Skyler

For the rest of the morning, I prowled the cabin, trying to work out what was wrong.

Where had Grandma found that blessing? I'd searched our family grimoires and the dozens of inherited books of shadows cluttering our shelves, but none of them contained anything remotely like it. The language wasn't one of the dead classical tongues like Latin or Ancient Greek. It felt older than that—primordial, like it had been scratched into the bones of the earth itself.

"Grandma," I called, stepping into the kitchen where she was stringing rowan berries onto twine. "Where did you get the harvest blessing from?"

She didn't look up. "I got it from Marge."

I blinked. "Marge?" I asked incredulously. "Marge, who works at the thrift store?"

"Yes, Marge. She's the one with the two handsome grandsons," Grandma said with a knowing look. "Both, who I might add, are single. I could introduce you next time we head into town. Marco is a fantastic baker with arms like a bodybuilder, while his brother Francis is a college linebacker with a backside like a—"

"Are either of them experts in dead languages?" I interrupted, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Grandma stared at me, her brow furrowed. "Experts in dead languages? I think you're setting the bar a bit bloody high, my girl. You want a boyfriend, not a scholar."

I groaned. "Grandma, I'm not romantically interested in them. I'm trying to understand how Marge knew what that blessing was."

Grandma put down her string of berries and turned to the kitchen table, picking up a piece of paper. She held it up, and my stomach flipped.

It was completely different.

This blessing was in English, printed in cheerful black letters inside a cartoon border of psychotic pumpkins dancing and laughing.

The blessing read:
Pumpkin, pumpkin, pumpkin,
Grow, grow, grow;
Let your orange skin,
Glow, glow, glow;
Before autumn flies, we deserve your,
Pie; pie; pie.
So...,
Pumpkin, pumpkin, pumpkin,
Grow, grow, grow!

My jaw dropped. This was not what I'd read earlier.

Grandma shuffled closer, peering at me like I was the strange one. "Skyler, did you have a sneaky try of Granny's secret medicinal mushrooms?"

I stared at her, aghast. "No! I was not high on hallucinogenic mushrooms. There was a paper right there with strange words—"

Grandma patted my shoulder and sighed. "There was one time when I had a bit of the old shroomies and ended up on the cabin roof declaring war on the King of Frogs in nothing but a pair of rain boots. So we've all been there, duck."

I gritted my teeth. "I. Was. Not. High."

She shot me a cheeky wink and returned to her rowan berries, humming under her breath.

I stared down at the blessing in my hands, my blood boiling. The cartoon pumpkins mocked me with their stupid grins and bouncing feet.

"This fluffy bunny garbage wasn't what I read," I muttered, crumpling the paper into a tight ball. I stomped over to the wood-burning stove, opened the door, and tossed it in.

The flames devoured it eagerly.

Grabbing my boots and green cloak, I pulled them on and headed outside. The cool autumn air nipped at my cheeks, crisp and biting. If the spell had been a simple pumpkin blessing, then surely the pumpkins should look different by now. Maybe that would clear up this mess.

I followed the path from the front door to the vegetable garden, my boots crunching over the scattered orange and brown leaves left behind by the freak storm. A few downed branches blocked the way, and I kicked the larger ones aside, making a mental note to clear them properly later so Grandma wouldn't trip.

The wooden gate marking the garden's entrance creaked loudly as I pushed it open. I hesitated at the threshold, scanning the garden. Everything seemed normal—or as normal as it could be after last night.

Instead of going inside immediately, I walked the perimeter, checking the fencing. A loose post or broken wire would mean trouble; rabbits and deer had no qualms about helping themselves to an unguarded garden.

I was halfway around the fence when something unusual caught my eye.

Something was lying in the pumpkin patch.

I froze.

At first, I thought it was an animal—a deer maybe, or a dog. But as I crept closer, my heart hammering in my chest, I realized it wasn't an animal. It was a person.

A man.

Heart pounding, I ran into the garden, my boots squelching in the damp soil. My cloak flapped behind me as I approached, and when I saw him fully, I stopped dead in my tracks.

He was lying face down between two enormous pumpkins, completely naked. His pale skin seemed to glow in the soft morning light, glistening with dew. His hair, a soft silver-blond, was streaked with dirt but still managed to catch the sunlight, shimmering like molten metal. His body was lean but strong, every muscle defined like a statue carved from marble.

For a moment, I just stared.

I had never been this close to a man before—not like this. Certainly not one who looked like... this. He looked unreal, too beautiful to be human.

An angel, I thought absurdly. But no angel would crash-land naked in a pumpkin patch.

Steeling myself, I untied my cloak and draped it over him, trying to cover as much as I could of his indecency. He stirred slightly, mumbling something I couldn't understand before settling again, snoring softly.

I took a step back and cupped my hands around my mouth. "Grandma!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "Come quick! There's a naked man in the vegetable garden!"

The words felt ridiculous, but the situation was far beyond reason.

I crouched beside him, studying his face. It was flawless, sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. His lashes were long and pale, brushing against his cheeks as he slept. His lips, slightly parted, were full and surprisingly soft-looking.

My gaze dropped lower, and I froze.

Tattooed across his chest in dark, elegant script was my name.

Skyler.

My breath hitched, and a cold shiver ran through me. What kind of spell had I cast?

Without thinking, I reached out and traced the tattoo with my fingertips. The skin beneath was cool, smooth like polished stone. The ink seemed to shimmer faintly under my touch, as though it was alive.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open.

I gasped, jerking my hand back, but it was too late. His hand shot up, catching mine in an iron grip. His fingers were long and cold, wrapping around my wrist with a strength that made my heart leap into my throat.