New Witch on the Block

by Louisa West

  Into that breath, Rosie poured her own emotions. Her love for her daughter, first, followed by her desire to keep Maggie safe. A gut-churning hatred for Randy, and a determination to see his influence over their lives banished forever. Rosie’s new-found strength, and the confidence that was blooming inside of her with each day that she took control of her own life back. The first kernels of peace she had experienced in years, owing all to the sanctuary of this small, rickety cottage in the woods.

  She stood, letting the soil trickle through her fingers like beach sand until it was all gone, and there were only streaks of dirt left on her hands. Without knowing why she smeared a streak of the soil over her left breast, close to her heart, and then took up the last of her rock salt supply.

  As she started to perform the ritual for the third time, she connected with the blanket of nature that settled around her shoulders as she moved. She wasn’t' afraid her neighbors or Declan would see, and she wasn’t scared that there was something in the shadows waiting to get her. She was the thing to be feared in these woods.

  Once again, she trailed a thin line of salt behind her as she walked. And this time as the salt fell, it glowed a bright, iridescent turquoise as the earth absorbed her spell.

  She hadn’t wanted to return to the house yet. Putting her clothes back on had been the only concession she’d made. Knowing that the wards were as strong as she had the power to make them gave her a kind of peace that was liberating. For the first time since their arrival in Mosswood, Rosie slipped away without her daughter in tow. She walked barefoot through the woods, letting the trees whisper their soft stories to her until, at last, she came to the clearing where Declan’s trailer was.

  The rush of power she had felt as she wove the wards around the cottage was addictive. Magic-on-purpose was so different from magic-by-accident; there was a pure adrenaline surge associated. When she wandered into the clearing, her eyes settled on the charred places where tall grass and a ratty trailer had once stood.

  And then she knew why she had come.

  Framed by massive trees that trailed Spanish moss in the sweet summer breeze, the clearing was beautiful. The grass swayed like an ocean, a handful of fireflies dancing above their serene waves. And then there was the reminder of hate – of cruelty – burned right into the middle of this natural haven. Rosie stepped forward, her hands outstretched as she focused her will on the charred patch in the middle of the clearing.

  She let the energy flow through her slowly at first, seeping from her fingertips in a gentle current. And then as she was able to direct it to the blackened grass, she let it flow more like a mighty river. Tiny spearheads of grass began to poke themselves up through the blackened mess, bright green with hope. They soared upwards, becoming a tide of new growth that melted into the edges of the ocean of grass around it. Attracted by the energy, more fireflies drifted into the clearing. They danced across the air, and Rosie laughed breathlessly, clapping her hands together in delight as the last of her spell left her.

  “You’re incredible,” Declan said from behind her.

  She spun to face him, her dark curls fanning around her with the movement. Her eyes were bright as she took in the sight of him, leaning against a tree at the edge of the woods with his hands tucked in his pockets. An expression of pure wonder was painted across his face, and Rosie’s smile widened as she let the elation of her successful magic wash over her.

  “I know, right?” she laughed, punch-drunk on the feeling. “Who’d a thunk it?”

  He pushed off the tree and walked towards her, a soft smile on his face. The grass brushed against the bottoms of his jeans as he moved, and she let her gaze roam over him as he came closer.

  “I did,” he murmured, reaching out as though to stroke her cheek. A firefly darted between them, making them both jump and laugh. But as their laughter and smiles faded into the warm air surrounding them, an altogether more serious atmosphere descended.

  The void between them seemed filled with something unseen. It was the humming of their individual energies—their magical forces—reaching out to one another. She was surprised to feel how intense it was, and for a moment, she let the throbbing sensation of his energy mingling with hers overwhelm her.

  When she met his gaze, he was staring down at her with pure, unabashed desire. Rosi's breath caught in her throat, and a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she was supposed to be working. But a raw wilderness in her soul wound its tendrils around her heart and squeezed.

