Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  “Well, we can’t all be Miss Perfection.”

  Holly giggled. “No, certainly not.”

  “Are we leaving soon?” Holly asked. She and Hazel sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea as a lantern cast fitful shadows along the darkened walls.

  Hazel closed her eyes. “For the hundredth time, no. It’s still too early.”

  “It’s night outside. How is that too early?”

  “I told you, we need to wait until past midnight.”

  “But why?”

  “Because that’s how this particular magic works, that’s why.”

  “But why do we have to sit here, drinking tea? I’m bored. And tired.”

  “Because it’s impossible waking you up early for anything once you fall asleep. And we’re sitting here drinking tea because I like sitting here and drinking tea before I visit Mother. It gives me a chance to think.”

  “About what?”

  “About how nice it is to have some quiet without my younger sister pestering me.”

  “If you’d let me sleep, I wouldn’t pester you,” Holly murmured.

  “No, you’d just conveniently oversleep until it was too late to visit.”

  Holly turned quiet and stared into her cup.

  “It’s past time you saw her, Holly. I’ve been keeping you away from this mess for far too long.”

  Still staring at her cup, Holly nodded. “I know, and I want to. It’s just… what if she’s different?”

  “She’s dead, Holly.” Hazel took care to keep her voice gentle. “Of course she’s different.”

  “What if she doesn’t remember me?”

  “She talks about you every time I visit. She’ll remember you.”

  Holly took a deep breath and drank some tea. “Now is it time?”

  Hazel sighed. “Well, let’s see. It’s been about three minutes so… no.”

  * * *

  The night passed excruciatingly slow. Between Holly’s restless impatience and Hazel’s own worries, every minute crawling by felt more like an hour. She almost cheered once the little clock on the mantle struck twelve. Holly had dozed off while resting her head against the table, so Hazel shook her awake and pulled her out the door.

  Arm in arm they walked in silence as they made their way down the wooded path. Holly dragged her feet and made more noise than Hazel was comfortable with. Even so, she was glad Holly was there. It was nice not having to walk down the darkened road alone.

  The brambles overtaking the cottage had thickened and become more lush since the last time Hazel had been there. She knew she should trim back some of the growth, but this was a garden she didn’t know if she had the stomach to tend.

  They slipped past the waterlogged door and into the cottage.

  “Go start a fire in the hearth there,” Hazel said. “I’ll crumble the cake.” She poured water into the basin, then pulled a cloth parcel from her pocket and unwrapped it. She broke off a piece of the rhubarb cake and popped it into her mouth. It was more tart than sweet—invigorating, really, which she welcomed at such a late hour. She crumbled the rest of the cake into the water.

  Once the fire was lit, Holly came and stood next to her. “Now what?”

  “Now we wait.”

  “For how long?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “I don’t know, Holly. It just does. Sometimes she’ll appear quickly. Other times she won’t. She’s trapped by a product of dark magic. It’s not exactly a specialty of mine.”

  Holly tightened her lips and narrowed her eyes. “How did you know how to find her here? She got sick and died, Hazel. She should be gone. How did you know she wasn’t? How did you know about any of this?”

  Hazel swallowed and looked away. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  Hazel shook her head, still unable to look at Holly. “I don’t know. It was just a… a feeling I had that if I came here at a certain time and did a certain thing, that I’d see her again. I don’t know how it works, and I don’t know how I know, but I do.” She forced herself to look at Holly. “What does that say about me that I knew those things?”

  Holly’s mouth worked soundlessly awhile. “I… I don’t know. It doesn’t have to mean anything, does it? You’ve always been the smart one. Maybe it’s just you being smart, that’s all.”

  “I have a natural inclination towards Wyr magic. That’s what Pyrus told me. I’ve been practicing it at a rudimentary level without any training. That almost never happens.”

  “Because you’re smart, that’s why.”

  “What if it’s the same with necromancy? Our father’s a necromancer. What if I’m like him? What if I’m able to work this horrible, dark magic without any training at all?”

  Holly looked away as she took a step back. She wrung her hands. “No. That’s not true.”

  “Then why aren’t you able to look me in the eyes?”

  Holly swallowed but said nothing.

  “Are you tormenting your sister again?” Willow said as she warmed her hands by the fire.

  Hazel looked at her and then at Holly, who kept her gaze pinned to the floor.

  Willow approached and reached out and touched Holly’s hair.

  Holly jerked away. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at her mother, then she resumed staring at the floor.

  Willow moved over to the bowl and leaned over it as she breathed in. She wrinkled her nose. “Rhubarb,” she said, turning towards Hazel. “You know I don’t like rhubarb.”

  “It was all we had, and you didn’t want honey cake, so…” Hazel shrugged. “It’s better than nothing.”

