Page 15 of A Witch for Solstice
“Aww,” I coo, lifting a clay circle indented with a clawprint and the wordsMatilda’s first Solstice.“I bet you were the cutest little hatchling.”
She sets her wineglass on the mantel and tightens the sash on her robe, striding over to me. “So my mother likes to tell me.”
Rummaging through her collection, I request a story for each ornament. I’m always weirdly curious about the so-called mundane milestones of other people’s lives, and I love that Matty shares all the details without looking at me like I’m being nosey.
“My niece and I made that one together last year during my Solstice visit,” she says as I hold up three lumpy clay balls that have been painted to look like a snowman. “Usually the whole family gets together on Solstice Eve to decorate the tree. It’s tradition.”
“Are you telling me you helped create this masterpiece?” I ask, swiping my thumb over the snowman’s crooked smile and thick carrot nose. “I didn’t know you had such talent.”
She flashes her fangs in a grin. “That’s one of my finer creations. Don’t let it fool you into thinking I’m a real artist.”
I place it back in the box and eye the naked miniature Solstice tree sitting in the corner. “How come you haven’t carried your tradition here?”
“I don’t know.” She rubs the back of her neck. “The holidays haven’t felt the same this year. I’m under a lot of pressure to pick the perfect partner, and I guess I’ve been worried about finding someone who’ll…” Her voice lowers to a soft murmur. “Love me. Maybe. Eventually.”
“Don’t they call youMatilda the Belovedaround here?” I ask. “I’m pretty sure whoever you pick is going to love you, Matty.”
I wipe wine droplets from my lips and study the firelight casting highlights on her hair as she stares into the hearth. She really is one of those naturally easy-to-love people, isn’t she?
“I appreciate their love for me, but that love is really respect for my efforts to keep the peace in the Territory, as it should be,” she says. “That’s not the same as someone loving me for me.”
“Love can grow, though,” I comfort her. “I’ve never been in your shoes before, but I think if you’re compatible and make an effort to support each other, you can create something strong together over time.”
Her eyes bore into mine, and my throat thickens with longing as she concedes, “I hope you’re right about that.”
I have to look away. I cross the room, taking the box with me. “I probably am. Now let’s be merry and decorate your tree.” My toe stubs against the rolled edge of an argyle rug, and the box slips from my hands. “Ohshit.”
The ornaments fly out in slow motion, but I harness the energy from the fireplace and stop them as they’re about to hit the ground. They hover an inch above the surface, vibrating and waiting for me to direct them. I close my eyes and call them up around me.
When I open my eyes, Matty is standing in front of the tree, a veil of ornaments floating between us. “Good save.”
She plucks one from the air, and I loosen the breath I’ve been holding. We fall back into an easy conversation as we decorate the tree.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I say, positioning the last ornament on its branch.
“You’ve never decorated a tree before?” Matty asks as we take a step back to admire it.
“No.”
“Didn’t you have any traditions at the Academy?”
“Not really.” I shift on the balls of my feet. I remember the rush of taking off on my broom, my hair flowing in the wind. “Well, there was this one thing.”
“What was it?”
“We used to go flying during the week of the Solstice to celebrate the longest nights of the year. That’s where the coven had gone when your horde broke in.”
“I see.” She cradles her elbows. “That’s why you were there. You weren’t invited?”
“Right.”
“Why don’t we go flying tonight?” she suggests. “If you don’t mind me taking a few more hours of your time before we turn in.”
Truth be told, I don’t want this night to end. “I’m in.”
She opens a slim closet, pulling out a hand broom and a dust pan. “That won’t work,” she says, producing a swoofer instead. “But how about this?”
I grimace at the flimsy metal rods held together with screws. “Swoofers don’t clean as well as a mop, you know. They’re basically the equivalent of pushing a dirty wet rag around on a stick.”
