Chapter 35 #2
“If I came here and it was just you,” I say, “I would’ve stayed, too, Fallon. I hope you know that. You would’ve been enough for me. More than enough.”
She says nothing but squeezes me tighter with her powerful arms. I draw in another deep breath, trying to take a snapshot of this moment in my mind.
You never know you’re living in the good old days until they’re over.
No matter what happens, I want to remember this.
Want to be able to close my eyes and smell it, feel Fallon’s arms around me, and know without a single doubt that I belonged somewhere.
When she pulls away, she’s carefully pressing her fingers to her lower lids. “We should’ve said the sappy things before makeup,” Fallon laments, reaching toward her dresser and opening the top drawer. “Too bad. Here. I have a present for you.”
She hands me a battered box with a cream ribbon tied around it. “It’s a welcome gift. A ‘thanks for saying you’ll stay’ present. But before you open it, you have to promise that no matter what, we’ll be buried next to each other.”
I nod seriously, reaching out for the present. “Yeah, okay. Easiest promise I’ve ever made.” I pause, looking up at her. “If I die first, you have to do my makeup. I wanna look good in the forever box.”
Laughter bursts out of Fallon, bright as the sunrise. “Sure, Blythe,” she says before her eyebrows knit together. “But I’ll be really sad if you die first. I’m gonna have to forbid you from doing that. Sorry. Matriarch privileges and all.”
“Well, I don’t want you to die first,” I protest, handing the box back to her. “So I can’t accept.”
“Hmm,” Fallon says, crossing her arms and refusing to take the gift. “Okay, how about this: we gotta die on the same day.”
“Only if you promise we’ll also die in the same hour,” I counter.
Fallon offers a crisp nod. “Deal. Okay, open your present, you fucking weirdo.”
I snicker, pulling at the cream ribbon and then lift the top off. I part a few layers of tissue paper, only to find myself staring at Mr. Rabbit. Confusion stirs in my mind, but then I gasp.
“He has new eyes!” I exclaim, setting the box down on Fallon’s dresser and pulling the stuffed animal out. “And a sweater!”
Two gleaming black buttons are sewn onto Mr. Rabbit’s face, a perfect pair, replacing the one I had to cut off due to Sector’s bug.
A little green knitted sweater covers his upper body, hiding all the cuts Caden had to make.
Two tiny felt letters spell out BH, letterman jacket-style.
My vision blurs with tears as I clutch Mr. Rabbit to my chest, my lower lip quivering.
“You’re gonna ruin all that makeup I did,” Fallon says, but there’s no venom in it.
“Your fault,” I manage, my voice wavering as I try to blink through the tears, staring down at Mr. Rabbit. “He’s perfect.”
“Wyatt made the sweater,” she explains. “Cade did some plastic surgery to make the stitches as invisible as possible. I found the buttons and cleaned him up. He needed some more stuffing and a good bath.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I say in a strained voice, hugging Mr. Rabbit closely. “For everything.”
Fallon smiles at me, an echo of that softness I saw in Widow’s dressing room returning to her face. “You can thank me,” she says, a near-feral grin taking over her features, “by not letting those tears ruin your makeup. And by having a damn good time tonight, Blythe. I think we’ve all earned it.”
The forest clearing is awash in firelight, staining the edges of everything in a golden-orange hue that feels like comfort distilled.
I keep my arm linked with Fallon’s as we make our way up the hill, leaving her Jeep behind in the meadow.
Fern races down the hill toward us, yipping happily, though she’s strangely polite about not jumping on our dresses, instead settling for running in laps around us.
Leaves crunch underfoot and the air smells crisp, laced with woodsmoke.
An old hip-hop song I don’t recognize rises on the wind as we grow closer, the scent of hot apple cider filling my nose.
String lights swing from the tree branches that lean in low over the clearing, illuminating the pixies flitting through the air.
As we draw closer to the bonfire, I can just make out a few nymphs dancing on the far side of the meadow.
The moment I look at Them directly, the beautiful creatures are gone, leaving only the weathered trunks of ancient trees in Their place, but I can hear Their bell-like laughter echoing through the night.
“Welcome to your first Hallows, Alice,” Wanda greets us, breaking away from the crowd to offer me and Fallon mugs of cider.
I take one, gratefully wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic.
I’m glad Fallon insisted I grab a leather jacket from Wyatt’s old room.
I’m not sure how great it goes with the dress, but she insisted the overall look was very Buffy.
“Thanks,” I say to Wanda. “Hope it’s the first of many.” I peer around her shoulder, telling myself I’m not looking for Wyatt. “I have to talk to the tribe if I wanna stay here, right?”
Fallon laughs next to me as Wanda smiles, arching one brow as she glances behind her to where Chief Kingbird and Marion appear to be passionately—and very drunkenly—playing a game of Jenga on a plastic table. “You do, yes,” Wanda replies, turning to meet my gaze. “But I think you’ll be just fine.”
