Chapter 6 Aunt Agnes
AUNT AGNES
The next morning, Hazel set off to visit Agnes. Aunt Agnes, as she was lovingly known, held an honorary position in the Callahan family. As far as Hazel knew, Agnes had no true relation to their family. Regardless, Agnes had helped raise Hazel, coming into their lives after her mother’s death.
Like a gift from the gods, she arrived just when she was needed the most, helping Connall get through a terribly traumatic time in his life and playing a critical role in raising little Hazel, who was too young to understand where her mother had gone.
Now, Hazel and Connall mostly relied on Agnes for her wonderful healing teas and her companionship.
The former brought Hazel to Agnes’s corner of the world on a day when the air was heavy and warm, cloudy and gray. Connall’s bad leg bothered him something fierce, and Agnes had a tea blend that helped stave off the pain. But they were completely out, so she’d set out to pay Agnes a visit.
It just so happened to be convenient that Agnes was also the most likely to have answers about what had occurred with the strange black powder in the kitchen. Try as she might, Hazel couldn’t let it go. She patted her satchel, reminded of the unsettling substance she was carrying.
As she approached the clearing in the woods, a familiar buzz tingled along Hazel’s skin. The slight metallic taste at the back of her tongue signaling she was crossing through Agnes’s protective ward.
The first time she’d ever crossed through, it scared her so badly she refused to go back to Agnes’s cottage for a fortnight.
The next time she visited, Pa had escorted her, and they’d had a hushed, strange conversation about how Agnes differed from most townspeople, and why it drove her to live on the outskirts of town.
She could do things others couldn’t. Things others wouldn’t understand.
Pa and Agnes hadn’t used the exact terminology for reasons Hazel now understood, but it went without saying there was a particular name for Agnes’s occupation.
Witch.
Since then, Hazel had grown comfortable making trips to see her aunt in the woods. It was always a pleasant change of pace, especially with how time always slowed in her presence. There was nowhere else she needed to be and no reason to rush.
Once she’d passed through the wards, sunlight blanketed Hazel in warmth as it filtered through the canopy. The area smelled intensely of the oddest combination of tilled, wet earth and freshly baked pie.
As she approached, she could see through Agnes’s front window. A broom swept the floor of its own volition, and a spoon stirred the contents of a cauldron hanging over the fire with no cook to direct it. The sound of soft humming drifted from within.
Enchantments. When Agnes sensed someone entering her wards, she usually cut off any magic currently working in and around her home.
However, when Hazel stopped by Agnes always let her see some enchantments at work before cutting off the spells.
Hazel delighted in seeing the wonderful things that could be done with simple magical housework.
I don’t see what the purpose of outlawing this was.
It’s harmless, and if anything, it helps people.
Hazel often imagined what life might have been like before the magic disappeared: an entire town of merry folk cooking with magical utensils and keeping their thresholds swept clean with enchanted brooms, looms weaving cozy blankets and sewing needles mending clothes.
To her, magic didn’t need to be feared. But something had made the High King feel otherwise.
She approached the door, and before she could knock, a soft voice came from inside.
“Hazel, dear! Is that you? Why, of course it is. Come in, come in!” called the cheerful, raspy voice.
Hazel pushed the door open with a gentle nudge.
As it opened, it revealed the cozy interior of the cottage.
Agnes was a simple old woman with very few needs.
And with any needs she had, she could almost always make do with plants and such around her home.
Anything else she might need, well, she just sent for Connall or Hazel, and they’d retrieve whatever she needed from town.
She didn’t consume any parts of animals, though, so there wasn’t much in town she couldn’t get elsewhere.
Mouthwatering smells overwhelmed Hazel’s senses as she stepped inside.
Though the magically imbued housewares had returned to their otherwise lifeless state, a cauldron of something delicious smelling bubbled over the fire in the hearth.
The kitchen was quaint and decorated with many herbs and plants hanging to dry, jars of various seasonings scattered on the countertops.
There was a loom and chair off in the corner beside the small yet comfy looking bed, a quilted blanket laid neatly across the top.
It wasn’t much, but it was the most homey, welcoming place Hazel had ever been.
