Page 2 of The Filigree Key

His smile was soft, so tender like Fern’s had been. “I don’t lack for food, Ame. But my hope is dwindling. You came here to tell us something?”

“Yes.”

Ame paused their conversation to lap up the soup, not stopping until every last shred of beef, bit of potato, and drop of broth had disappeared into her stomach. She hadn’t had a decent meal in over a week—faelight mice tasted awful—and she could digest as she talked.

“Would you like some more?” Otter offered.

“No, or I’ll be too heavy to outrun anything chasing me.” She took a moment to clean her whiskers and chin, then sat at attention. “Meadow is coming to the farmhouse. She’ll be here very soon. Eh,” she scolded as Otter leapt to his feet, “sit back down, boy. There is nothing you can do to prepare for her arrival, save for replacing the floorboards and rug when I leave.”

“But—”

“Shush. Just listen. Meadow’s memory has been tampered with, but she is awakening. Remembering. Yet the wards and illusions on the farmhouse are still strong enough to prevent her from interacting with you, as if you’re in parallel universes. She will not hear you, see you, smell you, or even perceive your presence. Except where your two universes overlap—the hearth.”

Having sat back down, Otter leaned forward so his elbows perched on his knees and asked quickly, “What do you want us to do?”

“Meadow is bringing the Hawthorne ember to recharge it in the hearth.”

As if the farmhouse ember could understand her words, the little yellow flame put on a burst of light and heat. It twisted and writhed, much like a toddler flailing about with gleeful abandon upon hearing she was receiving a puppy for Yule.

While heartened by the display, Ame ignored the flame and focused on Otter. “In doing so, the farmhouse will be rejuvenated. For a time. Meadow will eventually leave, and when she does, she must not take the ember with her. Either of them.”

The young witch wet his pale lips. “To take the Hawthorne ember back will be depriving my cousin of a very powerful resource. With a tampered memory and her magic curbed by that shield on her core, she needs all the help she can get against the Stag Man.”

“I agree. Which means she needs you all to get your fannies out of here. You will take the embers, you will use their power to boost your own, and you will free yourselves of this prison and get out of Redbud.”

“I am not leaving my daughter,” Forsythia snapped.

Ame whirled to find every Hawthorne witch packed shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, watching them. Forsythia shoved her way into the hearth room, Tod quickly on her heels.

“Meadow is suffering this fate alone because we didn’t trust her with the truth.” Forsythia smeared the brimming tears from her eyes with an angry swipe of her fingers. “I’ll not handicap her again!”

“Meadow is not alone,” Ame told her calmly. “Sawyer has found her.”

“How much can a simple cat do for her against the Stag Man?”

“Sawyer Blackfoot is no simple cat.” Her claws sprang from her paws, grating against the hearth stones. “Not that I expect you to understand that. And you will leave, Forsythia Hawthorne, because in the end, that is the only way you can help your daughter.”

“But what of Mother?” Peony asked softly. “The Stag Man took our coven’s matriarch. We can’t leave her behind.”

“If Iris knew we jeopardized Meadow for a chance to save her too, she’d skin us alive.” Eranthis swallowed thickly, clearly unhappy with the words she was about to say. But, she was the family accountant and balancing risks was her specialty. “Violet’s heir is not expendable; the rest of us are, including Iris. It’s the reason why Iris, Fern, and Hare made a pact with Arcadis in the first place. Meadow is our priority. Iris wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The witches muttered amongst themselves, chafing under the callous assessment but unable to refute its logic or practicality.

Ame addressed what remained of the Circle of Nine: “You will leave Redbud so you can get that grimoire back into its protective cupboard where it belongs. It is by the Stag Man’s own hubris that he hasn’t realized what a cache of magic that spell book really is, and if he should acquire it, your coven will cease to exist and everything Meadow fought for would have been for nothing.

“You will go so you can come back at full strength and help free Redbud. The Coalition is on its way, but what they don’t know is that they will be in a fight for their lives. You all will.

“Meadow will become the primal witch of the prophesy. Meadow will anchor that portal to Elfame. And the Stag Man will attempt to consume her, body, magic, and soul, as he has done with the many witches before her. She will resist, of course, and then he will terrorize those she loves to make her submit. You cannot be his victims. And you cannot let her friends or this town become victims, either. Her heart is too big to choose herself over those she feels obligated to protect. That sacrifice will doom us all. So don’t give her the choice. Do you understand?”

Forsythia looked like she might protest again, but Tod took her arm and guided his wife against his chest, locking her there with a tight arm around her wiry frame. “We do. We will do as you say.”

The witches behind them nodded their agreement, their mouths pursed in grim lines.

“Good, then I must be off.” Ame turned to Otter, who was still seated on the floor on the opposite side of the dry soup bowl. “You may pet me in farewell, if you wish.”

A spark of joy kindled in the young witch’s face, and he reached forward to do just that. His long fingers disappeared into her fur at her jaw, nails scratching lightly against her neck. Just the way Fern used to do.

Before she could lose herself in the memory and lean into Otter’s touch, Ame lunged away and trotted towards the kitchen. The witches clustered inside hastily parted to let her pass then followed her to the hole in the hallway.