Chapter 17
Archer
Not only did Gale offer us a place to stay, but he meant it when he said there was always a place for Vexley witches here.
His magic seems to be more similar to my perception than to Sybil’s prophecies, so he was expecting visitors.
Despite how welcoming he has been, he’s also been extremely vague about our presence here.
The job doesn’t pay a lot, not compared to some of the larger archives across the world. Access to this one is a bigger reward than anything else I could ever ask for.
Over the last week and a half, I’ve started to search through every history book I can, trying to find anything about my family’s history and what caused the Vexley’s to flee.
There are hundreds, dated all the way back to Briarhollow’s creation over three hundred years ago, during the Salem Witch Trials.
I’m sure I don’t need all of this information, but I don’t want to accidentally miss anything.
There are a few things I already knew from the books Gale had mailed to me and from whispers passed down my family line.
Like the fact that the Vexleys are tied to the Dreaming Willow Inn.
They were part of the late matron Petra’s coven, and her family owned the property.
There aren’t any photographs of the members.
I’ve seen a few of the inn itself—not yet finding the courage to go see it for myself.
It’s inevitable. My magic has been reaching in that direction since Gale mentioned there’s a new Blackthorn witch living there after the former owner passed away.
What I have learned is that Barrett went missing after that last fateful night at the inn. His body was nowhere to be found, and he was mostly written out of my family’s history. He most likely fled, leaving his twin sister behind.
Another thing is that the curse doesn’t affect the town, only the three Gray Witches who have been born since the curse took effect. Gale knew the last owner, Cordelia, and her Chosen, Edmond.
Before Cordelia, only one other Blackthorn witch came back looking for answers twenty years after her parents died; assumingly at the hand of my ancestor, Barrett.
She was Petra’s daughter. Just like Cordelia, she found a lover.
She bore three children, none with gray magic, before slowly descending into madness—or clinically speaking, succumbed to witch’s fray.
The curse clearly affects the Gray Witches in their line, calling them back to the Dreaming Willow Inn, only to lose themselves in their magic. Whereas the Vexleys, once a strong line of Divination Witches, have all but lost connection to the air element and have become Hearth Witches.
Until Sybil and me.
A loud, dramatic sigh pulls me from my thoughts.
Speaking of the devil.
Looking at Sybil from the corner of my eye, I bite back a laugh at her torturously bored expression.
She’s never been drawn to these sorts of studies.
I’ve always joked that, if we ever decided to go west, she would have been one of those fortune tellers on some beach town’s pier.
According to our mother, the last Divination Witch in our family did just that after the curse and death of her twin brother, Barrett.
“What’s wrong, Bil?” I ask.
She drops the heavy, dusty book she was mindlessly flipping through and looks at me.
Every day Sybil is gaining more sentience, which makes me think we’re close to whatever it is that called us to Briarhollow.
She’s still getting acclimated to the town and wading through the murky waters of her prophecy.
She falls into her trance-state more often than not, and says ominous things like, “we’re late,” and other weird shit.
As if on cue, she blinks and the blankness is back in her eyes. “It’s time, Archer.”
Leaning my elbows on the counter between us, I nudge her hands until she blinks out of that zoned out focus for a second.
“You keep saying that,” I tell her. “Any idea what we’re waiting for?”
She shakes her head firmly. “But it’s time.” Her gaze moves past me and focuses on the front entrance. “And he’s here.”
Something tightens in my chest, unsure if her meaning is as eerie as it initially came out. A second later, I whip around to the double doors pushing open.
My taut muscles loosen once I see Gale’s aged face as he steps out of the blinding sunlight.
I’m not sure how to explain it, but there’s been a sense of anticipation since we stepped foot into town.
It might just be waiting for Sybil’s prophecy to come to fruition.
It feels like something else—connected but more focused on me, rather than us.
Regardless of how much Sybil may hate this job, she’s quickly grown attached to the older Divination Witch and his grandfatherly acceptance of us. Someone would have to drag her out of here kicking and screaming to get her to quit.
“Hello, dear,” Gale greets her gently with a kiss on her temple. She smiles at him before dropping her eyes back to the check-in book she is organizing. “How are you feeling today?”
She lifts a shoulder and blinks a few times. Whatever fog is over her mind is too thick to come out of at this moment, so she doesn’t answer. He isn’t put off by it, and instead, turns toward me.
“Archer, you know you’re off today, right?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice. Neither of us are surprised I’m here.
“Not much to do in this town,” I offer easily with a smirk.
He rolls his eyes and takes the stool next to Sybil. “There’s plenty to do if you ever left this library, boy. There’s even a coven of new, young witches you could run into.”
At the Dreaming Willow Inn, goes unsaid.
Lifting my gaze, I shake my head and try to bite back a chuckle. “Not interested in a partner right now.”
Though something in the back of my mind wakes up at the suggestion. A part of me that is curious about this new coven.
I don’t want to be distracted. Not when I’m learning more about my family history than I ever thought was possible, and I don’t want to bring any attention to myself. I’m not wholly convinced that Barrett was the true cause of the curse, but that’s mostly from unfounded hope.
Hope that my ancestor wasn’t truly a cruel, jealous man like the stories paint him to be.
I’ve already decided I’m going to find the faceless woman after I get more answers and guide Sybil through her vision. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I’ll study scrying rituals next.
“Didn’t say anything about that,” he says in a smug tone, “but you let me know if you change your mind.” He glances at Sybil quickly. “Either of you. I can introduce you to my granddaughter, Rowyn, if you want a friend your age.”
Sybil murmurs, “We’ve never had a lot of friends our age, and we’re doing fine.”
