Of Potions and Portents by Nyx Halliwell

Author:Nyx Halliwell [Halliwell, Nyx]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781948686136
Publisher: Beach Path Publishing, LLC

13

By four, the pergola is set up for the crafting hour. Hale and I are putting the finishing touches on the seating arrangements. He’s tall and lanky, barely my age, with long brown hair and a soft smile. His mother, Tala, is part of my father’s tribe and he’s become like a brother to all of us as he’s been working for us since he was a young teen.

Tala. My dad is nuts about her, and as I recall, her Lakota name means alpha she-wolf.

I thunk my head with my hand. My father has a thing for a wolf shifter.

We are more alike than I realized.

The smell of lilacs blooming on the nearby tree lifts my spirits, but like the lazy sun hanging low on the horizon, I’m already anticipating going to bed tonight, I’m so tired. Probably won’t sleep, but the dreams I’ve been having about Tristan are enough to have me crawl in it anyway.

In last night’s episode, the two of us ran in the woods, faster than normal humans, past the hot springs and toward the distant lake. He shifted into his Fae wolf form and jetted past me.

“That’s not fair,” I called.

A second later, I took bird form—a falcon—and flew high over the trees, leaving him behind at the edge of the lake.

“Now, that’s not fair,” he rumbled in my mind.

I flew far away, knowing I could go wherever I wanted, but eventually, my heart tugged at me to turn back to him, to my sisters. As I cruised over the water returning to the forest, Grayson took up the race again and I woke up laughing.

Hale and I have set out two six-foot tables to accommodate all the women making flower crowns. I consider asking if his mom is a shifter, but decide today is not the time.

I cut fresh sprigs of lavender and rosemary, tiny stems of lily of the valley, bright daffodils, pansies, lots of baby’s breath. I grab my hand shears and harvest a couple of lilacs as some of the crafters begin to filter out to the backyard.

A few are regulars, and I greet them with hugs before welcoming the newcomers. My friend, Storm, appears in her usual gypsy garb and we laugh like little girls as we embrace. She’s a storm-born witch, hence her name, and has latent weather magick in her bones. Hale nods at her shyly and she gives him a saucy wave. She takes my hand and we do a quick dance, her spinning me around.

While the others take their seats and talk, she pulls me aside. “Why haven’t you texted this week? I know you’re busy, but I thought I’d hear from you.”

There’s so much to tell her and no time. “Can you stay after the workshop and have a cup of tea? I have loads to fill you in on.”

A curious grin lights her face. Her skin is a beautiful toast color, her eyes nearly violet like the pansies on the tables. “Did you meet someone?”

“No.

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