Warmth floods me despite the evening’s chill, and I nod happily, taking a long pull of the cider. It’s perfect. I wonder if it’s coven-made, too, in that well-seasoned cauldron that makes everything else of theirs I’ve had taste so goddamn good.
“We’re gonna go find Wyatt,” Fallon says to Wanda, shooting me a sly smile. “But we’ll catch up later, yeah?”
The tall witch goes still, her features slack. Her mouth parts slightly, but no words come out as a pale wispiness floods her eyes. Panic clutches at my throat as Fallon’s fingers wrap around my wrist. “Just root work,” she explains in a low whisper. “Sometimes spirits are demanding.”
I nod, remembering that Wanda had done the same thing last night, even though it feels like a thousand years ago. We don’t have to wait long. Wanda’s eyes clear a few seconds later, her attention settling on me.
“I normally only speak with my own ancestors,” she tells me, examining my face, “but I just had two very polite white folks ask if I could tell their granddaughter how proud they are of her.”
For a moment, I don’t understand, and I probably stare at Wanda like an absolute idiot. “Your Nan and Poppop,” she says softly, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. “Grace and Ron, right?”
Emotion closes my throat off, and I fight to find the right words.
“Oh, you’re definitely gonna ruin her makeup,” Fallon quips from beside me, shooting Wanda a playful glare.
“They’re…my grandparents are here?” I manage to ask, voice quivering.
“Of course,” Wanda says with a gentle smile. “The ancestors are always with us. Yours are very, very proud of you, Alice, and love you dearly.”
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice small and worn. “Thank you, Wanda.”
The witch pulls me into a tight hug, smelling of vanilla and brown sugar and spice, and I probably would’ve burst into tears if I didn’t catch sight of a familiar face.
“There she is,” Wyatt says as Wanda and I pull apart.
His smile is wide and dazzling beneath the brim of his flat cap.
He’s dressed in shades of green—an olive blazer with a brown-and-moss plaid vest layered beneath and army-green corduroy pants.
A red bandana is tied around his neck, drawing attention to his stupidly perfect face.
“Why do you look like a little boy about to go work on the railroad?” Fallon demands, glancing at Wyatt with a frown.
Wanda cackles with laughter, squeezing my shoulder one more time before Janey appears, pulling the witch into a dance around the bonfire. Wyatt glances at me with a mischievous smile and then looks at his sister with a shrug.
“Barnes picked it out,” he says pointedly.
“Barnes?!” Fallon echoes as she raises her chin, clearly searching the Hallows partygoers for the impeccably dressed, soft-spoken man. “Well, I guess even the best strike out now and again.” Then she smiles, gesturing to me. “In more important news, do you see how beautiful Alice looks tonight?”
I’ve literally slept with this man twice—three times, if you count this morning—but I still feel myself turn red when his gaze sweeps back to me.
It’s all smoldering heat and something not unlike adoration.
“Yes,” Wyatt replies, a murmur from the back of his throat, rich as a crackling bonfire.
“Yes, Alice, you look beautiful. Just like always.”
“Gross,” Fallon says, even though I can see her smile. “Alright, I’m getting out of here before you two start making out.”
Wyatt tips the brim of his cap at Fallon as she strolls away, a vision in pale blue and glimmering gold thread. Then he steps close, sliding his hands around my waist.
“Thanks for Mr. Rabbit,” I tell him, tipping my head back to look up into his eyes.
“Did you like his sweater?” he asks playfully, resting his forehead against mine.
“I loved it,” I reply, our lips brushing. “I want one in my size.”
“That can be arranged,” he replies, pulling me against him.
I arch into him, sliding my hands up to grip the lapels of his jacket.
Then his mouth is on mine, and I lose myself to it—to this tender thing blooming between us, to the glorious bonfire surrounded by people I can easily imagine myself loving, to the nymphs in the tree line and even the pixies flitting through the air like fireflies.
There’s cheers when Wyatt dips me low, his large hand open on the small of my back. I laugh against his mouth as he pulls me back upright, breaking the kiss to cradle my face between his fingers.
“I only came here because I thought I didn’t have a home to go back to,” I tell him. “Funny how things work.”
One of his dark brows arches. “How’s that?”
I shrug. “Because I ended up coming home anyway.”
A smile overtakes his features as he gazes down at me. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You look beautiful. And you also look a lot like you—”
“Love you?” I ask with a laugh. “That’s because I do, sweet boy. I love you, Wyatt Hayes, and I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”
He raises one of my hands to his lips, brushing a delicate kiss onto my knuckles that makes my knees weak. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Then he laces his fingers into mine and leads me closer to the heat of the bonfire, where our family is already dancing in the light.
THE END
Thank you for reading Welcome to Blackbird Hollow.