Cursed Yuletide by Eve Langlais

Author:Eve Langlais [Langlais, Eve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eve Langlais
Published: 2021-12-13T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Anders is gone.

And it still hurt. Alva indulged in a bout of self-pity while the wolf paced and even whined a little.

“I know, I’m pathetic,” she sobbed. Crying over something that would never happen. He was gone, and she had to stop creating these fantasies that he would somehow come back.

She dried her tears and emerged from the cave to find the world white and wintery, except for a bubble of calm. Literally. A glowing ball held the storm at bay as she followed the wolf, a hand on the ruff of fur by his neck. A strange trust had sprung up since they’d snuggled in the cave.

The storm raged on outside the bubble, and she tried not to shiver at the sight of it, even as she marveled. Surely, this kind of magic wasn’t evil if it saved her life. But at the same time, would there be a cost?

The bubble of calm allowed them to move more easily, though not quickly, given the snow still drifted, making it hard to walk. Eventually, they made it to the cottage, but Alva remained conscious that they’d wasted much time. Her mother needed medicine, and quickly.

She practically ran to the door, only to realize that the wolf held back. She turned to look. “Aren’t you coming?”

The beast shook his head.

“Then thank you. For saving me.”

The wolf dropped his head and barked.

Alva had no idea what it meant, so she turned to the door and knocked.

The witch opened it dressed in a deep burgundy robe, covered in a dark apron trimmed in bright red.

“Strange time to be traveling when I haven’t ordered anything,” Grandmother said, eyeing Alva.

“I’m sorry to call on you so late. I need your help.”

The smile in reply was small. “I’d be delighted to provide service. Tell me, what do you want?”

“Medicine for my mother. She’s sick.” The words tumbled out in a torrent.

“I’ll need more details.”

Alva told her about the symptoms as the old lady bustled around the cottage. She plucked bottles from a shelf and soon had a pot bubbling. Grandmother stirred the obnoxious-smelling concoction often.

Peering over the edge of the pot hanging in the hearth, Alva’s nose wrinkled. “Will that cure her?”

“Yes. If administered in time.”

“How much do I need?”

“What’s left in this pot after it boils down far enough to fit in there.” She pointed to a small bottle.

“That will take at least an hour,” Alva lamented.

“Which is nothing compared to how long the storm will probably last.”

“I can’t stay, though. I need to get this to my mother as quickly as possible.”

“You are free to take the potion and leave, but I’d peg your chance at survival at zero. It’s not fit for man nor woman outside.”

“You could send me in a magic bubble.”

Grandmother’s brow arched. “You’re not too demanding, are you? It won’t work. The bubble has to be within a certain distance of me. The town is too far.”

“So, I’ll leave with it in the morning.”

“I doubt the storm will be ended by then.

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