Chapter Seven
F or the rest of the afternoon, I considered bringing it up.
I could phrase it as simple curiosity. “Oh, that’s a beautiful necklace. What’s it made of? Oh, that’s cool, does it have any special powers? I need to learn more about witch magic, after all.”
I pondered the same questions in different patterns as we worked, but nothing felt authentic enough.
My paranoia had me questioning every word, every letter, even the pronunciation of the syllables to see if they seemed suspicious.
In the end, I decided I was too fidgety and nervous from obsessing over the necklace to ask about it with a straight face.
“You alright?”
My head shot up – it had been peering down at the teacups I was washing – as Rowena appeared in front of me. She always seemed to sweep through the door and into the back kitchen with the stealth of a ghost.
“Oh, uh, yes, I’m fine.”
I shivered, cursing myself internally. Stop stressing. Ears and tail. Remember?
Maybe this was all nothing. But werewolves were keen on detecting suspicious activity, and I still couldn’t decipher Rowena’s strange, conflicting emotions.
During the morning prep, she’d been kind and encouraging, yet she’d barely said a word to me all day while we were working.
In addition, the customers had the same wariness lurking behind their smiles that Juniper did the day before.
They were timid around Rowena. Cautious.
As if they were afraid of her.
But they clearly needed her. She was the only herbalist in town, and based on what I’d heard from the chatting customers, she was excellent at her job.
I’d also caught a bit of gossip that Rowena had been trained by her mother, Hazel, who was also an herbalist. But she passed away when Rowena was nineteen.
Rowena has been running this shop, alone, for the past six years? She truly was an accomplished witch. She can’t be that bad beneath her chilly exterior, right?
But what if she is?
I thought back to Juniper handing me the piece of black tourmaline.
The way she said, “I hope it keeps you safe while you’re here.
” I hadn’t thought twice about it before, but now her words gave me the chills.
On the surface, it seemed like a simple well-wishing, as if Juniper was saying “ Good luck with being a kitchen witch ”.
But my werewolf intuition made me fear there was a more sinister undertone to those words.
Safe? What do I need to be kept safe from?
There was a flicker from the windowed door to my right, and I realized Rowena had turned the lights off.
Back on Hollenboro, we werewolves used candles, but the light in The Lone Wolf Café came from cool, ever-glowing orbs created by alchemists.
Faerie fire , Adrian had called them. He suggested I stop by his shop when I had time to pick some up for my cottage.
I made a mental note I still needed to run errands. But just the basics, I reminded myself. I didn’t plan on staying in this town long. No need to splurge on furniture.
“Same time tomorrow?” I asked Rowena as she strode through the kitchen door with her large, jingling keyring in hand. I was already dreading the thought of another 3 a.m. wake-up call, but at least now I was so tired I would be able to fall asleep early.
She stopped and frowned. “Um, no.”
“Uh…” I froze. Is she firing me? Did I do something wrong? The piece of black tourmaline felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. Did she see Juniper give this to me? What if–
Rowena scoffed, clearly amused by my dumbfounded behavior. “Tomorrow is Monday, human. We’re closed on Mondays.”
All my anxiety deflated like a popped balloon. “Oh.”
A sly smile crept across Rowena’s lips as she brushed past me and fetched her cloak from the hanger. “Do you remember the way back to your cottage?”
“Yes.” Werewolves never forgot the routes they’d taken. Our minds were built like maps. The only way for us to get lost would be if we were dumped in unfamiliar territory.
“Very well. Step outside so I can lock up.”
Rowena fiddled with her keys, which made a calming metallic sound, almost like windchimes, as I stood next to her and let the cold autumn air sweep past my face.
I sighed with pleasure. The café was warm and comfortable, with its wooden walls and stony fireplace, but it would never compare to the raw, earthy chill of the Maine outdoors in the cooler months.
“Well…” Rowena finished locking the door and turned to me, chewing on her lower lip. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
This time, I didn’t ask if she wanted to spend time together. I watched as she slowly disappeared down the dirt path to the witch cottages, her long black cape billowing behind her like the inky trails left behind by shadow elementals.
A light, feathery object brushed against my thick red hair. I raised my hand to the top of my head, expecting to once again feel my wolf ears. But I didn’t. I clasped my hand around the papery object and pulled it down to eye level.