  She tilted her chin up towards him, willing him to kiss her. It was the only invitation he needed. His arms pulled her tight against the length of his whole body, which would have been enough sensation to explore on its own, but then his lips met hers in a hot, demanding kiss, and she lost herself to the experience. He tasted like the sweet whiskey scent she had come to associate with him, and his tongue teased hers into becoming bolder, to match his efforts as the kiss deepened.

  Her hands reached into his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers after they broke for a ragged intake of breath. Rosie gave her heart and soul to that kiss, not realizing that it had been waiting there for release since the moment she had seen him wander up to the cottage in the darkness the first night they’d met.

  Chapter 13

  Rosie should have felt more in control of the situation. The wards on the cottage had been re-established. She was gaining a better handle on her magic in general. But she hadn’t been able to settle all week, and she wasn’t sure whether it was because she was stressing about the possibility of Randy coming back or because of her blooming magical powers. Is this just what it felt like to become a witch?

  The sight of Mosswood nestled in the valley below The Ridge calmed her as she washed the day’s dishes ahead of her evening shift. A subtle noise behind her alerted her to Declan joining her, and he picked up a dishtowel to dry as she washed.

  “You can feel it, can’t ya?” he asked.

  She paused in her washing, looking at him sharply. “You mean it’s a real thing? I thought I was just PMSing or something!”

  He ignored her sass, swiping the dish towel over a plate. “It’s a forebodin’—an energy shift. You can feel it in the air. Trouble’s comin’.”

  His words picked at the unraveling thread of her inner fears. “Is it Randy?”

  “I'm a witch, not a psychic,” he sassed her back, with a tight smile.

  “Don't tell me psychics are real, too.”

  She took a deep breath. Ever since Declan had arrived, she had felt in over her head. She had tumbled head over heels into a world that she still didn’t know anything about. And the further she fell down the rabbit-hole, it seemed like the more there was to know.

  Declan misinterpreted her silence for a different kind of anxiety. “It’s nothin’ to worry about. We’ve taken all the proper precautions.”

  She thought of the stronger wards and the ring and necklace that she and Maggie both wore now. And then she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why didn’t you think to tell me that there was a forbidden shift coming?”

  “A foreboding,” he corrected her, taking care to pronounce the ‘ing’ around his accent. “S’no point in worryin’ ya ahead a’time.”

  “Well, I’m gonna worry whether you tell me or not,” she huffed, passing him the last dish to dry. “At least if you bothered to keep me in the loop, I’d know what to expect – in a way.”

  She wrung the dishcloth out into the sink. “How do we even know that our precautions will work? I mean, you said it yourself. His intent was that much stronger than ours before. What if he breaks through mine?”

  “This is exactly why I didn’t tell ya about the foreboding,” he replied, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

  Rosie turned to face him, her hand resting on the sink. “Well, I just want to be as prepared as we can be if he’s coming for us!”

  “You know him better than me,” Declan told her. “Do you think we’re prepared?”


  Rosie’s stomach flipped over itself as she considered the depth of the question. Did she feel ready to take Randy on, once and for all?

  “I don’t think anyone really knows him,” she said at last, crossing her arms over her belly to calm it. “He’s barely even human anymore.”

  Declan hung up the drying cloth and turned to envelop Rosie into a tight, comforting hug. One of his arms slipped around her waist to draw her close, and his other hand curled protectively around the back of her head. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head.

  “We’ll do the best we can, then,” he murmured into her hair.

  They spent the afternoon testing the wards on the property boundary and imposing new wards on the cottage itself while Maggie read inside. By the time dinner rolled around, Rosie and Declan were exhausted. They sat at the small round table with Maggie, who pushed her beans around on her plate before she glanced up at her mom.

  “Today feels weird,” she declared, dropping her fork on the table so that she could rub a small hand across her forehead. “Like... the air is heavy. And I’m tired from the crazy dream I had last night.”

