Chapter 4
FOUR
I hung the linens on the line outside, basking in the warm embrace of the golden autumnal sun.
Summer’s remnants lingered in the form of freckles adorning my arms and face as I tended to the laundry.
Inside the house, the aroma of a cake, freshly baked by my mother, filled the air.
Today was a special day. It was my twenty-third birthday.
As I reached into the laundry basket, one shirt caught my attention: a blue button-up that once belonged to my father.
My fingers traced the fabric’s familiar texture, stopping at the spot where my mother had meticulously patched a hole.
She wore this shirt more than any other, and over the years, its fabric had grown almost translucent from constant use.
I looked from the shirt to the weathered gravestone beneath a massive oak tree whose leaves had begun to blush with shades of red.
My heart softened, longing tugging at my chest. I couldn’t help but smile tenderly as I made my way toward the grave.
My fingers traced the carved letters of my father’s weathered name. Moss grew along the stone we had placed under the tree many moons ago, when I was only seven years old. His body was never brought back after the incident, so this stone was all we had as a gravesite for my father.
We were told he had been murdered by Blood Hunters while his troop was on a mission, protecting our town.
I’ll never forget my mother’s face when they told her what had happened.
I could feel the sting of tears welling up at the corners of my eyes as the memory played itself over and over in my mind.
She was never the same after. Everything about her changed. Once warm, carefree, and full of life, she became tense, almost rigid, always looking over her shoulder as though expecting something terrible to happen at any moment.
Shortly after my father’s death was confirmed, my mother withdrew.
The lack of work, the absence of money, the daily struggles—it all began to gnaw at us.
She thought leaving Elmcross and seeking solace elsewhere would help her.
She needed to escape the relentless gossip of the town.
Using the last of my father’s money, she bought us a small house across the river, a place where she could find peace.
The house came with a magnificent garden: one she tended to every day.
I often joined her, working the soil and tending to the rows of garlic, lettuce, and various other vegetables.
This time of year, the autumn flowers were in full bloom, creating a vibrant display around our home.
Those moments in the garden, cutting and trimming flowers, and keeping the pests at bay, became sacred to me. It gave me a sense of purpose, a connection to the earth that grounded me amidst the chaos. It was my sanctuary from the harshness of the world. But it wasn’t enough to heal my mother.
I took a deep breath, staring at the gravestone before me.
“I miss you every day,” I whispered to the stone.
I rarely allowed myself to sit here, to linger with my emotions.
But today was different. I’d never felt so distant from my father.
I closed my eyes, trying to summon the memories of his voice, how his hair would tickle my knees when he carried me around the house on his shoulders.
A sudden movement emerging from the trees caught my attention.
Vail’s long, blonde hair flowed in the breeze, shimmering like a halo of warmth and a wide smile bloomed across her face as she spotted me.
My heart fluttered every time I caught sight of Vail, my beloved friend, whose presence illuminated even the darkest corners of my world.
She quickened her pace, racing toward me, and playfully toppled me to the ground with an enormous hug.
“Happy birthday, Rosie!” Vail exclaimed as she planted a warm kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you,” I replied, rising to my feet. Vail and I had been inseparable since childhood, and it was her father who had delivered the news of my own father’s passing. Like mine, Vail’s father had worked with the Slayers, and he too eventually met his end.
Six years ago, an entire troop of Slayers from Elmcross set out on a mission and never returned.
Since then, Vail had taken up residence with her grandmother, Agnes.
Agnes was a frequent topic of town gossip, with rumours circulating about her coven and ties to a darker form of witchcraft.
Vail, however, paid no mind to the baseless chatter.
Instead, she embraced her grandmother’s teachings, feeling drawn to the mystical and arcane.
She often invited me to join in the rituals her grandmother had taught her.
Magic ran through her mother’s side of the family, though whispers claimed it was weak—too weak to save her from the complications of childbirth.
Vail reached into her bag and pulled out bundles of herbs twisted with dried flowers.
“My grandmother prepared these for you,” she said, her voice soft.
“She claims they will ward off ill spirits and keep you safe. If you wish, I can show you how to use them.” I took the gift from her and brought it close to my nose, inhaling deeply, allowing the sweet scent to fill my senses.
“I have also made you this.” She pulled out a small vial with a wax-sealed top.
“I found a recipe in my grandmother’s book.
It claims to be a love potion. Perhaps you’ll find a nice man passing through town, one who will court you, and then you can settle down,” she suggested, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear with a shy smile.
“Oh, you know I will never settle down,” I responded. I thought about my fair share of fleeting romances over the years, but I had never desired anything serious. There was never a connection beyond the physical.
I had seen what love did to people. The way it hollowed out my mother when my father died, leaving her a ghost of the woman she once was. I never wanted to feel that kind of loss. If I kept my heart to myself, it would be better. Safer.
“Perhaps we might use it to help you find a respectable man,” I suggested, poking at the fact that although we were the same age, Vail had never shown even a remote interest in anyone before.
“I prefer my freedom. And I am not interested in any of the boys here.” The breeze blew her hair across her face, and I noticed a faint blush creeping into her cheeks.
“Here, turn around.” I reached out and gently turned her.
I started to braid Vail’s golden locks into an intricate pattern.
