by Nora Lee
She may have been the only living soul in the Penny Spindle, but that smell meant that she was far from alone.
☆★☆
“We are happy you have returned to your rightful place among us, Miss Rowan.” A tall and thin man dressed in clothing more appropriate to an earlier century than modern day stood before her. He moved with a silent smooth grace and seemed to shimmer around the edges. When he passed by the window, she wasn’t surprised to see the displays through his less-than-substantial form.
“Hello, Hephaestus.” Anyone who didn’t live in Secret Hallow might have been unnerved to see the spirit of a long-dead man. Not Rowan. She’d grown up with the late shopkeeper. In fact, he was one of her distant ancestors. “How’s business these days?”
“A bit slow, I’m afraid to say. Townsfolk grow their own food and buy only seeds and fertilizer this time of year. ’Twill improve once harvest season passes, since people prefer fresh to canned.”
The floorboards creaked as Nana limp-clomped her way to the back of the store. “I need to see to a couple things here before heading home, granddaughter. Don’t feel you have to wait for me. You can go ahead, if you’d like.”
“I’d really like to visit the Elder Tree as soon as possible, Nana.” Rowan didn’t want to spend any longer than necessary in Secret Hallow. The oppressive discomfort that had driven her to university at the tender age of eighteen was becoming suffocating. “Can you take me?”
“Not until the Ash sisters are done pulling together a spell kit! Were you even listening to them? No no, we’ll go later. I’ve a lot to do here.”
Rowan hung by a shelf of shriveled chicken’s feet, resisting the urge to run her finger across the curled toes. She hadn’t come in contact with anything magical in years. She wanted to keep that trend going as long as possible. “I think I’ll wait at the house instead, if you don’t mind.”
“And harm ye none, do as thou wilt! Go get settled,” called Nana, her voice fading into the distance.
“Right,” Rowan muttered.
It was just like her to leave Rowan in such a way. She probably thought she was being clever by dumping her granddaughter off at the Penny Spindle, where all those magical supplies were tempting her with their presence. The smell of the herbs promised at so many spells she could cast. Magic was intoxicating and Rowan would have been lying if she pretended she wasn’t tempted. But she wouldn’t succumb. She wouldn’t stick around in Secret Hallow, no matter how manipulative her grandmother became.
Rowan turned to find Hephaestus sorting spice containers onto the shelves near the counter. Just beyond him, through the curved glass of the turret window, she noticed the mysterious redheaded man she’d seen at the coffee shop earlier walking past. “Who’s that man, Hephaestus?”
The shopkeeper readjusted the row of spices he’d just arranged. “Hmm…?”
She shook her head, knowing full well she’d never get his attention again now that he was enjoying one of his favorite tasks. He’d remained a fixture at the Penny Spindle despite his death because he couldn’t bear to give up his work. No moving on to the next plane for him. Not when he could putter about the shop.
Whatever magic kept Hephaestus Hallow working at the Penny Spindle was rumored to be the work of Emilia Ash, one of the Ash sisters’ ancestors. Rowan didn’t believe it. Hephaestus just loved puttering too much to cross over.
“See you later, Hephaestus!”
“Goodbye, Miss Rowan,” he replied distractedly.
Outside the shop, she paused to get her bearings. Crowds still filled the tables by Java by Candlelight. The aura was warm, welcoming. She could have sat at any table outside the coffee shop and caught up with an old friend—most of whom she would have been distantly related to.
However little the residents of Secret Hallow liked the outside world, they would have loved to hear stories of Rowan Middlebrook’s mundane life.
That was as tempting as the magical ingredients in Nana’s shop.
Rowan would not succumb.
She slung the strap of her duffle over her shoulder. The weight dug into the sore muscle that remained years after she’d been injured in a minor auto accident. An effective reminder as to why she would not settle in and get back to her magic-casting ways.
She turned the corner and started climbing a slight hill away from the main street.