  Rosie watched her daughter, careful not to let any kind of panic show on her face. “Yeah, it’s been pretty humid today,” she said, even though she knew good and well that’s not what Maggie had meant. “What were your dreams about, Pumpkin?”

  “Just random stuff,” Maggie sighed, going back to her dinner. Rosie took a chance and glanced at Declan, who was watching Maggie with veiled concern.

  “A nice warm glass of milk might help you sleep better tonight,” he said, polishing off his mashed potatoes and moving to dunk a biscuit in his gravy.

  “Okay,” Maggie said in a low voice that was so different from her usual chipper buzz that Rosie felt her heart squeeze with worry. She met Declan’s eyes across the table, but neither of them said anything else.

  Early evening was Rosie’s favorite time of day at the cottage. The wind tickled the chime she’d hung up outside on the front porch, and the crickets sang their slow, sweet lullabies. She liked sitting on the porch with a glass of wine to relax after a hard day. It wasn’t until she’d taken up residence on the porch swing that she realized tonight was the first time she’d had company for her evening reverie.

  Declan was almost sheepish as he stepped through the front door and onto the porch, his eyes darting to her glass of wine and then to meet her gaze. Rosie glanced up at him, her drink at her lips. She sipped, letting her eyes coast down over his broad chest before looking away.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  He sounded amused and didn’t wait for her answer before he lowered himself onto the porch swing next to her. It groaned under his weight as he leaned back, and it swung out with the motion. Rosie tried to steady her wine, and once the swing had lulled into a slow roll, she looked at him.

  “By all means,” she said at last, good-natured sarcasm coloring her words. It felt good to have someone—an adult—to joke and shoot the breeze with.

  Declan smirked. “You’re too kind.” He slipped a hand into his inside jacket pocket and drew out a small, full bottle of whiskey. With a smooth, expert motion, he cracked open the lid and took a swig. Rosie expected the obligatory ‘ah!’ That usually accompanied people’s attempts to drink straight liquor, but none came. She side-eyed him as he took another swig of booze like it was mother’s milk.

  “What are you, some kind of alcoholic?”

  “Actually,” Declan began, feigning indignation, “I don’t drink all that much.” He paused a beat, pretending to reconsider his statement. “Or is it ‘I don’t drink all that often’? Either way,” he tilted his bottle towards her glass and chinked them together companionably. “Cheers.”

  Rosie rolled her eyes and shook her head, but one side of her mouth twitched into a smirk.

  “See how easy it is?” he asked her, turning to gaze out across the moonlit lawn that swept down towards the road.

  “How easy what is?” She watched him for a moment.

  His gaze wandered over the trees that swallowed the driveway, up to the almost-full moon, before drifting back to meet hers.

  “How easy it is to let Fate have her way.”

  Rosie scoffed and took another sip, swallowing before answering. “Fate... or you?”

  He shrugged, another weapon in his arsenal of casual charm. “Can’t help it if my goals align with hers every once in a while,” he smiled.

  “And what are your goals, exactly?”

  He hesitated for a split second, but a shadow passed over his face.

  “To marry my Queen. To protect my people.”

  It was her turn to hesitate. Even the crickets’ song dipped into a lull as a light breeze rushed through the trees. This was the first time he’d mentioned anything about his home. There was something in his tone that sounded sad.

  He leaned back in the swing, his head resting on the back of the chair, and his chin tilted up towards the sky. His face was in profile against the moonlight, and it gave him an otherworldly appearance that had Rosie staring at him.

  She couldn’t say he was conventionally handsome. His nose was too large and too crooked, and his eyes were a little too close together. But as he turned his head so that he could look over at her, she could see the fullness of his lips and his strong jaw balanced the nose out well, and there was a look of hope in his eyes that made her want to lean in close to him.

  The sound of a creature calling in the woods broke the spell that had begun to weave itself between them. Rosie looked away, lifting her wine to her lips to prevent them from being tempted to press up against his.