In the quiet moments like these, I remembered all the times we had stayed up late into the night, sharing secrets under the stars, and how it always ended with me braiding Vail’s hair.
She was the closest thing I had to a sister.
“There you go. All finished,” I announced, her once wild hair now elegantly braided.
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she exclaimed, “Do you know what I wish to do?”
“I have a feeling.” A grin spread across my face, and I seized her hand as we hurried toward the shed in the garden.
I reached for my father’s old hunting shotgun and a box of ammunition.
My mother had taught me how to handle the gun when I came of age, always emphasizing the importance of self-defence.
We would often use apples for target practice in the orchard.
Although my mother no longer approved of our impromptu shooting sessions, Vail and I both enjoyed honing our skills and spent many hours practising.
With the shotgun and ammunition in hand, we ventured down the forest path toward the river, where the rushing water would muffle the sound of our gunshots. Beneath the late afternoon sun, we stood shoulder to shoulder, with Vail holding the shotgun.
As Vail’s fingers wrapped around the stock, I offered some guidance. “Remember, steady hand, steady breath.”
She stabilized herself and squeezed the trigger. It let out a muffled crack, but the apple placed on the stone wall remained untouched. Disappointment marred Vail’s face as she handed the shotgun to me. “Damn. Your turn.”
I took my place at the firing line and pressed the stock firmly against my cheek. I breathed in and carefully aimed at the apple. Breathing out and with a squeeze, I fired, and the apple exploded in a burst of pulp and juice.
“You make it look so easy,” Vail remarked.
With a hint of pride, I handed the shotgun back to her. “It’s all a matter of practice and focus. Now, let us see if you can manage it this time.”
Before she could aim, I noticed her muttering under her breath, and she wiggled her fingers as she adjusted her grip. I paused, my eyes narrowing.
“You aren’t relying on magic, are you?” I asked, half-teasing, half-intrigued.
Vail gave me a sheepish grin. I could see the concentration in her face as she adjusted the gun’s trajectory. She pulled the trigger, and I saw the apple move slightly to the left before it exploded.
Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and she turned to me, her smile wide. “You were right, I simply had to focus.”
“Focus … and magic,” I muttered.
We spent the rest of the afternoon taking turns, and as the sun moved higher in the sky, the heat intensified, and beads of sweat formed on Vail’s neck. She took the back of her hand and wiped away the sweat. I couldn’t help but reach out and tuck a stray piece of hair back into her braid.
Vail’s eyes locked with mine. Just as I thought she was about to say something, the words caught in her throat. She cleared it and finally said, “It is quite hot. Want to go for a swim?”
“Yes, though we must hurry. I do not wish for my mother to fret over me; you know how she is.”
We headed down to the shore, where the water sparkled like scattered diamonds in the sun. Vail set down the shotgun on a rock, her movements graceful and fluid as she slipped off her shoes and socks. She stood up and stretched her arms.
I couldn’t help but watch, captivated by the graceful lines of Vail’s figure, the curves hidden beneath the flowing fabric of her dress.
It was a moment of quiet admiration; one I quickly felt a twinge of embarrassment about. I turned my attention elsewhere, hastily unlacing my boots and removing my socks, eager to distract myself from the thoughts that had begun to stir.
Hand in hand, we ran toward the water. The worries of the world faded with each stroke of the river’s cool embrace. I swam farther out until my toes no longer touched the slick, moss-covered rocks. The water cradled me, and I floated, free and light.
Exhausted and breathless from swimming, I finally collapsed onto the soft, rolling grass at the river’s edge.
Vail lay down next to me, her wet dress clinging to the curves of her body.
She spread her arms wide, gently brushed them against my dress, and let out a sigh of contentment.
“This is perfect, Rosie. I do wish it would stay warm forever.”
I nodded in agreement. “Me too. I never want this to end.” I stretched my arms above my head, my fingers twisting in the long grass.
A peaceful silence enveloped us, and Vail turned to face me.
Her lips were a soft pink, matching the blush on her cheeks.
She reached out and gently traced the freckles along the ridge of my nose.
Her hand lingered longer than it should have, and I noticed her breath seemed to tremble.
“I love you,” she said with a small smile.
Though we often expressed our affection for one another, this time, it felt different.
My heart quickened in response to her words.
With a sudden and bold movement, Vail leaned in and pressed her lips to mine.
Time seemed to freeze for an instant as her soft lips lingered.
Vail pulled back, her eyes wide with surprise and shame.
I felt her absence as soon as she drew away, an unexpected longing filling me.
As the moment settled and the space filled between us, I felt a mixture of shock, confusion, and an unfamiliar fluttering in my stomach.
“I … I’m so sorry,” Vail stammered, her cheeks flushing to a deep shade of crimson. “I do not know what came over me.” She quickly gathered her shoes and put them on.
“No need to apologize,” I replied, my voice steady. Vail’s eyes held a glimmer of hope. However, before either of us could say another word, Vail stood up and fled, running along the riverbank.
“Vail! Please wait!” I cried out, but she continued, disappearing into the trees, leaving me to sit alone. My mind became a tempest of swirling thoughts and emotions. “Please don’t go,” I whispered to the wind, my plea lost amidst the rustle of leaves.