Page 13 of Raven in Midwinter

“As I told you the first year you lived here—and reminded you again this past Thanksgiving—Corvus sleeps like everything else in the winter. During the dark time of the year, it’s hibernating. The land is covered in ice and snow and frost, resting, communing in silence with the natural world.”

“But it’s still vigilant, that’s what you said.”

“To a degree, yes, and for us, certainly.”

“And Arawn’s dogs, they’re not here either.”

“No, they’re here, but they’re resting too. Best not to wake them.”

“I…I’m worried this hedge-riding ancestor of yours will hurt our home somehow.”

“Argos is asleep in front of the fire,” I reminded him.

“Which I love that we can leave roaring in the hearth, but Argos has a what’s-in-it-for-me attitude about protection.”

I chuckled. “Very true.” The daemon masquerading as a housecat was a bit of an opportunist. “But remember, even at rest, the land is powerful, and so are the wards. Giles can’t poison anything. And again, everything I’ve read about him says he pops onto the land, stays a few days, then moves on. Most members of my family only know he’s visited as there are odd sightings.”

“Odd?”

“Like yours. Not quite sure if what they saw was real. When you were showering, I checked my grandfather’s journal, and he said he saw Giles when he was sixteen, at Samhain, when the veil is thin and⁠—”

“—the dead brush gently against the living.”

I grinned at him. “You read his entry as well.”

He nodded. “Yep. Same as you, I went and found it when you were in the shower.”

“Great minds and all that,” I teased him.

“Well, your grandfather wasn’t sure if he saw the hedge-rider or something else, like a shapeshifter.”

“I read up to the part where he said he doesn’t stay long. Did you read more?”

“I did, but there wasn’t much else. Your grandfather did say that when he spoke to the land a few days later, there was no sign of Giles.”

“See?”

Deep sigh from him.

“Love, if you don’t want to go to the dinner, we can say we’re snowed in.”

“No,” he grumbled, putting the Jeep in gear and pulling away from our home.

Halfway there, he sighed again.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You know I’m not a fan of things I have no control of.”

I smiled at him. “I do know.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“What?” I said dramatically. “Me?”

When he leaned sideways and kissed me, I was very pleased with him.

The house was, as always, beautiful, inviting, and warmly lit. And while I loved my cottage, the polished wooden floors here, the enormous steel-and-glass refrigerator, endless counter space, and the dishwasher were all things I coveted.