Page 38 of The Witch's Rite
“What the . . . ?”
Blood beads on his fingertip, bright in the moonlight.
“They’re extremely defensive,” Aurora explains. “You can’t simply remove them—they’ll fight back to defend themselves and their territory.”
There’s a thornbug crawling along a vine close to my leg, and I shift subtly away from it.
“How do we get rid of them, then?” I ask.
Aurora is chewing her lip again. “I’m not sure. But Auntie was gifted with all things earth magic. Surely there’s something in one of her spellbooks about thornbugs.”
The thornbug nearest me is already nibbling away at the pumpkin vine, making quick work of its destruction.
“Well,” I say, not taking my eyes off it, “we’d better make haste if we want any chance of saving this patch. At this rate, there won’t be any pumpkins left.”
Aurora nods once, expression grim. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 23
Alden
WHEN AURORA FINALLY STUMBLES SLEEPILY into the kitchen the following morning, eyes puffy from staying up late reading through her auntie’s spellbooks, I’m kneeling on the floor with my saw impaling the back door.
Rowan and I helped her peruse some of the old tomes when we got back to the cottage last night, but we were both exhausted from the day; Rowan passed out on the couch, and I had to drag myself to bed before my body refused to move another inch. That left Aurora sitting in front of the fire with Harrison, draped in a blanket, books spread out all around her.
Now she tips her head at me, green hair all messy and tangled from sleep, and blinks. “Alden,” she says uncertainly, “why are you sawing a hole into my door?”
Before I can answer, Harrison comes trotting into the kitchen and leaps up onto the table. Aurora’s gaze flicks to him as he meows, and her eyebrows rise as she shifts her eyes back to me.
“You’re building him a cat door?”
I flash Harrison a look, and he looks back at me. So far, he’s kept mytruesecret from Aurora, the one I didn’t want to reveal in front of Rowan last night: that I’m madly in love with her. I’m liking this cat more and more every day.
“This way he can come and go as he pleases,” I explain, continuing to saw my way through the door. “You won’t have to open and close the window for him anymore, and I’ll build a cover for it so it won’t let the cold in over the winter.”
Aurora’s eyes turn a bit glassy. Next thing I know, she plops onto the floor beside me and wraps her arms around my neck. I let out a breath, caught off guard by her sudden weight, and loop my free arm around her.
“Thank you,” she whispers into my ear. Then she presses a kiss to my cheek and pulls back to rest her forehead against mine. “You do so much for us. I hope you know how much we appreciate it.”
My lips curl up on one side. “A fresh loaf of sourdough would go a long way in reminding me,” I say, and as if on cue, my stomach grumbles.
Aurora stands up with a giggle. “Not this morning—we’ve got a vine whisper elixir to make.”
“So, you found what you were looking for?” I ask, pushing up off the floor and setting my tools aside. I’ve still got the coop to finish as well—without Rowan’s help, I didn’t make as much progress yesterday as I expected—so now I have two unfinished projects around here. I can’t stand unfinished projects. They have a tendency to build up like mismatched socks in a drawer.
Yawning, Aurora pulls the kettle off the hook above the coals. “Late last night, I finally found Auntie’s entry on gilded thornbugs. There are a few ingredients I’ll need to gather for the elixir, but once it’s done, it should be easy enough to send them away from the pumpkin patch.”
With a sigh of relief, I sag into a kitchen chair. “That’s great news. It wouldn’t feel like Faunwood without a pumpkin patch.”
Aurora pours the steaming water into two cups, then brings one over and sets it on the table in front of me. The smell of licorice and mint sends calm washing over me.
“Drink up,” she says, sipping her hot tea and reaching out to draw a hand over Harrison’s fluffy white head. “We’re going foraging.”
“WHAT ARE THESE FOR?” I ask. I’m kneeling in a wet patch of summer grass, watching closely as Aurora carefully—verycarefully—guides dewdrops into a clear glass vial.
“Morning dewdrops shimmer, see?” She holds the vial up, and the liquid inside shines brilliantly in the light slipping through the trees. “These will give the elixir a shimmering quality. It’ll help entice the gilded thornbugs away from the pumpkin patch. You saw how beautiful they are—they’re drawn to sparkly things.” She gives me a little smile, then turns back to what she’s doing.
We already harvested fresh sprigs of lavender from the bushes growing near the cottage, and they give off a delicious scent as they sit in the wicker basket beside me. Birdsong drifts through the trees overhead, and I can just barely hear the river burbling somewhere in the distance. It’s a perfect summer morning—well, except for the fact that Aurora didn’t make any sourdough. My stomach grumbles again in protest.
