Witch Myth Super Boxset: A Yew Hollow Cozy Mystery

by Alexandria Clarke

  As we approached the Summers house, a group of five or six witches passed us going in the opposite direction. As we crossed paths, the witch at the front of the group—a curvaceous woman with hazel eyes instead of gray and tight curly hair—sneered in Gwenlyn’s direction.

  “Wow,” I said to Gwenlyn once they were out of earshot. “Did you curse her cat or something?”

  Gwenlyn’s nose wrinkled as though she smelled something foul. “That’s Camryn, one of Morgan’s distant cousins. She was pissed that Morgan became coven leader. She hates me by extension. This whole epidemic thing has given her a reason to stir up more trouble.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She’s always been jealous of Morgan,” Gwenlyn answered. “The coven is a unit, but there’s no denying that some witches are superior to others. Morgan’s immediate family is the strongest line. Not everyone is okay with that. Camryn’s taking the illness as an opportunity to instill doubt. She’s vying for a new leader.”

  “Herself?” I guessed.

  Gwenlyn nodded, her lips set in a grim line. “The coven would be foolish to instate her. She’s vain and inexperienced.”

  “Then why would the coven trust her in the first place?”

  “People do crazy things when they’re afraid, Kennedy.”

  In the front yard, Nora stood in the center of a circle of witches. Laurel, Morgan’s sister, was among them, but I had not yet been introduced to the remaining members of the coven. Nora was barely visible, obscured by a cloud of her rosy aura, tendrils of which danced to connect with the witches around her. It looked like some kind of ultimate healing ritual. The other women’s auras reached out to intertwine with Nora’s until the colors blended in a rainbow of different hues. It was a breathtaking sight to say the least, but it wasn’t until Gwenlyn and I neared the group that I realized something was wrong. Nora’s cheeks were pale, and her collarbone protruded through her skin as she heaved for breath. I broke into a jog, but not quickly enough. Just as I breached the gaggle of witches, she fainted, her legs folding beneath her like a newborn doe.

  18

  The storm broke as I rushed to Nora’s side, shoving between two witches and accidentally shoulder-checking one of them to the ground. I didn’t register the commotion—the witches’ agitated murmurs at my carelessness or the rolls of thunder from the storm clouds—and knelt beside my sister, carefully propping her head up on my thigh.

  “I’m all right,” she muttered, her eyelids fluttering shut as though she didn’t have the strength to keep them open. “Ken, I’m okay.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” I breathed, smoothing Nora’s windswept hair. The air in Yew Hollow may have been dead, but whatever the coven was doing to Nora left her weak and disheveled.

  “She’ll be fine,” a voice said.

  I looked up. Across the circle, tending to one of the witches that I’d knocked over in my haste to reach Nora—I grimaced with guilt when I realized how much strength I’d used to power through the unsuspecting coven—was a woman that looked remarkably like Morgan. They had the same olive skin tone and honey-tinted brown hair, though this woman’s aura was a smooth lilac rather than Morgan’s solid blue. She helped the other woman to her feet before making her way toward me and Nora.

  “Nora used too much of her power,” she explained. She gently prodded the pale skin beneath Nora’s wrist, kneading her bright blue veins as if looking for Nora’s pulse. When she found it, she pressed firmly and sent a lilac hue flowering across Nora’s skin. Nora sucked in a deep breath, her eyes brightening to a healthier glow. “There she is.”

  Fat raindrops fell from the sky as the witch guided Nora into a comfortable sitting position. Gwenlyn began to herd the other women inside before they were soaked through. I blinked water out of my eyes, focusing solely on my little sister. Nora searched for my hand, and I gave it to her. Her grip was weak and her skin was cold. I drew on my energy. A bubble of orange light expanded around the three of us. Moisture steamed inside it, drying us out, while the raindrops that made contact with the shield’s exterior hissed and evaporated.

  The other witch gazed up at my translucent creation. “Curious. I suppose we should take you with us the next time we go camping.”

  “She’s passing out again,” I said, trying not to panic as Nora relaxed in my grip and lay back on the brown grass.

  The witch seemed unconcerned. “She needs rest. That’s all.”

