“What you’ve been doing all along. Hunting for a recipe that will help my body fight a physical ailment.”
“And if I don’t succeed, do you have a plan for Lazlo, for after the solstice?”If you die.
Silence.
That answers that.
Webb’s threats from earlier triple in size at this midnight hour, but I refuse to let the current of doubt pool in. “What can you tell me about the Eldercraft?”
Pause. “Why? What makes you ask?”
“At the market today, Oris Webb seemed keen to report you to them. He doesn’t like the idea that a Warlock is the guardian of a kid without magic. Do the Eldercraft forbid that or something?” Is there any kind of precedent for that? I suspect they’d be all over this town if they thought one of their own kind was harming children.
The Warlock’s eyes fall closed, tight. “Why is that man concernedat all? We wouldn’t know if Lazlo has magic. Warlocks don’t manifest their power until their teens, and then they often leave home to train with a mentor anyway.”
A part of me is relieved to hear that. I don’t think I can handle two Warlocks at the same time. Again, I’m surprised by how little I know about Warlocks. Witches sometimes leave home to study, if no one in their family can mentor them. But there’s often at least one other Witch who’s familiar with their magic. Maybe mentorship is a longer goodbye for Warlocks, since they live so independently from one another and rarely settle in one spot.
An extra dose of gratitude for a Witch’s network of covens and communal magic winds through me. Though, it would help to have someone holding the Widow Witch accountable.
Opening his eyes, the Warlock pushes himself off the island to fully face me. “Don’t take Lazlo to town again, Ms. Frost.”
My arms fold over my chest as I try to muster some intimidation. “Do you know why the turnovers were elderberry and not apple today, sir?”
“Now hardly seems like the time to discuss pastry, Ms. Frost.”
“I’ll rephrase: Did you know folks at the market wouldn’t sell us apples and treated us like crap?”
His frozen irritation melts. “Lazlo didn’t say anything.”
“Because he wants to go back. Rude folks or not, he enjoyed being there, and he doesn’t want you to take away that privilege. But Webb and his slimy followers are itching to shun magic from the Holler, more than ever lately. Not just higher magic, but Witches, too. Webb can’t get the upper hand on the Widow Witch, so he’ll come for you first.”
“I doubt the preacher and his congregation are coming to burn me at the stake. I can handle being disliked. I’m just fine with it, in fact.”
“Right. Only Witches burn, after all.” It comes out before I can stop it, and his mouth clamps tight over any rebuttal. Good. Theobstinate man needs to be humbled. “Webb seems ready to do anything necessary to smother magic, even if it means using a kid to get the Eldercraft involved.”
“See, this isexactlywhy I forbade you to go—”
“Mypointis that sooner rather than later, someone’s going to need to extend an olive branch, but you’ve spent all your time fighting enemies, you forgot to make friends—”
“I know!”
The shout comes out of nowhere, echoing around us.
The breath leaves his rigid body, and a gloved hand runs over the misery twisting his face. For a moment, I see the vulnerable younger man he used to be, before the walls went up. Have I actuallyunsettledhim?
As his head hangs, he says, “Lazlo’s not supposed to be here, he’s not… but he can’t go back. I know he needs more. More than me.” His next breath is a shudder. “They can’t take him from me. I don’t know what would happen… They simply don’t understand.”
Who? Now he’s not making any sense. Webb? The Eldercraft? Butthere—there’s that weird flash of guilt again, piercing his hardened stare. I can almost hear thePlease.
I’m not really sure what makes me do it.
Lunging forward, I wrap my arms around the man in the most unexpected and awkward hug in Witch-Warlock history.
My head fits just below his chin and he smellsgood, like an entire herb garden, thyme and the earth and summer and—I jolt backward. Before he can decide whether to hug me back. This is more mortifying than the animal cracker incident by a factor of light-years.
“That was…” He swallows, hard.
Oh God. Please don’t finish that thought. “Sorry. I should have asked you first.” I wonder if he might combust. “But I’m not sorry for taking Lazlo to the market.”
