Page 77 of Big Little Spells

“Yes, the North farm. I’m assuming you know where it is. Either that or dinner at Wilde House.” She pauses for a beat, and her smile brightens. “With our parents.”

His expression freezes like he really is headed for the Russian steppes. “I would not dream of imposing on Desmond or Elspeth’s brittle hospitality.”

“The North farm it is, then,” Emerson says cheerfully, already moving away from us in the direction of the bookshop. “Seven. Don’t be late.”

Nicholas takes his time looking back at me. “I did not agree to dinner.”

“You’ve met Emerson, right?”

His mouth firms a little, but he doesn’t look as harsh as usual. Nothing about him is quite as harsh as usual, I see, now that I can stare openly without embarrassing my sister.

“After you,” he says, gesturing toward the stairs up the hill.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Do immortals take the stairs?”

His only response is to stalk off in their direction, clearly expecting me to follow.

I want to rebel because I always want to rebel. And because he’s all the things—arrogant, condescending, you name it—that my sister thinks he is. I want to stand up for the sisterhood, really I do...

But it turns out I want him more.

21

I FOLLOW, MAKING SURE to catch up and then match his stride, because I’m a Wilde. And Wilde women do not scurry along behind men. The witches in our history would haunt anyone who dared shame them so.

We take the first step together, then move up the hill side by side.

If we were different people in a different time, he might have offered an arm. A hand. But we aren’t, and I would refuse it if he did. So we walk with our arms only occasionally brushing, sending fire dancing through my veins every time. Just the two of us in a spring morning, with all the heat between us growing heavy, like that incoming thunderstorm.

I sneak a glance at him. His gaze is on the house, yet I felt his eyes on me.

“You chose a time she couldn’t do it on purpose,” I accuse him.

Nicholas shrugs negligently. “She doesn’t need the help.”

I try very hard not to bristle at that, but of course I can’t seem to stop myself. “Of course not.”

I can feel his stare as we walk—actually walk—up the stairs. How prosaic. Except it’s making me feel less jittery, less strung out on the simple fact of him. Right here. Next to me again. I’m tempted to imagine he decided to climb the stairs like humans do to dispel some of this clattery energy.

I expect him to say something cutting. But he surprises me. “She’s had more time than you, Rebekah,” he says quietly.

“Or less, depending on how you look at it.” Because I never lost my magic, or the knowledge of it.

He shakes his head. “If you’re determined to make life a competition, you will always lose. Trust me on this.”

I want to argue with him, but I recognize that he is speaking from some experience of his own. I know better than to argue with people about themselves when they’ve only had some twenty to sixty years so far. Not hundreds upon hundreds.

“What difficulties did you have with your class this morning?” he asks while I seethe beside him.

“Men endlessly monologuing bores me to tears, so there was that. Also, I’m not sure what ancient wars and sacrifices have to do with passing the Litha test? See also, boring.”

Nicholas is apparently in full Praeceptor mode as we make it to the top. “Litha is a war itself. The light versus the dark until light surrenders to the dark.”

“But there’s no sacrifice, because the dark surrenders to the light again,” I throw back at him, as if we’re talking about something other than a planet revolving around a sun. “The planet turns. The seasons change. It’s the way things are.”

He makes a noise. Not exactly agreement, but not argument either. “You will be asked to show that you understand the balance. The practicum on Wednesday will allow you to work on your spells, but I can assure you Felicia will do all in her power to ensure you cannot actually do anything of the sort.”

“Felicia is giving the practicum?”

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