Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  Hazel and Holly

  A Fantasy Adventure

  Sara C. Snider

  Also by Sara C. Snider

  The Tree and Tower Series:

  The Thirteenth Tower

  A Shadowed Spirit

  * * *

  The Forgotten Web: A Novella

  Copyright © 2019 Sara C. Snider

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Published by Double Beast Publishing. First Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, places, events, and incidences are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Cover design by Jennifer Zemanek

  ISBN 978-91-87657-08-5

  For Lori

  Jennifer

  and Melissa

  Sisters extraordinaire

  Contents

  1. Death Before Dawn

  2. Seamless Dreams

  3. An Unwelcome Visit

  4. Masked Revelry

  5. Dinnertime Drama

  6. Spoil Sport

  7. Hawthorn’s Help

  8. Pyrus and His Particular Price

  9. Tea with Tum

  10. Odd Possibilities

  11. Skyward Promises

  12. Wyr Weariness

  13. Aired Affections

  14. Teatime Tribulation

  15. Willowed Remorse

  16. The Tiresome Trail

  17. Homeward Heart

  18. Haunted Heart

  19. Elder Night

  20. The Long Dark

  21. Elder Dawn

  22. Sorrow, Bones, and Blood

  23. Hallowed Hearts

  24. Finding Forgiveness

  25. Dark Decisions, Dark Deeds

  26. In the Midst of Midnight

  27. Archived Amity

  28. Soup and Secrets

  29. Harvest Home

  30. Early Ambitions and Ablutions

  31. Witnessing Trouble

  32. Meeting the Mayor

  33. Disastrous Discipline

  34. Chester’s Field Day

  35. Though the Keyhole

  36. Milled Messages

  37. Cats and Contemplation

  38. Enshrined

  39. The Sea of Severed Stars

  40. Odder Possibilities

  41. A Love Tempered in Death

  42. A Reluctant Ally

  43. Summoning Visions

  44. Return to the Shrine

  45. Reunions

  46. Locks and Shadows

  47. An Imparted Plea

  48. Shadowed Depths

  49. Cold, Quintessential Comfort

  50. Crossroads Conundrum

  51. A Star-Enshrined Heart

  52. Of Mushrooms and Men

  53. Tormented Love

  54. Familiar Fellowship

  55. Stained Glass Memories

  56. Before the Fall

  57. A Return to Light

  58. An Unadorned End

  59. Aggravated Acceptance

  60. A Future Found

  61. Fastened Friendship

  62. Heart Fire

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Hazel peered at the twilit sky as she hurried along the wooded path. The lantern she clutched in a tight fist swung to and fro, casting erratic shadows though the way had begun to lighten with the approaching dawn. Her visit would be brief this time. She’d been too liberal with the valerian tea. Hazel wasn’t one to oversleep, but restfulness had eluded her lately.

  The skirts of her dress rustled against the brush and bushes, a rasping whisper as if the woods themselves hushed her ungainly approach.

  “I won’t be long,” she said. No one was there, but one never knew when out in the woods.

  She passed through a wrought iron gate set within a crumbling stone wall and came to a single-room stone cottage nearly overtaken with ivy and brambles of sweet briar. The water-warped door stood propped against the door frame into which it no longer fit. Hazel slipped past it and stepped inside.

  The wavering light of her lamp failed to push back the deep gloom within the cottage. She fetched a handful of sticks from a corner, placed them in the hearth, and used her lantern to ignite them. She blew on the gentle flames until the cold coals flared alight.

  Hazel lingered by the fire. It was always so damp in this place, as if the chill seeped into her bones as soon as she stepped over the threshold. But she was late, and it wouldn’t do to tarry too long.

  She walked to a table upon which sat an ewer and basin. Water dripping from a hole in the roof had filled the ewer, and Hazel poured some of the water into the bowl. From her pocket, she pulled out a piece of honey cake wrapped in cloth and crumbled the cake into the water.

  She looked out the window at the lightening sky, but the sun still hadn’t risen.

  “You are late.”

  Hazel turned and found Willow warming her pale hands by the feeble fire. “I overslept.”

  Willow smiled, turned her back on the hearth, and sauntered over to Hazel. She reached out to touch Hazel’s hair, but Hazel moved away. “Still frightened, daughter?”

  “I’m not afraid,” Hazel said. “I just prefer not to be touched by the dead.”

  Willow waved a hand, then leaned over the bowl. She took a deep breath, opening her mouth as she lingered over the water. She straightened. “Honey cake.” Then she smiled. “What did you used to call it? Sunny cake?” Willow laughed. “You always thought it made the day brighter.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Not that long.”

  “We don’t have much time. The sun will soon be up.”

  Willow sighed. “Very well.” She put on a serious expression, clasped her hands together, and in a stern voice said, “What is your progress?”

