Chapter 13
Archer
Pulling into a parking spot, I turn to Sybil—still in her trance—and try to read her reaction. It’s harder when she’s in these states. I have to wade through the metallic-tasting apathy that plagues her, but I know her better than anyone else—maybe even myself.
There’s a small inkling of confusion I can pick up on, and it’s a shrunken down version of the same thing I’m feeling.
What the fuck are we doing in Briarhollow?
The drive took us ten days. We got turned around a few times since the only navigation we had was our magic.
Then Sybil’s old pick-up truck broke down in fucking Ohio of all places for a few days.
It was the most boring, random town I’ve ever been to.
The repose was nice after mindlessly driving for three days straight.
Considering her state, all of the driving responsibilities landed on my shoulders, otherwise we would’ve gotten here sooner.
“Bil,” I start, using my childhood nickname for her. “I’m not sure if this is the place we’re meant to be.”
She turns toward me with furrowed brows. “This is exactly where we’re meant to be, Archer.”
I’m about to say something, anything, to convince her otherwise, but Whisper, my coyote familiar, yips between us at the same time a small thump sounds through the roof. Neither Sybil or I are startled, knowing it’s only Echo, her Great Horned Owl familiar.
“Do you know where we are?” I ask, losing a bit of patience.
Sybil’s awareness in this state only extends to what’s right next to her, as a natural way to keep witches out of danger during these episodes. She isn’t always sure about other things, like the town she’s in or the date.
“Briarhollow,” she answers. Looking out the windshield, she insists, “We’re right where we’re supposed to be.”
Following her line of sight, I’m not confident about that.
I suppose it could make sense. The last generation of Vexley Divination Witches were born in Briarhollow, but it’s more complicated than that.
Our family was run out of this town a century ago after a tragedy surrounding a long forgotten uncle. He’s been written out of our maternal family, though I’ve always felt a connection to the unnamed man. But it’s hard to defend someone you’ve never met, or know what they did. So I’ve never tried.
“A hundred years is a long time, but not when it comes to witches with a vendetta,” I tell her.
It’s true. Even a small spite is monumental to us. There’s an unspoken code of conduct between witches, and we mostly base it on respect and loyalty for each other. As much as the world has progressed, it still isn’t safe for us in many places so we stay hidden—at least our magic does.
We are creatures from storybooks, just like werewolves, vampires, and mermaids. So, when another witch crosses us, it’s not easily forgiven.
“Maybe I have my own,” she teasingly retorts with a swift wave of consciousness before it fades.
Rolling my eyes, I sit back and rub a hand down my face. There’s no point in arguing with her right now, or asking what the fuck that means—maybe I have my own.
Even if I hadn’t promised my parents to stay with Sybil, a demon would have to drag my body away before I left her in this town alone.
Considering Sybil’s childhood dream to fall in love with a vampire, we found ourselves out in the middle of the night too many times to count. As a result, I have my experiences with a large variety of magical creatures.
She steps out of the car without saying anything. With a low curse, I follow her to the sidewalk, making sure Whisper is close behind.
Sybil closes her eyes and sways in the wind, orienting herself to her new environment. Whisper and I stand next to her, taking in the town.
My interest in my unnamed ancestor has motivated me to research anything I can to connect the stories that have been passed down. There isn’t a lot, and there never seems to be a clear connection.
More often than not, it brings me back to Briarhollow.
However, learning about Briarhollow is a feat of its own.
It’s no surprise the town is damn near abandoned.
That’s one of the only things people agree on—if they even know it exists.
I’ve emailed the town librarian a few times.
He’s mailed me several books on loan and faxed over copies of the texts he wasn’t comfortable sending to a stranger.
I never used a fax machine before that, and thankfully, my parents still had one in the garage.
There wasn’t anything revolutionary in there. It was mostly town history that wasn’t related to my ancestors, and anything about the curse is gossip and hearsay—and that’s where the fork in the road shows up.
A majority of people believe the betrayal of the Vexley family is to blame. Others believe the curse was cast out of spite, with the matron’s last breath. Either way, both theories are rooted in the betrayal of a Vexley ancestor.
And then, there’s a small, rebellious group of people who strongly believe that neither of those theories are true—and that there was no betrayal the night of their deaths.
Then, there is the “curse” itself. The Vexley line hadn’t bore a Divination Witch in a hundred years, not until Sybil and me.
I’m confident that it all connects, but I’m not sure whether that is the curse making me believe it has something to do with the abandoned inn, or the Blackthorn witches.
There are many unanswered questions that plague me.
However, not even my interest was enough to bring me to visit. It felt disrespectful to potentially disrupt this town again. While I’m cautious with my magic, I’ve never questioned my perception before, but something is off about being here—and I don’t only mean my family’s history.
“Let’s walk,” Sybil says in a hollow tone. With Echo now perched on her head, she starts walking at a rather brisk pace.
Taking a deep breath, I look up at the sky, hoping the Universe can give me some inkling of why we are here, and follow after her.
In a few strides, I catch up and hold my arm out, letting her loop hers through for balance. Whisper silently slinks into the spot on the other side of her, offering more protection.
We don’t have a bond with each other’s familiars—as far as I know, twins have never shared a familiar—but they do take a special interest in our collective well-being.
Since Whisper has constant access to my emotions and magical abilities, he feels my pride and worry for my sister almost as strongly as I do.
For half an hour, we walk through the main square of the town. It’s more lively here than toward the outskirts, where a lot of the houses are abandoned and the businesses closed down.
