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No one had seen the likes of a vampyr. Most believed vampyrs couldn’t be in Callum—a problem of the west, they called them. Others didn’t even know what one looked like. It was a foreign concept to Evelyn, that these people considered this land and themselves immune to the threat of vampyr. They didn’t even fear them. For those in Torren, vampyrs were a legend from the west lands they never had to worry about.
If Evelyn didn’t find it and kill it soon, that peace would shatter.
Evelyn walked alongside Aster, spent from asking questions, as they neared an outpost-like tavern. A couple with the same flaming red hair as Aster stood waiting by a horseless wagon, filled to the edges with small plants and supplies.
The couple waved them down, and Evelyn learned where Aster had got her enthusiasm from. As they neared, Aster’s parents’ warmth and kindness bubbled in the air. Clearly, it was an Arkwood trait.
“Mama and Papa,” Aster said, giving them both hugs. “This is Saige Ferriwether. My new temporary tenant.”
Both parents hugged Evelyn warmly and without warning. Stiff as a board, she wavered foot to foot and endured their embraces.
“It’s good to meet you,” she said.
Mr. Arkwood sighed. “How about you both join us for an early dinner before you head back to town? Jim’s got his famous roast lamb with a mushroom cream sauce on the menu.” He nodded at Evelyn. “And Miss Patricia’s my sister. Let me know you’re quite a fan of the honeysuckle wine.”
Evelyn straightened. “It’s divine.”
Aster giggled. “It’s my father’s brew. Half of Torren sells it in their pubs and taverns.”
“So you’re famous?” Evelyn said.
The entire Arkwood family laughed as Mr. Arkwood shook his head. “Me? Famous? Nah, lass. But my honeysuckle wine might be.”
Evelyn smiled, appreciating how humble they were. A wine like that would overtake Nua and Sorin, and the witch’s fame would be celebrated. Evelyn preferred the simplicity here, the lack of showmanship.
Over the course of a delicious dinner, Evelyn learned the Arkwoods were truly the kindest witches. Their coven resided in Ferry, another day’s walk from Callum. Unlike witches in Sorin, they didn’t talk of prophecies or the Sun Goddess. It was nice to be in the company of magic without being discussed as a prophesied savior.
Birth order didn’t apply in Torren either. Aster was the firstborn. In Sorin, she would’ve been expected to take over her parents’ farm, following in their footsteps, a leader in the family line. Yet, her parents were proud she’d set out to be a business owner in Callum.
A similar magic Evelyn had known growing up vibrated between Mr. and Mrs. Arkwood. As they waved goodbye down the road, Evelyn turned to Aster.
“Are your parents fated?”
Aster nodded with a smile. “Indeed, they are. Met in the forest in Ferry. Papa says his magic led him on a walk, and he found Mama foraging for mushrooms.” She shrugged. “They knew immediately.”
Evelyn’s parents had been fated, too. They’d collided when Evelyn’s father, who had been a professor at the university, studied the magic of the Wall surrounding Nua, and her mother, a Guard on the Wall, had been his guide and escort.
Sitting by their living room fire, they’d told Evelyn and her sisters the story often when they were children, and Evelyn remembered the way her parents’ eyes—her mother’s brown and her father’s blue—had stared into the other’s with love and adoration, as if it were the first time all over again each time they recounted the tale.
Fated were witches whose souls were mirrors of the other, and since magic was tethered to one soul, it could be felt, the bond witnessed by others.
Jim’s inn grew busier behind them as travelers settled in for the night. Up ahead, the Arkwoods grew smaller as they journeyed toward the horizon. The sun hung low, threatening to dip into night as Evelyn and Aster ventured back to Callum. Alongside them, Aster’s wagon traveled without a horse. Two lemon trees manned the front, their sturdy branches growing and reaching the wheels to push it into motion. Aster’s petal butterflies fluttered at the front, as if guiding the lemon trees in the right direction.
The lively magic brightened the road, and the two witches walked in silence for a while as Evelyn’s thoughts tumbled one after the other. Her nerves shook as much as the rickety wagon on the bumpy path. No matter where she went or where she turned, reminders of what she’d run away from always found her. Like a phantom weight on her chest, the reminders pushed and pressed a heavy guilt onto her.
“I heard you’re working with that handsome bartender,” Aster said, red welly boots squishing along the muddy path.
Evelyn scoffed. “I have no idea who you’re referring to.”
Aster gaped, russet eyes growing as wide as her mouth. “You can’t be serious! The dangerously tall, bearded man now working for my aunt? I heard he’s also working on the vampyr case.”
Evelyn tripped through the mud at the mention of the huntsman. “You mean Cyrus?”
“Cyrus? I’m not sure that name suits him.” Aster shrugged. “Well then, what’s he like?” Aster wiggled her brows.
Evelyn couldn’t hold back her laughter. Was this girl talk? She’d forgotten how it went, and the topic of conversation didn’t exactly excite her. She’d rather not talk about him at all.
“I don’t know. He’s a beast of a man—”
