He whipped around to face me, eyes murderous. “No. Not Célie. Lou. Your wife.”

My wife. I snapped at the repulsive words, stooping to pick up a stone and hurling it at his face. Eyes wide, he ducked, narrowly missing it. “Stop saying that,” I snarled.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He scooped up his own stone then, launching it back at me. I didn’t dodge in time. When it grazed my shoulder, I groaned, but he merely reached for another—a stick this time. “Saying what? That she’s your wife? She is. I watched the inane ceremony myself—”

“Shut up!” I tackled him around the knees, and we both went tumbling in the snow. “Shut! Up! I would never tie myself to such a creature.” We rolled, neither of our blows fully landing. “I would never deign to even touch one—”

“You’ve touched her plenty from what I gather.” He bared his teeth and pushed a palm against my face, scrambling free. “What’s the matter, Reid? Trouble in paradise? I could’ve told you it would never work, but you wouldn’t have listened. You’ve been completely obsessed with her—and still are, by the sound of it. Oh no, don’t try to deny it, and don’t get any ideas about you and Célie either. You made your choice. She’s moved on—”

I snorted and shot to my feet. “You’re pathetic. You think she belongs to you? You think you allowed her to come here? You don’t know her at all, do you?” When he seized my coat front, enraged, I broke his grip, resisting the urge to break his nose too. “She isn’t an object. She’s a person, and she’s changed since you last saw her. You better prepare yourself.”

“If you—”

I elbowed past him. “You don’t have to worry about me.” The truth in the words shocked me. Where once there had been attraction, even infatuation, when I thought of Célie now, I felt only a familial sort of affection. Frowning, I tried to pinpoint the source of the change, but I couldn’t. Though I’d tried to deny it, to rationalize it, something had clearly happened inside my head. Something unnatural. Something like witchcraft. I stormed north, determined to fix it no matter the cost. The witches would know. They’d probably cursed me themselves. Their last act on earth would be undoing it. “Worry about yourself, Jean. Célie won’t be happy to learn you’ve been following her. It implies a lack of trust. A lack of confidence.”

He grimaced and looked away. Good.