13. Freddie
Freddie
Okay, so flying hasn’t always been my strong suit.
Which is why when Callum tracks me down in the inn’s parlor to break the news about his secret little rendezvous with Mayor Brightfang—and casually drops that he wants me to navigate us into the Witch Wood—Delphi shuts it down before the man can even finish his sentence.
“Absolutely not,” Delphi says, not even looking up from where she’s polishing a tarnished silver tea service. “You two will end up wrapped around a Douglas fir before you even clear the tree line.”
“I am not that bad!” I throw my hands up, entirely offended. “I’ve improved! Dramatically!”
From the velvet armchair in the corner, Jett snickers into his mug of cider. “Fred, you literally took out an elder witch’s mailbox two Halloweens ago.”
“That mailbox jumped in my way,” I shoot back.
“And what about the time you clipped the Mayor’s chimney?” Alden chimed in from the hearth, tossing another log onto the embers.
On my shoulder, Twyla rustles her iridescent wings, her tiny voice piping up right beside my ear. “To be entirely fair to Freddie, the wind conditions that afternoon were remarkably uncooperative. And the chimney was already structurally questionable.”
I turn my head an inch. “Thanks, Twy.”
Callum’s eyes shift from me to my shoulder, staring at the tiny three-inch pixie like he’s trying to process whether he’s hallucinating or if a miniature woman just spoke. I blink, suddenly remembering he hasn’t been properly introduced to the local fauna yet.
“Right. Callum, this is Twyla,” I say, gesturing to my shoulder. “Twyla, Callum.”
Before I can stop her, Twyla zips off my sleeve and through the air until she’s hovering roughly two inches from Callum’s nose. She folds her hands behind her back, buzzing in place, inspecting him with absolutely no regard for personal space.
“I am Twyla,” she announces. “Freddie’s best friend and emotional supervisor.”
Callum doesn’t flinch, though his brow twitches slightly as he looks at her. “Nice to meet you.”
Twyla turns her head toward me, not lowering her voice in the slightest. “You did not mention he was this handsome, Fred. The cheekbones alone are a structural marvel.”
I instantly slap a palm over my mouth, my face flushing bright red.
Before I can yank her back, Twyla reaches into her mushroom-leather satchel slung across her chest, pulls out a vibrant yellow buttercup flower, and neatly tucks the stem right behind Callum’s left ear.
Callum blinks, reaching up with two fingers to touch the petal. “Uh. Thanks?”
“You are welcome,” she says primly, then zips straight over to his shoulder, perching herself right on his coat while smoothing down the skirt of her petal dress.
Callum slowly lowers his hand, holding the buttercup between his knuckles and twirling it back and forth. His eyes shift over to me. “She’s…”
“A hopeless romantic,” I finish for him, sighing deeply. “Ignore her.”
“Right…” Callum says slowly, his gaze sliding over to meet mine.
Delphi sets the silver teapot down on the mahogany side table, cutting through the moment.
“All jokes aside, Winifred, the Witch Wood is far too dangerous for the two of you right now. Sabine Blackwell didn’t just wander off.
That forest is ancient, volatile, and even elder witches don’t go stomping through the deep thickets without a warding charm. ”
“We’ll be fine!” I protest, taking a step toward her, my hands working instinctively to smooth down the front of my apron. “My mom used to take me out there all the time when I was little. I know the terrain.”
Delphi shakes her head, her sharp face softening with genuine concern.
“It was different then. Your mother is a very skilled witch, and you were a child. The woods recognized you as an innocent. It welcomed you. You don’t know how the Wood is going to respond to you now—or to him.
” She jerks her chin toward Callum. “He’s completely human. The Wood doesn’t like outsiders.”
“I’ll have Jett with us,” I argue, pointing a finger towards him.
Delphi scoffs, a raspy sound coming out of her throat. “Yeah. Because he’s so ferocious.”
“Hey!” Jett mutters defensively.
Twyla stands up straight on Callum’s shoulder, puffing out her chest. “And you will have me. I am exceptional at spatial navigation and threat assessment.”
I snap my fingers, pointing at her. “See? We’re stacked. We’ll be fine.”
Delphi crosses her arms over her chest. Her eyes soften as she looks at me, reading right through my defensiveness.
“I know you’ve been itching for an adventure, Winifred.
I know you feel cooped up in this inn, waiting for news from your parents.
But I don’t think you’re ready for something like this. ”
The humor drains out of me, replaced by a knot in my throat. I look down at my hands for a second before looking Delphi again.
“Too bad,” I say quietly. “Because I’m going.
