Page 68 of A Wolf for Winter

The storm had covered the site of the duel in snow, but there were depressions if you knew where to look. Allen oriented himself to where he’d been approximately last night and closed his eyes, remembering.

Talia on her knees, drawing a rune in the snow to protect her against Prue’s witch’s knot.

Prue hurling an attack at Lilac—but it went too far, hitting the invisible force field of the wards.

Another attack—Prue had thrown a charm.

Allen opened his eyes, overlaying his memory with the terrain in front of him. Then he let his nose do the rest, filtering out the scents of snow and dormant grass and searching for everything else.

There.

Allen pawed at the snow, sweeping it away until the charm remained. A disk of polished rowan wood bore the semblance of a flower, its six petals radiating from its center and ringed by a circle. Without touching it, he gave it a sniff.

Acrid woodsmoke, old parchment, and blackberry—the scents of Prue Stonewell.

Extracting his handy multi-tool from his pocket, he flicked it around until the pliers were exposed and retrieved the charm from the snow. Very carefully, he dropped it into his handkerchief and placed it in his coat pocket, a sense of unease growing like a tenacious vine in his stomach. From his scan of Lilac’s book, the flower on the charm was either a daisy, and thus a hexafoil—good magic—or it was an asphodel, and thus a morsafoil—bad magic.

Turning, he scanned the area for the sight of Talia and Prue’s last bout. The depression from where Talia had knelt, terrified for her life, still remained. Guided by Prue’s scent, he found her witch knot—dropped from her hand after she’d been knocked unconscious—and put that in his pocket too. But she hadn’t been the only one using charms.

He continued his search, sniffing, then paused when another stronger, fresher scent alerted him he was not alone.

A hooded figure in a plum-colored coat trudged up the path from the village. Their body was bent against the wind, head lowered, though wisps of dark hair fluttered out from beneath the hood. Black boots rose to their knees and stomped steadily through the snow. A wicker basket covered in a cloth as blue as a cloudless sky hung from their arm.

Allen inhaled, scenting cinnamon and tallow and musk. The scents of the village clinging to—

“Talia?” he exclaimed.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The practitioner grinned at Allen, her smile wavering when she saw the look of astonishment on his face. “Hi . . . Allen. Is, um, everything alright?”

“What are you doing out here? Master Boar told you to stay home. Where it’s safe.”

He hadn’t meant the words to come out so harshly, but the girl seemed to have no common sense. She’d just challenged Prue Stonewell, the strongest hedge witch in the valley, and no doubt had put a target on her back. Prue’s accomplice, or her allies in the village, would be sure to take their wrath out on the girl.

She swallowed, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. Her little nose was a cherry on the end of her face, red with cold. “I came to see you, Allen.”

“M-me?” Spirits above, that’s right. She knows I’m a wolf.

Inside, the wolf bristled, preparing for violence.

Easy, he soothed. Let’s not jump to conclusions.

Talia thrust the basket at him. When he didn’t take it, she yanked back the cloth to reveal a fruitcake wrapped in a red bow, a jar of jam, and a thermos. “You protected me last night. I’m here to say thank you. You know, before all the hustle and bustle of the ball.”

“Oh.” He took hold of the basket and drew it to his chest. “This looks . . . lovely. Thank you.”

“Fruitcake has a bad reputation.” Talia said, crossing her arms and arching her brow, daring him to refuse her gift. “People make the mistake of adhering too closely to tradition. Most don’t consider anything beyond glacé cherries, candied peel, rum, and walnuts, simply because that’s what’s always been done.” She tapped her temple. “They don’t open their minds to the possibilities, and thus miss out on something truly unique and wonderful.”

Allen wondered if she was still talking about fruitcake. “So what’s in this one?”

“The trick is to try new things and put what you love into it. That one is made with all sorts of stone fruits, soaked in port, and a mixture of walnuts and pecans.”

That actually did sound good, and he was already ravenous again. “And the jam?”

“From my family’s orchard—it’s really good smeared on the cake. And that’s hot chocolate from the Cat & Cauldron, unspiked.”

“This is all very kind of you, Talia, but—”