“So, tell me dear, what brings you out to see me? Finally going to let me read those palms of yours?” She winked and her round, tawny face drew into a wrinkled, nearly toothless smile.
“But of course, I know why you’re here. Sit, sit!
I have a wonderful summer vegetable stew on.
It will be ready soon, and I’ll have more than enough to share.
I insist.” Her dimpled smile stretched so high into her cheeks it forced her silver eyes into a squint.
Hazel crossed the room to the small table set for two.
“I would protest and insist I not keep you busy longer than necessary, but we both know I wouldn’t win that war of wills.
Besides, I’ve got nowhere else to be.” She smiled warmly at Agnes.
“I’ve missed you, Auntie. How have you been? ” she asked, pulling out a chair.
“I’m as well as I can be. Nothing to report on in this old woman’s life. No one comes to visit other than you and Connall. Therefore, no one bothers me, and I get to enjoy the company of the forest and the animals. Does it get any better?”
“For you, I suppose not.” Hazel laughed. “I have to say it is much more relaxing here compared to town. Larksridge has been on-edge lately. I rarely feel like I can hear myself think.”
Agnes drifted off in her own thoughts. “Hmm… I can imagine so,” she said after a few quiet moments. Hazel was reminded of how much she truly missed her time with Agnes. Blood relative or not, she was the closest person Hazel had to a matriarchal figure.
Hazel thought about the times Agnes had wanted to read her future, only for Hazel to gently turn her down. On a whim, she decided today was the day.
“Tea or palm?” she asked with a smirk.
“What’s that now?” confusion danced in her eyes, as though she hadn’t expected Hazel to ever give in.
“Which reading would you prefer to do today?” Hazel clarified.
“You—you’re sure?” So you can’t see the future directly, Hazel mused to herself. I’d wondered.
“I am sure. Truthfully, I don’t know why I’ve put you off on it all these years. So yes, why not?” A soft smile graced her features.
Hazel hadn’t seen Agnes so cheerful in quite some time. But there was something else. Her mood shifted, if for only a moment, before she reclaimed her usual effervescence.
“My dear, I am glad you’ve asked. But if you’re just humoring this poor old woman for the sake of it, we shouldn’t.
The thing with these readings… they depend quite a lot on the energy put into them.
The reader and the participant must commit fully, and the ambiance in the room must be just so.
” She gestured around them. “It’s quite alright if you still aren’t ready. Someday, you will be.”
“No, ma’am. I truly want you to give me a reading. I am ready,” Hazel said with fire in her eyes.
Agnes eyed her lovingly, but with a wariness Hazel wasn’t used to. “Alright then, let me put this tea on and we can chat.”
She strode over to the hearth and checked the cauldron of stew Hazel had forgotten about. Surely by now it had burned and stuck to the bottom. Agnes took a ladle full and sampled it, remarking on how wonderful it was. But of course, an unseen enchantment kept it from burning.
What she did next was one of Hazel’s favorite tricks.
She gathered her kettle and two mugs for tea from her cupboard and brought them to the table.
On the way over, she whispered something to the pot, and moments later steam poured from the spout.
By the time she reached the table, the tea was at the perfect temperature and ready to enjoy.
Agnes poured a cup for each of them and then sat down at the table herself.
“So, tell me,” she began, “What has my sweet Hazel been up to these days?”
Hazel froze, knowing she should spill the details, but feeling woefully unprepared. As she began to speak, Agnes interjected. Hazel was grateful for the interruption… until she learned the subject.
“Any young men catching your eye?” Agnes batted her thinning eyelashes suggestively.
“Oh goodness, Agnes, can’t we talk about anything else?” Hazel begged, her cheeks warming.
“You know I may not look like much now, but once upon a time I had to scare the men away to get even a moment’s peace. Why do you think I took up witchcraft?” She whispered the last word and wiggled her fingers like she was casting a spell.
Hazel rolled her eyes. “I don’t doubt that for a second. You’re still a beautiful lady, Agnes. Everyone grows old. Not everyone does it gracefully.”
“Not without magic anyway.” She winked.
“You use magic to stay younger?” Hazel paused with the cup at her lips.