Chapter 4
FOUR
“Careful.” Blaire squeezed Joss’s hand, guiding her over an upturned root. “And here, there’s a small gully.”
“How do you know?” She hitched up her robe to take a large stride over the gully. “I can’t see anything.”
“You don’t need to.” Blaire stopped and faced her witch. Her Joss. She ran her hands up her arms and cupped her shoulders. “Close your eyes.”
“It’s pitch black out here.”
“Yes, and darker when you close your eyes. Do it.”
Joss huffed, but in the shifting of her weight, Blaire knew she had done as asked.
“Now, breathe in slowly, and listen.”
She followed her own advice, sinking into the surroundings. A crick burbled in the distance, and in the trees above, an owl ruffled its feathers. Little by little, the tension in Joss’s shoulders eased, her breaths coming low and steady.
“Is that a vole?” she asked after a moment.
“Two of them, underground to our left.”
Joss exhaled, twisting to the right to follow the sound of the owl alighting from its branch. “Blaire, this is incredible.”
“It’s the holler.”
“I can’t believe it. This is what the Carvers know?”
“Mmhmm.” She nodded, though Joss could not see, and opened her eyes to take in the beauty of the witch before her.
Bound to Blaire and the holler, experiencing for the first time the magick Blaire had known her entire life.
Joss turned her face to the sky. Moonlight traced her profile in silver, showing Blaire the shallow furrow growing between Joss’s eyes.
“Never knew there was a waterfall out here,” she said, fluttering her hand in the direction of Carver Rapids.
“Not much of one,” said Blaire. “Just a short drop where Sugar Hollow Creek meets the Doe River.”
“It’s lovely.” Joss dropped her head, dark eyes opening to meet Blaire’s gaze. “So lovely.”
“Careful.” She grabbed Joss’s hand and tugged. “Keep talking like that, and we’ll never make it back to town.”
“After four years, I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing,” Joss answered, but she let herself be guided down the narrow trail.
For as much as Blaire wanted to lose herself in Joss and ignore their new responsibilities, the magick of their ritual would have been felt by every witch, hedge and C.R.O.W.
alike, in Hexen Holler. Blaire’s mother had known of her summons to Roan Mountain, and no doubt would have told the rest of the Carvers, which meant every hedge witch in the surrounding valleys knew as well.
It was important they get back to Hexen Holler and sit Blaire’s mother down, explain what they’d done to her face, before confronting Geraldine Braddox about the new way of things.
The accusation they would lay at her feet was not trivial, and while Joss and Blaire had the power of the demesne, they had little in the way of proof. But with every hedge witch on their side, there would be little Geraldine could do, or say, to unseat the proper Witches of the Demesne.
Blaire’s old red Chevy waited in the empty Roan Mountain Visitor Center’s lot.
She summoned her keys and opened the passenger-side door, pleasure thrumming in her chest as Joss gripped the frame and hauled herself into the cabin as easily as she had when they were teenagers.
She grinned at Blaire, buckling up as she closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side, humming in harmony with the engine when it roared to life.
“I can’t believe you still drive this thing.” Joss ran an endearing hand over the dash and settled back against the leather.
“We can’t all go gallivanting around the world to fancy cities with public transit,” Blaire replied. Though her tone was light, a shadow crossed Joss’s face. She dropped her chin, fingers laced in her lap. “Hey, no. Not like that.” Blaire gripped Joss’s thigh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” She sighed. “It’s nice to come back and find that some things remained the same, that’s all.”
“You know how Hexen Holler is. This place hasn’t changed in two hundred years. Except for getting electricity. And weak internet.”
“You’ve changed.”
Blaire’s fingers twitched. She pulled her hand back, gripping the steering wheel.
“Not in a bad way,” Joss continued. “Four years is a long time, though. I missed seeing you grow up.”
“We’re twenty-two.”
“You know what I mean.” She fluttered. “You’re taller, and you carry yourself differently.”
“So do you.” Blaire shifted gears, taking the split second to glance at Joss. “You’ve always held yourself well, but tonight on that mountaintop? Triple Goddess, Joss, you stand like a queen.”
A smile flickered, there and gone again. “Does that make you my knight?” she asked. “Or my consort?”
“You decide and let me know.” The Chevy rumbled into their small town, trundling over the road and practically driving itself to the Carver home.
Blaire slowed on the approach, cursing under her breath at the dozens of cars lining the road and clogging the drive. “Looks like the word already got out.”
Joss straightened, gripping the handle on the door. A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Blaire, I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.” She parked at the end of the road, facing Joss. “You are the Witch of the Demesne; whatever they have to say, it is your duty to hear it. Start your time off on the right foot and commune with the hedge witches.”
“We.”
“We?”
“We are the Witch of the Demesne.” To illustrate the point, she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and bit down. Blaire gasped as the faintest bloom of pain erupted on her own lip. She rushed a hand up, tracing the fading sensation. “It is our duty to hear every witch. Together.”
“Together,” she whispered and bent over the seat, cupping Joss’s cheek to draw her face up. “As it should have been.”