The further she got from the temptation represented by the villagers, the more relaxed she felt, and she allowed herself to open up to her surroundings. Comforting warmth from the rich soil upon which she walked passed through the soles of her sneakers and spread through her. The loamy smell of damp soil and rotting leaves tickled her nostrils. Her mind filled with thoughts of ripe pumpkins, rustling cornstalks, baled straw, and fresh, hot pies and cider.
She might have been avoiding the residents of Secret Hallow, but there was no avoiding the embrace of the spirit of the town—a veritable living thing in its own right.
The village was happy to have her home.
Honestly, Rowan was a little happy too.
Just to visit, though.
The breeze shifted, stirring the trees under which she passed. Sunlight dappled the packed earth of the street leading toward her grandmother’s cottage and warmed the top of her head. Reminded that they’d just passed the summer solstice a few days earlier, she shook off her thoughts of autumn, pushing away the consciousness trying so hard to gain her attention.
She passed a couple small cottages. Though well tended, they looked deserted at this time of day, their occupants all out tending crops or animals.
A bell tinkled, drawing her attention to a couple goats beyond the split-rail fence in front of one house. They lifted their heads from the grass, blades hanging out the sides of their mouths as they chewed, their wide brown eyes showing signs of their curiosity about the interloper in their midst.
It was strange to think that the goats had likely lived their entire lives in Secret Hallow, her hometown, but had never seen her before. Four years of college was a long time in the lives of farm animals.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” said Rowan. “Sorry to disturb your tea.”
She felt the goats watching as she continued up the road. Before long, she passed a gap that allowed her to see a distant field filled with a flock of fluffy white sheep, all grazing as happily as the goats she’d just met. There were many lambs among them. Secret Hallow may have been caught in autumn, but the animals were still clearly touched by time.
Startled by a loud screech overhead, Rowan looked up to find an unkindness of ravens taking flight. Ebon birds circled around her in ever-widening arcs. She wouldn’t allow herself to be unnerved. Ravens always appeared in Secret Hallow during autumn. On their own, the ravens were harmless: a symptom of the Elder Tree’s fading power, but not the cause.
Even so, a feeling of dread shrouded Rowan as she switched her duffle from one shoulder to the other.
Nana’s cottage appeared as she rounded yet another bend. After having been away for so long, she saw the small house with new eyes, and wasn’t pleased by the image presented by the structure. It was in a state of serious disrepair. The garden was overgrown and the hens were hiding in a ramshackle coop.
Rowan’s mom had always worked to keep the property in good condition, but clearly nobody had touched it for months. Her parents were on an extended trip, and Goddess only knew where they were having an adventure that week. Nana couldn’t take care of her house without them, though. And she was too prideful to ask someone at the village to help.
She stepped through a rusty gate hanging off the hinges, avoiding the path of the busy bees pollinating the flowers in the window box hanging off the front porch rail. Rowan would fix up the coop first. She’d always liked the chickens. “Might as well get some good done around here while Nana and Enid are ignoring me,” she muttered.
There was no harm in helping out just a little. It wasn’t like she was making a commitment to stay.
O
ne week. One week before she went back for graduate school.
Rowan wasn’t going to stay.
Chapter 3
BY THE TIME Nana came to pick her up from the house, Rowan had collected all the eggs, petted the chickens, and propped up the roof of the coop. Not bad for an afternoon’s work.
She would have much preferred to spend that time working on the Elder Tree, though.
“Scoot over,” Rowan said, hip-bumping Nana out from behind the wheel. “I’m driving.” She was done tolerating her grandmother’s crazy ways.
“Hi again, Rowan,” Gemma said, smiling shyly at her from the far end of the bench seat. She held a spell kit in her lap: a large, worn leather briefcase with an altar cloth sticking out of the corner.
“Got everything we need!” Enid said cheerfully from the bed, where she rested with Bronson. “Are you ready to work?”
Rowan slammed the pickup into gear. “Born ready.”
