Page 34 of A Wolf for Winter

“He’s choking!” Lilac cried, rushing forward.

“Choking on what?” Brandon scoffed. “There’s nothing in the punch. This is just a ploy for sympathy or—Gah!”

Black veins appeared on Landen’s throat, radiating up over his chin and down across his neck like a sinister spiderweb.

“Poison?” Lilac whispered.

She reached for him, trying to grab his flailing hand and shove some of her healing magic into him, but the man staggered back, careening into the booth behind him. Shouts rose at the disruption, then screams as people caught sight of his face.

Lilac chased after him, shoving people out of her way as he writhed on the floor. She managed to dodge a kick from his thrashing foot and caught his leg, immediately flooding him with her magic. She wasn’t as talented with healing as Meadow or Rose, but she had enough skill to halt the spread of the black veins.

“Lilac!” Boar dropped down by Landen’s head.

“I got the poison under control, but whatever’s lodged in his throat keeps injecting it like a wasp’s stinger.”

“Get him up.”

Boar wrestled Landen, who was turning a deeper shade of purple by the second, upright and wrangled him to receive the Heimlich. A few jolts to the chest did nothing to dislodge what was in his throat. Still on the floor, Lilac clung to Landen’s ankle, pouring whatever help she could into his body with her glowing hands.

“Get his head back.” That command came from Allen.

The caretaker had come out of nowhere, but at his order, the bachelors stepped back to give him room. His multi-tool flicked in his hand like a butterfly blade until the needle-nose pliers appeared. Boar snatched Landen’s hair and yanked the man’s face skywards.

Grabbing Landon’s chin in his hand, Allen pried open Landon’s mouth as far as it would go. “Steady now,” he warned everyone, then inserted his pliers. “Gotcha!”

Landen heaved a giant gasp as Allen pulled what looked like a star anise pod from his throat. Lilac’s magic was spent, unable to heal the bruising and lacerations he’d endured.

“Here, drink one of Mistress Lilac’s healing tonics!” a woman cried, yanking the cork from the purple vial. “I bought it for my husband’s flu, but he can manage off another hot toddy or two for a few more days.”

Landen drank, wincing with pain. After he swallowed, his eyes popped open in wonder. “That’s— I— It’s incredible! The pain is gone.”

“Let me see that.” Boar plucked the vial from Landen’s hand, read the label, then flicked a spearing gaze to where Lilac was still on the ground.

Oh no.

“Master Boar.” Allen nudged the witch to look down at what he held in his pliers.

Lilac was grateful for the interruption and the humiliation she would’ve had to endure otherwise. Looking away—for her brother couldn’t impress shame upon her if she wasn’t looking at him—her attention came to rest on the shattered punch cups.

And the strange brown sand that the oozing punch left behind. Strange. They made their punch with whole spices so there would be no grit to filter out.

“Star anise?” Boar’s question dragged her gaze to the pod pinched in Allen’s pliers. “We don’t make our punch with star anise.”

He sent a tendril of magic into the pod. “And that one has been spelled.” Then he raised his voice. “Anyone drinking the yuletide punch, stop immediately!”

The crowd parted for him to rush back to the refreshment table.

Allen turned, focusing on the man who had offered Lilac his flask. “You. You’ve got whiskey, don’t you?”

“I-I, uh—”

Allen stepped forward, slapped the man’s coat open, and helped himself to the silver flask in his inner pocket. He unscrewed the top, doused the star anise, then pulled a lighter out of his own pocket.

Multi-tool. Lighter. Is he a Swiss Army Man or something? Lilac wondered.

Whatever curse had infested the pod shrieked upon contact with the flame and dissipated in a puff of black smoke. The entire pod turned to ash and crumbled away. Allen’s golden-brown eyes tracked the ash to the floor, where he met Lilac’s ivy-green gaze. He startled, as if appalled to find her on her hands and knees, then looked frantically at his hands. They were coated in Landen’s saliva or otherwise occupied with the multi-tool.

He faced the crowd. “Is no one going to help Mistress Lilac to her feet?” he boomed. “She just saved a man’s life!”