Chapter 18
The snow picked up as they reached downtown. Stephan looked toward the horizon, where dense, towering clouds of blue-gray rolled toward them with the intensity of an oncoming horde.
“Forecast claimed we were getting a few inches, but I call bullshit. That’s a serious storm rolling in.”
Hayleigh rubbed her hands down her arms, looking for the signs he was seeing in the sky. Though distinguishing storm clouds from cloud clouds was not in her skill set, there was no denying the general air of menace.
Unlike Elk Ridge, if Eucharist had witches, they were quiet about it.
There were no magic stores, not even “funky” shops selling crystals and tarot decks to women going through occult-flavored midlife crises.
In fact, there weren’t any decorations outside of the classic Christmas box—not even the odd Scandinavian Tomte or menorah.
This was the exact makeover she’d pitched for Elk Ridge only one year ago, but as she looked at it now, she realized how monochromatic it was.
Many of the local stores she remembered had been replaced by familiar chains, and those that remained had all gotten same-style makeovers.
The town’s quirks had been erased, its edges sanded down, filled in with beige and written over in approved fonts.
It should’ve felt the way she could hear herself pitching it from the Goshen talking points—like stability, certainty, security—but instead, it was like listening to the same carol on repeat.
“I might have something.” Stephan was staring at the door of a community center. It was hung with a wreath that looked normal at first glance.
“Looks like a wreath to me.”
“Sure, but…” He ran a finger down the greenery.
It was plump and bushy, tipped with pale green, almost yellow points.
“Yew. Not a common choice.” He shifted his finger to point out acorns and bunches of bright blue berries.
“Acorns and juniper. If someone burned a white candle while they put this together, it’d be a spell for longevity. ”
“Something a town full of people with tainted water could certainly use,” murmured Hayleigh, and he nodded knowingly.
Unfortunately, the community center was closed, so it wasn’t as easy as just walking in and asking, Where’d you get that wreath? so they walked on, checking every door they passed. They all contained yew, juniper, and acorns.
The Eucharist Mercantile was decked with one of the wreaths and already open for the day, so they pushed their way inside to a jangle of bells.
A middle-aged woman with a red perm like a lion’s mane sat behind the counter reading a book called Ho, Ho history was still written in the building’s vintage facade.
It was like the one child who’d shown up for the class photo in oversized boots and a bright orange shirt inside out.
“Oh yeah,” said Stephan as they approached, “this is a green witch’s sanctuary. For sure.”
“How can you tell?”
He gestured at the flowering vines creeping up a trellis, winding their tendrils into cracks in the building walls. “Those are flowering in the middle of winter.”
“They’re not fake?” She took a step closer, and for a moment, the illusion of artificiality held. But then it gave way under close scrutiny. Waxy vines became vibrant, and purple flowers that had looked plastic only moments before now had the soft irregularity of organic growth.
Stephan rumbled low in her ear, “Only visible to those who know to look.”
She shivered.
When the door opened, it let out a rush of warm, moist air. Though the front room was not kept as hot as the back, it was still much warmer than the frigid exterior. Its windows had steamed up, and beads of water slid down them in snail trails.
She searched for obvious signs of witchcraft but couldn’t find any. That said, more wreaths like the ones hung around town were available inside a display case of organic Christmas decor, as well as an abundance of wild holiday trimmings.
A woman stood behind the counter, carefully repotting a ficus.
A braid of coarse, dark brown hair hung nearly to her waist, and when she lifted her face to look at them, Hayleigh could appreciate her high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and dark eyes all set against light brown skin with warm undertones. She smelled of jasmine and clean soil.
“Good morning, Naveah,” said Hayleigh. “I hope you’re…well.”
“Hayleigh Gray.” Naveah shook her head with a rueful chuckle.
“When the broom fell across the door this morning, I knew to expect someone unwelcome. I should’ve guessed it would be you.
” Her eyes flicked to Stephan with a crease of curiosity.
“Though showing up with a witch in tow is entirely unexpected.”
Hayleigh took a step closer. “I know you might be upset with me, but I think if we have a chance to talk and clarify a few things, you’ll realize I’m not to blame for what happened here.”
The green witch let out a snort and walked away, heading straight back to the tropics room. Steam erupted in a cloud through the open door only to cut off abruptly as it shut with a thud.
“Strong start,” said Stephan.
“Commentary not appreciated.” She took a deep breath and followed the retreating witch. She found Naveah tending to an ailing monstera, tucking aside its Swiss cheese leaves to dip her fingers into the soil of the pot.
“Do not wither, do not spoil,
Let life return through this soil.
By the power of three by three,