Today is the spring equinox, and that fact seems to bring most of the town out of their homes.
There are vendors that moved to the streets rather than the confines of their store fronts.
Everything from produce, elixirs, textiles, and even furniture can be found along the main square.
Children run around the community garden, giggling as they chase each other.
Adults shuffle in and out of the two local bars, guffawing in celebration of a new spring season.
It’s lively, yet it feels slightly out of place.
Junimere isn’t the most modern or bustling town itself. We’re not close to any major cities, and the population is a mix of magical beings and humans. There are charms in place to keep tourism to a minimum, but the crowds aren’t unfamiliar.
Briarhollow feels stuck in time.
Lost in my own thoughts, I’m distracted until Sybil comes to an abrupt halt in front of a tall, white stone structure. It’s one of the most well-taken care of buildings in the entire town. The paint looks relatively fresh, and the cement steps have been repaired recently.
My eyes catch on the sign above the large double doors: Briarhollow Town Library.
That explains everything, and I shouldn’t be surprised.
There are different ways to create a magical community.
Some witches prefer to live in normal cities and blend in.
It’s become more common in recent decades, but many magical families prefer the safety and acceptance of living where their powers aren’t a secret.
The magical towns are cloaked in protection charms and glamour spells, allowing us to live without hiding, and keeping humans oblivious.
One of the most common ways to do this is by having three designations.
A mayor, to represent the soul of the town. This role is often given to vampires since the process of transferring the town’s magic to someone else is tedious. Having someone who is immortal adds extra stability to the town.
Next is the heart of the town—usually a home of some kind. Sometimes it is the first to be built in the town, other times it can be a place that houses many people—like an inn or tavern. It can vary, but it’s common for a family of Hearth Witches to be the owners of the building.
And finally, the library represents the mind of the town.
It’s where the town’s history is held, where residents go when they are searching for answers, and where local leadership hold private meetings.
I’ve only known of Divination Witches to be the librarians, but there aren’t any official rules about that.
It’s a natural calling for most to acquire and protect as much knowledge as they can.
Sybil, however, is not one of those Divination Witches.
We spent our teenage years working part-time at the Junimere Town Library.
I enjoyed it for the most part, and my experience there is what convinced Briarhollow’s librarian to send me the books.
My twin hated every minute of it—being stuck inside with dusty tomes and always at people’s whims of knowledge.
So it’s shocking she would bring us here of all places.
“Bil,” I start gently, “Are you su—”
She slips her arm out of mine, turning to look at me with more awareness than I’ve seen in days. “Why do you keep questioning me and my magic?” she snaps.
Tilting my head, the guilt already souring my gut, I tell her, “I don’t mean to question you. I promise. I’m just confused.”
Some of the anger fades from her features but exhaustion replaces it. “I’m confused too, Archer. None of this—” she puts her palms to her head and squeezes lightly, “—makes sense. Every second that passes, my visions get murkier. It’s never been like this.”
“Then let’s leave,” I offer. I predict her answer before she shakes her head.
“No,” she insists. “We can’t. I don’t know why but we just… can’t.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to insist we go back to Junimere if it means she and her magic are safe. Even if she can’t read my mind, she knows me well enough to suspect I’d give up everything to protect her.
“I don’t think leaving Briarhollow would fix what’s going on, Archer,” she tells me quietly . “My magic has been unstable recently. You’re aware of this.”
I do.
“And you’ve always had a complicated relationship with your magic,” she says. Not that I need the reminder. It’s hard to be proud of my magical abilities when they basically make me a master manipulator. It’s why I rarely use many of my gifts.
“Maybe we both will find what we need here. You want to learn what happened to the Divination Witches in our family. Where better to do that than here?”
She’s looking at me with desperate eyes. She knows how to sell me on staying here, but it’s not just about my feelings and magic. She has just as much of a say in the decision as I do.
I didn’t sense she was struggling so greatly with her magic. It has noticeably become more erratic lately, but she must have been downplaying how intensely it was affecting her to save our mother’s peace of mind. Despite that, I do trust her abilities and her.
Sybil is as protective of me as I am of her—she’d never willingly put either of us in harm’s way.
She’s right, I need to learn what happened all those years ago.
“One week,” I compromise. “We stay for one week, then regroup to decide our next course of action.”
“Deal,” she agrees. A second later, the far away expression reaches her eyes and she’s back in her trance-like state.
Turning on her heel, she bounds up the stairs and walks straight into the atrium. With a sigh, I follow behind her, barely stopping in time to not trample her.
“What the fu—”
“There,” she says and points to the desk in the middle of the room.
My gaze follows hers, finding an older man with gray hair and a deep, mahogany complexion. His glasses are perched on his nose while he goes over a section in a tome with a patron. The librarian looks fully immersed in the conversation until Sybil’s quiet declaration.
Slowly, he lifts his head and smiles when he sees us. It would be creepy if I didn’t recognize that expression as one of perception—somehow knowing his anticipated guests have shown up.
He turns to the patron he’s helping and quietly whispers something before patting his shoulder. Then his attention is back on us as he quickly saunters toward us.
Reaching out his hand toward Sybil, he smiles warmly at her as she clumsily shakes his hand in greeting.
Turning his attention to me, he tilts his head and offers me his hand. “You here for the job?”
Taking his hand, my brows flick up in surprise. “You’re hiring?”
He admits, “There’s always an opening for a Vexley witch, boy.” He drops my hand and says, “I wondered how long it would take you to show up.”