  Hazel frowned. “I’m doing this for your benefit, you know. I’m not the one with her soul trapped in a geas. One would think you’d care more about your own well-being.”

  Willow gave a short laugh. “Well-being? My dear, I am dead. I am not a being at all, well or otherwise.”

  “So you’re happy then? Is that it? You’re happy to haunt this decrepit, rotting heap, waiting with each new moon for me to come by with a crumb of cake and to stir the fire? Because that’s all you’ll ever have, and when I’m gone, you won’t have even that. That doesn’t concern you?”

  Willow tightened her jaw and closed her eyes. “Leave it alone, Hazel.”

  “I will not leave it alone! He did this to you—your own husband. My father. Was this part of your arrangement? Is this what you bargained for? What was it you used to tell me? He’ll come when needed? Well, where is he now?!”

  Willow stood there, her body trembling and her eyes clenched shut, but she said nothing.

  “Answer me!”

  A cold wind gusted through the room, extinguishing the fire and knocking the air from Hazel’s lungs.

  Willow bared her teeth and grabbed Hazel’s chin in an icy grip. “The geas cannot be undone, whatever you might think. It is done, and I will not give him the satisfaction of my misery!” She let go of Hazel’s chin and put her hand over her eyes.

  Hazel rubbed her jaw, working warmth back into her chilled skin. “There is a way, Mother. I will find it. I will find Father and make him undo what he’s done.”

  Willow gave a mirthless laugh. “And what is your progress, daughter? What have you found so far?”

  “I will find him.”

 
Willow walked to a window with ivy growing through the glassless panes. “The sun is rising, Hazel. Give Holly my love.”

  “Mother…”

  “Do not bring honey cake next time.” She slipped out the door just as sunlight streamed through the shattered windows.

  Hazel watched as the dawn chased away the gloom, lessening the damp that hung in the air. Outside, birds began to chirp, but their melody did nothing to soothe the sorrow that had settled in her heart. She picked up the basin and threw the water and cake crumbs out a window. Then, casting a single look behind her, Hazel slipped out the door.

  Hazel followed the wooded path back to the cottage she shared with her sister. The sun was well up by the time she returned, and the new warmth pulled the heady scent of honeysuckle into the air. She eyed the herb patch as she passed through the garden, noted a number of red mites on the hyssop and lemon balm, and made a mental note to return later with a bowl of soapy water to wash the pests away.

  She rounded a corner and found a young man standing near the front door, his back against the wall as Holly, with a broom in hand, stood too close to him than was proper or polite.

  “What’s going on?” Hazel said.

  Holly turned, and the young man slumped as he let out a heavy breath. Her sister grinned, and her round cheeks flushed like apple blossoms. “We have a visitor!” she said, brushing away a few wisps of honey-golden hair that had escaped from her kerchief.

  “I can see that,” Hazel said. “Why is he here?”

  Holly blinked. “I… I don’t know.” She turned to the young man, and he cringed back against the wall. “Why are you here?”

  The young man held up an envelope sealed with a glob of purple wax. “Delivery for the Witch Hazel sisters,” he said in a feeble voice.

  Holly squealed and snatched the envelope from his hand. Dropping the broom, she broke the seal and opened the letter. The young man slinked away and ran out of sight.

  Hazel picked up the broom and propped it against the wall. “What does it say?”

  Holly held the letter in a white-knuckled grip, her lips moving as she silently read to herself. Then she looked up and beamed at Hazel. “It’s an invitation!”

  “To what?”

  But Holly just dropped the letter and ran into the house.

  Hazel sighed. The girl was exhausting. She picked up the letter and peered at an elaborate, scrolling hand adorned with motifs of rabbits, acorns, birds, and trees. It was ridiculously lavish, which made the reading laborious at best. Hazel was tempted to throw it on the trash heap but didn’t for fear of not being able to get an answer out of Holly. Ignoring the ornamentation as best she could, she made out the following message:

  * * *

  To the most excellent Sisters of Witchery, Hazel and Holly,

  * * *

  You are cordially invited to the estate of Hawthorn and Hemlock, Brothers Extraordinaire of Warlockery, Sorcery, and Intrigue, for a night of Magic, Enchantment, and Fabulous Feasting. Present yourselves in your finest attire, along with this invitation, at the Brothers’ estate at eight o’clock on the 23rd night of Ascending Midren, and brace yourselves for what is surely to be the most ineffable event of your entire lives.

  As always: Punctuality is of the essence; lollygaggers will be turned away at the gate.

  * * *

  Respectfully and Eagerly,

  Hawthorn and Hemlock

  * * *

  Hazel wrinkled her nose. What utter nonsense. Warlockery? That wasn’t even a word. She walked inside the cottage and found Holly in her room, rummaging through a chest of clothes.

