But would she truly have flattened the farmhouse the other day if Carolina’s protection spell weren’t in the way? It seems an extreme reaction, for a Witch all about balance.
“At some point, her bad reputation was bound to catch up to the rest of us Witches.” Carolina snaps the head off an unsuspecting shortbread cat. “Whether Gertha’s encouraging Webb or vice versa,they’ll use whatever ammunition and red tape they can to challenge our other gatherings. A Witch won’t be able to light a candle without a siren going off.”
“WhydoesFudge hate magic so much?” I ask. The youngest of us here don’t have the full history the older women of the Holler do.
“Besides the fact that the Widow Witch took the woman’s husband?” Ms. Buchanan shares a glance with Governess Zeen.
Ms. Zeen nods. “Leaving her with young children to raise on her own?”
Well, yes, besides that, but I’m too sheepish to let my sarcasm fight with theirs. Everyone knows Fudge lost her husband to the Witch, but that was decades ago. Why does she have a fire under her bony assthisyear? Is it just Webb’s influence? Or is it just that, for a small town, sometimes a deviation from the norm is more terrifying than the predictable devil next door?
“Gertha’s family had powerful Hedgewitch magic, but she never inherited any,” Carolina says. “That magic doesn’t play by lineage rules, like other lower magics. Made her furious, I think. She’s always envied her own ancestors.”
“But Mayor Frost—even Ms. Fudge can’t deny Honey’s mom is a good Witch,” Eva Mae says.
Ms. Zeen frowns in my direction. “You’ll never convince that woman magic isn’t poison. Even if it’s just Farewitch magic.” Her eyes unfocus, like she’s fighting off a memory. If only I could grasp her hand and peek into what haunts her.
As if. She’d probably stab me with her sugar spoon.
Her words nip at me, though.Just Farewitch magic.
Webb and Fudge scoff at the practical magic of local Witches, then demonize a Warlock or any power that threatens their hold over the town. Maybe if my magic were meaner, stronger—like the Widow Witch herself—and I was willing to pay any price, I could do more. Like heal my mom. But then how long until someone thought I wastoopowerful?
My nervous energy climbs. Could also be the blood sugar–spiking marshmallow sandwich. Some fresh air would do me good.
On the back porch, gray clouds hang heavy above me and a breeze winds through my overalls. Leaves turn over, pale bellies up to a darkening sky. A storm is rolling in. The rain will be good for the garden, for the health and blooming of even the most stubborn plants.
Behind the Manor, kids squeal and chase one another as parents look on. Soon, the kids cajole a very stiff Warlock into dancing in a lumpy circle, which might be alarming if any of them besides him had the magic needed to form a summoning circle. Then, in a truly shocking turn of events, the Warlock lets the kids explore his gardens. Hisgardens. His private sanctuary.
Either he’s sipping tea with bourbon like Ms. Buchanan, or he’s actually trying to support my plan, to rewrite years of rumors and suspicion. I’m sure it helps that Lazlo looks the happiest I’ve ever seen him.
I suck in the crisp air, pushing away my worries, and the scent of blooming flowers coaxes my muscles to relax. The gardens are an entirely different kitchen, the Warlock his own kind of chef, but the smells are just as sweet.
For once, I’m not thinking about the next recipe. I don’t want to be anywhere else beyondthisview inthisvery moment.
“You look like you’re high on something, girl.” Beulah Buchanan plops onto the iron bench by the door.
Governess Zeen sits beside her. “She always looks like that.”
I rehinge my jaw. These two must brainstorm different ways to tell me to fix my face.
“Congratulations, Ms. Frost,” the Governess adds. “Not once in the time I’ve known him has the Warlock ever let anyone tromp through his gardens.”
I’d smile, but that somehow sounds like an insult coming from her. It’s a talent, really. No wonder she and Ms. Buchanan are friends.
“Today was still wholly unnecessary,” she continues. “He didn’t hire you to alleviate his tensions with the Holler.”
Ouch. I know I’m not here for cookie bakes, but after so many weeks of failure, I’m going to ignore her. A win is a win. Ms. Buchanan elbows the Governess. “C’mon, Letha. Your boy Lazlo needed this. Too many folks in this Holler are afraid of fun.”
“I suppose Mr. Knight will appreciate being part of the community, at least for one day.”
I try not to look too satisfied. “Even grumpy folks are worth the hard work.”
“I hope you still believe that come the solstice. That you believe in him,” she says, her attention on the Warlock in the distance. “He certainly believes in you.”
This shouldn’t be news. The Warlock obviously thinks I can cure him. But somehow, her words make me feel like my heart has the hiccups.
Ms. Buchanan sniffs, lowering her voice. “He believes in you as well. Gertha would listen to you, you know.”
