3. Little Witch
Little Witch
FERN APPLETON
Wednesday passed in a blur as Fern began the slow but methodical process of removing all of Petals & Pages Bookstore’s summer decorations. Sunflowers of all sizes stood tall and proud in large pots throughout the store, their golden petals the epitome of summer.
Yellow bunting hung in the front windows and outside the shop, bringing a sunny splash of color to the gray stone walls and dark wrought-iron detailing.
Bouquets filled with daisies, creeping zinnias, nemesias, daylilies, and false indigo showed off every shade from butter yellow to goldenrod in stunning arrays.
It saddened Fern to remove the lovely flowers from the front of the store, but she knew it was time to replace them with fall blooms. The current flowers would come back to her house that night with Fern and Bramble, and she would tend to them until they wilted beyond the power of her magic.
She could often extend a flower’s life by several weeks, with her green thumb and her plant magic.
Her mother had taught her everything she knew about their family’s plant magic: planting, growing, feeding, and thriving.
Alongside her every step of the way, Fern’s father had taught her all the human ways to care for plants.
Between the two of them, she knew nearly everything there was to know about horticulture and plant husbandry. They had lovingly cared for their gardens and greenhouse for decades, leaving the sprawling property along with the house to Fern when they had moved south.
Taking care of it had been more than an honor to her—she felt it was more akin to keeping their legacy alive in Pumpkin Hollow.
As witches, they would live many decades yet, but when they did eventually pass, the bookstore and house would remain.
Not simply there, not just still operational, but flourishing under Fern’s loving touch.
These thoughts filled her mind as she set up the ladder in front of the shop.
The yellow bunting was far too high for her to reach and Fern’s magic did not extend beyond plants.
She could only reach the top of the display with her father’s eight-foot ladder, which they had always used for such tasks.
Their family’s plant magic had always been particularly strong, a fact that they gladly shared with everyone in Pumpkin Hollow.
Alas, their other magical strengths had never kept pace.
Fern struggled with inanimate objects and spellcasting, a fact she had done her best to hide during her school years.
“Be careful up there, little witchling,” Bramble purred from the sidewalk as she took the first rung.
“I always am!” replied Fern with a smile. “Don’t worry so much.”
Another rung, then another, easily managed in her sturdy gardening boots. Truly, she wondered why her familiar seemed to become an anxious mess every time she did this. Not a single accident had happened at Petals & Pages. The last thing Fern wanted was to be the one to break that streak.
Two rungs from the top, Fern paused. She steadied herself against the awning and took a calming breath.
This would be the first time she had taken on the task alone but she knew she could do it.
Carefully, she tugged at the edge of the ribbon where the bunting had been tied off, coaxing it to come undone.
“See, Bramble? It’s easy as pumpkin pie,” she giggled. The tuxedo cat on the sidewalk merely rolled his eyes at her proclamation.
Each set of bunting had been secured in three places to prevent the summer breeze from snatching them away. If Fern could manage to reach two of the three knots without climbing all the way to the ground and moving the ladder over a foot or two, it would save her quite a bit of time.
At least, that’s what she had figured when she got to the end of the row and realized only one knot remained.
So far, the ribbons had given her no trouble, and the fabric swirled gently to the ground from her place at the top of the ladder.
Fern felt certain she could manage the last tie if she stood on her tiptoes, so she stretched up as far as her arms could reach.
A sudden gust of wind threw off her balance far more than Fern had anticipated, knowing her hip against the awning painfully. “Ouch!”
“You aren’t tall enough to get that one, witchling,” called Bramble, his voice sharp as he chided her like a child.
Her hazel eyes narrowed as she turned back toward the storefront, more determined than ever to accomplish the task at hand. Two more inches, that was all she needed. Stepping up onto the top rung with just one foot would give her the advantage she needed to finish the job.
Fern took a deep breath, released it, and pushed herself up the extra few inches. “Come on.”
The fall winds changed direction, ruffling all the trees along Main Street as it swept up to her and the bookshop.
She tried to shift her footing to maintain her balance, only to have her boot slip on the rung.
Panic seized Fern as she realized there was nothing she could do to stop her fall—the sidewalk swam into view and her hazel eyes squeezed shut.
When she was absolutely certain she should have hit the pavement by now, she carefully opened one eye.
Instead of being splattered on the sidewalk beside a crying Bramble, Fern found herself floating in mid-air, suspended a few feet off the ground.
Blinking in confusion, she turned her head left, then right, searching for the witch who must have cast the levitating spell.
Fern’s breath caught in her throat as she came face- to- face with the beautiful Miss Blackburne.
Those dark blue eyes, rimmed in thick black eyeliner, watched her as she floated ever closer to the pretty older witch.
Her heart stumbled in her chest as she found herself inching closer and closer to Sparrow’s outstretched arms.
The tingling magic that had held her aloft suddenly dissipated into thin air, dropping Fern’s full body weight onto the dark-haired witch’s surprisingly strong biceps. She gasped lightly at the unexpected shift and felt a low rumble in the other witch’s chest.
“Are you…laughing at me?” Fern spoke slowly, incredulous.
Those dark eyes widened slightly as Sparrow looked down her nose at her. “Just a little chuckle. You looked so surprised that I could catch you.”
“H-how,” stuttered Fern, holding her gaze. “I mean, I know it was your magic that stopped my fall. But you’re holding me like I weigh nothing!”
“I shelve books that weigh more than you, little witch,” replied Sparrow with a smirk.
Fern’s eyes widened. “That’s preposterous!”
“Have you seen the size of some of the town’s oldest grimoires?” asked the older witch. “Hand-bound, hardcover, over one thousand pages of hand-written spells. Now that’s a workout.”
Before she could think of a retort for that, Bramble appeared on Sparrow’s left shoulder. “Thank the goddess! And you, Miss Blackburne.”
“You’re most welcome,” Sparrow said to the familiar, bending at the waist to set Fern back on her feet.
“Yes, t-thank you, Miss Blackburne,” she managed to squeak out. “For catching me.”
“It is in everyone’s best interest to avoid any undue accidents,” replied the older witch sagely.
Fern paused. “How did you respond so quickly? There could only have been a couple of seconds before you leaped into action.”
“I had a premonition, as a matter -of -fact, little witch,” said Sparrow coolly. “That something bad was about to happen. I stepped out of Enchantresso just in time to see it happen. A waste of a pumpkin spice latte, but worth it, I’m sure.”
“Pumpkin spice latte?” Fern blinked slowly at her.
Sparrow gestured to a paper coffee cup with the Enchantresso label, lying on the sidewalk and slowly leaking dark liquid into a puddle that would likely leave a stain. Fern’s mouth fell open, mortified.
“Please let me buy you a replacement right away, Miss Blackburne,” she said in a rush.
“That’s hardly necessary, little witch,” Sparrow said dismissively, turning toward the library.
“Fern,” the younger witch corrected. “Fern Appleton. Not ‘little witch’.”
At this, the dark-haired witch chuckled again. Fern tried not to remember the way that rumble of laughter had felt when she had been in the witch’s arms, the way it had rippled over her own body. The strong scent of old books that still emanated from her.
Without so much as another word, Sparrow began walking back down Main Street. Her black heeled boots clicked on the cobblestone, her gait steady and smooth. The long black trench coat she wore billowed around her ankles as she walked past the coffee shop.
Just before she slipped into the library, the older witch turned back toward Fern. Her lips quirked up on one side as she said, “See you around, Fern Appleton.” The wind, or more likely a little spell, carried the words to her as the dark-haired witch disappeared.