  “I haven’t anything to wear!”

  Hazel waved the letter. “Don’t tell me you want to go to this thing.”

  Holly poked her head out of the chest and screwed up her face at Hazel. “You mean you don’t? They said it’s going to be ineffable, Hazel. Ineffable. We have to go!”

  “We don’t have to do anything other than use our good sense. That party is bound to be nothing more than a ridiculous charade.”

  “But I love charades!”

  “We’re not going.”

  Holly’s face fell as if she had just heard the most devastating news of her life. Then she drew herself up and said, “Fine. I’ll go by myself.”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t want to go, then don’t go. But I’m going.”

  “You most certainly are not. You don’t know these warlocks or what they’ll be doing.”

  “They’ll be throwing an amazing party. And I’ll be there. I am a woman grown now, Hazel.”

  “You’re seventeen.” At twenty-three, Hazel was hardly an old woman. But sometimes her younger sister made her feel ancient.

  Holly nodded. “Exactly.” She returned to rummaging through her chest of clothes and didn’t notice Hazel’s glare.

  “And what will you do if you’re taken advantage of and thrown in a ditch?”

  “Nobody in the Grove has ever been thrown in a ditch.”

  “What about Redwood?”

  “Everyone knows he got drunk and fell in the ditch.”

  “Well, what if you get taken advantage of then?”

  “Then that will be your fault for not coming with me. Honestly, Hazel, you’re the older sister. You’re supposed to be looking out for me.”

  Hazel’s mouth fell open. She was about to tell Holly off when her younger sister smiled in that way she did whenever she succeeded in goading Hazel. Then she turned serious. “Please, Hazel. We never go anywhere or do anything. Just this once?”

  Hazel clenched her jaw. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. “You have a festival dress. You can wear that.”

  “Oh no, I can’t wear that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s rustic!”

  Hazel folded her arms. “What’s wrong with rustic?”

  “Nothing, it’s just…” Holly peered at Hazel with dewy, hopeful eyes. “It’s going to be ineffable, Hazel. Ineffable.”

  “I’m really starting to hate that word.”

  “I can’t go dressed as a rustic to something like that!”

  Hazel rubbed her eyes. “Fine. If you want something nicer to wear, then you’ll be the one to make it. I’ll not be burdened with being your seamstress, you hear me?”

  A broad smile split across Holly’s face, and she nodded and headed for the door.

  “You’d best hurry,” Hazel called after her. “The twenty-third Ascending is less than ten days away.”

  * * *

  Later, Hazel stood in the kitchen, pounding a particularly stubborn rump of mutton into submission with a mallet when Holly stumbled through the front door. Her entrance was like a cascade of dried leaves, all rustling and crackling as she held in her arms a heap of shiny, blue-black material. Holly had draped part of the fabric around her body and over her head, forming a hood. The rest she clutched in a haphazard bundle.

  “What on earth is that?” Hazel said.

  Holly beamed. “Oh, Hazel, have you ever seen such material? The merchant called it taffeta. Have you ever heard such a delicious word? It sounds like candy.”

  “A dress made of candy? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It’s not really candy. It just sounds like it. Look, touch it. It’s so shiny and… and smooth.” She presented the heap of fabric to Hazel.

  Hazel pursed her lips. She didn’t want to touch it, but Holly might not leave her alone otherwise. She rubbed a piece of fabric between her fingers. It felt coarser than it looked. Not all that wonderful, in her estimation. “How much did this cost?”

  “It’s my money, so don’t you worry about it.”

  “You paid too much, in other words.”

  “It wasn’t too much; it was worth it. Occasions like this don’t come along every day, you know.”

  “You’re right. Mid-Ascension festivals only come four times a year. That’s not counting the Declension festivals, which, of course, last for three days and nights.”


  “You know what I mean. Stop being sour.”

  “Fine. Go make your dress. Revel in sewing and clipping and trimming.”

  “I will.” Holly drew herself up, clutched the fabric to her chest, and swished out of the room.

  Hazel remained still, watching the door where Holly had disappeared. Then, tightening her jaw, she followed.

  She opened the door, finding the tiny bedroom draped with the taffeta. It hung from the rafters along with wooden charms and bundles of dried herbs and flowers. Holly pushed one of the drapes aside and scowled at Hazel. “Now what?”

  “You never asked about my visit with Mother.”

  Holly deflated as she looked down. “How did it go?”

  “Terribly. We had an argument. She’s unconcerned with trying to find a way to undo the geas. She says it can’t be done.”

  Holly wrung her hands, her gaze darting off to the side. “Maybe she’s right. Mother always did know best.”

  Hazel glowered at her. “Mother never knew best. Ever. Her current situation proves that.”

  Holly straightened, her eyes turning misty. “Do not speak ill of the dead.”