Page 71 of The Woodsmoke Women's Book of Spells

I sigh and turn back toward home, not looking at the trail that peels upward to the Vickers cabin. I heard that it was sold not long ago. That it’s been empty all this time.

I walk down the mountain as I walked up, slowly and ponderously, with Kep at my side, greeting winter with my head held high. I no longer fear this place and the tricks it can play. I’ve read all the stories in the book, and for me there’s no longer any mystery about them. Only sadness at all the curses, all the downfalls. All the fools who lusted after more than their share. The mountains are so ancient, so soaked in blood and stories, that they’re almost alive. Almost sentient. And I know never to cross them again.

As I reach the field, I feel the press of their eyes against my spine. The unseeing kind, the hungry kind. But I know better than to offer blood in the silver moonlight. I know better than to pass on the book to anyone who thirsts for more.

There’s something on my doorstep. A tiny bundle, tied with a green ribbon. My breath hitches as I bend down to pick it up. The posy of wildflowers casts warmth up my wrist. There’s yarrow, aster, dahlias...

“Matthieu...” I say, swallowing down the ache in my chest. It can’t be him. He’s somewhere far away, surely—

“Carrie.”

I whip around and see him standing there.

My heart explodes.

The posy drops from my fingers as I go to him, closing the distance between us. One step, two, and his arms come around me. “You’re here, you’re reallyhere—”

“Yes. I’ve had... time. Time I needed.”

I lift my face to his, feel a blaze of heat as his mouth finds mine. The world drops away, leaving only us, only this. I kiss him harder, deeper, pulling him into me. When I come up for air, he’s watching, waiting.

“What are you doing back?”

He knows what I’m asking of him. Whether he’s found some peace over the past few months. Whether he’s confronted Henri’s ghost and found a way to let his brother go. “I bought the cabin. It—it felt right somehow. I won’t go searching for Henri, but he’ll know I’m here. This feels right, being here.”

Tears catch in my throat, clawing up from my chest. “If you’re sure, if you’re sure you don’t need more time—”

“I’m sure. I want to be here with you, Carrie.”

I laugh, my lips finding his, pressing the joy between us.

“I realized this past summer what I was giving up by staying in the past. I’ve never met anyone like you, Carrie. There’s never been a single soul like you. I love you. I shouldn’t have left, I should have tried—”

“It’s all right,” I say. “It’s all right. You needed to leave. But you came back.”

Then I feel it.

The curse recorded in the book, the curse that has lingered far too long in this place, curling around the frost, squatting like a toad in the mountains. I feel how fragile it is, how frail it has become. As I lean back, I feel the roots and shoots weaving around us, binding us, and I lock my gaze with his. Then I say the words that I know will finally break the curse.

“I love you too, Matthieu. I’m not going anywhere either.”

And the lingering, lonely curse shatters, splintering all around us.

With the frost.