Chapter 14
Renata
After the incident in my bedroom a few nights ago, Clementine sweetly insisted that we take a few more days to decompress at the Dreaming Willow before venturing into town.
Her actual words were, “take some more time to chill the fuck out.” Clover nor Rowyn found her cursing as entertaining as I did. Though I caught Rowyn’s smile peeking through.
Considering Clementine was the most excited for the trip, it was a sweet gesture, and one I easily took her up on.
Even with Rowyn’s grandfather, Gale, helping us, we knew we needed to pick out some things ourselves.
Being a Blackthorn witch of any type of magic is a nerve-wracking experience, so I doubt anyone has wondered why I’ve been so reluctant to visit.
However, it’s curious why the eldest Foxglove sister has been just as hesitant.
Her magic hasn’t adjusted to being at the Dreaming Willow Inn.
There’s an awkwardness that overcomes easy-going and cheerful Clover any time it’s mentioned.
Even Clementine shrinks into herself at the topic.
Last night, I asked Rowyn to stop bringing it up. For now.
It’s clearly not a conversation that can be avoided forever.
I know how hard it can be to talk about something as personal as our relationship to our magic—even with coven members.
We’ve grown comfortable with each other over the last couple of weeks but we are still in the early stages of learning about everyone.
I don’t want to push any of these women too hard and lose the coven right as I am learning to be in one.
Of course, Rowyn was the least nervous, having grown up here. We followed her as she flitted from shop to shop, talking with town members and asking about kids she babysat for.
She steered clear of Mercurial Lane, where the four apothecaries and a healing clinic are located. Rowyn’s maternal side owns a tea shop that focuses on mental health elixirs and potions, so I assume it’s down that road.
Truthfully, I would love to see it. I’ve never heard of such a business. We have access to mental health services, and many witches go to human doctors for medical help, like anti-depressants or chemotherapy. Our magic can’t cure everything, and everoot is only good for magical ailments.
I won’t pressure Rowyn to take me. Not when she subtly peeks around every corner and practically runs across Mercurial Lane whenever we pass it.
It’s still a mystery what happened with her sister.
Just like with Clover, I don’t push the subject. No one would describe me as an open book, so I won’t judge them for needing time to figure out their own shit.
If it didn’t make me a hypocrite, I would love to ask Rowyn about her magic.
She mentioned she’s not the strongest Hearth Witch we’ll meet, but she doesn’t see how talented she is.
Her magic grows stronger every day. She’s using a great deal of it to keep the fireplaces and candles lit, to cast cleaning spells and new protective charms, and to infuse our meals with magic.
I haven’t figured out how it’s possible, but that’s a conversation for another day—when Clover can’t dodge Rowyn’s questions anymore.
All worries and unanswered questions aside, I’m glad we chose today to venture out.
It’s the spring equinox, and if anyone is in need of renewal and balance, it’s me. The celebration and crowds are much calmer than what I’m used to for the holiday, but it’s busy enough to get lost in the crowd.
As we cross the street, after leaving the hardware store to choose new paint colors and wallpaper for the den and office, I peek over my shoulder for the hundredth time today. Despite how pleasant the morning has been, a sense of anticipation grows in my gut.
It’s the same nervousness that would consume my mother any time my grandparents were coming over for dinner and she swore the house was never clean enough.
My instincts are telling me to go back to the inn, to prepare for the inevitable arrival, but we aren’t expecting anyone. Hell, I doubt anyone in Briarhollow is expecting guests this evening.
As we walk into The Wolf & Flame, the small diner run by a werewolf and his Hearth Witch mate, I glance over my shoulder one more time and catch sight of a black leather boot as the owner turns a corner. I close my eyes and shake my head before following the other witches inside.
“Hi, Lorna!” Rowyn brightly calls out and waves at the pretty witch with strawberry-blonde hair standing behind the counter.
“Hi, darling, I was wondering when I’d see you!” She calls back, sounding just as chipper. “Take a seat, and I’ll come meet your friends.”
Sitting by the window, I gaze outside while Rowyn chatters away, telling us what’s good. I only half pay attention, tilting my head to get a better look down the road.
