“I’ll be outside,” he calls up. “Try not to set the cottage on fire.”
“Not without you,” I singsong back.
Something clangs down below and I hear him swear before he disappears outside again.
I spend a chunk of our precious time gathering all the cookbooks and grimoires I can find. Luckily, nowhere near the number in the Warlock’s library. It wouldn’t kill her to have a single armchair up here, though. Does the Witch never find herself in need of some sitting?
I start reading. The hours and light from the cave’s open ceiling drain away. Eventually, I make a nest of books and blankets at the Witch’s kitchen table, a hunk of old oak as cracked as she is. The kitchen fireplace keeps the cottage lit, and I sit as close as I can to the flames. It’s June and this place isfreezing.
I don’t see the Warlock until long after sunset. When he comes back inside, I’m oddly comforted to see him covered in dirt again. “Hounds?”
He drops into the chair across from me. “Ferns. With a bad temper.”
The bags under his eyes are twice as noticeable as they were this morning. Gaunt shadows cling to his face. He’s starting to resemble the Witch’s hounds. But I have to trust he knows what he’s doing, the way he’s trusting me. The way he’s believed in me all this time.
I just hope that come the solstice, believing in him doesn’t mean losing him.
“We arenotsleeping inthe Witch’s bedroom,” the Warlock declares close to midnight.
We spent the evening in silence, me deep in the Witch’s books while he studied a small plant field guide he brought in his pack. Dinner was the last of our packed food. He gave me the rest of themarshmallows. I think they remind him too much of Lazlo. With the gloaming now a true darkness, growing winds test the strength of the windows and the place is cold everywhere except by the fire.
Prompting the Warlock to make his latest bold statement.
“Or any room with locks, and I’d rather not find out what made the claw marks on the cellar door.” He nods to the fireplace. “We can roll out our mats in front of the fire. That’s safest.”
“Yeah. Yes. Good idea.” There are literal icicles in the corners of the room. But in front of the fire…together? When I made our deal with the Witch, I didn’t register that staying here means having two nights to account for. Two entire sleeps. Maybe I’ll just find some coffee and pull an all-nighter—
He unfurls our bedrolls. Next to each other. Then stretches out on his, feet facing the fire.
I flit around the kitchen, busying my hands with absolutely nothing. Against my best efforts, I keep remembering the hooded look he gave me back in the cave.Lord. I’m almost willing to take my chances in the Witch’s bedroom. I’ve had some unremarkable sex, but have I ever justsleptnext to a guy? The whole night? What if my body chooses this moment at thirty-one years old to begin snoring?
But it’s eitherthis—a giddy yet terrified sensation—or face another too-dark corner of this hell-cottage.
So be it. I plunk down on my own mat right next to him.
Without a word, he throws a single blanket over us and rests his head on a bunched-up jacket. This close, I can see him swallow, the threads of muscle pulsing in his neck.
I’m saved from those unhelpfully distracting thoughts when an empty pot on a shelf above the sink gives a sudden jerk.
Out springs a bright ebony flower, glowing as if lit from within.
The Warlock perks up, head lifting. “A Midnight Bloom. I’ve never seen one in person.” Despite his wan face, his voice is reverential, full of boyish wonder.
I smile in spite of this entire crap situation. Even with our looming deadlines, this man finds time to be awed by plants. A minute later, the flower closes in on itself, the beauty of its petals just for the souls who find themselves awake in the emptiest, loneliest part of the night.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
“And cumbersome to grow and keep alive. Okolona doesn’t have the patience.”
“Someone here did.” I think of the vicious garden outside and its beasties. “Oh!That’swhy.”
“That’s why what?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out why you even entertained my early idea that plant toxins were causing your illness, since you already knew you were cursed, not just sick. You thought there was a chance the Witch had used something in that garden to cast the original curse, that the cure could’ve been in the ingredients.”
“See, Ms. Frost? I didn’t completely waste your time.” He leans back against his makeshift pillow. “We should sleep. Even the hounds have stopped howling.”
I nod, but his eyes are already closed. Spine rigid, I lean against a leg of the kitchen table to stay half upright. We’re fully clothed, but I feel like a cartoon animal whose fur has walked away.Now what?
