Chapter 12
Annelise stood on the porch, trepidation flowing through her veins where her blood should have pulsed. Taking a deep breath to find some peace, she quickly realized that was a mistake—everything smelled bad.
Floodwaters were not only not clean water, they were filthy.
It wasn't just twigs and sticks that the water carried but silt and mud, bacteria, and algae. It bothered her that she automatically knew this because she’d learned it years ago with the first flood.
She’d asked, standing just like this, looking at her destroyed home, why everything smelled so awful.
Hadn’t it just been washed? They swam in the creek all the time; it wasn’t like this!
But floodwater and creek water were not the same.
She also knew when the river receded and left the drywall damp, they were not only dealing with algae and bacteria but now also mold.
Lifting her mask, she covered her face so she could breathe at least half decently.
There was witchcraft and then there was being practical.
Looping the elastic over her ears, she tried to take a reasonable stock—or she was avoiding the task at hand. It could be either.
Her heart squeezed. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to tally the loss.
Hell, she’d already had to pass her car to get here.
Luckily, Mindy had come by already and taken a look at it.
Together, they cast whatever revealing magics they could.
Between that and Mindy's mechanical expertise, it had been ascertained that the car first needed to dry out, but it would most likely survive.
That wouldn’t be enough, but it might not be totaled.
She might get away without needing a new engine.
The sweet little red car would definitely need professional cleaning.
It was no longer the shiniest little red thing in the Hollow.
She was like the BMW on her hood. Now it was just a symbol that she’d lost more.
But the water had gotten to the engine. Which meant it got under the carpets first, that would mold over time. Mindy had pulled them out to see if they could be salvaged, but mostly to keep them from growing whatever was inside her car now.
The water had risen just high enough to soak into the foam of the seats, too.
Annelise still wanted to roll her eyes at that.
She’d said to Mindy that she might have been okay if she could have parked just six inches higher.
Hell, she would have put it up on cinderblocks if she could!
But even Mindy agreed they weren't likely to witch their way out of that.
It was highly probable all four seats would have to be replaced since the water got to the electronics underneath even before it got to the foam.
Luckily, Mindy assured her she thought she could find replacements.
Though, at one point, Annelise would have only taken the car to a certified dealer, she wasn’t in a position to be picky or to spend her money on herself.
She was likely entirely screwed here. But she believed in Mindy and the mechanic was a master at stating, “Oh, one of those came in last week and I held onto it just in case I needed it!” Mindy wouldn’t tell you she was a witch, but Annelise wouldn’t tell you she wasn’t.
So now she ignored the car and told herself she had to make herself do this.
Story was here to help and that wasn’t going to last forever.
As she’d predicted, her Gram had been in great demand over the last several days.
The townspeople had come to her for everything: Could she find the missing, or at least tell them if they were still alive?
Could Story make a potion to patch them over until they could get to a pharmacy to fill their medication?
Or maybe bless their home in hope the black mold wouldn't take hold?
"What about our home?" Annelise had pressed.
"You're the water witch! You can dry it out,” Story had replied as if it were that easy, or that magic that big was of no effort or consequence.
Annelise had thrown her hands up in the air, and Story had gone on with her ministries, ignoring her very own needs—for a home and a clean, functioning place to sleep—and just assumed Annelise would take care of it.
Her grandmother was alternately wonderful and maddening and very little in between.
As an adult, having left the Hollow and then come back, Annelise understood that it was both a blessing and a curse to come home with a trophy and be asked “What? Only third place?” She loved that her grandmother thought so highly of her, still hated that her grandmother expected the world of her.
She loved that her grandmother protected people fiercely and hated that she never protected herself.
As a kid, Annelise watched as her Aunt Marina had taken her daughter and left the hollow.
She’d never returned and rarely even contacted them.
They often went years hoping mother and daughter were still alive and having to rely on their own witchcraft to see if it was true.
She’d watched as Monica had disappeared and come back and disappeared again, sometimes for years at a time.
Then she’d watched Story handle the last of her three daughters dying in her own arms.
