Page 9 of A Wolf for Winter

The itch now a persistent burn, he dashed up the path, barely registering the boxwood hedges framing the path or the grandeur of the polished rowan-wood entryway. His wolf was frantic now, and they were both convinced his pinky finger was going to combust any second now.

Under the awning, Allen flipped through the keys until he found the one decorated with the same embellished H that marked the double doors and thrust it home. Tumblers groaned and he shoved his shoulder into the door when the lock retreated.

The itch vanished the second he staggered into the empty grand foyer.

His first impression was of a ghostly, abandoned version of the von Trapp house in The Sound of Music or the mansion in Scarface, the grand fireplace in the far wall giving a more ominous impression instead of welcoming one. But again, he didn’t stop to truly ponder. He didn’t want the itch to return, and he needed to complete the second half of the mission Zofia Hollyoak had given him.

“Burn the sage.”

It was right there inside the doorway, on a simple pedestal beside a box of matches. Lighting the thick bundle, he let it smolder until a healthy plume of whitish smoke rose from its tip.

“Now what?” Allen muttered. He waved it around the entryway and coughed. “Is this it?” His voice echoed in the emptiness of the grand foyer. Of course the building didn’t reply, but one never knew with these witchy things.

Zofia hadn’t given him further instructions, so there was only one thing to do: be thorough.

“Unlock the Hall and burn the sage.”

There were many more keys on this ring, and the bundle of sage was so long and fat it would smolder for a considerable time.

“Guess I’m opening every door and fumigating the entire building,” he muttered.

But first things first. Allen ripped that infernal ring off his pinky finger. He was seconds away from hurling it into some spirits-forsaken corner when he thought better of it. The silver band clinked lightly against the pedestal where he placed it beside the matchbox. It would be the perfect bargaining chip to demand an answer from Zofia when she was released from the hospital. He already had a mission, so what had she just gotten him into?

CHAPTER FIVE

Lilac almost threw herself from the wagon and ran when Hawthorne Hall finally came into view, sitting proudly on its hill overlooking the village, its four spires piercing the gray winter sky. It was tradition to arrive in old-fashioned clothes and via the goat-drawn wagon as a show of humility and benevolence, but it was a tediously encumbering and slow process. The ride did, however, provide plenty of time for conversation, and, of course, speculation.

Unfortunately.

“Soooo,” Rose drawled, head craned up towards the sky to watch the snow fall, “besides the Gala, what mischief are we getting into this year?” She slid her ivy-green gaze to Lilac. “Hmm? How many hearts you gonna break, Li? Five? Twelve?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” It was the reply expected of her, and that should’ve been that, but Lilac couldn’t help blurting, “And it’s going to be zero, thank you very much. I’ve got no time for boys.” Not unless they wanted to purchase magical hair-thickening serum, anti-inflammatory soap, or any of her other wares.

Rose jerked upright. “Since when? That’s, like, your thing.”

Lilac batted away her sister’s hand as she attempted to test Lilac’s forehead for a fever.

“Leave her alone,” Boar said. “And we’re not twelve, Rose. There will be no mischief.”

“Since when did you become such a stick in the mud? If Otter were here, you two would be in the back of the wagon right now, scheming how you were going to spike the punch bowl with a watered-down love potion and then take bets on which idiot plucked up the courage to ask Grandmother for a dance.”

But their cousin, who was as playful and easygoing as his namesake, was away with the coven in Redbud, so there would be no spiking of the punch bowl this year.

When Boar only gazed stoically ahead, flicking the reins lightly against the goats’ flanks, Rose said, “Ohhh, Dad’s pep talk got to you, didn’t it?” She flopped back in her seat, propping her feet up on the rim of the box seat. “You really shouldn’t let him get under your skin like that.”

“Not all of us can afford to be as carefree as birds, Rose,” he snapped. “I’m responsible for you two—he didn’t have to say it. And we represent the entire Hawthorne family, whether you believe it or not, so we’ll all act like it. Put your feet down.”

Rose’s boots hit the footwell with a resounding thud, but she wasn’t finished yet. “Guys, this is one of the only times we get to leave the manor. I know we have responsibilities, but let’s try to have a little fun, okay? It’s the holidays! There will be mistletoe and cocktails and dancing and a whole roasted pig and music—we’ve already got the snow!”

She swiveled in her seat, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright. Snowflakes clung to her brown curls. “Boar, you can still be a leader without being an uptight dick; Lilac, you can do whatever you want with whatever you smuggled into the wagon; and I am going to live a little and have me a winter fling. That’s right, I said it! I’m gonna smooch me a fine wild mountain man and—”

“Shut up, Rose!” Boar exclaimed. “Lilac, what did you smuggle into the wagon?”

Lilac glared at her sister with all the frost she could muster. Which was a lot. “How did you—?” It didn’t even matter. She might not have secured the canvas covering properly, or her sister was just being her usual cat-curious self.

“Lilac!” Boar prodded.

“If it were your business, I wouldn’t have had to smuggle it, would I?” she snapped.