Page 26 of Little Witch

"Strategic use of feelings isn't cheating. It's called romance."

She swatted my arm, laughing, and I caught her hand before she could pull it back, lacing our fingers together instead. We walked back toward the blanket like that, unhurried, her shoulder occasionally bumping mine, and when Rowan finally made his way back up from the water a few minutes later, he didn't say a word about any of it. Just settled back onto the blanket across from us, poured himself more coffee, and let the quiet fill in around the three of us like it had always belonged there.

I decided right there that I'd spend every day for the rest of my life finding new ways to earn exactly that kind of quiet again.

Chapter Fourteen

The kitchen felt smaller than usual with all three of us in it. Three days after the picnic. The plan we'd talked through on that blanket by the river was finally about to become real instead of hypothetical.

Orias paced. He'd been doing it on and off for the better part of an hour. Six feet of floor between the counter and the table, over and over, one hand dragging through his hair every third pass.

"I still think we go in with more than just the three of us," he said. Not for the first time. "I don't like the idea of you walking in there without backup that isn't me and Rowan."

"We are the backup."

"We're two demons and a witch who's had her powers for approximately four days." He stopped pacing. "Forgive me for wanting slightly better odds."

"You're allowed to be worried. You're not allowed to talk me out of it." I sighed.

He exhaled hard through his nose and dropped into the chair across from me. Jaw tight. Eyes doing that restless thing they always did when he didn't have a clean answer for something. Rowan stood at the counter behind him. Kettle going. Saying nothing. He'd been saying nothing for most of the conversation, present, listening to every word, contributing exactly none of them.

"I'm not trying to talk you out of it," Orias said eventually. "I'm trying to make sure we're not walking in half-informed. We know pieces. We don't know the whole picture. I'd rather have the whole picture before I let either of you near those trees again."

"I don't think more research gets us the whole picture," I said. "I think actually going does."

Rowan set a mug down in front of me without a word. Then one in front of Orias. Then took the third for himself and leaned back against the counter, watching the two of us argue like a conversation he'd already had in his own head a dozen times and didn't need to repeat out loud.

"There's one thing we haven't tried," I said, wrapping both hands around the mug for something to do with them. "I want to call Aria."

Orias's brow furrowed. "The seer? Why?"

"Because she talks to the dead, Orias. I have exactly one dead parent whose opinion on all this might actually help." I kept my voice steadier than I felt. "If anyone knows what really happened to my dad, it's my mum. If anyone can get her to tell us, it's Aria. And I'm literally friends with a seer... it feels kind of wasteful not to try using her first."

Something shifted across his face. Uncertainty, warring with how obviously sensible the idea was underneath it. Rowan's jaw ticked. He didn't argue either.

"Call her," he said. First full sentence he'd offered in twenty minutes.

I dialed before anyone could talk me out of it, and Aria picked up on the second ring, already half-guessing why I was calling before I'd even properly explained. She didn't ask many questions. Just told me to put the kettle back on and give her twenty minutes to grab her things.

She showed up in under fifteen, cardigan swallowing her whole frame, her skin pale in that particular way that never quite tanned no matter how much sun the Hollow got in summer. Her hair sat in loose braids today, dyed the deep orange and warm brown of turning leaves, a fresh color job every couple of weeks depending on her mood and the season. She'd worn some version of autumn in her hair for as long as I'd known her. Since we'd met as kids in a school club.

She hugged me tight at the door, said a quick hello to the twins with the easy familiarity of someone who'd grown up in this town alongside the rest of us, and set a small bundle of candles and dried herbs down on the kitchen table without needing to be told what any of it was for.

"You're sure about this," she said, looking at me carefully once we were all seated. "Once I start, I can't exactly stop halfway through. It's not like changing the channel."

"I'm sure."

She nodded. Lit the candles. Closed her eyes.

The room changed almost immediately. Not dramatically. No gust of wind, no flickering lights. Just a stillness that settled over everything, thick enough to feel against my skin. Aria's breathing slowed. Her shoulders dropped in a way that didn't look like her at all, some other posture settling into her body.

When she opened her eyes again, they weren't quite her eyes anymore.

"Amber."

My throat closed instantly. It was her voice. Not exactly. Filtered through Aria, softer at the edges than I remembered. But unmistakably, achingly hers.

"Mum." My hands shook around the mug. "Is that you?"