Page 48 of The Witch's Rite
“Now what?” Rowan asks.
Casting my gaze about the pumpkin patch, I let out a small sigh. “Now... we wait.”
The summer air is warm and vibrating with the songs of insects as we sit in the pumpkin patch, waiting for the gilded thornbugs to arrive. It doesn’t take them long, and they descend upon the pumpkin patch in a shimmer of iridescent wings. They’re immediately drawn to the glistening vine whisper elixir, with its sweet clover honey and gentle scent of lavender.
Alden and Rowan are seated on either side of me, and I reach out to take their hands in mine. Alden’s fingers are strong and warm, Rowan’s lean and soft. I hold my breath as the beautiful insects with their jewel-like bodies taste the elixir for the first time. If I made it correctly, they should follow it, drawn by the glittering of the dewdrops and the sweetness of the honey.
“Look,” Rowan says, pointing with his free hand. “I think it’s working.”
I follow his finger with my gaze and find a trail of thornbugs following the path of the elixir. They climb right into the box I prepared for them, where more sweet honey and lavender awaits them.
Slowly, the remaining thornbugs make their way to the little wooden box, and I swear I don’t take a single full breath until the last of the sparkling insects has disappeared into the container.
“Hurry,” I say, “close the top!”
Rowan abandons his spot beside me to move quietly toward the box. As he leans down to close the lid, the shimmering iridescent light from the thornbugs dances across his face, illuminating his small smile.
I wonder what our child will look like. They’ll have green eyes, surely, but what of their hair? Will it be green like the forest or red like a burning sunset? Will they have his height? My freckles? The curiosity sends a tingle of excitement through me.
With the lid of the box closed firmly, Rowan picks it up. “Ready for their new home,” he says.
We venture deep into the moonlit woods behind Brookside, far enough away that I don’t fear the thornbugs findingmygardeninstead. When I open the lid on the box, they drift out like fireflies, their shimmering wings creating a gentle hum.
One thornbug crawls out of the box and onto my finger, its mouth tickling my skin, making me giggle.
“I hope you like it here,” I whisper to it. Then I hold my finger aloft, and it takes to the air to follow its kin, its iridescence fading as it floats into the shadows of the forest.
Closing the now-empty box, I turn to face Alden and Rowan. Alden has his broad arms crossed, and Rowan is leaning back against a tree, hands in his pockets.
“Well,” I say, hugging the box to my chest, “I think we did it. We saved the pumpkin patch.”
I turn away from them and cast my gaze up to the summer moon. Quietly, under my breath, I whisper, “Thank you, Auntie.”
And it might be my imagination, but as I close my eyes and take a breath, I swear I smell her, that delicate aroma of sweet orange and coriander that I’ve never smelled anywhere else. It reminds me of being wrapped in her arms, of tucking myself into her shawl as I sat in her lap while she read to me before the fire. A powerful sadness washes over me, and a single tear slips from my eye.
Before Rowan or Alden can see, I wipe it away, then put on a smile as I turn to face them. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 29
Aurora
THE DAY IS HOT WITH a touch of humidity, and as I work in the garden, I cast my gaze to the sky. No storm clouds are visible just yet, but I can feel a storm rolling in, can smell it in the air.
My cool-season crops are ripe and ready for harvest: soft green spinach, crunchy carrots, even some potatoes. I’m just brushing soil from a bunch of carrots when I spot a flash of yellow in a nearby raised bed. Lifting my gaze, I find a cluster of early starberries weighing down their branch. Dropping my bunch of carrots into my harvesting basket, I move to the other raised bed and crouch in the soil. Sure enough, when I pluck a starberry from the plant and toss it into my mouth, it explodes on my tongue with juicy sweetness.
Finally, they’re ready.
“Harrison!” I call out, my voice carrying across the garden.
It takes a moment, but he appears on the other side of the garden fence, looking at me through the deep grass.
“What is it?” he asks.
In response, I hold up a ripe starberry.
And he leaps over the fence in one graceful bound.
“They’re ready?” he asks, coming to stand beside me.
