“How lucky you are, then,” comes a wrinkled voice.
The Warlock peers around my waist. “I see you got my invitation, Ms. Fudge.”
Gertha Fudge shuffles into the garden, her cane clopping on the stone steps to the yard. “You need to fix this old shack to accommodate the elderly,” she snaps. “All these old ladies going in and out, this place is like a HomeGoods. With more cobwebs. And falling hazards.”
The Warlock just nods. “I’m glad you came, Gertha.”
She isn’t the last latecomer.
Carolina appears from the kitchen, still in scrubs. And on her arm is a thin but upright Marigold Frost.
“Hi there, my girl,” my mom says, waving.
I swallow what feels like a top-shelf shot of pure sunshine. “Hi, Mom.”
She’s making good progress, her weak body slowly rebuilding muscle and coordination. Her hair has stayed gray, but glossy. At the first signs of improvement a week ago, she warned me not to fret over her like an anxious hen.
“Thanks for bringing her, Carolina,” I say.
“You know I jump at the chance to have someone tell me how to drive.”
My mom eases into the chair by Silas, who has taken a seat next to Rett. “Our Holler has more barrels of hay than people. Red lights are suggestions.”
Silas pours tea for them. “I see where someone got his driving lessons from.”
The Warlock scoffs. “Rude.”
“Very,” my mom agrees. “Considering you drive like a grandma, Silas.”
“Marigold, you’ve just admitted to breaking the law in front of your mayor.”
“Don’t pull that with me, kid. You’re a baby mayor right now.”
“We’ll addinsulted your mayorto the list, too.”
“Cake?” Rett breaks in.
My mom glances to me, to the birthday cake, and back again. She mouths:Proud of you. My heart melts into molten butter, a Frost favorite flavor and feeling.
The hummingbird cake jump-started her recovery. Buttrulyresting, retiring from being mayor, has done the most for her so far. I’m not sure she’ll regain the same energy she had before as a younger Farewitch, but she’s adamant the wasting sets in when a Farewitch stops savoring her life, and I recognize a warning when I see one. I can’t go back to my old habits. Not if I want to avoid flirting with some point of no return. But that’s a good thing. Because for the first time in a long while, I feel… not simplyhappy.
I feel like me.
As everyone gathers around, the Warlock snaps. The candles spark. We sing, ignoring his protests. Rett slices the cake into neat portions and Arna Jean passes forks. The hum of pleased murmuring with full mouths returns, vibrating deep in my chest, right underneath my apron pocket where I keep both of the Warlock’s letters.
I’m handing out more cake when the Warlock tugs on my apron. “Do not make me order you to sit down, Ms. Frost,” he murmurs.
Caught. I can’t remember if I’ve taken a seat yet. One of those habits to break, for sure.
Feeling bold, or maybe just at home, I perch right on top of the Warlock’s knees. He’s only caught off guard a moment. Then a strong palm slides across my back, and he pulls me properly onto his lap. The warmth of his body spreads like a blanket from my lower back to my shoulders. Just like that, the Warlock of Foxe Holler becomes my new favorite chair.
I should really start calling himVerne. When we’re alone, that is.
“Thank you for the cake,” he says in my ear as his fingers roam over the side buttons of my overalls. Myniceoveralls. It’s a party, after all.
I lean back into his firm chest. “What did you wish for?”
“How about a bargain: I’ll tell you, but only if you agree to find a mentor. You think you’ve seen me be difficult, but I’ll mutiny if you neglect your magic.”