  Willow looked at Holly, but Holly wouldn’t meet her gaze. She turned back towards Hazel. “So how have the two of you been? Any exciting news?”

  Silence hung between them as Hazel tried to think of what to say. Holly didn’t seem like she wanted to talk at all. So Hazel said, “We might know where Father has gone.”

  Willow clasped her hands and tightened her jaw, her expression still. “I see. And where would that be?”

  “Sarnum.”

  Willow’s expression remained cold. “I’ve heard that place is a sty. I don’t envy you if you go there.”

  “You’re not at all concerned with the news that we might know where Father is? You don’t care?”

  “You know my thoughts on the matter. Do we really need to have this argument again?”

  Hazel looked away shook her head. “No. I suppose not.”

  Willow moved back to the fire and put her pale hands near the flames. “I want to know about the two of you. What have you been up to? Do you have any stories, Holly?”

  Holly clenched her hands together, but she said nothing as she avoided her mother’s gaze.

  Crickets chirped, and in the distance, a frog croaked.

  “I became a Wyr witch,” Hazel said.

  Willow smiled though it seemed weary. “Really? How nice.”

  “I need to go,” Holly said and hurried out of the cottage.

  Willow’s smile faded as she stared at where Holly had gone.

  “Give her time, Mother. This was her first visit here. It’s difficult for her.”

  “It’s difficult for all of us,” Willow said.

  Silence lingered between them. “I should go. Make sure Holly is all right.”

  Willow nodded.

  Hazel took a deep breath. “I don’t know when we’ll be back. We’re going to be leaving for Sarnum soon. So…”

  “Have a nice trip.”

  “Is that really all you’re going to say?”

  Willow continued to stare at the waterlogged door. “Be sure to throw out the cake crumbs before the rats come in.”

  Hazel lifted her chin and set her jaw. Then she tossed the cake water out the window and walked out of the cottage.

  Hazel and Holly waited in front of their cottage along with their luggage. Hazel stood near the road, her hands c
lenched as she watched for an approaching carriage. Holly sat on top of her steamer trunk, resting her chin on her hand with her elbow propped on her knee.

  “Who’s going to take care of the bees?” Holly said.

  “Bees take care of themselves for the most part. But Aster said she’d check on them from time to time and harvest the honey when it’s ready.”

  “She’ll probably take it all for herself,” Holly said sullenly.

  “She’s welcome to it. It’s not like we’ll be here to use any of it.”

  “But what about the garden?”

  “We’ll replant it when we return.”

  Holly fell silent.

  “You said you wanted to come,” Hazel said. “Why are you sulking?”

  “I’m not sulking. It’s just… we’ve never left home before. It makes me sad thinking about it all dark and empty.”

  Hazel looked at the cottage. “I know. Me too. But it’s just a house, Holly. It’s not what matters. We are. So as long as we stick together, we’ll be fine. All right?”

  Holly wiped at her eyes and nodded. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her mouse. “And Chester too. Don’t forget about Chester.”

  Hazel had to make an effort to keep herself from cringing. “Chester too.”

  Holly smiled and ran her fingers over the mouse’s furry back.

  “Besides,” Hazel said, “the house won’t be completely empty. Tum will still be in the cellar, won’t he?”

  “Um, yeah,” Holly said and put Chester on her shoulder.

  A carriage rounded the bend in a cloud of dust. Hazel backed away from the road and waited until the carriage stopped in front of them. The driver—a stout man with a handlebar mustache—hopped down from the box and had started to load Hazel’s luggage atop the carriage when one of the doors opened and Hemlock stepped outside.

  He smiled. “You ladies ready for an adventure?”

  Holly, still sitting on her trunk, poked at a rock with her foot.

  “This isn’t exactly a joy ride, Hemlock,” Hazel said.

  Hemlock cleared his throat. “Of course not. My apologies. Here, let me help with the luggage.” He walked up to Holly, but she didn’t move.

  Hazel nudged her, and Holly looked up. “What? Oh, sorry,” she mumbled and stood next to Hazel.

  Once the luggage had been loaded and tied down, Hazel, Holly, and Hemlock climbed into the carriage. Hawthorn sat inside, and when Holly sat next to him, his back went rigid as he fixed his gaze out the window. Holly scooched away from him as far as possible and looked out her own window.

  “Well, this is awkward,” Hazel whispered to Hemlock.

  Hemlock leaned close to her and whispered, “Hawthorn hasn’t really been the same since that day we had tea at your house. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

  “This is going to be a long trip, isn’t it?”

  Hemlock shrugged and gave her a crooked smile.

  Silence hung between them as the coach rattled down the road. Hawthorn stared out his window, and Holly did the same.