  “How do you know?”

  The witch smiled at me as she massaged Nora’s hands and forearms in her lap. “I admire you. I feel what Gwenlyn feels, of course. There is something inherently odd about you, but I don’t consider it hostile. Then again, I understand the bond between sisters. When it is cared for and fed properly, it is unbreakable.”

  Comprehension set it as I met the witch’s eyes and noticed they were the same color as the coven leader’s. “You’re another one of Morgan’s sisters, aren’t you?”

  She might have extended a dainty hand for me to shake had she not been so focused on Nora’s recovery. “Yes, I’m Karma. Second eldest of the Summers sisters.”

  “How many of there are you?” I grumbled.

  A tinkly laugh resonated within the intimate space of our orange bubble. “Four. There’s Malia, whom you haven’t met yet, me, Morgan, and Laurel. Lend me your hand, won’t you? Your energy appears renewable.”

  I allowed her to take my hand and place it between hers and Nora’s, observing carefully as she closed her eyes and chanted some kind of psalm in Latin. Before long, the weather ward flashed around us. I felt a pull in my core and realized that Karma was drawing on my strength to help Nora. I hadn’t thought of that solution before, but then again, I was just beginning to realize I had the option to do so.

  “Are you a healer too?” I asked Karma. Color flushed in Nora’s cheeks and her breathing evened out in response to Karma’s spell.

  “No,” Karma replied. “My primary talent is more ritualistic. Like yours, it often causes more harm than help, so I’ve spent these many years practicing other crafts to make up for it.”

  I stopped myself from pressing her about her ability. As much as I wanted to know what kind of ability was comparable to my own, I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. “What about the other Summers sisters?” I asked instead. “What are their abilities?”

  “Malia can speak to objects,” Karma answered. “And Laurel is one with nature.”

  “Do sisters ever share the same ability?”

  “Sometimes,” she said vaguely. “Oh, she’s awake.”

  Nora stirred, responding to the combined power of mine and Karma’s energies. I smiled down at her as she opened her eyes. “Hey there. Feeling any better?”

  Nora nodded wearily, rubbing her temples. “Did you heal me?”

  “Kind of,” I said. “I don’t really know how to do that, so Karma helped.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What happened?” I asked the both of them. “What were you all doing when I got here? Was this another one of these rituals that keep wearing Nora out?”

  “Energy sharing,” Nora mumbled. “Like what we’re doing now, but on a grander scale.”

  “Except they aren’t sharing with you, Nora,” I grumbled, throwing Karma a dark look. “They’re taking without giving anything back. That’s why you fainted.”

  When Karma didn’t reply, I knew I was right. They were using Nora to help themselves, and they didn’t care whether or not my younger sister suffered because of it.

  “No more,” I barked at Karma. “I won’t have Nora half-dead because the coven needs a pick-me-up. From now on, I want to be present every time Nora heals someone.”

  “That’s impossible—”

  “She needs to sleep,” I interrupted. “At least eight hours. Did you do this to her yesterday too?”

  “The coven requires attention.”

  “She’s sixteen,” I reminded Karma hotly. “Nora requires rest. I’m taking her back to that bar
n.”

  I scooped Nora up from the ground and stood up, the weather ward elongating to accommodate us. She leaned heavily on me as I guided her toward the old swing set, but when she swayed too far, I swept her into my arms and carried her across the yard myself. The poor girl couldn’t even stand, and the Summers coven thought it was perfectly acceptable to stretch her so thin. I was glad I’d arrived in Yew Hollow when I had, since no one else was going to look after my little sister for me. Karma detached herself from the weather ward, lingering in the front yard of the house as we receded into the distance. Like the others, she looked ill, but it was difficult to feel bad for her when she too had taken advantage of Nora. I understood it on a certain level. They were sick and they needed help, but forcing an inexperienced teenager to heal them was crossing a line.

  I grunted with the effort of hauling Nora through the woods, doing my best not to stumble as I blindly navigated the uneven terrain. She tucked her forehead into my shoulder, and the heat of her skin alarmed me. She felt feverish. According to Morgan, the mysterious illness of Yew Hollow only targeted women of the Summers coven, but I worried that Nora had somehow contracted it during one of these “healing” rituals. I sagged with relief as the warmly lit barn drifted into view. I hefted Nora over the threshold, set her down on the small sofa in the living room area, and covered her with a crocheted blanket.

