Page 16 of The Witch's Spell
THE WOMAN, AURORA, FLITS AROUND the parlor, handing me more blankets and pillows, though the couch is already draped in more than enough. Seems someone was sleeping here when I arrived. Finally, the bigger of the two men—I’m not sure if he’s Alden or Faolan—takes Aurora about the waist and guides her away, through a doorway into what I assume is a bedroom. Right before he closes the door, Aurora pops her head around the frame and whispers, “Good night.”
But the door closes firmly before I can say anything in return.
“If you need anything,” the other man says from the parlor doorway, “let me know. I’ll be upstairs, room on the left.”
I give him a small nod. “Thank you. And I apologize for disturbing you all like this.”
“Don’t worry about it. No one should be out in that storm.” He lifts a hand to me, then ascends the staircase, stairscreaking as he goes. Once the door upstairs clicks closed, I relax back into the couch, alone.
I had absolutely no intention of getting stuck in that storm. I thought passing through the portal would mean leaving the blizzard behind, but it seems to have followed me here—not that I thought that possible. Or perhaps the human realm was already experiencing bad weather, and I happened to step into the woods amidst the worst of it. That may be the more likely explanation.
My legs are stiff and sore from trudging through the snow and the cold, and my knees throb with each beat of my heart. My potions are in my satchel in the foyer.
With a sigh, I grab my cane and use it to push to my feet, wincing at the pain in my hip, then go to the foyer, where I collect my satchel from the hook beside the door. Back on the couch, I riffle through the contents of the bag.
It’s stuffed with a change of clothes, fresh socks, and a bag of coins—currency for this realm. There’s also a small pouch containing my pain potions. I loosen the mouth of the pouch and remove a small vial with a golden liquid inside. As soon as the potion—which has a slight taste of honey—passes my lips and eases down my throat, I sigh in relief. It takes most of the pain away, leaving me with only a slight level of stiffness and discomfort.
I close the satchel and push it under the couch, then lie down on the soft cushions and pull one of the blankets around me. It smells good, and the warmth from the crackling fire already has me yawning, wanting to drift off to sleep despite the strange place I’ve found myself in.
Before closing my eyes, I glance toward the door Aurora disappeared through.
And despite knowing this is only for the night and I’ll be gone in the morning, I look forward to seeing her when the sun rises.
Chapter 10
Rowan
WHEN I WENT TO BED, there were two strangers in the cottage. Now there are three.
The shifters are still asleep in the extra room upstairs—do they all sleep in?—but the new stranger, the pale one, is seated at the kitchen table, watching Aurora intently as she shapes and scores a fresh loaf of sourdough, prepping it for the fire.
When Alden woke me last night, I thought something was wrong with Aurora. Can’t say it made me feel all that comforted when he told me that a traveler got caught in the blizzard and Aurora had put him up on the couch after serving him a cup of tea.
I value her kindheartedness, her gentleness, but it makes me worry for her as well. At least Faolan was downstairs with her last night, and I knownothingis getting through him without a fight.
I introduced myself to the man, Thorne, but he didn’t have much to say. Even now, as Aurora chats pleasantly,giving him a running commentary as she slips the loaf into the bread dish, he just blinks and watches her with what looks like curiosity.
He’s odd. But so is Faolan.
And now I’m wondering if Aurora has a thing for men who have just afewscrews loose. If so, what does that say about me?
The snow has stopped falling, and the day is bright and sunny, but when I open the kitchen door to go check on the hens, I find the snow piled up to my knees.
I can’t remember the last time we had such a blizzard. Many years now, at least.
“Where’s the shovel?” I ask Aurora.
She turns away from the fire, a smudge of flour dusted across one cheek. “Um... in the woodshed, I think.” Her forehead scrunches. “Alden was the last to use it, so it’s probably there, but I’m not entirely sure.”
The woodshed, right.
That’s way around the back of the cottage.
Guess I’d better just dive in.
After trudging to the woodshed and unearthing the shovel, I dig a path back to the cottage. I’m already sweating by the time I get there, but Alden is awake now, and he takes the helm, making quick work of the snow and clearing a path to the chicken coop.
We take turns shoveling out their enclosure, then finally get the door to their coop open. Lucy comes strutting out into the sunshine, perhaps a bit too fearless for her own good. The other hens, Marigold and Whisper, are more cautious. But once they realize the storm has passed, theyresume their regularly scheduled activities, starting with nagging and clucking at me for breakfast.
