A YEAR LATER
A gust of autumn wind sent leaves skittering around Bryony's feet in a whirl of bright colors. The chill of Samhain was in the air, mingled with the sweet scent of apples and baked treats from the kitchen—hand pulled taffy, gooey caramels, rich hot chocolate, and fresh toffee.
Every autumn, Sky helped Bryony in the orchard, greenhouses, and pumpkin patch. When the work was done, they went hunting for late mushrooms until it grew too dark to see anything. Then they would huddle in Bryony's cramped attic bedroom—smelling of mothballs, lavender, old roses, and dirt, no matter how many air freshening spells she used—and told each other scary stories by the pale light emanating from their wands.
But for most of this year, Sky had barely been around. She had been preoccupied with her new boyfriend, Aiden Hall—a fancy, powerful warlock from New York, and the owner of the local occult shop known as Spellbound.
Bryony tried not to hold it against Sky. She liked seeing her best friend so happy. Sky glowed, as if there was a sun in her chest and she couldn't contain the light that poured out of her.
Because Sky was head over heels in love.
Bryony crouched on her heels with a scowl. She let her wand dangle from her fingers, lost in thought. She absently poked at a nearby pumpkin and a ghost went wriggling out of it with an offended noise.
"Excuse me," the ghost said. "That was quite rude. I was having a very pleasant nap inside that pumpkin."
"You're a ghost," Bryony replied drily. "You don't sleep anyway."
The ghost sniffed, offended. It drifted off into the forest at the edge of the pumpkin patch.
Bryony had never been in love. Not even close. She wasn't the type for it. She was always busy with one thing or another—siblings, practicing her spells, keeping the family business, Pagan Posies up and running.
She didn't have time for romance. Or at least that's what she told herself. There might have been another reason, one that she didn't have the stomach to admit to herself.
For an entire year, Bryony watched as Sky drifted through the town of Wildemoor as if she was lost in a trance, hypnotized with a permanent smile on her face. She was starry-eyed all the time.
It was driving Bryony crazy.
Her little sister, Seline, came barreling up to Bryony, dragging Bryony from her thoughts. Seline held up a small pumpkin the size of her palm. At only eight years old, her palm wasn't very big to begin with. The pumpkin was practically the size of an egg.
"Can you carve this little one for me?" she said.
Bryony took the pumpkin and inspected it, rolling it around in her fingers.
"What kind of face would you like?" she said.
"It has to be scary. Maybe like a banshee or something."
"Wouldn't you prefer a nicer face?"
"Nope. It's the week of Samhain. I want spooky."
Bryony raised an eyebrow. "You're eight. Aren't you supposed to be afraid of the things that go bump in the night?"
Seline shot Bryony a withering look. She brandished her own wand—a fat, sturdy branch of elm wood—and clutched in her grip like a knife.
"I'm not afraid of anything," Seline declared. "Everything else should be afraid of me."
Bryony couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "Good girl. That's the Torres way. I'll give you the spookiest banshee face you've ever seen."
Seline clapped her hands and rocked back on her heels, eager to see what horrors Bryony could conjure up for her.
With a flick of her wrist, Bryony cast a spell to carve into the pumpkin's flesh. Dark, hollow eyes peered out. Followed by a hooked nose and crooked, rotting teeth. A mouth gaped open, black and hollow.
Bryony tapped her wand against the top of the jack o' lantern's head and a muffled shriek echoed in the depths of the pumpkin to mimic a banshee's cry. It would wear off after an hour or two but until then, it was positively hair-raising to hear.
"Don't bring that in the house," Bryony said as she presented the pumpkin to Seline. "Mom will kill me."
Seline cuddled the miniature horrific pumpkin close with a massive smile.
"Thank you, Bryony!" she said.
She took off running into the woods, pumpkin held aloft above her head to terrify the other children scrambling around Pagan Posies at twilight on the week of Samhain.
At the edge of the forest, Seline waved the jack o' lantern at a ghost. The ghost took on a properly frightened expression for Seline's benefit. Seline cackled with glee.