A throat clears loudly, making me jump in my seat.
“You got a crick in your neck?” Lorna asks in amusement.
“No, uh,” I say, feeling embarrassed. “Just looking… around.”
The witches in my coven look concerned but Lorna gives me a sympathetic look.
“You must be the Blackthorn witch,” she says and crosses her arms. Her demeanor isn’t judgemental or harsh, yet my hackles start to rise.
“What makes you say that?” I ask with a cold tone.
“Your hair, honey.” She taps the side of her head with her pen. “It’s an uncommon color for a girl your age—and there’s only ever been one family of Gray Witches here.”
My shoulders drop a little. Gray Witches often have white-blonde hair, or jet black. “Oh, right. Yeah, I’m the Blackthorn witch.” It comes out colder than I mean for it, so I add, “My name’s Renata.”
“Lorna,” she says with a smile and reaches out her hand. “And my mate is back there, Killian. He prefers to stay in the kitchen—lone wolf, that one,” she adds with a wink. “He’s happy to help if I’m not around, just give a shout.”
“Thank you,” I say with as much warmth as I can muster.
I feel bad for being so harsh with her. The anxiety of how the town would treat me is turning me into a hermit. Today is making me realize I hadn’t given Briarhollow enough credit when I arrived.
Lorna introduces herself to Clover and Clementine—who are much friendlier than I am. Then we place our orders before the three of them fall into another conversation, talking about Solmar, the town in Florida the sisters are from. I turn back to the window, letting my mind wonder.
We are nowhere close to having the entire building cleaned—not to mention the rest of the property—and we aren’t sure how to decorate on such a small budget.
Rowyn hasn’t been able to light the hearth, despite her magic strengthening by the day.
The Foxglove sisters have never seen mud like the type in our gardens.
Clover pretends she isn’t discouraged by it, but from the unfamiliar pinch in her brows at the mention of it, she’s lying.
And yet, none of that is what has been distracting me.
All day I’ve been looking over my shoulder. If I didn’t have a ghost waiting for me back at home, I’d say I was waiting for one to pop out.
This is some sort of anticipation, but I’m not sure it’s the good kind. It is quickly morphing into paranoia. My nose is practically up against the glass when I see Rowyn do the same thing from the corner of my eye.
Without pulling back, still focused on the crowded street, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out what the hell you are doing,” she answers in her normal, cheery voice.
I lean back and cross my arms. “I don’t know.”
“Has anyone ever told you,” Clementine starts in a rueful tone, “that you’re kind of weird?”
Huffing out a low laugh, I nod. “Every day of my life.”
I’m sure my younger sisters rejoiced when they woke up and found me gone.
“Did Nestor follow you?” Clover asks quietly, leaning forward.
“No,” I immediately answer. “That’s not possible. I just… I feel like someone’s watching us.”
Rowyn tilts her head and looks out the window again, trying to get a better look around the wall.
“I haven’t seen anyone,” I add, “but it started as soon as we got to the main street.”
We each have a car, with the exception of Clementine, but decided to walk into town.
Mother Earth granted the town a pleasant beginning to the season, and the walk is only twenty minutes.
It started nice and normal—the first signs of warmer weather are a thing to enjoy in the Northeast. The closer we got to the town center, the expectancy started to grow, and it hasn’t left in the last few hours.
“Is this why you’ve been so reluctant to come into town?” Rowyn asks. “Did this happen when you got to Briarhollow?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s never happened before. The sensation grew as we got closer to Main Street.”
Lorna walks up with our food then. Placing extra napkins down, she asks, “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Actually,” Rowyn says and sits straighter. “I was wondering, have you seen anyone new lately? I mean, if Briarhollow gets visitors, this must be one of the first places they go, right?”
Lorna says “On the rare occasion we get visitors, yes. No new faces have stopped in today, other than you girls.”
“Hmm,” Rowyn hums.
I’m comforted by her easy acceptance of my feelings, but I don’t want to worry them over nothing. I’ve never made a prediction, so surely this is a mild case of agoraphobia.
“Oh wait,” Lorna says, turning back to us with a finger in the air. “I did see a man and woman walking toward the library earlier. Witches, I think. They looked like they were on a mission.”
