The Forest Witch's Home for Magical Creatures

Chapter 22: He Wanted

Wren lurched awake at the sound of a scream. He untangled himself from the sheets when he heard it again.

It was an excited scream. Judging by the pitch of it, Jace's. He heard thundering feet in the hallway. Little fists banged on his door.

"It snowed!" Jace yelled through the door before he took off again.

Fuck.

The witch was right.

He made his way downstairs. The boys were manically trying to pull on as many winter clothes as possible.

The little witch leaned against the counter, drinking out of a purple mug.

Her eyes were twinkling. She was looking a little too smug. He snarled at her as he walked by. Her laugh sounded like bells.

He watched her as she watched the boys. They were dressed now, looking out the window at the snow-covered field.

Their excitement bled away and they looked unsure. It happened often, the joy or happiness would slip off their face. As if they remembered they weren't allowed to have fun or have nice things.

They looked pitiful, all dressed for the snow.

The witch put her cup down and cleared her throat. The boys turned to her, they were always honed in on the witch. They looked to her for guidance and cues in every situation.

She shot them a wild grin. "Race you." And then she was off. Her bare feet slapped the hardwood as she ran through the living. She threw open the door and ran off into the snow.

The boys were frozen in shock before they took off hollering.

Wren had no idea how the witch survived this long. She has the self-awareness of a baby rabbit.

He shoved his feet into boots and wrapped himself in a blanket.

"You foolish women!" He snarled at her from the porch.

She laughed as she ran from the boys, not trying to dodge the snowballs they threw at her. She was already covered in snow. She must have immediately fallen.

She wore an oversized shirt and he assumed those indecent shorts. Her bare skin was turning pink.

"Get in this house and put some clothes on, you shrew."

She threw her head back and cackled and promptly got hit in the face by a snowball. Her arms pinwheeled before she lost her balance and fell. Laughing like an idiot the whole time.

He grumbled low in his chest and stomped his way over to the witch. He shot a look at Gael that had him drop the snowball instead of throwing it his way. He stood over the witch where she lay in the snow. Her face was red. Her eyes crinkled in the corner by the force of her smile

She looked happy.

Enough of that.

He grabbed her and yanked her up. She has snow stuck to her eyelashes. He wrapped the blanket around her and threw her over his shoulder.

The boys ran circles around him, their unease gone. They hit Wren and the witch with snowballs. He could feel the witch laughing against his wing.

He pushed his feelings for the witch down, deep where he could continue to ignore them. He refused to think about why he was worried for her out in the cold.

The boys and he needed her alive. That was it.

He unceremoniously dumped her on the couch.

—-------------------------------------------------

Much of the day was spent in the snow. The boys would come in, defrost by the fire, and then set out again.

The stupid little witch was dressed appropriately when she went back outside.

He ignored the flicker of pride he felt at taking care of her.

The witch had dug plastic sleds out of the rafters in her garage. They trekked up a hill and spent the next hour sledding down.

Wren refused. It would be too easy for his wings to snag. The boys took his refusal easily and begged him to push their sleds down the hill.

The first time he pushed too hard. They took down the hill swiftly, yipping the whole way down. The witch gasped at the speed and the narrow miss of a tree. He was much more careful after that.

The boys were exhausted on the walk back to the house. Their faces were red and they were happy.

The witch coaxed them into a warm bath as she cooked dinner.

They fell asleep in a nest of blankets, curled up together in front of the fire.

The witch took a picture on her phone. Wren didn't know how to ask for a copy. But he wanted. He wanted a physical reminder of his warmlings so that in years to come he could look back and remember.

He could remember that happiness existed. That whatever may come, whatever calamity or pain awaits him, he can always look back on this moment.

He could remember this house in the woods, filled with warmth. He could remember the crook in Gael's teeth when he smiled, or the way Jace snorted when he laughed. He could remember the feel of their small arms when they hugged him. Or recall the witch as she hummed in the kitchen.

He wanted this moment to last. And the memory to follow him when it doesn't.