An idea hits me like a shiny brand-new 4x4.
Before I can change my mind, I grab my truck keys and a cake I made earlier from the fridge, and hightail it to my Dodge. Above me, it’s not even noon yet and the clouds have the sun cornered. The impending storm weaves a charge through the air.
Silas suggested some of the oldest Holler residents might remember if my grandmother ever cured something like a curse when she was a young and new Farewitch herself. If they do, they might also remember a time before the Widow Witch started taking husbands. When she was just a Witch, with her own wants and desires and ambitions. And weaknesses.
If anyone knowsanythingabout the Widow Witch that could possibly help me fight her curse magic—it’s the person who hates her the most.
Chapter Twenty-Four
MONDAY, MAY 30 (STILL)
22 DAYS UNTIL THE SUMMER SOLSTICE
Honey’s Helpful Hint, from
Honey Frost’s Southern Cookbook for Recipes Gone Wrong:
Remember to soak your raisins. A little liquor makes the wrinkles disappear. But don’t forget—sometimes age can be the best ingredient.
There’s a tiny house poised in the shadow of Foxe Holler’s church at the center of town.
Just the way Gertha Fudge likes it, if I had to guess. The house’s white paint is as crisp as its landscaping. Even the flower boxes under the windows are perfect. The entire place looks like it belongs inSouthern Living.
In what is either a terribly clever or terribly terrible idea, I ring the bell.
The front door opens, a screen the only barrier between me and a very grumpy church lady. “Go away.” Slam.
The thin screen door shakes in its frame. I rub my temple. Cue the wine hangover. But I didn’t make the long drive into town only to give up because a woman half my height dismisses me like a crying toddler in church. I try again, holding down on the doorbell so long, the front door begrudgingly cracks open again.
One dark eye stares out. “I said go away, Witch. I don’t need any magic souring my doorstep today. No thank you, Jesus.”
“If I recall, you don’t think Farewitches are a real threat. What was it? No need to worry overviolent scones?”
The crack widens. “That was before the good pastor showed us the truth. There can be no good Witches because there is no good magic.”
I notice she doesn’t mention the rumor about the Warlock imprisoning my mom. Then again, how does Fudge have the energy to keep up with half these rumors?
“Witches have been around the Holler a long time, ma’am. If magic were bad on its own, why is the Widow Witch the only one of us ever causing problems?”
She huffs through bold red lipstick. A white silk housecoat and robe set contrasts starkly with her dark skin. For a grouchy old lady, she has an envious amount of style.
I’m fighting a futile battle. This isn’t about logic. This is about faith. “Ms. Fudge, do you really believe what Webb is preaching? Why place so much blind faith in a man who scorns his neighbors? Doesn’t sound very Jesus-like to me.”
I think I have her.
Then, “Doesn’t matter what I believe, girl. The Widow Witch took my husband, and that’s enough for me.”
“I know, Ms. Fudge, and I’m real sorry—”
“But did you know my husband was thefirstshe took?”
Crap. No one ever mentioned that little detail. She moves to shut the door, so I step closer, nose to the mesh screen. I don’t want to be insensitive, but there are two lives at stake. Three, now that I know the Warlock’s health is tied to Lazlo’s.
I take a deep breath. I need answers, and Fudge might be able to give them to me. “I came to talk about the Widow Witch.”
“Go bother Beulah Buchanan instead,” she snaps.
“I want to talk toyou.” I smile as innocently as I can. “You know everything that happens in this Holler, right? Or should I trust Ms. Buchanan’s word first?”