“I’ll ask my grandpa,” Rowyn says with a resolute nod, and lays a napkin on her lap.
“Enjoy your food,” Lorna calls over her shoulder.
I try, but the growing apprehension has soured my stomach.
Around sundown, the four of us walk back to the Dreaming Willow. Hexate, Feralia, and Astra are nearby. They’ve begun to explore the wooded areas around the inn. Hexate has always been a solitary creature, but I think we’re both finding a new comfort from being in a group.
The further we get from town square, the lingering paranoia begins to fade. The nagging sensation of someone watching me morphs into a simmering protectiveness. I hadn’t noticed the growing connection I have to the property until I felt a presence before I saw her on the porch steps.
Our familiars beat us back, sitting a few feet away from her on the cobblestone pathway. They’re watching the woman, but don’t move toward her. They eye her curiously and wait for us.
I begin to walk forward, but my steps slow when there’s about ten feet between us.
Her long, dark brown hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and her medium, olive skin glows under the twilight sky. Her smile is pretty and alluring, pulling me in like a siren call.
It’s a very familiar picture.
The stranger’s clothes are different from Isadora’s—a mini velvet skirt and a maroon corset with a black sheer cardigan, rather than the pretty long-sleeved dress—and they aren’t identical.
Not like Petra and me. They do look similar enough to be sisters, if anything.
Soft, full curves with round features and an aura that could bring anyone to their knees.
“Definitely a Love Witch,” Rowyn leans over and whispers.
Looking at her with a smirk, I raise my eyebrows in silent confirmation.
“Hi,” the woman says in a silky lilt, giving a small wave.
No one replies but multiple sets of eyes land on me, waiting.
Oh.
They’re waiting for my reaction.
“Hello,” I finally greet.
She jumps off the porch, which is when I notice the raccoon at her feet.
“Oh, that’s Nimble,” she affectionately muses and leans down to pat his head. “He’s cleaner than your average raccoon, I promise.”
She says it so sheepishly, then protectively scoops him into her arms.
“We’re a coven that firmly believes familiars belong inside,” Clover offers.
“Oh good,” the woman says and lets out a dramatic breath. “You’d be surprised how mean some people can be to ‘unconventional’ familiars.”
“Is that why you’re here?” I ask. “The coven?”
She smiles widely. “Yes. I got your—”
“Call,” the five of us say at the same time.
With a glance at each of us, she nods. “Yeah. That. I heard it, but wasn’t really sure what it meant. Not until my abuela showed up the next day and practically forced me out of the house.”
“The beckoning went to your entire family?” I ask. There’s still a lot to figure out about that spell, but it reminds me of something Rowyn said that first morning too.
Turning toward her, I open my mouth to ask, but she cuts me off first. “What if this is what you were feeling all day? That weird anticipation of something could have been her waiting for us.”
“I don’t know,” I shake my head, then relent with a murmured, “Maybe.”
It’s possible I was looking around corners all day in anticipation of meeting our new guest. I’m not fully convinced.
The anticipation still lingers in my stomach, telling me that something is coming.
When I look at the pretty witch in front of me, the protectiveness settles and my hackles lower.
I trust that my magic called the right people to join the coven, but the warning still lingers in my gut like a hex that hasn’t fully worn off yet.
She puts Nimble down and closes some of the distance. “I’m Esme Aguado.”
“Renata Blackthorn,” I tell her, gesturing to myself. Each of the women do the same quick introduction.
“Welcome to the Dreaming Willow Inn,” Clementine announces with a sweep of her arm. “I hope you enjoy curses, ghosts, and an endless amount of cleaning.”
Esme’s eyes grow about three sizes, so does her smile.
“Never dealt with a ghost or a curse, but my dad’s side of the family are all Hearth Witches, so I know a thing or two about cleaning.”
Clover sweeps her arm through Esme’s, and Clementine follows them inside.
Stopping at the top of the stairs, Rowyn turns around and assesses me, wondering why I’m not going inside. Not wanting to worry her, I look over my shoulder one more time—finding nothing except a lone Poppy sitting on the iron gate—before reluctantly following behind them.