Back in a Spell (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #3)

by Lana Harper

I sighed a little, wrapping my arms around myself and closing my eyes, wishing I could feel this untroubled all the time. Wishing I were different, stronger, better . . . that everything was different, but in a way that would let me make peace with myself. Discover the version of me that had it in her to be happy and confident, truly at home in her own skin.

How could a coin look like it was flipping you the bird just by sitting there? I’d never seen an object with quite so much attitude.

“We all have our blind spots,” Morty said, drawing me against him until my head rested on his shoulder. “Believe me, I’ve gone astray many a time in my own dating life. Mistook a bunch of red flags for a carnival, as they say—and

My philosophy tends to be, as long as you learn something from it, there’s not much point to regretting anything. Or anyone.”

“I could see the sky all the time,” I said, giving it a shot. “And I really loved that. It was like watching a constantly moving Rorschach blot, right outside your windows. Getting to see cloud patterns changing all day, sieving through each other. Swirling like vapor, reconfiguring into other shapes, like something alive. It made me think, you know, of course the ancients saw gods and devils and monsters up there. It’s an ever-shifting canvas.”

The sky was like the world’s constant dream, never settling, never waking up.

After everything, it seemed profoundly strange that the Wheel of the Year continued to turn as it always did—leading inexorably to Yule, the return of the light after winter’s deepest darkness. But that was the point, and the comfort of it, too; no matter the weight of your pain or loss, the world only ever knew how to move on.