She called up the wind to muffle her steps and plucked a piece of cold charcoal from an unlit fire. Grinding it to smoky black dust, she prepared a suggestion that anyone who caught her in the corner of their eye should dismiss her as a passing shadow.
With a sprinkle of dust, she muttered her incantation, unconcerned if anyone noticed. Half the Hunt’s attendees understood the truth of magic, and the other half would dismiss it as characterwork. Raising power in this crowd was simple. With so many practitioners in one place at one time, energy all but seeped from the ground. Swathed in spells, she darted through the crowd unhindered.
He’d moved from the spot she’d seen him in before, but she spied a familiar face by a fire nearby.
“Birdie?” she said.
“My goodness!” shrieked the old woman, nearly tumbling back in her seat with surprise. “Well, look at you! All wrapped up in spells like you never even stopped.” She gestured between Rowan and the group she was sitting with. “Everyone, this is Rowan. A wayward witch only recently returned to the path. You might remember her as the knobby-kneed granddaughter of Madeleine Midwinter.”
“Hi,” said Rowan, torn between impatience and the desire not to be rude to a group of elder witches.
Roy Joseph sat at Birdie’s side, but he was the only one at the fire who didn’t reek of magic. A wizened woman in a deep purple turban with ocher skin gave her a slow nod.
“Of course,” said the witch in the turban, “Maddy’s girl. Tell me, Rowan, do I have to keep up my mental shields around you too?”
“Rowan’s equal parts Maddy and Liliana,” said Birdie, bristling. “You don’t have to worry about her.”
“Hmm,” said the witch, seeming to defer her judgment.
“Loosen up, kid, your duty’s done.” Roy shoved a mug of spiced mead into Rowan’s hands. She downed it all in a single long drink, hoping to quash her anxiety.
“Well,” said Birdie with a laugh, “someone’s ready to party!”
“Have you seen Gavin?” asked Rowan.
“Ah, I’m afraid not, dear. I can tell from your aura how eager you are to find him.” Then she looked at the others. “Twitterpation of the highest order.”
Rowan regretted stopping as the circle nodded sagely. “Have a good night, everyone,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Not as good a time as you’ll be having, I’d wager!” called Birdie.
Their circle cackled in delight as she fled, closing her eyes and muttering, “Witches.”
Kel was at the next fire, surrounded by a group of other teens. It was nice to see them with their own people. None of their friends were obvious with magic, though one had it simmering in a latent way.
Her cousin looked at ease, out of the Yule Lad costume and back in their own baby Goth uniform. The group was tossing the stuffed sheep Kel had been carting around as Sheep-Cote-Clod over the fire in some kind of keep-away game.
“Rowan,” said Kel, unusually chipper. “Hey.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, she asked, “Have you seen Gavin?”
“Mm, no. Do you want me to send the birds?” They circled a finger overhead.
“That would be great, but I’m going to keep looking. So if one of them finds him…”
“Zo’ll find you.”
“You’re the best, Kel.”
They shrugged. “The crows’re doing all the work.”
Rowan glanced at the bird hopping around the fire, splitting open peanuts in the shell and stuffing their contents into his beak. “Okay,you’rethe best, Zo.” The crow raised his head, looked her in the eye, and let out a double caw in a “Damn straight” before taking to the air.
She pressed on. The longer it took, the more unreasonable her thoughts grew. She scanned the forest beyond the festival edge, anxious that she might catch him drifting away behind an ethereal glow, or alongside a pair of furry boots. She pushed her way through a throng, clipping a woman dressed as Lussi.
“Sorry, Naomie.”
“Mmm, I’m not who you think I am,” came a tinkling reply in an unfamiliar voice, and then everyone around the white-clad Lussi laughed. The leaping fire at their center cast the costumed figures in a shifting, unearthly light—at least, she hoped it was the fire. None of them looked exactly right. They were too long, too narrow, and when she turned her head to catch them in the corner of her eye, she swore they were shimmering.
