Chapter 5
Honey
The sheer unreasonableness of their discussion had Honey’s body jittery with frustration.
She unzipped her bag with short, jerky movements and yanked out her little bottle of hand sanitizer.
She squirted a heavy amount into her palms, more than she probably needed, and scrubbed vigorously.
The sharp alcohol smell filled her nose.
Honey had never seen such blatant rudeness.
Small towns were supposed to be filled with helpful, polite people who dawdled, waved at strangers, and baked muffins for new neighbors.
People liked to mock the city for its honking and occasional yelling, but at least there, everything made sense.
You moved fast, said what you needed to say, and got on with it.
It wasn’t personal. This, though—this was obstruction.
“Mr. Hale,” she called through the door. “I will be calling the authorities!”
She’d imagined a reasonable conversation, maybe some initial confusion, but followed by compliance. She would explain the purpose of her audit, and he, as a law-abiding citizen, would show her around the property. There would be questions, paperwork, signatures. Order.
Instead, she’d been shut out. Literally.
Careful not to trip on the overturned tricycle, Honey made her way off the porch and down the path back to where Lou had dropped her off.
On her phone, she navigated to her recent contacts and tapped on Officer Nolan’s name.
Unlike Ethan, the chief had seemed cooperative when she’d spoken to him last week.
He’d understood the need for oversight to make sure magic didn’t spiral into chaos.
She pressed call, only to get a busy tone.
She ground her teeth together. Fine. No problem. She could handle this. She’d check into The Inn Between, call the chief, and come back when someone with a badge had talked some sense into Ethan.
She switched to a rideshare app and waited for it to load available drivers. Honey figured she would lose half a day of work, but if she stayed late tonight, she could still stay on schedule. Whatever it took to restore order to this chaotic place.
Something in Honey’s peripheral vision made her glance up from the spinning wheel on her phone just in time to see a sandy-haired girl careening around the side of the house toward Honey.
She clutched a dented tin bucket in one hand, the handle rattling with each stride.
Corn kernels fell from the rim as she ran, leaving a trail of yellow splotches on the path.
This must be the middle Hale child. The other two shared the complexion of the father but this one, with her blond hair and big doe eyes, must take after her mother.
The girl skidded to a stop in front of Honey and thrust her free hand forward. “I’m Brooke.”
Her smile came a second too late as if she only just remembered it. She stayed like that, hand extended and smile plastered on while she waited for Honey to introduce herself.
“Honey Baxter,” she finally said, taking Brooke’s hand. She was surprised by the firmness of the grip and the way the girl met her gaze squarely. Honey glanced down at her phone again. Still no drivers. Just that same hopeless spinning wheel.
Brooke caught sight of it too. Her eyes widened. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t go.”
“Actually, I can. I have to.” Honey wanted to say she’d be back but that felt kind of threatening, so instead she remained silent.
Brooke took a step forward, bucket bumping against her leg. “No, you don’t understand. My sister needs to talk to you.”
Honey adjusted her blazer, smoothing down the fabric, and pulled a business card from the small holder in her bag. “Well,” she said, handing it over, “if there’s an issue, you are welcome to file a report with the bureau. They handle all concerns within three to five business days.”
Brooke took the card without looking at it. Her eyes flicked to Honey’s phone again—still no ride in sight—and then down to her bucket.
Before Honey could take a step, the girl pivoted and flung the contents of the bucket in a wide arc around her feet.
“What are you—?”
Grains clattered against the gravel like tiny bullets.
And then came the sound.
It was a war cry, really. An eruption of clucking, flapping, squawking chaos.
Chickens, dozens of them, descended in a rust-colored storm, all surging toward the scattered grain and encircling Honey like she was the main course.
Honey shrieked when one flew straight into her legs, pecking the ground inches from her shoes.
Another leapt up, wings flapping, and brushed against her hip.
Dear god.
The child was still there just outside the chaos she’d summoned, her big doe eyes unblinking beneath a curtain of wispy bangs as she watched the chickens swarm Honey.
“Why would you do that?” Honey cried, voice teetering on hysteria.
She took a ginger step back, but a chicken lunged at her toe and she shrieked again.
Brooke blinked once, calmly, and then turned on her heel, dropped the bucket, and ran toward the house without a word.
“Oh, no. No, no, no—” Honey muttered, turning in a slow circle as the chickens continued the onslaught.
The screen door creaked, and another figure emerged onto the porch.
The eldest Hale daughter took one look at the scene and arched an eyebrow. “Uh…what are you doing?”
Honey held up both hands. “Don’t come over here. Don’t make eye contact. They can smell fear.”
Emma stared at her. Then she burst out laughing. “They’re chickens.”
Emma rolled her eyes and walked straight into the fray. A few hens fluttered back at her presence. She reached down, scooped up a particularly aggressive chicken, and tucked her under her arm like a football.
“Her name’s Cluck Norris,” she said. “She bites everybody.”
“Will you just get them to desist?”
“Just walk away. They literally only want the corn.”
Honey lifted her chin and stepped carefully backward, brushing feathers off her blazer and trying not to make sudden movements. The chickens lost interest the second she was no longer the epicenter of grain, and she huffed.
“You can’t go,” Emma said.
“I am leaving. Before I am assaulted again, consider that I have the full weight of the government behind me.”
It was a stretch, but she was tired of this farm, filthy from head to toe, and in desperate need of a shower and a calming cup of tea.
“I’m not a circus clown. I cannot stick around here for your amusement.”
Emma didn’t respond right away. She chewed on her thumb—an absolutely revolting habit—and Honey tried not to think about bird flu or salmonella. She pressed her lips together, holding back a lecture.
“You can’t go,” Emma said again, more quietly this time, “because I need your help.”
Honey’s phone vibrated, informing her that a driver had been assigned to pick her up, a Percy Bloom in a white Volvo. Two minutes out. Thank god.
“My help?” Honey echoed, already righting her upturned suitcase and making her way toward the end of the driveway where she intended to wait.
“Yes. With the well.”
“I will address the well once the proper paperwork has been filled out.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.” Honey didn’t break her stride though her suitcase bumped wildly over the uneven ground.
Emma followed her. “What if I told you it’s a matter of life and death?”
“No matter how wild and unregulated it gets, magic will not directly kill anyone.”
Emma let out a frustrated laugh. “It sure feels like it will. I’ve been holding this place together with nothing but wishes.”
Honey stopped in her tracks.
Emma’s voice dropped. “The orchard, my sisters, my dad. I’ve been pouring everything into that well. And now…I think it’s starting to run dry.”