Her mother sawed off a pat of butter with a spatula before letting it plop into a hot skillet with a sizzle. Moments later, eggs joined it with a series of delightful pops and finally a sprinkle of chives.
“Your dad said you got in late?”
“Yep, flight was canceled, so we drove.”
“We?” Liliana’s voice was innocent—too innocent. She dumped a white cascade of flour and leavening into her yeast mixture and turned it with her hand, testing the consistency before gradually adding more flour when it clung, sticky, to her skin.
Rowan rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me say it. I know Dad already told you.”
“Gavin was always a good-looking kid. That said…” She paused, staring Rowan in the eye. “He is a McCreery.” Liliana pulled the dough from the bowl and tossed it hand to hand, slapping it in satisfaction as her hands finally stayed clean.
Rowan’s stomach fluttered. “Don’t worry. He’s still as infuriating as ever. No risk of an Elk Ridge Romeo and Juliet.”
“Good. Because there’s plenty else to worry about right now.”
Her mother’s words hung heavy in the air as she moved back to the skillet. The dough continued roiling through the motions of kneading, as though hands were still punching and pressing, even though no such hands were present. Rowan relaxed her gaze. Tiny filaments of bright white light now surrounded the bread.
They hung as taut threads connecting to her mother, and the longer Rowan looked, the more she would find woven throughout the house, joined to a solid rope of white light that blazed down her mother’s center before plunging into the earth.
Noticing her attention, the filaments of light pulsed and wiggled in her direction. With a huff and a frown, she shut her awareness back down, the world going mundane once again.
Her mother pulled a golden loaf of bread from a linen bag with a puff of flour and sliced through the thick crust in a heavy sawing. “My sourdough starter turned thirty years old. Thought about throwing it a party, but wasn’t sure anyone would come.”
She winked and plated the slice before picking up her skillet to tip the eggs on top. With Rowan’s breakfast settled, she returned to kneading.
Rowan watched. “Why do you bother when you can do that with magic?”
“If I didn’t hit bread, I’d probably hit someone else.”
“Mmm. Maybe I should hit more bread.”
“I recommend it.”
Rowan dug into her breakfast, sucking bright orange yolk off her fingertips as she filled her mouth with sour, spongy bread. The warm food and the rhythm of her mother’s movements lulled her senses, and she almost surrendered to it, but then her gaze happened to travel out the kitchen window, where the sight of the dry earth snapped her back to reality.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the snow?” she asked.
Her mother took a sharp breath. “You don’t want to wait until after breakfast to have this conversation?”
Rowan shoved the plate away, knowing it would be laced with her mother’s power. The Midwinter home was so woven with Liliana’s spells that when looked at all together, they became like a net—a net designed to nurture, but one that trapped, nonetheless.
“So that you can lull me with hearth magic first?” said Rowan with a shake of the head. “No, thanks.”
“Rowan…”
“You want me to take part in some kind of spell, don’t you?”
Liliana pressed into the counter and rocked back and forth. “We need you to take Grandma’s place in the circle. Stand in the east for us—please. Help us bring the snow back.”
“Why not ask me before I got here?”
“Would you have come?”
“I deserved the choice.”
“You still have it to make.”
Rowan’s eyes fell. “But you knew it would be harder if I were here. If I were around…all of this.” She gestured toward the blighted wilderness and the town beyond.