  I sighed as she dozed off, adjusting her head against the arm of the sofa so that she wouldn’t wake with a crick in her neck. Then I lifted her legs and sat down beneath them, letting her gangly limbs rest over mine. Outside, the rain picked up. It drummed against the roof of the barn, but Nora slept right through it. My eyelids were heavy, so I leaned my head back to rest against the sofa. One day. Not even. This morning, Nora had been missing in action. Now we were both a part of something I felt like I would never truly understand. I marveled at how much life could change in the short span of a few hours. Distance, too. There were roughly two hundred miles between Windsor Falls and Yew Hollow, but I would’ve guessed we were in entirely separate dimensions.

  A soft knock on the barn door startled me out of my thoughts. Morgan peeked through the window pane. Rain poured off a bright blue umbrella perched over her shoulder. When she caught my eye, she waved jovially. I gestured for her to come inside out of the rain, and she pushed open the door.

  “Phew!” she said, shaking off the shoulders of her raincoat. It was then I noticed that her umbrella wasn’t an umbrella at all but rather a weather ward of her own creation. “You know, I usually hate the rain, but it’s such a welcome reprieve from the last month of steady cloud cover. May I?”

  “It’s your house,” I replied. “Or barn or whatever.”

  Morgan chuckled, shucked off her wet coat, and bustled off to the kitchen. The stove flared to life as she directed a pot of water onto a burner with a wave of her hand. The fridge flew open and a variety of vegetables soared over to the cutting board, where a sharp knife began to dice them without any apparent guidance. Soon, the barn smelled of poultry seasoning and salty broth, all courtesy of Morgan’s quick culinary witchcraft. As the soup simmered, the woman sank into the chair next to the sofa with a content sigh.

  “I always feel like soup is so good for the soul on days like these,” she said, kicking her feet up on the ottoman. “It’s comforting. Are you settling in all right?”

  “Define settling in,” I replied. Despite the aromas from the kitchen and Morgan’s lilting voice, Nora remained asleep. I looked at her sadly. “What did you do to her? She’s never this unresponsive.”

  Morgan frowned. “I do admit I wish there had been a different way for us to test her, but we all bear scars. Me more than most.”

  “Yes, but no one forced you to self-inflict yours.”

  Darkness crossed Morgan’s expression. “Don’t trivialize my experiences, Kennedy. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

  “I have an idea,” I retorted.

  “Gwenlyn told you then.”

  “Some of it. Not sure if I believe it.”

  Morgan went to work rolling up the sleeves of her sweater. Beneath the fabric, faded blue tattoos snaked around her skin in archaic patterns and text. It continued all the way up to her shoulders and I assumed around to her back as well.

  “Someone had a rebellious phase,” I remarked.

  “It’s the sign of an ancient power,” she explained. “One that you can only meet in the world that follows this one. But if that’s not enough for you—”

  Morgan turned around and lifted her shirt. A gasp escaped my lips at the sight. A pair of crude angel wings were etched into her shoulder blades. The scars were white and faded, but the raised ropey patterns would never disappear. Her sweater fell back into place, hiding her marred body. Then she pointed to a shiny spot on my forearm, a large patch where the fine hair had never grown back after I’d singed my skin off during one accident or another.

  “Like I said, we all bear scars. They tell our stories.”

  I tugged my sleeve down over the old injury. “I’d prefer if Nora refrained from starting her own collection until she’s much older, thank you very much.”

  Morgan smiled sadly. “And yet fate has brought her to Yew Hollow.”

  I scoffed. “Fate? If I recall, you brought her here.”

  She leaned back, and the massive cozy armchair swallowed her. “In our world, when we say that everything happens for a reason, we mean it. You’re meant to be here, Kennedy, whether you like it or not, so you might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  As if to make her point clear, she conjured another blanket out of thin air. It settled across my shoulders, the warm cotton soft against my cheeks.

  “For how long?” I asked her.