I stare at her in silence for a long moment, thinking back to our school years.
In many ways, the residents of magical towns are much more tolerant than other places of the world.
However, kids will always be kids. The same sense of curiosity that is found in them is often met with their fear of something—or someone—different, and Divination Witches are misunderstood, almost as much as Gray Witches.
Sybil’s pattern of zoning out in the middle of conversations, only to offer a cryptic warning seconds later, never set her up for success in the friends department.
Not that I had any more luck than her. I was the protective brother who put Sybil’s wellbeing before anyone else, but my magic is even less understood than hers. While it might freak someone out to receive an unsolicited fortune, it’s expected for a Divination Witch.
No one enjoys not having control over their emotions, and they never want to believe me when I promise that I don’t use my magic without consent.
Other than our younger siblings, Sybil and I were always drawn to the older witches in our community—people with more life experience to understand the natural way our magic progresses.
When an elderly couple of Divination Witches moved to Junimere about fifteen years ago, we were finally able to receive the direction we craved that wasn’t available to us—not that our parents didn’t try.
Gale has supplemented that for us since we first arrived in Briarhollow, and neither of us are unhappy with the amount of time we’re spending with him and the peace of the library.
“I’d never set either of you in harm’s way,” Gale gently insists. “It is your choice—just know that the door is always open if you so desire.”
Sybil nods, but neither of us say anything else.
Maybe friends would be good. I’ll talk to her about it when she’s able to pull through the consciousness of her mind to discuss it like a team.
He assesses us for a few moments before changing the subject. “Well, I know I just got here, but you can’t blame an old man for being hungry.”
Chuckling, I push away from the counter.
“Lunch?” Sybil asks, fully coming out of her trance at the mention of food. “I can run to the diner!”
Gale laughs and slips some cash into her hand. She tries to push it away but he doesn’t let her, insisting on feeding us almost every day. With a sweet smile, she rolls her eyes and jogs toward the door.
“Nothing gets that girl back to her right mind like the mention of a meal,” Gale jokes. I laugh along, slightly uneasy that we’re talking about her prophetic trances for the first time. Especially when she isn’t around.
Considering he’s the same type of witch as us, I’m not surprised Gale recognized the signs within a few days. The magnitude of Sybil’s magic can be shocking to others, even Divination Witches, and this is the first time he’s actually broached the subject.
Treading lightly, I tell him, “I used to shove hibiscus lemon cookies under her nose when she was in one of her episodes too long for my liking.”
He lets out a deep belly laugh. “You will need to meet my Rowyn, then. That granddaughter of mine can whip up anything, and it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever tried.”
“Hearth Witch?” I ask, while skimming over another page of town history.
“Mhm,” he confirms. “Don’t have visions much myself, but I had one on the night of her birth… She’d be the strongest in the family in the last hundred years. She’s destined to bring great changes to Briarhollow.”
Snorting, I glance up at him. “No pressure, right?”
With a rueful smile, he shrugs. “Never told her about it—and I promised her parents I’d keep it secret.”
A witch with such great abilities would show symptoms of that early, especially one who comes from such a stable line of fire magic.
“Do you think she knows?” I ask and stand up.
His uneasiness is acidic, leaving a burning sensation on my tongue as it rolls down my throat and settles in my gut. It’s more potent, more alert, than any of his other emotions I’ve picked up.
“Her? No, no,” he says with a shake of his head. “We can’t fight the fates though.”
There’s an ominous tone to his words, but I also get the impression he isn’t willing to say more.
He pulls one of the books closer to himself and opens to a random page. I try to focus on what I was reading again, but I can’t get one question out of my mind lately.
“Gale,” I start. “Why did you hire Sybil and me? I mean, how did you even know we were here?”
Slowly he looks up, meeting my eye. “I just knew. I didn’t think I needed to explain that to you of all people.”
His tone is more serious, even a little guarded, than I’ve heard before. I’m not picking up on any anger, so I push forward.
“You don’t have to, but I’m aware that usually comes with a deeper meaning.”
He assesses me for a long moment before asking, “What do you know about Briarhollow? And the history this town has with the Vexley family?”
My brows furrow. “Only as much as I was able to gather from the books you loaned me, which wasn’t much,” I admit with a bitter bite.
His brows shoot up in curiosity, so I continue.
“Whether it was a betrayal or an act of spite, my family is to blame for a lot—the curse, murdering the former owners of the inn, and maybe even for the deterioration of Briarhollow as a whole.”
One of the books mentioned the Dreaming Willow Inn is the heart of the town, so it makes sense why it feels stuck in time and forgotten if any of the needed designations aren’t in sync with the others.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I guess that sums up the most common beliefs about what happened here.”
A small spark of hope courses through me, one I’ve never felt in relation to what could be the truth on this matter.
“The common belief? As in, you’re familiar with the uncommon one?”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “Sure, though my late wife and I are some of the only ones who believe so.”
“And what is that belief?”
“That things aren’t always what is believed—and my perception has never let me down.”
“Like maybe,” I start hesitantly, “Barrett wasn’t at fault for their deaths?”
He shrugs, not giving anything away by his expression.
With that, Sybil pushes through the doors, hands full of food. She begins to pass out our meals while I think about Gale’s words.
My perception has never led me astray either—when I don’t try to block my connection to it—and it always felt like there was an important piece of the story missing. One that could potentially be the evidence that proves my ancestor’s innocence.
As I’m about to take my first bite, still distracted by my spiraling thoughts, Sybil snaps into a straight posture and says, “It’s time.”
My eyes meet Gale’s, but he lifts his brows in a way that resembles something like I told you so.
Only, I have no idea what either of them are talking about.