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Evelyn
Evelyn checked Miss Patricia’s note. That morning, she’d run into Cyrus over the Runaway Radish’s communal breakfast. He’d promised to find Commissioner Doyle to ensure they could meet with the McCarthys, and he’d agreed to meet Evelyn back at the Radish before noon. In the meantime, Evelyn had decided to check out the apartment Miss Patricia’s niece owned.
She walked through the misty streets of Callum, and the chilly air tightened her lungs and hardened her knuckles. The cold gave her energy, a dash of speed as she twisted down the cobblestone streets.
Fog so dense the town appeared to be on the cusp of a white abyss blanketed the sea. All around the town, the fog crept over and down the hills like ghosts, and the crisp moisture in the air stuck to Evelyn’s cheeks and dampened the loose strands of her dark hair.
She turned onto a row of colorfully painted shops. Blues, yellows, pinks, and purples lined the street, with no one shop painted like the other. One as pink as a dawn sky displayed dresses and thickly woven blouses in a window. Women rushed in and out of the store, their cheeks rosy from morning chill and their hands full of shopping bags and clothing boxes.
Next to the boutique, a carved wooden sign in the shape of a boot hung over a men’s shoe store painted the shade of lilacs. Inside, a man smoothed and hammered the leather of a loafer on a workbench. Evelyn continued, detecting cinnamon and vanilla. A robin’s-egg blue bakery beckoned customers with tea and small cakes, and seated outside under an umbrella, a couple shared a rolled pastry and laughed together.
The street buzzed with activity. The young and playful energy reminded Evelyn of Nua’s shopping and arts district, where she’d owned an apartment. It had been her first independent venture while attending university. Something of her own. A place to rest. Surprisingly, the similarity did not make Evelyn sad. She hadn’t had something stable in a while, and the sense of familiarity allowed her to hope this apartment could be promising.
At the corner of the street, a shop painted a luxe green shined like an emerald even in the misty morning. The storefront window—“Pages and Leaves” written on it in delicate, gold cursive—reflected Evelyn’s silhouette as she stood out front. Through the glass, she saw that greenery took up a majority of the interior. It felt as if she stared through the window of a garden and not a shop. A large plant, tropical in nature, overtook half the window, while vines with leaves the shape of stars dangled behind the gold lettering.
Again, Evelyn read Miss Patricia’s note. The shop’s name matched. Taking a step back, she looked up and noticed the second level, contrasting the green with black brick. Matching black wrought iron bars wrapped around a balcony overlooking the street.
Maxie would love it.
Evelyn sighed. Hopefully with her savings and new weekly salary, she could afford it. She pushed the door open, the bell chiming her arrival and—
Her magic detected another’s magic. Every molecule in the air vibrated with it, tickled and caressed Evelyn’s magic in greeting. Gentle, vibrant. Petals and leaves fluttered around her like butterflies and soared to the ceiling. Pink and dainty, cherry blossom petals landed on her nose and cheeks, while dark and moody ones, made of dried oak leaves, landed on her arms.
Evelyn turned and found the witches’ creed above the door. Right where it should be.
“Our eyes to the Sun, and hearts full of fire, minds open, and hands for good.”
Carved into the wooden doorframe, the four-stanza creed etched a symbol of guidance over the exit and entry, like any other home, shop, or property belonging to a witch.
A worktable made of pine sat in the center, cluttered with piles of soil, uprooted plants, and empty pots. Behind it, a counter lined with terracotta planters full of flowers ranging from cherry to marigold ran along the back wall. On the left, three rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crafted from the same pine, were stacked with books. Vines of ivy slithered and grew down and around the books, twisting and curling with activity as they restocked the shelves from volumes piled high on a cart.
Transfixed by the beautiful magic of the shop, Evelyn almost forgot—there must be a witch nearby. Despite her excited magic, thrilled to have met another, disappointment crashed through Evelyn. She couldn’t stay here. Not when she wished to keep her identity as a witch hidden. Doing so under the nose of a fellow witch would be a challenge.
Avoiding witches entirely was impossible. They resided in the New and Old World, which was why Evelyn wore her enchanted bracelet to hide her magic. Many had fled Torren during the Great Burnings, but some stayed. After six centuries, witches and humans lived peacefully in Torren, but there were few witches left. Magic needed to be worked and kept strong, but as witches used their magic less and less, there was less and less magic in the following generations.
Evelyn took a step back to depart, but the round, wide-eyed face of a young woman her age popped up from under the cluttered table.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The witch’s magic . . . it was so bright and kind, much like her russet-colored eyes that brought out the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Her hair, ringlets of copper and red, had been cut to her chin, bouncing as she made her way toward Evelyn. She wore a thick turtleneck that matched the color of her shop, a dark green with daisies embroidered on the front.
Too shocked, too scared to be discovered by another witch, Evelyn said nothing, frozen with fear. Witches in Sorin and Torren lived and governed separately, but all witches prayed to the Sun Goddess. She was the Goddess of growth, light, and prosperity and had given witches the first kernel of magic in their souls. Because of that one commonality, Evelyn had to be wary of the prophecy tying her to the Sun Goddess.
Some witches were fanatics when it came to prophecies, like Elder Black, who had touched her shoulder in the streets of Nua as if she were divine herself. Others left gifts upon her doorstep, oblivious to the concept of privacy. Evelyn shuddered. It was why she kept her identity as a witch hidden. No doubt, witches like those would haul her back to Sorin to complete her union and fulfill the prophecy.
Evelyn adapted her mask of indifference as she placed her arms behind her back and clasped her bracelet, feeling the twine threaded with magic. Forget the apartment. She needed to get out of here quickly.
“I’m just here to shop around,” she said.
The shop owner blinked, those wide eyes soaking her in. Then she smiled, and guilt washed over Evelyn for treating the witch as a threat.
“Here at Pages and Leaves, we offer two sorts of excitement: plants and books,” she said.
Evelyn didn’t think the fellow witch’s eyes could get much bigger, and the bounce in her curls only grew as she herself bounced with each step around the shop. Excited, bubbly. Her energy further ignited the magic in the air.
She twirled toward the bookshelves, snapping her fingers. The vines froze, their leaves swiveling toward her like little faces, as if they turned to look at her. The witch kept her hand out and open until the vine returned with two books. One was small, maroon, with an embracing couple depicted on the front, the other thicker, bound in leather like some sort of manual.
“Romance or recipes?” she asked.
