He pointed at her. “Remember, you mustbelieveit will work. Belief is hope, my dear. Never forget that.”
She gave him a big hug. Orelia finally had what she needed. For the first time since being cast aside, real hope took root in her heart. “Thank you for everything, Morton,” she whispered into his unruly gray hair.
He patted her on the back, and she bid the wizard and Polly ‘goodbye’ before darting out the door and heading home.
Back in the garden, Orelia stood in front of her plants with a giddy grin. She dropped to the ground and sprinkled the shiny blue sugar around the base of a tomato vine, then placed her hands on the rotting plant, letting her healer’s light come forth as she recited the binding spell three times. When she was finished, a bright flash of pink burst from beneath her palms, making the entire plant glow for a few seconds before seeping into the vine.
“Yes!” Orelia did the same to the rest of the tomato plants and the squash. Each time she finished reciting the spell, pink light flashed. She buried a few leftover carrot seeds in the ground, covered them with soil, and placed the rosemary sprigs in an X shape on top.
Orelia closed her eyes and refocused, envisioning a cart overflowing with food of all colors to sell at the market. She cleared her throat and began. “To mend is to grow and to grow is to flourish. To mend is to grow and to grow is to flourish. To mend is to—”
A twig snapped, and her eyes flew open. She shielded her face, screaming as pink light shot out from her palms and hit a dark figure standing behind the fence. They both watched as the light absorbed into the man’s chest like lightning reversing out of the sky.
When the last bit of pink had disappeared, furious black eyes found hers. The man’s lips curled back from his teeth. “What in the gods’ names have you done?”
four
The irate expression onthe man’s face wasn’t as terrifying as the serrated dagger in his massive hand. The blade’s teeth were caked in what she could only assume was dried blood. The hilts of two unidentifiable crossed weapons peeked over his broad shoulders, and if they were anything like the horrifying dagger he held, she didn’t want to find out what waited for her on the other ends.
Orelia tried and failed to speak behind the cover of her trembling hand.
The stranger flung open the gate, knocking it completely off the hinges as he stormed into her garden. A heaviness accompanied him like thick humidity after a summer rain, suffocating her almost immediately.
She scrambled back on her hands. “Please don’t hurt me!”
He stopped at her feet and pointed his weapon at her. “What the fuck was that?”
Her eyes darted to the house. She’d stupidly forgotten her knife; it was sitting uselessly on her bedside table. Panicking, Orelia shot to standing, summoned the lid of the storage box, and let it fly into her hands.
When she held it up in front of her, the man curiously searched her brow, probably looking for the Mark of the Witch.
He stood abnormally still in sable fighting leathers that looked like they’d been personally made for him; the vest and pants tailored for every curve of each individually toned muscle. The well-cut pants disappeared into calf-high black boots, and ties crisscrossed down the front of his long-sleeved, deep brown tunic. The two baldrics he wore crossed over his shoulders and attached to the opposite hip, forming an X shape across his chest. The only visible portions of his tawny skin were his face, hands, and a sliver of his neck above the collar.
The stranger took one step forward, and she retreated an equal step back, raising her makeshift shield. “Who are you?” Orelia asked with confidence, despite her shaking knees.
A scowl twisted his full lips. His brown skin echoed warm, golden undertones, and his dark hair was pulled into a knot low on his head. A few strands of loose, wavy hair framed his sculpted face and failed to conceal a pair of pointed ears. She suspected he was a ren, though he was bigger than any ren she’d ever seen. His eyes were as black and depthless as caves, with equally dark, thick scruff lining his jaw.
Unbelievably handsome. And terribly frightening.
“Explain to me what the fuck you just did before I carve you into pieces.”
The command in his voice pinned her in place. She swallowed, heart beating like a drum. “I was trying a binding spell on my garden t-to get it to grow.”
His eyes widened.
“I’m a witch, and I was using the spell, combined with my healing—”
“You’re not Marked.” He looked at her forehead again, his brows drawing together when he didn’t find the tattoo.
“Of course I’m not Marked!” Orelia would never worship the devils in the Three Hells all so she could have access to powers other than healing. “I’m a good witch.”
Onyx wings snapped out from his back, impossibly black and dragonlike, each longer than he was tall.
Not a ren. A fae.
He shot into the sky and disappeared into the clouds. Orelia stood and searched for him, squinting into the sun. She was still scanning the sky when a searing pain ripped through her. She collapsed, crying out in agony as her muscles felt like they were being torn apart. Her chest and abdomen were on fire, the pain tugging at the ends of her consciousness. She screamed again, though no sound came out.
Something slammed into the ground and the pain inside her evaporated. Orelia choked down air, and when she could breathe steadily enough, she rolled over to see the fae bent, chest heaving as his wings folded back into his body.
