, and the hobs charged out of the house armed with frying pans and wooden spoons and all of the fireplace tools including the miniature broom used for sweeping up the ashes.

“Cernunnos’s Horns,” Roland blurted at the sight of the man with the antlers protruding from his head. “Lass, you’ve called the old gods down upon us!”

Ossian felt along the antler’s length and released a frustrated huff, sweeping his hand to glamour them from sight once more, one of the gemstones around his neck twinkling brightly with the expenditure of magic. Then he sent my unconscious grandmother a sour look. “Clearly all bluster and blow if your magic couldn’t even complete a transportation spell unassisted.”

“Cernunnos,” Dale whispered in awe.

The Stag Man turned back to the posse clustered at the bottom of the porch steps, bracing his hands on his hips. “Ah, hobs. Such simple creatures. And I haven’t been called Cernunnos in centuries. Now get these witches inside while your mistress and I have a chat.”

At the snap of his fingers, copper magic seized the hobs, and they surged forward to collect the unconscious witches.

“Gah!” Ricky shouted. “My legs are moving by themselves!”

“Lass,” Joe cried even as he was compelled to assist his kin in dragging my family up the porch steps and into the farmhouse. “What’s going on?”

Ignoring their pleas, I became as shrewd as my grandmother. The hobs weren’t being hurt, and my family was being cared for, after a fashion. Sawyer was lost to me, but there was one man who I still had to fight for.

“Ossian,” I bit out. “What about Arthur?”

I wanted nothing more than to go to my bear, to hold him, to let him know I was there, but I couldn’t move away from the Stag Man. My magic was returning, and I needed to be within striking distance in case there was a loophole in our bargain he decided to exploit.

“Nearly there, love,” he said, touching a rough-cut gemstone on his necklace.

Golden-green magic—my magic—sprang from where it had been stored and into his hands. It turned copper-colored on contact, and he spread his hands wide like he was welcoming the night sky into his embrace.

“I’m not your love!”

“Perhaps not now, but you will be,” he replied confidently. “They always are.”

Then he turned back to his task, magic dancing at his fingertips like twinkling copper sparks. Far overhead, a bead of light burst into being, a bright as a star. That coppery light spread in every direction, and I knew from the countless glittering green shells my grandmother had erected over the past few days how to recognize when a shield was being erected. This one was a dome, spreading over the whole of Redbud.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I’m upholding my end of our bargain, Meadow, but on my terms,” he explained as his magic danced at his fingertips and expanded the dome. “And my terms dictate you have no distractions. No other desire than pleasing me.

“My court is wherever I am, and my magic is most effective within its walls. I’ll need that efficacy to rid you of those distractions in order to unleash your true potential. No family. No lovers. No ties other than those I allow. You were the one who put us on a deadline, after all.”

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