Astoria Lockheart had lived through the years as all three of her children ebbed and flowed like the tide until they were gone. Never once did it occur to her that maybe—just maybe—the way she treated them had something to do with it.
Still, Annelise loved her like the sun, so she didn't complain.
As Story stepped up beside her, and then moved in front of her, she said, "Better get moving. It's not going to clean itself."
With a sigh, Annelise stepped inside, wishing the mask had more filtration than it did, because she could still smell it.
She looked at the couch sagging, not just from age but excess water.
She saw the shelves, the books bloated and now stuck in place.
Where the wood might be saved, the paper would not.
The mattresses would have to be thrown out, but the bed frames were metal.
The dishwasher was a goner. That was for sure. The oven was gas so maybe the starters could be replaced instead of the whole thing? The microwave was at least high enough up that when the power was turned back on, it should be fully useable.
Small blessings, she thought.
It was difficult, backbreaking work. Everything was heavier when it was soaked.
Everything smelled bad because the floodwaters had soaked it for three days.
Everything hurt her heart, if only for the monetary value to replace it.
Her grandmother didn't live with anything extra. Even a lot of the basics were things Annelise had purchased and insisted her grandmother take. There weren’t many losses they could just chalk up and do without.
She'd been smart enough after the last flood to put the important things on the high shelves.
She looked up now to see what was salvageable.
Even though the top shelf was safe, it was relative.
The water and smell had permeated the house.
When it flooded, the rising creek had sloshed and splashed its way in.
Nothing had made it through one hundred percent okay.
Hauling another bag of trash outside, she set it at the end of the driveway next to the others she’d lined up.
She tried not to look at the car as it dried in the cool sunlight.
But she did wave a hand at it, expending what energy she could that it could be fixed.
She tied the spell to Mindy Bormann and hoped it all worked.
She'd barely made it back to her bedroom again when a knock at the door behind her startled her.
They’d left all the doors and windows open in an attempt to air the place out.
It wasn’t like there was anything here worth stealing anyway, and the house was warded to the hilt.
She almost laughed at that when she'd walked in—she’d warded it against thieves and the like, so at least this person wasn’t here to cause them harm.
But she should also have been warned someone was close.
As she turned she had to wonder, how had someone snuck up on her?
There on the porch, just beyond the open door stood Jenna Brooks, and somehow Annelise wasn't surprised.
"Hi,” Jenna raised one hand with a smile. “I know I pulled into town just in time for a natural disaster, but I was hoping maybe I could be of some help."
"You're not really dressed for it," Annelise said, though she envied Jenna. Her own waders were difficult to move in, and the rubber made every bend and stretch hot despite the cool fall day.
"I got some gear," Jenna said. "It’s in my car."
Annelise's face must have lit up because Jenna smiled. "Yeah, it survived. The water didn't quite get high enough where it was left."
As Annelise looked out into the driveway now, she saw it there—shiny and clean.
Probably Jenna had run into Charlottesville, or maybe Richmond, to get it washed.
Envy burbled up and Annelise shoved it back down.
The newcomer had also bought herself a pair of waders that she now pulled out of the backseat.
She grabbed a small face mask and even a box of vinyl gloves.
"I come prepared," she said. She sure did.
Still. "You don't have to," Annelise protested.
"I'd like to help."
Third time was the charm. She couldn’t afford to turn down honest offers and Jenna didn’t need to clean her own home from this disaster. "Then come on in."
It had been three days since she first saw Jenna Brooks.
Since they'd all stayed huddled at the Velasco's for over twenty-four hours.
The crowd slept scattered on beds and couches and a few inflatables.
Even piles of blankets on the floor. They huddled and ate the food Jasper cooked, and it made them all want to stay a little longer .
. . But then, finally, the rain cleared enough and Annelise convinced Story to catch a ride with one of the other families into Charlottesville, where they'd gotten a hotel.
It had been three days since everyone had murmured at the sight of Jenna Brooks—three days since she and Story had looked at each other and known.
Now, Annelise looked at Jenna and wondered if she understood what she’d stepped into—or when she would tell her.