  Her eyes found mine. “For as long as it takes.”

  19

  Time seemed arbitrary in Yew Hollow. It passed without conscious thought. Perhaps this was due to the never-changing gray atmosphere that made it difficult to tell whether the sun was rising or setting, but as the days wore on and I adjusted to a new lifestyle, I lost track of how long it had been since Nora and I had arrived in Yew Hollow. Days turned into weeks, and I fell into a pattern that, strangely enough, suited me better than any other I’d attempted to establish during my hectic adult life. Nora and I stayed in the barn, sharing the queen-sized bed in the loft. The witches did not seek after us there, and I suspected that Morgan specifically told them to avoid our little home. The barn, with its warm lighting and cozy interior, became a sanctuary of sorts, a tiny speck of normality in an impossible world. In that respect, mine and Nora’s sisterly interactions went unchanged. I could almost trick myself into thinking that the two of us had moved to Yew Hollow on our own and preferred the quirky townspeople with mysterious powers to the haughty superciliousness of the folks back in Windsor.

  The problem with this state of mind was the reality of our daily activities. Nora and I woke every morning and made ourselves breakfast in the barn before heading out to the Summers house to go our separate ways. I mostly trained with Gwenlyn. We spent the first few lessons reading through decrepit leather-bound witchcraft textbooks that smelled like mothballs and cedar wood. I never thought witches would resort to such a standard method of learning, but it turned out that witchcraft theory was an essential part of the process. As it was, I was a late bloomer. The children of the Summers coven—who varied in age from five to thirteen—could recite the list of ingredients needed to concoct healing salves, conduct electrical currents between their fingers, and shoot harmless rays of their craft at each other whilst running hog wild through the house. They took cover behind walls and knocked over furniture as they engaged in the most thrilling games of Sardines that I’d ever witnessed. Rays of jealousy colored my aura as I watched how easily they manipulated their energies. There were six girls and only one boy, the youngest of the children. Lore dictated that he was powerless, and Gwenlyn explained to me that when he reached an acceptable age, he would leave
the coven behind to pursue a different lifestyle, as was the norm. There was a distinct shortage of men in the Summers coven, though some of the witches bore signs of participating in relationships. More and more, I felt like that one little boy, doing his best to keep up with the talented girls around him but falling short. This wasn’t necessarily the case, but the fact that I was learning the basics of witchcraft at my age while a pair of ten-year-old twins cranked out enchantments to summon fairies—which actually existed—with an enviable ease was not lost on me.

  Gwenlyn did her best to encourage me despite her determined reluctance to get to know me. She kept herself at a distance during our training sessions and avoided personal questions. I established a personal goal to crack her cranky exterior. During our downtime, I studied her closely. She was not always cold and closed off. She was downright charming in the presence of those whom she loved and admired. Her body language shifted and relaxed as soon as she was no longer alone with me. She laughed and grinned and talked to the kids in funny voices, and doubt whispered conspiratorially in the back of my mind that maybe there was a solid reason for Gwenlyn to distrust me. No matter her aversion to me, she had a duty to fulfill at Morgan’s request. She trained me tirelessly and without complaint. Mostly.

  Every once in a while, Gwenlyn skipped a day to address some mysterious task or another for Morgan. In her absence, I spent time with substitute teachers. This was how I grew to know more women of the coven personally. Karma taught me the parameters of control. She revealed that she had the power to manipulate people with voodoo dolls, providing me with a demonstration that chilled me to the bone. All she did was toy with a crude figure made of canvas, but the eldest Summers child marched out of the house under Karma’s influence and performed a series of gymnastic routines that she in no way should’ve been capable of. The exhibition was ultimately harmless, but the knowledge of Karma’s abilities set my skin crawling. A few days later, I officially met Malia, Morgan’s eldest sister. She impressed upon me the importance of connection every time I drew on my energy. She too displayed her ability for me, allowing me to “see” into her aura as she accessed the memory of an old coffee mug. The seemingly insignificant ceramic held decades of mornings that belonged to Cassandra, the former coven leader and Morgan’s mother, and I learned more about what shaped the four current Summers sisters in one lesson from Malia than I could ever yank out of Gwenlyn.