Cauldron Falls
The crest of the most secluded waterfall in the world cascades over a rocky ledge into a round pool below. It’s crystal blue water bubbles with a white foam where the two bodies of water crash together. As the plunge pool spreads out into its round bowl-like shape, the water stills and spills towards a series of stair-stepping rocks that go on for a mile, or so, until the creek bed sinks into the earth, and calms the ripples of the falls. That’s where the town begins, at the quiet crook of the creek. There the water inches along its banks and follows the goings-on of a place known only to its inhabitants as Cauldron Falls.
To visit Cauldron Falls one just must find the waterfall, and cauldron-shaped crystal blue pool, then follow the rippling creek southward, traveling between the towering hills that hide it from the rest of the world. But alas, the waterfall is buried deep in the most treacherous, hard to reach, uninhabitable part of the Appalachian Mountains. No normal human would dare attempt to find it, if they knew it existed, much less try to live there. Of course, Cauldron Falls wasn’t settled by humans.
There in this shadowy place carved out by the rushing waters of a waterfall, lives a band of witches and warlocks, descendantsof escapees from Transylvania, who ran from the ruling grasp of the wretched Vampires that control all the lands surrounding the Black Sea. While their liberation was centuries ago, the fear of the pale-skinned, sharp-fanged predator keeps Cauldron Falls residents content to exist in their safe and secret bubble, insulated from the rest of the world.
But as progress will do, Cauldron Falls is not truly and completely cut-off. The quaint town blossomed into a booming business many, many years ago. And is now the main manufacturer and supplier of magical goods to the world. They are the broom makers, crystal miners, herb growers, potions masters, wand turners, and book binders of all things magical, especially witchy things. Keeping the old traditions alive, every truly magical implement in the world is made in Cauldron Falls in the same manner as they were in the old country. Being keepers of the craft and all its secrets, is the blessing and curse of the witches and warlocks who live in this town. Their fate comes with great pressure and power, which each of the residents of Cauldron Falls takes very seriously and protect with their very lives.
Chapter 1
Herding Cats
The wraparound porch of FACTS & FIBS was Honey Hadwin's favorite place to end a day. From the hill you could see the whole of Cauldron Falls spread below: the lanterns warming the town square, the chimney smoke curling up from The Boozy Cauldron, the ancient ginkgo trees standing gold against the last of the sky. October had turned the mountains into a painting, and the evening carried the smell of woodsmoke and a cool mist from the waterfall.
Honey pulled her sweater tighter and leaned against the railing. Roam O'Reilly stood beside her, a shoulder's width away, his blue eyes drifting across the tree line as they always did. Panther Shifters never quite switched off.
"You're staring at the trees again," Honey said.
"I'm appreciating the trees," Roam said.
"Mm."
"It's a very nice tree line." He eased closer. His arm slid along the railing behind her, and the back of his hand brushed against her shoulder blade. He left it there. "I appreciate it best from this exact spot."
"Convenient." She smirked.
"Isn't it?" He chuckled.
Behind them, the old Victorian creaked and settled into its evening. Honey could hear her mother inside the kitchen, putting away the last of the supper dishes with the soft scrape of china on wood, and somewhere past that, her father snapping his fingers at a broom that wasn't sweeping fast enough to suit him. Rhoda and Edgar had only gotten home that afternoon. Their travel cases were still stacked in the front hall, unopened. They'd been gone the better part of a month, shepherding familiars home from six different continents, and Honey had watched her mother hug the doorframe when she walked in, like the house had been away from her and not the other way around.
"Nice night," Roam said.
"It is." Honey pressed a finger to his lips, "don't jinx it."
"Wasn't gonna." His thumb traced a slow circle just above her sweater collar. "Just noticing."
"Roam." Honey whispered.
"The trees are spectacular." He bent lower and kissed her neck.
A cat appeared at the bottom of the porch steps.
Honey didn't hear it arrive. One moment the lawn was empty, and the next there was a sleek black shape sitting in the grass, tail curled neatly around its paws, eyes the color of old silver coins looking up at her.
"We have company." She straightened.
The black stared while behind it, three more cats stepped out of the shadow at the edge of the trees. Then four. Then more. Not walking up the drive the way visitors came. Not slipping through the hedge the way some did. They were simply there, emerging like the yard had been holding them in its pocket all along, settling themselves into the grass in nearly a row.
"Roam." Honey cleared her throat.
"Yeah." Roam's hand slid down to her waist, as he looked up. "What are they doing?"
A tortoiseshell. A prim Siamese who arranged herself with obvious disdain for everyone on either side of her. A patchy marmalade tom. A fluffy Persian. Orange cats. Gray cats. A scrappy black-and-white thing who kept glancing over her shoulder as though she was certain someone was following her. Tabby, calico, tabby, tabby, something-large-and-fluffy-Honey-couldn't-name, tabby. They kept coming. They didn't come all at once, but they also didn't stop coming, and within minutes the front lawn of FACTS & FIBS was dotted with cats in uneven rows, waiting in the cold grass as if they'd been told to.
Honey counted thirty before she gave up counting. Cats on the grounds of FACTS & FIBS weren't unusual. As the Familiar Assignment, Clearing, and Training Service and Familiar Investigation Bureau and Shelter, cats were their business. But this many cats, popping up out of nowhere. Just sitting weirdly uniformly on the lawn was creepy.
A low whistle drifted down from the wisteria around the porch eaves.