"Where's Basil?" Seline said. "My brother has to see my spooky banshee. I bet he'll wet his pants over it. I can't wait!"
"Gods' teeth, she's just like you."
Bryony went cold all over at that voice. The voice she never wanted to hear again. She turned around slowly, dreading what she would see.
Her worst nightmare stood at the edge of the pumpkin patch.
He wore ratty jeans with holes in the knees, a thin olive-green t-shirt and a shiny black leather jacket that looked brand new. His sandy blond hair was tousled by the wind and a ruddy sunburn dusted his cheeks. Wherever he had been before Massachusetts, it had been hot and sunny. Probably tropical. With plenty of girls in tiny little bikinis to chase after.
Nothing like the chilly autumn evenings that had settled over Wildemoor.
"Sean O'Hara," Bryony said with acid in her voice. "I thought you were gone for good."
"Nice to see you again, too," Sean said, each word softened with the lingering hint of an Irish accent. "It's been a long time, Bry."
Bryony gritted her teeth. "Do not call me that. I hated it when we were kids and I still hate it now."
A slow smile spread across Sean's face.
"That fighting Torres spirit hasn't faded one little bit I see. You were always eager for a tussle. Gave me more than my fair share of black eyes."
"You deserved every single one, as I recall. And trust me when I say my memory is right on point. I didn't forget you."
Sean's smile widened. Bryony swore under her breath as she realized how that sounded. But it was too late to take it back now and she wouldn't fumble to clarify. That would only make Sean's infuriating smile grow. And if that happened, she just might punch him in the face.
A high-pitched giggle rippled through the orchard.
Bryony might have suspected it was one of the ghosts that were wandering the grounds of Pagan Posies. But she was all too familiar with that giggle to mistake it for anyone else other than the culprit that was her little sister.
"Seline," Bryony said to the air. "Go away."
She couldn't see Seline. But she didn't need a nosy little sister spying on her, especially now.
"Sean and Bryony sitting in a tree," Seline sing-songed. Her voice echoed through the pumpkin patch, ricocheting off the orchard to the right. It was impossible to detect where Seline was hiding.
"Shut up," Bryony hissed.
"K I S S I N G."
"Impressive spelling," Sean said.
Bryony shot him a dark look. "You're not helping. SELINE!" she barked. "Show yourself. Right now."
More giggling.
"All right," Bryony said. "We'll do this the hard way."
She curled her fingers into a fist. Magic exploded in a mushroom cloud of purple.
Seline tumbled out of a pumpkin, seeds and pulp dripping from her hair. She blinked, stunned that her perfect hiding place had been found out.
"Leave," Bryony said, pointing away from the pumpkin patch. "Now. We will talk about the punishment for eavesdropping later."
Seline pouted and stomped off.
And that left Bryony alone with Sean.
"You look great by the way," Sean said.
Bryony clenched her hands at her sides, refusing to self-consciously pat down her wayward orange curls. She knew there were leaves in her hair and probably dirt on her face from working in the greenhouses earlier. Her jeans were baggy and streaked with mud. Her apple-red sweater had holes in the sleeves where her thumbs protruded and the hemline sagged down towards her knees.
She must have looked like a mess. But she had never particularly cared about her looks. She cared about her plants. Not people. Certainly not the likes of Sean O'Hara.
Instead, Bryony mustered up the only response she could—a bitter one.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, O'Hara," she said.
He shrugged. "Worth a shot."
Bryony stuck her wand in her back pocket and crossed her arms.
"What do you want, Sean?" she said.
He twirled one finger and the sizzle of magic sparked in the air. Something tickled Bryony's ankle, snaking up her leg, brushing along the inside of her wrist. She jerked away and glanced down.
Sean had sent a tendril of pumpkin plant curling around her leg, grasping at her hand like fingers. She swatted the plant aside.
"Stop doing that," she said.
The plant went limp.
"Yes, ma'am," Sean replied.
"Can't you just go?" Bryony said.