It was a maple leaf. Large, bright orange, and torn down the middle.
The wind began blowing, and the leaf flopped into two separate pieces, each being dragged in different directions.
I sighed and tossed the broken leaf up into the air, watching another swift gust of wind pick it up and carry it deeper into the forest.
Faint memories of jumping into leaf piles when my sisters and I were young flashed in my mind. But only for a moment. I wouldn’t let them stay there long.
I knew what I needed to do. I needed to go into town, pick up cleaning supplies and something to eat for dinner, and get back to my ramshackle cottage before dark.
But I’d been on my feet for twelve hours, and my body felt like a sagging sack of potatoes.
All I wanted to do was go back to my cottage and flop down on the floor, even if it was still filthy.
I turned to face the path to the cottages, then the path to the town square, and groaned.
You just need to get through this evening. I reminded myself. You’ll be able to go to bed early tonight and adjust your sleep schedule.
My exhaustion won.
I didn’t end up going into town.
Instead, I sluggishly dragged my feet to the cottage, flopped down on the dusty floor, and let my fatigued body melt into the hardwood.
You know, if you’d gone into town, you could’ve found a place that had coffee.
I groaned, fighting back my caffeine cravings for the second time that day, and shifted my cape beneath my head. It was still light outside, which meant the temperature hadn’t plummeted, and the slight, breezy chill was comfortable enough for me to fall asleep within minutes.
When I woke, it was dark outside. I stumbled off the floor, and the resulting cloud of dust caused me to sneeze several times.
It was nighttime, but I could see Rowena’s silhouette sipping tea in the cottage across from me, so I knew it wasn’t overly late.
Since it got dark so early in Maine, it was likely only 6 or 7 p.m.
But it was still too late to go back into town. Rowena mentioned most shops closed at five, which meant even though I now had more energy, I couldn’t go to the general store and fetch those desperately-needed cleaning supplies.
I debated resorting to the half-destroyed broom again, but I’d left it on the front porch overnight, and I shuddered at the thought of bugs, ticks, and other pests crawling in the bristles. So I laid back down, this time with my arms crossed behind my head, and closed my eyes.
But I wasn’t as tired now, so I let my mind slip away into my memories.
Thoughts of leaf piles came back, and I remembered a cool autumn afternoon from when I was very young.
We were at the edge of a forest near a marina, with rows of sailboats lightly bobbing in the calm water.
I was almost certain it wasn’t on Hollenboro.
My father led me, hand-in-hand, up a steep, leaf-covered hill.
My mother sat at the bottom, next to a humble blue house perched on the water, her belly swollen with my yet-to-be-born twin sisters.
She was blurry in my mind; I struggled to remember what she looked like other than having red hair.
I assumed she was short, with pale skin and green eyes. Just like me.
I sank further into the memories. Leaves flying in the air, my father’s smiling face, my mother’s laugh, a squeaking sound…
Wait .
A squeaking sound.
“Hello?” I whispered into the dark abyss of my cottage. The wind rustled at my feet, and as I moved away, the wind followed, swirling at the toes of my boots like a tornado.
My jaw fell open in pleasant surprise as the wind solidified into a semi-transparent little mouse.
“Oh, it’s you again!” I exclaimed, offering an outstretched palm. The air elemental happily climbed on, and I giggled as her little airy nose sniffed my fingers.
“Sorry, I’m not sure what to call you. We still never decided on a name, did we?”
The mouse shook her head.
“Hmm…” She needed something more unique than Windy or Breezy. I dug deep into my mind, searching for answers, and another memory surfaced.
When I was a child, one of my cousins rescued a seagull that was tangled in fishing line. The bird hung around for a while, and my cousin named her Aria , claiming it meant “air”. When I asked him where he found that name, he said in one of the books in Hollenboro’s communal library.
I never managed to track down which book the name was in, but I did like it. I suggested the name to the air elemental, and she responded with an enthusiastic squeak.
“Alright… so I guess you have a name,” I held out my finger, as if offering a handshake. “Nice to officially meet you, Aria.”
Aria extended her slender paw and pressed it against my fingertip. Through the ever-moving gusts of wind that made up her face, I swore I saw her smile.