Laurel oozed an earthy ethereal lightness no matter what the situation. My experience with her led us to the edge of the ward, where she requested I step to the other side and sit in the fork of a beautiful tree with colorful leaves while she provided me with a lecture on what it meant to be an elemental witch. Since our abilities relied on things that, in a manner of speaking, had minds of their own, our energies were more fickle than others. According to Laurel, it was a matter of mutual respect. She respected the earth—adored and worshipped it even—and I was equally expected to recognize the symbiotic relationship between myself and “Fire.” She guided me through a meditation practice similar to those Nora and I used to do at home. Laurel supplemented the lesson with practical direction, instructing me to summon Fire into the palm of my hands and hold it there for as long as possible. At first, I didn’t grasp the concept and kept burning myself, but after Laurel reminded me that I shouldn’t fight with my own energy, I realized I could adjust the intensity of the Fire. Soon, I grinned down at a tiny flame, grateful for the subtle warmth in the chilly air. When I returned to Yew Hollow’s side of the ward, I brought Laurel a handful of red and orange leaves that I’d collected from the ground. She performed a joyful jig as she accepted them, braiding them into her hair and stuffing the rest into her pockets. I almost laughed at her eccentric appreciation for such a small gesture, but as we walked back to the Summers house and I admired Laurel’s pop of color in the gray town, I thought maybe the gesture wasn’t so insignificant after all.
Other witches of varying health rotated through my fast-paced education. Some were keen to bond with me as surrogate parents, while others blatantly stated their mistrust of me. None of them made exceptions in the quality of my training. Morgan had instructed them to do their best, and they followed their coven leader’s orders. I learned healing enchantments from a young narcoleptic brunette, energy pick-me-ups from an elderly fire witch, protective spells from one of Morgan’s many cousins, and a whole slew of knowledge from the coven in general. Each night, I returned exhausted to the barn, my head swirling with new spells, Latin incantations, and the growing familiarity of the Summers coven’s trademark physical features.
Despite my adamant declaration to supervise all of Nora’s interactions with the coven, I hardly ever saw my little sister. As soon as we arrived at the house in the mornings, a group of witches whisked her away to do their bidding. We caught up with each other in the evenings when we rendezvoused at the barn. According to Nora, she split her time between her own version of training and tending to the witches that were feeling the worst symptoms of the Summerses’ illness. She assured me that the Summerses had taken my warning into account and weren’t working her too hard, but every night she returned to the barn looking wearier than the day before. Though I trusted Nora to be a good judge of her own abilities, I worried from a distance. The circles under Nora’s eyes grew darker, and with every passing day, she resembled the sick witches more and more. One night, I stayed up as she tossed and turned in bed next to me, twisting the duvet into a straight jacket. When I finally woke her, she let out a feral yell and blasted me across the room with a burst of her rosy energy. My head thunked against the opposite wall and I fell, stunned, to sit in a heap on the floor. Upon realizing what she’d done, Nora covered her mouth in horror.
“It’s okay,” I grunted. The force of her hit had knocked the wind out of me, and I spent the first few seconds afterward trying to remember how to breathe again. “I shouldn’t have woken you up. That was my fault.”
Tears leaked from the corners of Nora’s eyes. “Kennedy, I—”
“I know, Nora.”
“I didn’t even know that I could do that.”
“Neither did I.” I gingerly pressed on the muscles of my back, feeling out any possible injuries. I’d be bruised, but nothing felt broken. Nora’s violence astounded me, even if she hadn’t been consciously aware of her actions.
Nora slipped out from under the tangled sheets and padded across the wood floor. “I can help.”
My first instinct was to jerk away from her when she reached out to me. Immediately, I recognized my mistake. Nora’s lower lip trembled, and she drew back.
“You’re afraid of me,” she whispered.
“No, of course not.” I took in her bloodshot eyes, her gaunt cheeks, the betrayal in her expression. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I guess now I know what it feels like to be around someone like me.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Nora had always admired me, but she knew I wasn’t referring to my stalwart strength or determination to plod onward no matter how many things I’d screwed up. It was the screwed-up stuff that scared her. The angry fits and uncontrollable rage that plagued me before I’d started learning to control myself. The perpetual loneliness and self-inflicted separation that set me apart from the rest of society. The instinct to lash out in times of stress, even at the people who loved me. Especially at the people who loved me.
Nora turned away from me, but I took her by the shoulder and pulled her into a hug. Her armor fell away and I tensed when she collapsed against my sore body. I murmured soothing words as she broke down and sobbed into my shoulder. At some point, I realized I was speaking in Latin and delivering a calming spell as I rubbed Nora’s back. For all the strife living in Yew Hollow had caused Nora, it seemed to have the opposite effect on me. As the comfort of my spell lulled Nora into a quieter state of being, I kissed her forehead.
“What were you dreaming about?” I asked quietly.
It took her a moment to reply. “What might happen if the coven doesn’t find out what’s making them sick.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She lifted her face to meet my gaze. “It’s bad, Kennedy. It’s really bad.”
Her cheeks were blotchy and red. I wiped away a wayward tear with my thumb. “They’ll figure it out.”