The old truck rattled over the rutted lane leading out of the village. She hadn’t driven a manual transmission in a while, so she didn’t shift with the smooth grace she once did. She winced as the gears ground as she fought to downshift from second to first.
“Easy, granddaughter! I’ve just had this tuned.”
Rowan highly doubted that. “Sorry, Nana.” She clenched her teeth and flexed her fingers on the stick shift. “Been a long time.”
Gemma laughed. “You’re not kidding. Feels like you haven’t been behind the wheel in years!”
Rowan allowed herself a glance at the woman seated next to her. “I drove while I was away. All the cars were automatic, though. I’ll get the hang of this again before too long. You’ll see.”
“Right,” said Enid from behind her, the word drawn out to indicate her disbelief in the assertion. She was sitting in the truck bed, holding on to the window for dear life. Her witch hat had been whipped away by the wind.
“How’s Bronson back there?” Rowan asked.
“Snoring, of course. Useless mutt,” she said with great affection.
Reaching back, Gemma smacked her sister’s hand. “Be nice. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“His pudgy, slobbery feelings.” Enid ruffled his fur. Bronson dripped drool out of his nostril in response.
Dim sunlight filtered down through the red and gold archway through which they passed. Like the other side of Secret Hallow, the forest was also trapped in a perpetual autumn.
Rowan loved the October smell of the rich soil covered in a blanket of damp and decomposing leaves. Nothing warmed her more than sitting before the roaring fire in Nana’s stone hearth, a cup of hot spiced cider in hand, as she watched the swirl of leaves being blown from off the trees beyond the window.
That was Secret Hallow to a T. Warmth, comfort, and constant autumn.
Who would ever want to leave such a place?
Someone who doesn’t belong, Rowan thought fiercely, delivering a mental slap to herself for bad thinking.
Even so, the beautiful colors she saw before her now didn’t stir her soul the way they usually did. The autumn colors were dulled from their usual gemlike shine as though a sickness were spreading.
A sickness that she feared would lead to the death of everything she held dear.
If the area couldn’t survive, the coven itself might break up, the other witches moving off to find healthier lives elsewhere.
There were other villages in the world, and other covens, with access to different wellsprings of magic. If the Elder Tree died, the witches would be fine. Unfortunately, Secret Hallow—the only true home Rowan had ever known—would not be nearly as okay.
The trees on either side of the dirt track thinned as they headed toward the seashore. Through the driver-side window, Rowan felt a cool breeze come up, bringing with it the aromas she associated with the autumn, as well as the hint of saltwater in the near distance.
Rowan guided the pickup along the narrowing road into a canyon near the beach. On the other side of the open space, she could see the outer edge of the Samhain Grove. The trees in that group looked like they were creeping toward winter, their leaves crackly brown, the bark dark and peeling, as though this were the area closest to the heart of the sickness.
Pulling the truck up next to the edge of a fallen log, she shifted into neutral and switched off the engine. She wiped her sweat-soaked hands on the legs of her faded jeans and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
Despite the fact she hadn’t opened herself to the power of the earth, she felt an intense wave of vertigo at the bad vibes hanging over the place.
“That wasn’t so bad,” said Gemma. She gave Rowan’s shoulder a comforting pat. “You’re getting the hang of the stick again already.”
Rowan opened her door and hopped down. “Don’t move yet, Nana. Let me help you out.” She glanced into the shadows behind the closest row of trees when she heard a loud rustling noise. Through the dense undergrowth and the slight fog that had arisen, she saw the outlines of large creatures she couldn’t quite make out.
The rustling grew louder as the animals approached from the depths.
Stags.
Four bucks stepped from the shadows into the far edge of the clearing and stopped to look at the group across from them. Eyes glistening with intelligence, the majestic animals, each with a rack of antlers stretching at least two feet across, bowed their heads at the assembled group.
They seemed to Rowan to be judging her for not having done something to help save their home sooner. But there was a slight chance that she was projecting her insecurity on them. Only slight.
