Page 63 of The Witch's Spell
“So, your uncle’s the thief, then?”
Thorne just smiles.
Sighing, I put the jar back on the shelf, then turn fully to regard him. “Are you sure you’ll be okay walking into town? Especially in the cold?”
“Aurora Silvermoon,” Thorne says slowly, making goose bumps rise across my arms, “I will be perfectly fine walking into the village with you. Now stop worrying and drink your tea. It’s getting cold.”
WE WALK HALFWAY INTO FAUNWOOD with Rowan before he ups his pace and leaves us on the snowy trail alone. Our speed is slow, meandering. Thorne leans more heavily on his cane today than he typically does. Heneedsthis pain potion. I just hope he’ll be able to get us into Niamh’s apothecary—and I hope I’ll be able to brew something that’ll help ease his discomfort, though I alreadyexpect it won’t be near so potent as what the fairy apothecaries can make.
By the time we arrive in Faunwood, the snowflakes have started to come down more quickly, and the cold is nipping at my cheeks and nose. Thick gray smoke puffs from the chimneys throughout the village and coalesces into a cloud that lingers in the cold air.
“All right,” I say as I step up to the door to Niamh’s apothecary. “This is it.”
Just for good measure, I reach out and jostle the handle. Locked, as expected.
“Well, Mr. Blackveil.” With a sweep of my hand, I step aside, making room for Thorne on the shop stoop. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Since we’re in the village now, Thorne is wearing his glamour again, but his hair still looks shiny even in the dull gray light. He ducks his head to search through the satchel slung across his shoulders, then withdraws a lock pick. “Behold, my lady. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
I roll my eyes with a playful smile. It seems Thorne is starting to let his walls down a bit, at least around me. And he did speak and joke more at dinner last night despite how upset I still was at Faolan.
While Thorne gets to work jimmying Niamh’s lock, I look in the direction of Alden’s cabin. I can’t see it from here, but that doesn’t stop me from staring into the trees, wondering if Orla is helping Cathal with his wounds in the same way I helped Faolan.
I feel I have some apologies to give her. Yesterday, I was so angry at her for not trying to stop thebrothers, for not stepping between them. But when my anger simmered out, I realized how foolish—and dangerous—it would have been for her to put herself in the middle of their conflict. She could’ve gotten hurt as well, and then we’d have three injured shifters.
I’ll apologize as soon as I see her, I promise myself.
Within a moment, the lock clicks, and Thorne straightens up, smiling victoriously. Even with his glamour in place, his teeth still look sharp, like I might cut myself on them were I to run a thumb across one of his canines. He grips the door handle, and the door opens with a whisper.
“As I said.” With a bow, he gestures for me to step inside.
“Very impressive,” I say, drawing my cloak closer as I step into the apothecary. With Niamh being gone, the apothecary is dark and cold. I can see my breath in the dim light.
Immediately, I move to the hearth on the far wall and grab a few split logs from the firewood stand, then begin arranging them as Thorne closes the door to the shop. He drifts through the apothecary quietly, taking in all the bottles and vials and tinctures on display. Meanwhile, I get a small fire going. It’s slow to start, and I glance over my shoulder at Thorne, remembering what he did when we were at the library. “Can you help with this as well?”
He arches one brow. “I thought you’d never ask.”
With a sweep of his hand, the fire roars to life. I sit back with a surprised breath, then laugh and hold my hands out, feeling the blood creep back into my frozen fingertips.
“That’s amazing. What else can you do?”
“Oh, this and that.” Thorne reaches out to run a finger over a bottle, then retracts it and casts me a glance beforedisappearing behind a shelf full of bundles of dried herbs. “Fairies have elemental magic, mostly. Some are more attuned to one element than the others—not so unlike witches, I’d guess.”
Pushing to my feet, I go to find him, my boots treading quietly across the familiar wooden floor. He’s toward the back corner of the shop, tipping his head while regarding talismans hanging in one of the vine-covered windows.
“So, you have water magic as well?” I ask, easing up beside him. “And earth magic, like me?”
In response, he holds out a hand, and the frost on the windowpane in front of us starts to melt into tiny droplets. Thorne sends the water drops skating across the glass in delightful patterns, twisting and curling around one another, reminding me of glowbugs in the forest on a summer night. At the same time, the vines on the outside of the window begin to shift, crawling to either side to allow more gray light to filter through the window. Then, with a flick of his fingers, Thorne sends a few drops of water dribbling across the bridge of my nose.
“Hey!” I pull away with a giggle.
And it feels so good to laugh after how stressed I’ve been lately. Maybe, for just a short while, I can pretend like the fog isn’t still out there and like I don’t have a wounded shifter at home whose brother is lurking mere paces from here, probably waiting to start yet another fight.
For now, I just want to be a witch in an apothecary, warming myself beside the fire and laughing with the strange fairy I met in the middle of a snowstorm. For now, that’s enough.
I wipe the water from my face, still smiling. When I look up, Thorne has taken a step closer to me.
“You’ve something just”—he reaches out, and I go still when his thumb brushes my cheek, whisking a water droplet away—“there.”