Nora nuzzled into my side. “I think they’re running out of time.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I see the witches every day,” she replied, staring vacantly off into the distance. “They’re all getting worse. When I first got here, our healing rituals would help them cope for a few days, but now it only lasts a few hours. They’re deteriorating at a faster pace. Some of them are bedridden. One of Morgan’s aunts is in a coma.”
“You think this illness did that?”
“What else?” she replied with a sniff and a shrug. “And what’s worse is I think they’re all heading in that direction. Even Morgan has been showing signs of worsening symptoms.”
“She has?”
“She hides it well,” Nora said. “So that she won’t scare the rest of the coven, but I can see it. I can sense it. She’s desperate, Kennedy. She needs answers. That’s what she and Gwenlyn are doing on those days they both disappear. Looking for a solution.”
I absentmindedly stroked Nora’s hair. All this time, I’d been so wrapped up in my education that I hadn’t bothered to notice the downward spiral of the coven’s health. Sure, the witches who served as my temporary instructors didn’t look well, but it was hard to believe that so many of them had fallen prey to the darker side of this baffling sickness. In hindsight, I should’ve been working with Morgan and Gwenlyn to unearth the truth. I didn’t know much, but one more brain on the case couldn’t hurt. That way, everyone got what they wanted. I could speed up the process of finding Morgan’s cure and get Nora away from the rest of the coven before they reduced her to a quivering mess of a girl.
“What does the coven have planned for you tomorrow, Nora?” I asked her. I boosted her from our spot on the floor and led her back to the bed, where I flapped the gnarled bedsheets to straighten them out.
“I’m supposed to go see Alana,” she answered, sniffling as she settled against the pillows. “That’s the witch in a coma.”
“Skip it,” I told her. “We’re going to have a word with Morgan about all of this.”
“I can’t skip it,�
�� Nora said. “I see her every other day. Honestly, I’m afraid she’ll slip away if I don’t.”
I tucked the duvet around Nora. “Fine. Can I come with you?”
Her eyes lit up in the dark. “Will you?”
“Of course.”
“It won’t disrupt your training?”
I waved a hand dismissively. “One day won’t set me back.”
“I would love it if you came,” she said softly.
I smiled, though I was unsure if Nora could see it in the dim room. “Then it’s done.”
In the morning, I stuck to Nora’s side like glue. After her episode, she’d slept like a stone through the rest of the night. To my relief, she appeared in better spirits and health on our morning stroll to the main house. When three or four witches met us in the front yard, all clamoring for Nora’s attention, I pulled her close to my side and announced that she wasn’t available until I had the opportunity to speak with Morgan face-to-face. Then I sat on the swinging bench on the porch with Nora next to me and refused to budge while someone went to fetch the coven leader.
It wasn’t long until Morgan arrived from upstairs. Though the morning dragged on, she wore pajamas and a long robe as though the witches had roused her from bed. She punched open the door to the house and joined us on the porch, shooing away the other witches so that she, Nora, and I could talk privately.
“What is it?” she grumbled, tightening her robe as she leaned against the railing. “We have work to do, and there’s no time to waste.”
“Straight to it then,” I told her. I wrapped one arm firmly around my little sister. “First of all, Nora’s not feeling well, so I insist that she takes it easy for the next few days.”
Morgan pressed the back of her hand to Nora’s forehead. “She does feel a little warm, so I suppose that can be arranged. Next?”
The lack of argument surprised me, but I plowed forward. “Second, I want to help you figure out what’s wrong with the Summerses. Before you protest and insist that I’m not trustworthy, I know I’m not an expert in the world of witchcraft, but it can’t hurt to have another healthy body looking into things.”
Morgan crossed her arms. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Kennedy. The problem is we have no leads.”
“So we’ll find a lead,” I said.
“It’s not that simple.”
“You don’t know Kennedy,” Nora interjected. “She’s well-practiced in a crisis.”
Morgan looked out over the dead expanse of Yew Hollow. In the distance, the spire of the town hall loomed above the tree line. “We’ll see about that. I heard you want to run rounds with Nora today?”
I nodded. “I’d like to know what she’s up to and how she’s spending her energy. Besides, if I’m going to start working with you, I figured I should start by familiarizing myself with the symptoms of this illness.”
Morgan nodded approvingly. “Fine. Nora?”
“Yes?”
“Do what you can. No more. I can’t have you burning yourself out.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Morgan studied me, shivering in the stagnant cold air. I held her gaze, wondering what she was thinking about. She looked away first. “All right then. Get to work. Kennedy, come find me when you’re through with Nora.”
I responded instinctively, as though Morgan was the leader of my coven too. “Yes ma’am.”