And kissed her. Soft and gentle, but no less strong for it. What they had done on the summit of Roan Mountain would have been felt for miles around, and even in the fleeting kiss she gave her witch, Blaire felt it twofold in her bones.
“As it will be,” Joss answered. She kissed Blaire in return and leaned away. “Let’s go, before I get too carried away in this.” A long finger waved between them, and Blaire could not help but smile.
“Aw, but it’d be more fun.”
“I know.” Joss grinned. “And we will have more fun later. Right now, it’s time to go meet our demesne.”
Every member of the Carver clan filled the bottom floor of the house.
Those who could fit had packed themselves into the front room, while the rest clung to the walls of the hallway.
Children sat on the stairs leading to the second floor, and from the kitchen came a chorus of voices rising over the sound of a hot dish potluck being assembled.
Blaire hesitated at the front door, shrinking under the weight of three dozen pairs of eyes landing on her as the chatter died away. Joss steadied her with the gentle press of a palm between her shoulder blades.
The air thickened with unspoken accusations. Eyes narrowed and glared at the prodigal Braddox daughter returned, and Blaire knew her family was sensing the rich power pulsing from Joss and, unbeknownst to them, her.
She fisted her hands, sucking in a breath for courage, and a sharp clap echoed through the room.
“Make way,” her mother barked. The crowd split, revealing all five feet and one inch of Verna Carver.
Plump, with a frizzy mane of gray-brown hair tied loosely back in a low tail, Verna’s bright red lips—the only make-up she ever wore—tightened to a flat line.
Her steely eyes, the same cold blue as Blaire’s, narrowed, and she crossed thick arms across her chest. “Tina told us she was back.” Verna named one of Blaire’s many cousins.
“And here you up and brought the Braddox witch home.”
“I did, Ma.” How Blaire found the words to answer at all was a miracle.
Verna’s gaze lifted from Blaire to Joss at her back. “So you did it, then?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joss answered.
Verna’s red lips pinched. Every Carver held their breath, attention hopping from Blaire and Joss to the matriarch commanding the room.
What happened next would cement Blaire and Joss’s place in the demesne.
Verna had the power to turn every hedge witch against them, Horned God forbid, or draw an uneasy alliance, something to build upon as she and Joss worked together to heal what had been broken in their holler.
It was the best she could hope for, and with every second her mother did not speak, the more fleeting that hope became.
“And what did I tell you ‘bout callin’ me ‘ma’am’?” Verna smiled and threw her arms wide. She waved the fingers on both hands, gesturing Joss forward. “Come here, girl. It’s been a month of Sundays since you last graced my door.”
And with that, the tension burst. A Carver cousin hauled Blaire into a hug, and another pulled Joss into the room, passing her from witch to witch until she ended up wrapped in Verna Carver’s arms.
Verna rocked her side to side, welcoming Joss as she had all through their childhood, up until the day she was summoned to her grandmother’s side.
Her red lips moved, and Joss, towering over the shorter hedge witch, nodded, but whatever words were spoken remained in the space between Verna’s lips and Joss’s ears.
When she finally let go, Joss spun, searching the room for Blaire. She wiped the heel of her palm under an eye and sent her a small, watery smile.
“Well, that’s that, I guess.” Blaire tipped her head at the room. “If y’all don’t need anything else, we’ll be—”
“Don’t think you’re getting off easy.” Her mother frowned, but there was nothing but love shining in her eyes. “Get over here.”
Blaire hurried to her mother and was immediately gripped in the iron strength of her arms.
“Always were a fool,” Verna whispered. She cupped the back of Blaire’s head and kissed her temple. “A fool for that girl, a fool for love. I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
“You brought the magick home.” She pulled away and searched Blaire’s face. Weary lines pulled the corners of her eyes down, and tears clung to her lashes. “We felt the moment the ritual stuck. You alright?”
“I’m good.” She nodded. “Better than I’ve been in years.”
“Good. Never could fully believe Joss’d disappear like that.
The girl’s as much a Carver as you are. Always was.
” She squeezed Blaire’s shoulders and put space between them, raising her voice so every witch in attendance could hear.
“Your first act was to greet the hedge witches. Mighty wise, and we welcome you both, but what will you do next?”
“We confront the steward.” Joss’s voice rang clear and firm through the room. She lifted her chin, rolling her shoulders back and standing tall and proud. A true Witch of the Demesne. “We demand answers and begin our work. Together.”
“You want to go up against your momma?” Verna tilted her head, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Now?”
“My mother hexed me,” Joss answered plainly. “And it took me four years to gather enough pieces of Hexen Holler to come back. The demesne has been under the guidance of a false steward when it should have been nurtured by the Carver and Braddox lines.”
Verna nodded. “Then you’d best come out back. Both a you. We’ve got the long able set and the casseroles are ‘bout done.”
“Ma—”
“You might commune with greens and ivy, Blaire, but my magick lies in the hearth. There ain’t nothin’ a good home-cooked meal can’t solve, so come and eat the collards I made from your hard work, and let’s see if we can’t figure out a plan.”