Fates That Bind (The Briarhollow #1)

Prologue

Renata

Five years ago…

Taking a deep breath, I count down the minutes until my mother’s shop, Old Wives’ Apothecary, closes for the evening. My two younger sisters were supposed to close tonight but didn’t bother showing up for their shifts, leaving me here without a break. Again.

Unfortunately, I’m not surprised. This happens every time my mother takes our eldest sister, Agatha, to retrieve more everoot. They’re gone for at least three weeks but come back with enough of the herb to last a year, though the price of it is more than the average family can afford.

Clara and Prudence use their annual trip as an opportunity to shuck all responsibilities and spend a few weeks without my mother’s watchful eye.

As petulant as the two can be, I don’t blame them.

I often wonder if my mother’s neglect is better than her attention.

Agatha is her favorite—her heir—yet not even that has saved her from the sharp sting of our mother’s hand.

Mindlessly, I rub the bruise on my forearm that bloomed last week before they left—a parting gift.

It came abruptly after a mint plant I was carrying shriveled in my hands.

It doesn’t happen often, not since my magic has matured, but sometimes it reacts to my emotions.

Especially anxiety, which usually comes to life in my mother’s presence.

I blink quickly a few times, trying to stop the loud snap that continues to play on a loop in my mind.

The sound of her open palm on flesh is one I can’t forget.

I won’t find any consolation from tattling on them anyway. It still comes back to bite me in the ass somehow.

Why weren’t you watching them, Renata? my mother will ask, as if they aren’t adults themselves.

Clara and Prudence are the prized jewels that never leave the cabinet. At least not until the right buyer comes along.

When the clock strikes six-fifty p.m. I perk up, ready to start closing down so I can leave right at seven.

As I pop the cash drawer open, a smoky wisp catches my attention.

Slowly, I lift my head, finding Mary Agnes, Hemlocke’s local ghost and greatest lore.

She spends her endless days wandering through the main square, observant and lonely.

I’m the only Gray Witch in town, so I’m the only person who can see her.

With a quick glance out the windows, I quietly say, “Good evening, Mary.”

Unable to speak, she tilts her head, keeping her cloudy gaze on me. She’s never caused me any fuss, and thankfully, she only visits when I’m alone at the store. Like all ghosts, Mary Agnes is in a spiritual limbo, a sort of purgatory, where she will remain until her unfinished business is resolved.

The problem is no one knows what actually happened to her four hundred years ago, adding to the town’s memory of her.

Grabbing a stack of bills from the drawer, I rattle on, hoping to offer a few minutes of company. “The shop is closing soon but you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

A lot of ghosts are troublesome and agitated. Mary Agnes is just sad.

Her head whips back, looking over her shoulder for a second before she quickly moves forward, through the store counter and through me.

The paralyzing cold sensation of making contact with a ghost infiltrates my body.

For a few seconds, I’m frozen in place, gripping the hardwood tightly.

I can’t speak until warmth sparks in my toes and slowly climbs its way up my body like vines on the side of a house.

“Goddammit,” I quietly seethe. It’s unlike her. There have been times I’ve offered her the warmth of the living by placing my hand through her chest. She’s never demanded it before. Shaking off the lingering cold, I loudly ask, “What the fuck, Mar—”

Just as an older woman walks in.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath with wide eyes, hoping she didn’t see me talking to myself.

She doesn’t say anything, but offers me a kind smile.

I swear her eyes flick in Mary’s direction.

Not daring to look at the ghost, I plaster on my fakest customer service smile and watch her walk through the aisle. Straight to me.

She’s tall and bony, looking to be around sixty-five years old.

Her hair is mostly gray, with a few stubborn streaks of black lingering around her temples.

It reaches her shoulders, brushing the corduroy jacket she’s paired with a white t-shirt and patchwork maxi skirt—eclectic and clearly handmade.

The pale wrinkled skin around her dark eyes and thin lips hints at a well-lived life—one of happiness despite the firm frown she currently has on.

“Good evening,” she greets, stopping on the other side of the counter. “To both of you.”

My mouth falls open and I finally turn to look at Mary. She tilts her head at the stranger from her spot next to me. After a few seconds, she nods in greeting and crosses her hands in front of her, watching.

When I look back at the woman, shock is flitting across both of our features. Mine from the fact there is a Gray Witch standing in front of me, one who must be from out of town. There’s a sudden sense of familiarity, recognizing our magic is aligned.

