“Mr. Knight!”
This time, it’s Rett who interrupts us. We break eye contact long enough to see the postman waving at us from a dozen yards away. The rest of our group is already halfway back to the property’s gravel drive.
“Mr. Knight, you’ve got… company.” Rett says the word likeantsorinsufficient postage.
We step apart and follow Rett back through the trees, toward the Manor’s gate. Whatever moment the Warlock and I were caught in is gone, embrace over. But the entire walk back, he doesn’t let go of my hand.
We emerge from the overgrown brush and onto the gravel drive.My truck is right where Arna Jean and I left it, blocking the path up to the farmhouse. Parked at a slant just below it is Stamp of Approval. Ms. Zeen and Lazlo hunker with Ms. Buchanan and Beauregard in the back of the empty mail truck, out of the drizzle.
“Peace be with you, Miss Frost. Glad to see y’all are safe.”
For the love of—notnow.
Pastor Oris Webb stands on the other side of the large iron gates, one side of which is holding on to its hinges with something stronger than even Gertha Fudge’s faith. His truck sits in the road, engine running, headlights shining right at us through the rain. Blinding. Downed trees litter the area.
What did Fudge say?A home free from the threat of magic.
This looks all kinds of bad.
The Warlock and I stop just inside the Manor’s gate, facing Webb. Silas, Rett, and Arna Jean remain behind us with the rest of our group in the mail truck.
“Mr. Knight, I presume?” Webb asks.
With my overalls and the Warlock’s sour expression, we’re nailing the Holler Gothic look, like some Grant Wood knockoff. These two have never met in the flesh, but based on the Warlock’s glower, he knows exactly who this beige man is.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Webb levels his attention on the Warlock’s hand, tight around my own. And smiles. “Not a moment too soon, it seems. A Witch and a Warlock make quite the damaging pair.”
“Couldn’t get your followers to come out during a literal tornado?” I ask. A confrontation at the farmers’ market is one thing, but accosted on our own driveway? Not today. “I’m sure you have bigger concerns right now than bothering us.”
“Please, indulge me. This tornado rent right through the middle of town, phone lines are down, and I’ve come all this way to talk, as a representative of us folks without magic.”
The Warlock goes rigid against me, his grip tightening on my hand.
Why is the Widow Witch causing destruction all over town when the Warlock is up here? As far as I know, she doesn’t have a vendetta againstallof Foxe Holler. She’s never used a widespread storm to take a husband before. She’s too efficient. During a normal spring, she comes for one person, and no one else is caught in the cross fire.
Then again, this hasn’t been a normal spring from the beginning.
“Did the Widow Witch finally take someone, then?” Ms. Zeen asks from behind us.
“By somemiracle,” Webb says, “no one was harmed. Yet. But our church is a wretched, pitiful thing. Service will need to be relocated for the foreseeable future. We have lost yet another focal point of our community to magic. Just like our library.”
The tension in Mr. Knight’s body pulses right into my own muscles. If we hoped to convince folks there’s no such thing as bad magic, that chance has shriveled up. The universe has some wretched timing. Almost perfectly so.
“Judging by your barn, Mr. Knight—what’s left of it—even you can’t escape dangerous magic.”
In the aftermath of the tornado, it didn’t even cross my mind to check if the Widow Witch left her usual scorch marks, her familiar threat burning in the earth. The chill of my fear begins to dissolve as my suspicion brews.
Webb needs a villain more than peace.
I step forward, trying to look formidable, but it’s hard when my bangs are going this way and that. “You can’t blame all magic for this, or all Witches in the Holler. Not even the Warlock.”
“Whether higher or lower magics, neither bodes well for regular townsfolk. Someone always ends up hurt. Especially the innocent.”
“This is the Widow Witch’s doing. Blame her,” I press.
Sickly glee skitters across Webb’s face. “Excellent point, Miss Frost. The Widow Witch seems particularly interested in Mr. Knight this year. Why is that?” When I don’t immediately answer, he peers towardthe mail truck with greedy curiosity. “I’m glad to see your boy is well, Mr. Knight. It would have been a shame, had he been swept away.”
The Warlock does a double take toward the mail truck, but his doubt isn’t quick enough.
