There aren’t nearly as many as I expect. I spot some of the same angry folks who stop to listen to Webb’s preaching in the town square. They’re hard to ignore, but not because they’re a big group by any means. They’re usually just the loudest folks, noisy with nothing to say.
The mob quiets in a collective shush when Governess Zeen stepsforward. “Gentlemen, wehavea doorbell, you know,” she says, hands clasped primly behind her back. “May we help you with something?”
“This need not concern you, Letha.” The preacher looks around, like he can sense the magic on the air. Like he’shungry. “The time I graciously gave Mr. Knight is at an end, and we are here to uphold our promise to rid the Holler of dangerous magic.”
Murmurs of agreement sound behind him, worried looks darting left and right.
The Warlock stalks forward and lets his voice carry, strong and sure, through his home. “We will belabor the point one last time, Mr. Webb. Magic is neither inherently bad nor good. Just like people, whether your neighbors are Witches or Warlocks or something in between.”
“Tell that to the Widow Witch!” shouts a man from the back.
“No, tell that to the Holler’swidows,” cries another.
The Warlock looks out over the crowd, no longer addressing only Webb. “I make no excuses for my past negligence, but I promise you, I will not remain a passive bystander. Farewitch Frost and I have ensured the Widow Witch will no longer torment Foxe Holler. Not in spring, not in any season.”
Curious murmuring bounces throughout the room, a white noise of delicate optimism. The mood in the foyer shifts, just a degree, but as any Farewitch will say, a single degree can make a lot of difference.
The only person who doesn’t look relieved is Oris Webb.
His pale eyes narrow at us, his lips pressed tight. “And why should the good people of Foxe Holler trustyou?” he asks. “What assurances do these folks without magic have that they’re safe? What if the Widow Witch changes her mind? She’s aWitch, after all. Who will protect the Holler fromyou, Mr. Knight?”
The Warlock levels his commanding attention on the pastor once more. “Witches will. As they have always done. The Holler never needs to fear them. You, on the other hand—I would recommend extreme caution.”
His words puncture the quiet of the room, a sharp-edged cut right through the tension. The whispering escalates. I don’t think Mr. Knight realizes how… spicy his statement is. Well,in for a penne, Momaw Frost would say.
“But what have you done for the town, Mr. Knight? For these people, for our mayor? Or done with her, I should say,” Webb croons, turning to me. “Whereisyour mother, Miss Frost?”
He clasps his hands like he’s about to pray, but I can see the whites of his knuckles, the tension underneath the milky froth of his false fervor. This isn’t faith. This is desperation.
“That’s enough.” The Warlock’s command reverberates like we’re in a bell tower. For a moment, he truly does seem centuries old, a force from well before my time. A true match for the Widow Witch, capable of spinning tornadoes across the earth like a children’s spinning top.
At this, Webb turns to the crowd at his heels, the foyer his altar.
“When Warlocks and Witches quarrel, those of us without magic are caught in the middle.Wesuffer the devastating loss. How can we protect our youngest in a community where our neighbors attract danger? Our church, an invaluable community center, is gone. What’s next?” His preacher’s voice carries easily over the nervous murmuring. “Magic is unnecessary at best and fatal at worst. It is a plague of extremes. As children of the Lord, we must not choose the lesser evil, but rather, no evil at all—”
Abruptly, he stops, his mouth still open. His eyes widen at something beyond the crowd. His followers turn as one, and I pop onto my tiptoes to see over their heads.
A figure stands in the threshold of the Manor’s open front door. This time, she arrives quietly, but a storm just the same.
The Widow Witch peers out at the faces of Foxe Holler. “Hello, children.”
The men in Webb’s crowd take a collective step back.
My hands can’t decide to be clammy or not. Half of me prefers her over Webb, and the other half wonders if she followed us all the way here or used one of her portals to get here faster. Either way, I feel like she’s using us for entertainment.
Formidable in her dark cloak, she has no trouble commanding the attention of the room, even though she’s half the height of any of the men. Her sharp eyes spear Webb over the heads of his congregation.
“Oris Webb,” she sneers. “Couldn’t get the Eldercraft to pay a visit and interrogate Warlock Knight? Or is that perhaps because you didn’t contact them in the first place, lest they pay attention toyou?”
Pastor Webb finally closes his mouth but looks no less dumbstruck.
The Witch doesn’t give him time to answer. “You’ll be interested to know, Oris Webb, that after years and years of silence, my kin chose this afternoon to seek my help and advice. Her beloved church had been destroyed. While I believe she’d like revenge, for now, I think she’d settle knowing the same fate did not befall another center of the community.”
Gertha Fudge. My eyes dart around, but I don’t see her in the crowd in her normal place right behind Webb. Interesting. Fudge went to her ancestor about the tornado?
Just then, I remember: We never did find the Witch’s scorches in the ground by the barn. And I never understood why she sent a tornado careening through the middle of town, and the church. Not just Webb’s domain, but the home base for the folks in town who distrust magic so much, they’ll do anything to rid the Holler of it forever.
Only a powerful Witch or Warlock could’ve conjured that tornado. Or—
