Page 64 of The Witch's Spell
Having wiped the water away, his thumb lingers on my skin. And when my eyes catch his, I think I see something in them that’s most certainly reflected in mine: curiosity, a longing to explore something new, perhaps even a sprinkle of fear. My gaze goes to Thorne’s mouth, to the lips I kissed but the one time. I almost lean forward.
But then Thorne pulls away, turning from me to regard the firelit apothecary once more. In my chest, my heart squeezes.
Does he not want me as badly as I want him? Is he holding back? And if so, why?
“Are you okay?” he asks, his back to me as he starts down one of the aisles, cane thumping along with his boots.
I calm my rapidly beating heart, then trail after him. “What do you mean?”
“After yesterday. With Faolan... I know you were quite upset at the situation.”
“Oh. Yes. We spoke last night, after dinner.”
“Do you know the source of the conflict between them?” Thorne has wandered toward the bottled dried herbs at the front of the shop. One of his lithe fingers runs slowly across the little labels on the wooden shelf, and he pauses when he gets to the one that readsWhite Willow Bark. Plucking the bottle from the shelf, he lifts his brows at me, and I nod.
“Only somewhat. Truthfully, I’m not so sure they even know what they’re fighting over.” I takethe bottle when Thorne offers it and try not to react to the brush of his fingertips against mine. “Do you ever fight with your brothers like that?”
“Me?” He sounds surprised, then lets out a laugh. “No, I can’t say I do. I’m the youngest, and with my leg”—he gestures to his cane with his free hand—“I think they grew up well aware that they weren’t to roughhouse with me. They fight amongst themselves though. As do my sisters. Actually, I think my sisters’ fights may be even more vicious, though with less blood spilled.”
My lips quirk up into a brief smile, and I lean against the counter at the front of the shop. It’s strange being here without Niamh, but I’m certain she won’t mind us barging in like this.
Flicking my gaze to the bottle of white willow bark in my hands, I say, “I think they keep too much bottled up inside, and then it explodes at the slightest provocation.” I shake my head with a sigh. “If only they could learn to redirect their energy, channel it into something healthier, more positive. Maybe then they could learn to work together instead of against each other.”
Thorne has been nodding along, listening intently, but he stops abruptly, eyes narrowing.
“What?” I ask, furrowing my brow. “What did I say?”
“Redirect their energy...” he whispers. And then the firelight catches his eyes, and he smiles. “Perhaps that’s what we need to do with the portal. Rather than trying to contain the portal’s magic, like we did with the crystals, we need to redirect it, guide it instead of attempting to control it.” His smile grows. “Fairy magic is wild. It doesn’t like being tamed.So we shouldn’t even try. We just need to show it where to go, then let it do what it needs to. Let it rebalance itself without too much interference.”
I blink rapidly. “You... You think that would work? But how would we do it?”
“I’m not sure.” He draws a finger along his bottom lip. “But I know the magic longs to go home; I feel it in the air when we’re near the portal. It doesn’t like being trapped here, contained in a realm that can’t sustain it. Imagine it like a bird stuck in a cruel cage. It can’t spread its wings, and so it rages at the bars, in this case Faunwood. Maybe we... Maybe we could blend our magics somehow, act as a conduit, like a representation of each realm.”
His crystalline eyes dart around the shop. He finds two pieces of parchment upon a table and fetches them, along with a thin-bladed athame from a shelf beside the mantel. I watch curiously, unsure what he plans to do.
“It’s like this,” he explains, returning to me and leaning his cane against the front counter. He pierces a hole through each piece of parchment with the athame, then holds them up. “Right now, the connection between our realms is broken, skewed by the magic I pulled through.” To elaborate, he shifts the two pieces of parchment so the holes no longer align. “As it is now, there’s nowhere for the magic to go. It hits a wall. But if we can pull the portal back into alignment”—he shifts the pieces of parchment so the holes align, and the firelight shines through—“the magic will naturally be pulled back into Fairyland, where it belongs, where it wishes to be.”
His eyes twinkle with excitement, and I can’t help but to be swept along with him. “You think we can fix it? Truly?”I’m nervous about getting too hopeful only to have those hopes dashed. But if he thinks this will work, I’ll try it. I’ll do anything I can to fix the portal and free everyone of this dismal fog.
Thorne lowers the two pieces of parchment, still holding my gaze. “I do. We were just going about it wrong, trying to further contain it when all it wants is to break free. Like Cathal and Faolan. Like any wild creature longing for open spaces. We just need to show it where to go, create a path it can easily follow.”
My heart flutters in my chest. The hope takes hold of me, wrapping around me and lightening my spirits until I feel I might be swept off my feet. For the first time since I sat in the grove amongst the shattered crystals, I feel we might be able to fix this. Finally.
And before I can stop myself, I step forward and press my lips to Thorne’s. He goes rigid beneath my mouth, like he wasn’t expecting it, or like he’s not sure how to respond. But I thought he wanted this, like he wanted me that day in the library, when he let my fingers loosen the buttons along his chest, explore the soft skin just beneath.
Am I wrong?
I start to back away, mumbling, “I’m sorry, I thou—”
There’s a gentle whisper as the parchment Thorne was holding falls to the floor at our feet.
Then his hands are in my hair, pulling me into him. His lips come out of whatever trance befell them, and they move against mine as he pushes me gently back against the counter. His body is long and lean and firm against mine, and his shaggy hair tickles my cheeks as he bends over me.
He tastes like magic. And I know I want more.
Our kiss turns hungry. I drag my hands up his chest, feeling his warm body beneath my fingertips. I need to know what he looks like under all these clothes, need to touch my lips to his ribs and taste the desire on his tongue.
Desire forme.
