The Witch and the Wolf ✔️

Fixing Broken Hearts

I hurried down to where the Guild worked their potions, with a large, industrial conservatory. If I wasn't expected to be back in some vague window of "soon." Other members of the Guild ignored me as I started picking ingredients for the strongest cancellation spell I could find in my book. I wasn't going to lock away my heart forever. And magic was never unbreakable

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Cancellation Spell— the strongest I, Pamina Bishop, have ever known. Remember that all magic has consequences, and you must be certain that you want the spell cancelled, because you may not be able to cast it again.

-Mina Bishop, 2001

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Like a madwoman, I began brewing. The fumes made my dark curls go all bushy and frizz out completely, but all I could think about was the look on Huron Lamar's face just moments before.

I couldn't let him down— I wasn't going to let him down. Sprigs of famous bits of love potions were thrown in. I wanted to love him. I didn't know what it was that he found worthy of love— I'd been nothing but rude and curt in his presence, for good reason mind you— but I knew that the bond didn't just work like that.

Especially if his family didn't do the Mating Ecstasy— it worked both ways.

So he had to find something in me worth keeping. Even though I hadn't shown that side of me.

Tears mingled in the potion, turning it a serene cerulean, beyond the shade of dark indigo blue that the potion was supposed to be. But I drank it anyway, under the light of the moon, because I knew that it was worth a try.

Mind you, I didn't feel suddenly different. But it was a dawning realization that I cared about Huron. I cared a lot. The emotions were messy and complicated and confusing— but they were there and vaguely positive. I could work with that.

I hide my supplies, and then headed into the dining hall to get a bit of that stag. If anyone deserved it, Huron certainly did in my mind.

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Love Spells, I'll include, like my predecessors, but to any who will succeed me— the matters of love are better not in the hands of witches and wizards, but in those of the ones carrying out the relationship(s) involved.

Any Bishop witch who dares tamper with Selene's wishes, know that I, Pamina Bishop, judge you first.

-Mina Bishop, 1992

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When I returned to the room, Huron had chosen to turn on the lights and put on a shirt again— something that I did not mind in the slightest, as I now knew the truth about those scars. That was something I could never see the same way again— I could never see him as a monster again after that.

He turned around when he saw me. "Lorna— thank you. I appreciate. . .What you did."

I willed my cheeks not to blush. I set down the plate of food, and sat down on one of the comfy, rustic couches.

"Do you want anything?" He asked, his long fingers reaching tentatively toward the plate.

"No, thank you." I played with the edge of my black skirt, which had stayed miraculously clean throughout the whole ordeal. He sat across from me, on the cot, and we sat in silence for a moment.

"I don't know all that much about you," Huron admitted. "I want to, though. You mentioned your dad, two months ago. I'd like to hear more about him and your mom."

"I can't really say much about my mom," I confessed. "I loved her, in the way you obligatorily love family. But I was a child, and she was never able to be around because she would have been missed, had she run away from the packs."

I sighed. "She did give me my grimoire, though."

"That's the books of magic you kind uses." Huron nodded. "It must be important to you."

"Grimoires are passed on from mother to daughter, witch to witch," I explained. "They're more than just instructions or a textbook."

I pulled mine out, admiring it. Since it had been given to me for my fifth birthday, the binding had been stretched out, the leather wore in some places, the opals had chipped and the silver was looking a little tarnished in some places.

"May I?" Huron asked.

"It's got silver clamps," I warned as I let him touch the leather of the book.

He nodded, observing it before carefully handing it back to me.

"It must make you feel connected to your mother."

"It does, but again, it was my father who was the one I really bonded to," I confessed. "He taught me some Hunting things, like how to shoot and use a sword— although the sword fights tended to be the playing kinds, where I was some magical princess or something. The thing is, unlike some Hunter kids, Dad didn't force it on me all the time."

"He wanted you to have something ordinary."

"Yes." I swiped at the tears starting to form in my eyes. "We'd have tea parties with all of my dolls and stuffed animals, he'd read to me— I don't know how he did it all alone, but he did. He was a great father. I know it's not easy to hear that your enemy was a good person—but he was, Huron. He was my father— more than anything else."

"And that's why you hate us so much." I wanted to correct Huron somewhat when he said it with that sad look, but I couldn't really deny it. "My people took that from you."

"You didn't." My heart felt as if it were pounding, hammering through my entire body. "I— I'm sorry, Huron. I know I've been so angry, and you don't deserve that. Others do— but not you."

"I forgave you a long time ago," Huron said. "I realize there's parts of your life I'll never understand. But I try."

"And I appreciate that." I forced a smile. "Did you ever have any childhood memories, like that?"

Huron sat back, eyes to the ceiling as he thought.

"My father used to take me hunting, sometimes, when he wasn't angry with me." There was a ghost of a smile on Huron's face. "My favorite place was near the top of Greenheart Mountain. I'll have to take you sometime, it's beautiful. Surt and I used to explore the forests all the time, making up stories like the ones—"

He stopped, censoring Kiche's name.

I reached a hand out to his arm, meeting his eyes, sky to ice in color. "I know about Kiche, Huron. I'm so sorry."

He nearly choked. "Who told you?"

I retracted my hand. "I can't tell you that."

"D'Anaconia."

I didn't confirm or deny his statements. "I want to know about you, too, Huron. If I'm to marry you someday. . . I want to love you."

"What are you saying?" I knew that defeated expression, as if he didn't dare hope it meant what he thought it meant.

I looked down to my skirt and fiddled with a bracelet Tala had given me. "Huron. . . I removed the spell. I want to give us a try. For real."

He set down the platter. His eyes went wide, like small moons in their own right. He raised his hands to his mouth in a little prayer to the Moon Goddesses. "Thank you."

His tone was ever-reverent, and I felt like the goddess I was dressed up to be. He took my hand, the one with the red ribbon wrapped around it in the Mating tradition, and pressed it to his lips.

In a moment of boldness, I crept my fingers beneath his chin and pressed my lips to his in a kiss as triumphant as the stars.