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Zelda rubbed her hands together and smiled broadly. “To answer your last question, first—no. No, I didn’t. You did that, and you know it.”
Fox squeaked in his arms, and even Winter’s heart did a little skip for him. Fox had done magic. Had done it all on his own. Joy surged through him for his witch. He wanted to give Fox time to explore all of this, but they also needed to know about this prophecy and what it meant in their fight against Damon. They had no idea if Zelda would be sticking around or if they’d get another chance to talk to her.
“But we’ll have to talk more about that later. Your boyfriend is about to bust a seam if we don’t get down to business,” Zelda said with a deep laugh.
Fox sighed and nodded. “He’s right. My questions can wait. We need to protect his family. The prophecy. Do you know who made it?”
“Of course I do,” she said easily. She shuffled over to the counter where she started digging through a strange bag made of multicolored fabrics. Winter didn’t remember seeing her carry it, but then the majority of his focus had been on Fox. She pulled out a little tin and what looked to be a silver ball tea diffuser on a delicate chain. “Would you like some hot tea? My own mixture.”
“No, thank you,” Fox said brightly. He seemed taken with the witch. Not that Winter could blame him. Other than his mother, she was the first witch who hadn’t tried to kill him.
“Zelda, the prophecy.”
She huffed at Winter before turning back to her teacup. “Yes, yes. The prophecy.”
“Did you make it?”
“Of course. As if anyone else would be trusted with such a thing.”
“Were you talking about Fox?”
“Hmmm?” She looked up from where she was filling her diffuser with leaves. “Oh yes, I was.”
“And?”
“The entire prophecy was nonsense,” Zelda said with an absent wave of her hand. “I made it all up.”
Winter couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think. There was just a roaring in his ears. It took him a moment to realize that it was actually the blood rushing by. She’d made up the prophecy? He couldn’t have heard her right. He must have drifted off or stroked out. Anything.
“What?” he croaked.
“I made it up. It was all a bunch of bunk,” Zelda said easily. The tea kettle whistled loudly, and Zelda pulled it off the burner, pouring the hot water into her cup.
Winter exploded. “What the fuck were you thinking? You put my family in danger! You’ve made a mess of everything! How could you—”
Fox was off his stool and pushing Winter backward, trying to shush him, but Winter would not be contained. This was fucking ludicrous. She’d made it all up. How could anyone do that?
“Put you in danger?” she scoffed. “This little dustup you have going with Damon would have grown whether I made my prophecy or not. That started well before my meddling.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” she snapped at him. She propped her fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. “The only one who has even the tiniest right to be mad at me is Fox.” She turned her steely gaze on Fox, and his boyfriend flinched. “Tell me honestly, are you mad at me, boy?”
“No.”
Winter’s head jerked to look at his lover. “Fox!”
“What? I’m telling the truth. I’m not mad. Sure, this has rearranged my life, but if it wasn’t for her fake prophecy, I would never have met you.” Fox gave him a little shove, his expression mutinous. “I’m glad I met you. Even if you don’t need me anymore. I’m glad I got the chance to spend some time with you.”
“Don’t need you…” he repeated dully, the words a confused jumble in his brain. But the pieces were starting to fall into place past the red haze of anger. If the prophecy wasn’t real, then Fox had nothing to do with their war with Damon. Keeping him at the loft wouldn’t help or hurt their cause. He was free to go home.
Fox could leave.
But he’d said that he’d consider staying. They were going to live together. To date. Right?
“Of course I need you,” Winter said.
Fox groaned and launched himself back into Winter’s arms. “Oh, thank God.”
Winter held him tight, pressing a kiss to his temple and another on the corner of his mouth. Fuck all the prophecy nonsense. He never wanted to let go of his Fox. But while he was grateful to have found Fox, Zelda’s prophecy didn’t make any sense.
“But why make the prophecy at all?” Winter demanded.
Zelda glared at Winter. “You want a real prophecy, Winter Varik. How about you try this one on for size?
When the mother finds peace,
And the brothers find joy,
The youngest shall find silence divine.”
Winter flinched and Fox felt it. There had been no hiding it. Zelda’s words were like cold water splashing over him. He knew that prophecy far too well. He’d been clinging to those ominous three lines as a life raft for well over a century.