20
The other witches lived in a small cluster of homes in a cul-de-sac a little closer to the center of town. A towering hedge separated the circle of houses from the neighboring residences, which were all empty in the wake of Yew Hollow’s fall from favor. Nora filled me in on the details of each section of the Summers family. They were all descendants of one woman and her four daughters who together made up the original Summers coven, but Morgan’s line was the most direct, which was why she and her sisters were so prominently featured within the family tree. Aunts and cousins of varying degrees shared spaces together. Sisters tended to stick with one another, and Morgan’s words about the unbreakable bond between siblings floated to the front of my mind again. Nora explained how each witch was affected by the illness. Symptoms ranged from those of a common cold to a nasty rash to mental instability and finally the dreaded coma. So far, only the witch called Alana had succumbed to the most worrisome stage, though Nora feared others were on their way.
We stopped by each house in order. There was no need to knock, as all of the doors were propped open in anticipation of Nora’s arrival. As I watched her tenderly care for the witches, lending my energy when she needed it, I realized that something had shifted within her. On that first night I’d arrived in Yew Hollow to whisk Nora away, she was perfectly fine with leaving the witches behind. Now she fostered a true liking for them. She spoke in dulcet tones to the healthier witches, reassuring them over the state of their sisters’ and cousins’ health. The sick witches relied on her soothing effect. I could see their relief when Nora walked into the room. Each house was the same. We entered in a cloud of anxiety and left temporary peace of mind in our wake. Nora was the defining factor.
When we arrived at Alana’s house, I felt a taciturn pall in the air as we stepped over the threshold. The little cottage was bright and airy with pure white walls and dark wood floors. If the weather had allowed it, the sun would stream in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the front room to tickle the collection of indoor plants and succulents decorating every surface. The pots of begonias, aloe, and orchids were in good health. Whatever plagued the rest of Yew Hollow hadn’t reached this particular room, and I took a deep steadying breath to savor the feel of fresh air filtering through my lungs. It seemed like a contradiction that the witch with the worst symptoms lived in the house with the best quality of life. Then again, what did I know about the correlation between the two?
Alana lived with two other witches, who were sisters and both in better health. The first, Yvette, bore the Summers’ blonde hair and gray eyes like Malia and Laurel. She too was an elemental witch, but she worked with wind. I’d seen her a few times around the main house, conjuring a breeze to disrupt the stagnant interior. She embraced me as she’d embraced Nora, whispering thanks in my ear for allowing Nora to stay in town. The second witch, Yvonne, observed me and Nora from the corner of the sunroom and refused to speak with me. She deigned to accept one of the fresh juice mixtures that Nora and I had spent the morning infusing with healing spells but wouldn’t let Nora perform an actual healing spell. According to Yvette, she was a truthsayer, able to sense when someone was lying or not. However, Nora and I were both blind spots to her, which was why she preferred to limit her interactions with us.
As Yvette led us to Alana’s bedroom, I mentally prepared myself for what might lay inside. I pictured a hospital bed with collapsible sides, heart rate monitors, IV fluids, and whatever else a woman in a coma needed to stay alive. I forgot that witches didn’t function as normal humans did. They didn’t follow the traditional definitions of Western medicine. When Yvette opened the shades in the bedroom and my eyes adjusted to the lighting, I was taken aback by the scene. Alana lay peacefully in the center of a full-sized bed, breathing evenly on her own. There were no devices to measure her health, and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought she was sleeping. Apprehension settled over me as Nora shifted forward to check on her patient. I lingered in the hallway as Yvette returned to the sunroom, but Nora beckoned me forward.
“Come here, Ken. I want you to meet her.”
I swallowed hard and took a step toward the bed. How did you make the acquaintance of a comatose woman? She couldn’t hear me or see me, so what was the point? Nora drew me toward her until I hovered over Alana’s prone figure. I inhaled sharply at the sight of her. She was beautiful even in stillness, but it was her hair that startled me. Unlike the rest of the Summerses, who sported shades of golden brown or pale blonde, Alana’s hair was bright red. Just like mine. No wonder Nora was particularly worried about the older woman; Alana l
ooked like a more mature version of myself.
“How long has she been like this?” I murmured.
“She was the first one to fall ill,” Nora answered. She held Alana’s hand in her own, and the pink glow of her aura passed between them.
“Why her?”
Nora lifted her shoulders. “We don’t know. That’s part of the problem. No one’s sure why the sickness started, how it spread, or why it’s worse for some witches than others. Do you mind?”
Her palm extended to meet mine, and I took it without thinking. As soon as Nora drew on my energy, siphoning it through herself to feed into Alana, my lungs tightened. At this point in the healing process, the receiving witch usually showed her aura. I was used to the glow by now, and I learned about each member of the coven through the color of her craft. Alana, however, remained dark. I didn’t need anyone to tell me it was a bad sign. I could feel the emptiness in the room, almost as if Alana’s body was there but her soul was not. From the sad look on Nora’s face, she understood this too.
“Is she breathing on her own?” I asked Nora, taking note of the rise and fall of Alana’s chest. She was not hooked up to anything that might assist her in staying alive.
Nora shook her head. “Yvonne and Yvette have enchantments in place that mimic human devices. There’s one for everything. Ventilators, fluids, and all of that.”
“It’s no way to live,” I mumbled. “Trapped in your own body, unable to interact with the world around you.”
Witch Myth Super Boxset: A Yew Hollow Cozy Mystery Page 62