Page 56 of A Wolf for Winter

Before she could reply, the ladder jerked and Boar shouted in surprise.

The garlands they’d hung from the second-floor balcony to the chandelier had come alive like snakes, coiling and wrapping around Boar’s body. And his throat. His flailing feet kicked the ladder aside as he clawed at the greenery with glowing hands.

The villagers screamed, some rushing forward to help while most fled for the exit.

“Boar, hang on!” Allen scrambled to right the ladder.

“Rose!” Lilac shouted.

Her sister appeared, slashing wildly with her magic. Her blasts severed snake after snake of malevolent greenery, but the garland regenerated like a hydra, coiling even tighter around their brother and suspending him midair, out of reach.

Lilac yanked her sister’s hands down. “Stop! We need a concerted effort.”

“Find its heart,” Allen shouted, dashing up the ladder in an effort to reach Boar before he strangled to death. He was completely encased in writhing garlands. There was a sickly creaking of boughs that could’ve been bones breaking.

Rose wrested free of her. “I can’t let him just hang up there!”

As her sister resumed her barrage, Lilac desperately searched along the chandelier. This had to be another ill-wish, she just knew it. It must’ve activated at Boar’s touch, or at least his proximity. Sucking in a deep breath, she reached for the calm and shrewdness Grandmother had trained into her. She was the scalpel, the sniper.

Then she saw it. The ill-wish was crafted of fir, easily camouflaged amongst the greenery they had grown. No doubt their attacker had just secreted it amongst the piles of garlands before they had been hung.

Summoning her magic, Lilac sent a glowing green bullet shaped like a leaf straight through the heart of the ill-wish. The weave of fir needles burst like confetti from a piñata, and the cluster in the center dropped like a stone into Allen’s stunned hands. The garlands constricting her brother snapped and fell lifeless to the floor.

“Boar!” Rose cried.

Allen dropped from the ladder like a pouncing panther, hands disappearing into the greenery. With a mighty twist of his shoulders, he tore the boughs from Boar’s head and neck. Then he cursed, scrambling to get out of range. A second later there was a roar and a flash of green light. Their brother burst free of his green cocoon and collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. The angry rash where the evergreen needles had grated against his throat resembled a rope of red tinsel.

“Stay with him,” Allen ordered as he scooped up the ill-wish he’d dropped to free Boar. As he sprinted towards the front doors, the opal ring on his pinky finger twinkled madly. “And call your damn elders!”

“Allen, wait,” Lilac cried.

“Don’t follow me!”

She shot one look at her brother—still gasping, but Rose already had her healing hands on him—and gave chase. What was he thinking, going after their attacker alone? He was just a man, a human man, and the crafter of the ill-wishes obviously knew a thing or two about magic. This was a fight he couldn’t win, and she wasn’t about to let the man she loved die.

When she reached the doors, a blast of cold air robbed the breath from her lungs. She skidded to a halt, pausing to acclimate to the fierce outdoors. The temperature had plummeted, and snow was falling again. There were no more revelers on the ice, and the bonfire was nothing but a pile of charred sticks and pale gray smoke. Rushed movement through the swirling flakes snapped her attention to the path leading down to the village—Allen.

By the Green Mother, how was he so fast?

Shoving away from the doorframe, Lilac followed Allen’s trail down the path. The icy air hurt her lungs and numbed her flesh—in her haste, she had forgotten her coat. At least the snow wasn’t too deep here, having been compacted by hundreds of feet over the last few days. It was mighty slippery, though, and Lilac had to force herself to slow so she wouldn’t twist an ankle. Allen, however, plowed ahead like he had cleats on the bottoms of his shoes.

With a yelp, Lilac lost her footing, slamming down hard on her butt. The path suddenly became a slide, and she shot downhill. Green magic burst from her hands like vines, hooking into the compressed snow with their thorns and dragging her to a painful stop. Groaning, she pushed herself upright and was immediately seized by the caretaker. Without a word, he shoved her behind him, and a second later, she realized why.

Prue Stonewell and Talia were in the middle of a witch duel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Blackberry. That was the scent on the ill-wish splinter. That was the scent on the ill-wish that had dropped from the garland and into Allen’s hands. Beneath the scent of fir and cinnamon had been the sweet aroma of bramble fruit.

The scent of Prue Stonewell.

The old hedge witch had finally succumbed to her jealous vendetta against Lilac and the Hawthornes.

Coward. Instead of challenging Iris Hawthorne directly, the hedge witch had gone after her grandchildren. Uninitiated witches. Good people who had given her the benefit of the doubt. And Prue Stonewell had repaid their leniency and kindness with petty and underhanded tactics.

He should’ve trusted his instincts, his misgivings about that encounter outside the Roots’ home. Prue’s reputation in the village had fooled him, as had her strange and strained relationship with Zofia Hollyoak. Just because she bore Zofia no harm didn’t mean her affection extended to the house elf’s employer.

It wouldn’t be the first time Allen’s intel had been wrong, but it would be the first time the woman he loved was in danger. The very woman who had disobeyed his command to remain in the safety of the Hall with her siblings and now was pressed against his back.