Delphi, my parents are out there on the border right now, trying to keep the sky from falling down on us all.
If there’s a chance I can help figure out what happened to Sabine—if I can actually do something instead of just folding towels and serving tea—I’m doing it. ”
I glance over at Alden, who’s leaning against the mantelpiece. “Alden will cover my shifts at the front desk.”
Alden’s eyes widen in horror. He glares at me, opening his mouth to object, but catches the warning flare in my eyes. He slumps his shoulders, letting out a resigned groan. “Yippee. Fantastic. My favorite thing.”
Delphi slowly turns her head, giving Alden a look sharp enough to slice glass.
Alden instantly sits up straight as a board, clearing his throat. “I mean it! It’ll be…super fun. Love customer service.”
Callum shifts his weight, the leather of his boots creaking against the floorboards as he looks between us. “How far is it by broom?” he asks Delphi.
“Only about twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes if the winds are light,” Delphi answers reluctantly.
I shoot Callum a triumphant look, crossing my arms over my chest. “See? Twenty minutes. We’ll be completely fine.”
Delphi rubs the bridge of her nose, her patience clearly running thin. “Fine. If I can’t talk you out of this fool’s errand, at least let me help you pack.”
Callum clears his throat. “Right. About that…” He looks at me, then back at Delphi, his brow furrowing slightly. “How exactly does a suitcase fit on a broom? Is there a trunk option I don’t know about?”
“Spatial extension charms,” Delphi says simply, picking up her tea towel again. “The saddlebag hitches to the tail. It holds roughly three times its visible volume without adding an ounce of weight to the draft. Magic, Callum. It’s practical.”
Callum nods slowly, taking that in with his signature stone-faced acceptance. “Got it. I’ll go upstairs and get my things together.”
Twyla perches on his shoulder, tilting her head up at him. “Do you require assistance with your garments, handsome detective? I am excellent at folding trousers.”
A small, genuine quirk of a smile hits the corner of Callum’s mouth—the kind that makes the skin around his blue eyes crinkle just a bit. “I think I’ve got it covered, Twyla. But thanks.”
Twyla lets out a dramatic, tiny sigh, nodding with a tragic sort of resignation before flitting off his shoulder and zipping straight back to nestle into the loose curls at the crown of my head.
“I’ll go get packed,” I tell Delphi softly. “Meet back down here?”
Delphi gives me a pointed look. “Thirty minutes, Winifred. Do not dilly-dally.”
“Aw,” I grin. “But dilly-dallying is my favorite pastime.”
Delphi narrows her eyes at me, though the warmth in her expression gives her away. I cackle, turning to leave before she can throw a dish towel at my head.
Thirty minutes later, I drag my leather saddlebag into the inn, the strap slung over my shoulder. Callum is already standing near the hearth in the parlor, his own duffel bag resting beside his boots.
The moment I hit the bottom step, his eyes drag up from my sneakers, taking in the full length of my legs, tracing up the curve of my waist, before finally resting on my face.
I hate it. I genuinely hate how easily this man makes me nervous. I can’t remember the last time a guy made my heart knock against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Suddenly, I’m second-guessing my entire outfit.
I’d thrown on a pair of thick olive leggings and a white, form-fitting long-sleeve tee, knowing how biting the wind gets once you clear the tree line.
Was the fact that my ass looks incredible in these leggings a small, secondary motivation? Absolutely. I’m still human, after all.
Callum seems to have had the exact same train of thought when it came to his outfit.
He’s dressed in dark black joggers that hug his muscular thighs just right, a black quarter-zip, and the white collar of a tee peeking out at his throat underneath his dainty gold chain.
It’s an unfair amount of eye candy for this early in the day, and I promptly look away before he catches me staring.
Delphi steps out from the kitchen holding two small velvet pouches.
“Listen to me, both of you,” she says, her voice snapping us out of whatever was building between us.
“The Witch Wood is not the local park. Do not touch the pale blue moss on the birch trees—it causes severe contact paralysis. Keep your boots on the trail if you’re on foot. ”
She reaches into the first pouch and pulls out a delicate silver chain holding an unpolished chunk of black tourmaline, its facets catching the dim parlor light. She steps up to me, reaching around my neck to clasp it securely.
“Tourmaline,” she murmurs. “Grounding and protective. It keeps local hexes from clinging to you.” She turns to Callum, pulling an identical silver chain from the second pouch and handing it to him. “Wear it under your shirt.”
Callum takes it, slipping the cool metal over his head without argument. “Thanks, Delphi.”