Her shock grows the longer she takes in my features. My long, white-blonde hair that reaches my mid-back. The five-foot-nine height that matches hers. My milky complexion and onyx eyes each get a moment of appraisal from her.

A deep sense of foreboding builds in my gut. For a single second, I consider my mother’s warnings—the ones she only spits out at me when she’s angry, which I’ve learned to ignore.

Until now.

As she gets closer, her perfume floats through the air. Rosemary with a hint of spices—my favorite tea blend. The familiarity of it settles some of my worry.

“Good evening,” I greet and push the drawer back with my hip. I try to act normal, not wanting to bombard this customer with a hundred questions. “How can I help you?”

Old Wives’ focuses primarily on childbirth and fertility, so it’s rare we get older customers. We always keep a small stock of common medicines and elixirs for the random person who stumbles in. I can direct her somewhere else if she’s in need of a specific remedy.

We get a lot of visitors since it is one of the largest magical towns in the country. It’s tucked away in northern New York and a top destination for those gifted with magic and supernatural abilities. As such, there are a large variety of apothecaries and healers here.

“Just looking around,” she answers in a low, raspy voice, but her gaze stays fixed on me.

Even though she’s looking at me, she doesn’t see me—like she’s lost in her own mind.

My familiar, a prairie rattlesnake named Hexate, slithers up the counter and onto my arm. The stranger doesn’t break eye contact. Hexate stretches forward, flickering her tongue. With a warning hiss, she pulls back and settles around my shoulders, eyes focused on the woman.

A black cat suddenly jumps onto the counter, leaning forward to sniff Hexate before letting out a low protective growl in response. The woman pats her familiar in a calming manner but doesn’t speak.

“Oh, uh,” I say, “Sure. Let me know if you have any questions.”

My eyes glance toward the clock. I feel bad rushing her, so I stay silent.

When I turn back, she’s still staring at me. She looks friendly enough but the recognition in her eyes is unsettling—like she came looking for something and found it.

Starting to stir under her attention, I glance at Mary, swearing she looks amused. “Do I know you?” I blurt out, confused by this entire exchange.

She chuckles coldly, sounding sad. “No, dear, you do not. You just… You look like someone.”

Guiltily, I ask in a softer voice, “Oh, I’m sorry. Who was she?”

“My great-grandmother,” she answers. “I never met her. I’ve seen photos though. She was a very strong Gray Witch… Just like you, I believe.”

My brows shoot up. I’m about to argue when she holds a hand up, silencing me with a meaningful smile. “It was not a question, only an observation.”

The blood drains from my face. “Um,” I draw out, my hands fidgeting behind my back. “Okay.”

She asks in a sober voice, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” I reluctantly answer.

The creases between her brows deepen and she hums to herself. “I see.” Her mouth twists uncertainly to the side. “Well, I should come back another day.”

Hexate adjusts herself, stretching her body in the space between us and tightening herself around my neck protectively.

A small wave of panic rushes through me at her quick departure.

Being abandoned never gets easier, even when a stranger is the one abruptly leaving.

I feel desperate when I lean across the counter, wishing to pull the older Gray Witch back, asking her to stay.

I have questions!

“Are you sure? Was there something you needed?” I ask quickly. “An elixir of some kind, maybe?”

Something behind me catches her attention and she lets out a startled gasp—more fearful than the surprised sound that slipped out of her when she first walked in. Slowly, I turn my head and peek over my shoulder. All that’s behind me are the shelves full of our more expensive products.

She shakes herself out of it and sighs deeply. “I think I need more time—hopefully to learn more before I come back.” Her voice is quieter now, more tired than it was only seconds ago.

My confusion and discomfort grows. Fighting the urge to ask more questions, I say, “Well, I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

With a tilt of her lips, she says, “I hope so.”

Then she turns on her heel and leaves without a glance.

Mary Agnes follows her out the door, going in the opposite direction.

Hexate flicks her tongue a few more times before letting out a long hiss as the door shuts behind her.

I look down at her but from the tilt of her head, she looks as baffled by the woman as I do.

I stand there for a couple of minutes, wondering if I should be worried about a potential hex or stalker.

My magic—the spirit magic she picked up on—urges me to not be afraid.

Familiarity and patience settle in my bones, making me think this isn’t the last time our paths will cross.

There’s even a little bit of hope that they will.