  In that unflappable way of his, Declan seemed entirely at ease. He watched her gulp her wine, eyes lingering on the lips that had contemplated betraying her.

  “And what is it that you want, Rosie?” he asked.

  She didn’t even have to think about it. “Peace and quiet,” Rosie sighed, leaning back on the swing next to him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Ever since I could remember.”

  He snorted and nodded at the moon as though they were sharing an inside joke. And then he stretched his arm along the back of the swing behind her, rocking them in the swing.

  “Good luck, love,” he told her with a chuckle. “Haven’t ya heard that sayin’? Heavy lies the head that wears the crown.”

  “No.” She frowned, not liking the sound of it. “I haven't. What's it from?”

  Declan nodded again. “Shakespeare or somethin’. Pay heed—” he pointed at her with his bottle, “—Peace ain’t for the likes of us.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, annoyance rising in her.

  “All I want is to protect my people, too—Maggie and me—from Randy, from selfish townspeople, and from anyone else who cares more about their own goals than they do about us.” She glanced down at her wine and then shook her head. “I grew up with chaos. She's getting better.”

  “You don't think I want that for her?” Declan asked, face suddenly angry.

  She snorted a laugh. “I don't think you've given any thought to that at all.” She gestured at him. “You showed up on my front porch drunk as a skunk that first night. Did you think about Maggie then? About what men drinking around her might have meant to her when we lived with Randy?”

  Declan had the good sense to look chagrined and retreated his arm back across the swing.

  She looked him in the eyes. “I'm willing to sacrifice everything to make up for the first ten years of lost peace I caused that child. And if you stand in the way of that, your people will just have to stay queen-less, fate or no.”

  Rosie drained the rest of her wine and stood. “I’m off to bed,” she announced, starting up the lawn. “Try not to snore.”

  “Only if you promise to do the same, Your Majesty,” he threw back at her.

  Chapter 14

  Rosie woke with a head full of fog the next morning. She’d heard every little sound through the night, tossing and turning, until the birdson
g in the woods woke her just before dawn. She lay in bed for a while, not wanting to have to deal with Declan so early. But coffee called to her. She scowled and threw off her sheet in childish defiance. Then she got dressed and tiptoed into the kitchen, checked on Maggie, and took her coffee out to the porch without bothering to make Declan one.

  The air was already hot and humid, but a slight breeze promised a lazy summer afternoon. Rosie sat on the top porch step and surveyed her damaged garden beds, the tire marks through the lawn, and the flattened mailbox she hadn’t yet set right. It felt as though all she did was take one step forward and two steps back, and it was a pattern she was getting tired of. But if she didn't keep taking those steps forward, Randy would win. And she was tired of Randy winning.

  From her perch in the sun, Rosie focused her mind on the mailbox, pushing her energy out so that she could lift it from its sad bed in the dirt. She didn't stop there. She refreshed the peeling white paint on the box, closing her eyes to envision bright red letters spelling out ‘BELL’ on the side. As she poured her magic into restoring the mailbox, the overflow drifted down to the ground beneath it. Bright green shoots appeared in a clump around the base of the mailbox, growing and lengthening until they were long strappy leaves that gave way to lush blooms of yellow-centered jonquils.

  Rosie beamed, watching the flowers nod their heads in the breeze. She didn’t want to stop there. Everything that Randy and his men had wrecked with their brutality, she would mend with magic from within herself. The lawn was next, springing up thicker and lusher than it had been before. The dirt in the garden beds scurried back to where it belonged, and then she repaired the flowers that had been damaged in the carnage.

  As she sat back and rested the heels of her hands on the new deck of the porch behind her, Rosie felt a deep sense of self-satisfaction wash over her. She was building a home here for her and Maggie. Her eyes wandered over the repaired garden, taking in the ancient oak tree in the middle of the yard, the late summer blooms sharing their fragrance, and the beautiful periwinkle vine that grew around the porch railing.