I was planning to do so in person, which Ithought would have happened by now. I scan the park, like I might spot him in line at one of the food carts or under the craft tent, making a dreamcatcher or a wolf mask. Classmates peruse iron trinkets at a booth called Ward of the Hollow, where you can also buy mini loaves of black bread. Two years ago, I tried one. Made from barley and rye, it was as tough as leather and tasted like earth.
I spot Naomi and Harper, each of them with corndogs, heading in our direction. As they pass the percussionist playing hand drums, I give Twig a look, like no more crazy talk. He wishes we could tell them. But of course we can’t. Naomi wouldn’t believe it and Harper wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Twig takes a drink of hot chocolate as they join us at the picnic table.
“Look who came,” I say to Naomi.
She raises her eyebrows like she can’t believe it either.
Naomi’s never been a fan of Night of the Howl. I can only recall her coming two, maybe three times over the years of our friendship.
“I promised her tonight would be fun.” Harper wraps her arm around Naomi’s. “We could all use some fun, don’t you think?”
Naomi nibbles on her corn dog skeptically.
“So, has anyone seen the witch yet?” Harper asks.
“She’s not a witch,” Naomi says.
Twig cranes his neck, like he might find Mistress Bramble mingling with the crowd, when of course, she’ll do nothing of the sort. My stomach tightens with anticipation. I’ve decided to approach her immediately after she finishes the story. It’s my best chance at getting some answers.
Harper finishes her corndog and wipes her hand on a napkin. “We should find seats before the storytelling begins.”
The three of them stand from the picnic table. I tell them to go ahead. I’ll catch up. They mosey toward the far end of Willowmere Park where hay bales have been arranged in rows like stadium seating in front of a raised platform. It sits at the edge of the woods, set with a microphone and a rocking chair, waiting for the woman of the hour. I loiter, reluctant to leave, when finally, I see him emerge through the fog—his hair lightly tousled, his wool coat undone, like he had no time for buttons.
Finally, he’s here, very obviously looking for me as firelight dances along his profile. His brooding gaze finds mine and the knot that has been tightening in my chest ever since he told me he was leaving for New York loosens.
I feel like I can breathe again.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low as I step into hisembrace, sliding my arms inside his coat, running my fingers across the waffle-knit cashmere of his henley. I can feel the lean muscles of his back. Smell the subtle scent of his cologne as he kisses my forehead and wraps his coat around me so we’re both tucked inside.
I tip my face up to his. “You’re back.”
His golden brown eyes drink me in, like he missed me as much as I missed him. But there’s something else in his eyes, too. The same troubled look he had before he left.
Before I can ask him about it, he nods in the direction our friends have gone. “Let’s go find a seat.”
The drums have gone quiet. Children are shushed. Our less interested classmates remain behind, laughing and roughhousing near the picnic tables, too far away to be distracting. Jude and I sit next to each other on a hay bale behind Twig, Naomi, and Harper as Mayor Ridley stands on the dais introducing this year’s storyteller.
“Without further ado, I am honored to welcome Mistress Coraline Bramble.” The mayor claps his hands.
The crowd joins in with applause.
I shift to get a better look as the woman of the hour steps forward, torchlight throwing her weather-worn face into sharp relief. She’s as tall as Mayor Ridley and dressed like a mountain man. Her wild, salt and pepper hair looks as though it hasn’t seen a comb since the turn of the century.
Mistress Bramble, in the flesh.
Her steely gray eyes scan the crowd, then stop on me—so intense, so noticeable, the applause comes to a halt and Harper glances over her shoulder.
For a panicked second, I think she might give me a public scolding.Stop banging on my door, will you?Instead, she speaks in a ragged, gravely voice that has goosebumps crawling across my skin.
“You woke a great hunger. Now, it will hunt.”
A perfectly-timed howl rings through the forest.
Naomi jumps.
Nervous laughter ripples through the audience.