Sean tucked his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hitched up around his ears that were turning cherry red. He must be cold.
She wouldn't feel sorry for him.
"I was wondering," he said. "If I could talk to your parents."
"Why?" Bryony demanded. "About what?"
"To ask for your hand in marriage, of course."
Bryony choked. She spluttered, hot words bursting on the tip of her tongue but Sean continued before she got a chance to let loose the insults she so desperately wanted to brand him with.
"Actually," he said. "I just wanted to say hello. I've decided to move back to Wildemoor."
"You...what?" Bryony rasped. "No, you...you can't."
Sean raised an eyebrow. He took a step forward, those broad shoulders angled toward her. Bryony shifted back on her heels at the intensity of such a small motion but she wouldn't surrender ground to him. That would be weakness. That would show him that he had won and she would not allow him any victory whatsoever.
"I'd like to see you try and stop me, Bryony Torres," Sean said. "You can always take a swing at me now if you like. But I'll warn you, I've picked up a few tricks over the years since we last saw each other. I don't bruise as easily as I used to."
Bryony scowled.
"Mom and Dad are busy," she said. She didn't like Sean's attention directed on her and she wanted him to get off of her land. "Lots of kids running around, as you can see."
She gestured to the farmland where Torres children and students from the local school, Windywings, were scattered through the trees and the pumpkin patch, putting up decorations for the Samhain celebration that weekend.
"Mom and Dad don't have time for you," Bryony said with a smirk.
That felt good. Maybe Sean would get the message that he wasn't wanted.
"When I left," Sean said. "There were seven Torres kids. What's the count up to now?"
"Thirteen. With twins on the way. Not that it's any of your business."
Sean's eyebrows shot up. "Gods' teeth. Thirteen plus twins? And they're all magically inclined I take it?"
Bryony huffed, offended that he had to even ask such a question.
"Of course we are," she said. "Torres blood is practically green with earth magic."
Sean's smile faltered. He nudged at a pumpkin with the toe of his boot.
"You're lucky," he mumbled.
Bryony barely managed to suppress a scoff of disbelief. Sean O'Hara, wizard of insults, pranks, and pesky behavior, had never called her 'lucky' before.
"Come again?" she said.
"You're lucky to have such a big family," Sean replied. "I mean, I've got Keegan. But he's...you know...a little absent-minded. And a workaholic. Not really interested in brother-bonding time."
Bryony had never paid much attention to Keegan. He was always preoccupied with woodworking charms, fashioning architecture from anything he could get his hands on.
Sean was the one who gave her trouble.
And yet, a squirm of guilt took root in Bryony's heart for Sean's wistful tone. He sounded lonely.
But she squashed that feeling as quickly as it had arisen. He had pestered her all throughout school and made her life a living hell. She would never forgive him for that.
"Anyway," Sean said. He rubbed his hands together and blew into his palm to warm his fingers. "It's too cold out here for me. Guess I got used to hot summers."
Bryony narrowed her eyes. "Rubbing it in, are you?"
Sean hummed with laughter. "Maybe a little. I'll call back another time though. Enjoy your pumpkins."
He turned to go—finally, thank Sweet Mother Hecate for granting mercy—when he stopped and turned back.
"Oh," he added. "And go easy on Seline. You were a trouble maker like that once, too. Scaring all the boys in school, pretending to be mean."
"Pretending?" Bryony said, indignant.
But Sean had already started up the path to the entrance with its glittering stars of magic, sheaves of wheat, piles of gourds, and vats of harvest tea and spiced apple cider.
Bryony watched him go. After all those years had passed, she could barely see the Sean she knew before—chubby and pale, wearing clothes two sizes too big for him and always yanking on Bryony's carrot-colored hair.
Now, Sean was lean and wider in the shoulders. His voice was softer, too, even though she still sensed the mocking tone was there, lurking beneath the surface of his words.
So much had changed in so many years.
And yet other things remained the same.
Bryony still couldn't stand Sean O'Hara and she hoped and prayed he never darkened her doorstep again.