Well, look at that. Even the church ladies came back. Through the gossip-scuppernong-vine, word’s spread fast that the Widow Witch won’t be bothering the town anymore. All week long, customers have given me either athank youor areal sorrydepending on how well they liked Pastor Webb.Formerpastor.
As if sensing my thoughts, my phone dings in my back pocket.
kentucky fried coven
Carolina Vázquez
Does anyone know if the new pastor is single
Arna Jean Claywell
no but if you find out will you tell Beulah
she keeps asking me like I would know??
…
honey do you need more yeast from the store
Ms. Marrow
Oh Arna if you’re there can you check if they have arsenic?
Sorry, typo. Aspic.
Arna Jean Claywell
that’s worse
also RIP to oyster happy hour with Honey
Carolina Vázquez
Does anyone even do oysters in town?
Maybe you can pick up a man for Beulah at the store
Or for Honey :)
A hive of bees takes up immediate residence in my head, and my neck grows warm, itchy. I haven’t heard from Warlock Knight in a week. Not a single, drastically formal text message. I can’t help but feel silly. With his power back, he’s got his own priorities, a million Warlock-y things to do. Deaths to revenge. Ravens to send. Feuds to reignite. Plants to… plant.
Signaling to my customers I’ll be back in five, I duck into the back.
Alone in the kitchen, I slide down the nearest fridge until my butt hits the floor. The peace and quiet back here isn’t helping like I thought it would, and the silence tastes stale. I rub a palm over my chest, like I might be able to restart whatever’s short-circuiting in there.
Something in my apron pocket crinkles.
I pull out a square of paper.
The Warlock’s letter. With his name. The one I so badly didn’t want, that I completely forgot about it. I was so frazzled packing to leave the Manor, did I ever wash this apron?
The man’s taunting me still. He knows how nosey I am, how irresistible a folded letter is to me. But if he really wanted me to know something, he’d come tell me himself. Wouldn’t he? I lived with the man for three months and he can’t text me once. Not that he’s great at texting. But still. He’s on my mind but I’m not on his?
Maybe I was always just his hired Farewitch. Nothing more.
So I don’t want this letter and I definitely don’t want to know his name. It’s too big a promise, too big a wish to ever come true.
Jumping up, I switch on a burner on the stove and hold the letter inches away, the flame licking at my fingers.