The stags disappeared into the depths of the forest again, white tails flicking as they retreated.
Rowan released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The group moved slowly up the trail toward the Samhain Grove.
With a gentle swish, Sparkles the owl appeared to alight on Nana’s shoulder. Sparkles was Nana’s familiar in much the same way that Bronson was familiar to the Ash sisters, although Sparkles was much more useful. If nothing else, she was great at catching mice. Meanwhile, Bronson loped between his companions, head and eyes drooping, a line of drool dripping from his lolling tongue. At least if they got lost, they could use his trail of saliva to find their way home again.
“Sparkles!” Rowan hadn’t gotten to see the familiar while working at Nana’s house. She reached out to stroke Sparkles’s feathered wing. The owl clacked her beak in disapproval. “Oh, fine. I missed you too.”
Sparkles ruffled her feathers and looked away.
“Be nice,” Nana scolded. The owl gave the older woman a fond peck on the earlobe before settling down to keep her company on the trek.
Rowan felt a deep sense of loneliness at not having a familiar of her own. She’d never missed a companion in the time she’d been away, but her return opened her up to feelings of vulnerability she’d almost forgotten over the years.
Life was much harder without Garrett.
She pushed him out of her mind.
The group followed the babbling brook into an area of dense trees and undergrowth, sometimes having to push branches out of the way to pass.
Rowan made sure to keep an eye on Nana so she wouldn’t stumble over the stones strewn across the path. On occasion, Rowan noticed a large stone skitter out of the way of Nana’s foot or cane, and she sent a look of gratitude toward Enid. The woman was a stone witch with control over rocks, especially the igneous sort, which were abundant near the Samhain Grove. She was using her powers to clear the way and prevent her grandmother from being injured any more than she had already.
Nana continued on without a word, though she must have realized what the sisters were doing for her. An intelligent and observant woman, she was also too proud to admit she sometimes needed more help than she let on, and her granddaughter felt that this must have been one of those times for sure.
“I haven’t been out here in a long time,” said Enid, gazing worriedly at the dead tree
s. They shivered in the breeze. The rattling of their branches sounded like dancing skeletons. “Things sure have changed.”
“That they have,” agreed Nana.
Rowan had to agree. The closer they got to the Elder Tree, the worse the forest looked. The beautiful early-autumn colors gave way to the crinkled browns reminiscent of early winter. The fallen leaves crackled underfoot, overshadowing the more pleasant sound of water coursing nearby.
Beyond that stream stood a tree at least six feet in diameter with naked, gnarled branches. The tree looked exhausted, near the verge of collapse. Worms slithered through holes in the once-solid wood beneath.
A shadowy figure kneeled at the base of the Elder Tree, hands extended to either side. Mist wafted from the stream, which he directed toward the oversized roots. The water turned clear once it passed beneath the hands of the mysterious figure. He must have been a witch.
The figure stood, head rising into the light that shone through the Samhain Grove.
It was the redheaded man Rowan had seen outside Java by Candlelight.
Her momentary shock was overcome by righteous anger. He was a stranger. He didn’t belong in the Samhain Grove—a place for family and trusted friends, where she had spent much of her childhood learning to cast magic.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, storming toward his ritual space. “Who gave you the authority to mess with the Elder Tree?”
“He gave himself authority,” Nana said. “This is Caedmon McFarland.”
“Who?”
“Caedmon,” the man said, as though she should have recognized the name.
Rowan examined him from the hiking sandals on his feet to the jeans and t-shirt hugging his athletic form. Whoever this Caedmon was, he was kinda hot, in that rusty-haired kind of way.
Rebound material? she wondered. Warmth suffused her cheeks.
She remembered belatedly that she was trying to be angry with him.
“What are you doing here?” she said, her tone challenging.
Caedmon lowered his hands. The water he had been manipulating receded back to the stream. “You must be Rowan.” He stepped across the water as though walking on solid ground and extended a hand to her. “I’m pleased to finally get the chance to meet.”