  Desperate to coax some kind of conversation out of them, Hazel said, “Your glamour looks quite robust today, Hawthorn.”

  He said nothing as he continued to stare outside. Hemlock kicked him in the shin.

  “Ow,” he said, rubbing his leg. He pouted.

  “You’re brooding,” Hemlock said, “and being rude. Hazel was talking to you.”

  “Oh,” Hawthorn said. “I apologize. What were you saying?”

  Hazel gave a tight smile. It was bad enough complimenting Hawthorn on his glamour once; she didn’t really want to do it again. “I just said your glamour is well done.”

  Hawthorn smoothed his hair though his expression remained serious. He didn’t seem to take pleasure in the gesture as he usually did. “Ah, yes. Thank you.” He resumed staring out the window.

  Hazel raised her eyebrows at Hemlock, but he just shrugged.

  The journey was long and quiet. Hazel and Hemlock tried to make conversation, but with Holly and Hawthorn lost in their own worlds, it felt awkward. After a while, they gave up, and Hemlock spent the rest of the journey reading a book while Hazel stared at Chester as he nestled himself in Holly’s hair. She shuddered.

  The day waned, and as the sun began to set, they came to an old inn deep within a dark and wild part of the woods.

  Everyone climbed out of the carriage. Holly walked to a patch of grass and set Chester down, and he scampered out of sight.

  “Won’t he get lost?” Hemlock said.

  “No, he’ll be fine.”

  “He’s very resourceful,” Hazel said.

  Holly grinned.

  “Ah,” Hemlock said.

  Hawthorn sniffed and pressed an embroidered kerchief to his nose. “What is this place?” He waved a hand towards the inn. “And what is that odor?”

  “That odor is called nature,” Hemlock said. “And this inn is where we’ll stay the night. There’s nothing else between the Grove and Sarnum.”

  “No, it’s not nature. It smells like dust and…”—he sniffed again—“despair.”

  “That’s not despair,” Holly said, “it’s horse dung and mildew. Despair is more spicy, like cloves and wet soot.” She beamed at him.

  Hawthorn’s cheeks reddened. “Oh,” he said and walked into the inn.

  Holly’s smile faded. She mumbled something incoherent and walked off to where Chester had gone.

  Hemlock said, “Have I gone completely mad, or did my brother just blush?”

  Hazel nodded. “And through his glamour too.”

  “I’ve never seen him so flustered. Could this really be from what Holly said at tea? Since when does a woman’s admiration cause Hawthorn to become so unhinged?”

  Hazel shrugged. “He’s your brother. I hardly know the man.”

  “Should we do something?”

  “Do something? Like what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just so awkward. I feel helpless.”

  Hazel grinned. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

  “I hope so.” He straightened his jacket. “For all our sakes. It’s painful watching them.”

  The driver climbed to the roof of the carriage, untied the luggage, and began throwing the trunks and bags down onto the ground. Hazel backed away from the rising dust just as Holly’s trunk dropped in front of her.

  There was a muffled grunt.

  Hazel froze.

  “What’s wrong?” Hemlock said.

  Hazel put up a hand. “Shhh.” They both stood there, still as stone. Even the driver had stopped throwing the bags from the carriage.

  “Did you hear that?” Hazel said.

  “No,” said Hemlock.

  She opened the trunk, and there, tangled among Holly’s dresses and petticoats, was Tum.

  He hopped out. “Finally. Isn’t too comfortable in there, even for a gnome.”

  Hazel put her hands on her hips. “Tum, what are you doing here?”

  “Miss Holly said I could come along. Thought it for the best. Cellar gnomes aren’t much good in empty houses, and beer has a tendency to dry up that way.” He leaned into the trunk and started rummaging around.

  “What are you doing? Stop that.” Hazel nudged him with her foot, but Tum wouldn’t move. She threw the lid closed, and he scrambled backwards to avoid getting struck by it.

  “Hey!” he said. “You could’ve lopped my arms off!”

  “That would have been a great tragedy.”

  “That’s right. You remember that the next time you want old Tum to go spoiling. Can’t exactly do that without any arms.”

  “You have feet.”

  Tum opened his mouth but then snapped it shut, his expression perplexed.

  Hazel drew herself up. “Just stay out of my way and out of my things. You’re Holly’s responsibility. If you’re going to steal anything, you steal from her. Otherwise, we’re going to have a disagreement. Understand me?”

  Tum waved a hand.
“As you like. Though spoiling can’t always be contained. It’s a passion, see? And passion goes where it pleases, like the wind.”

  “Well, you keep your wind and passion away from me, and we’ll be just fine.” She thrust one of Holly’s smaller bags at him. “Make yourself useful in the meanwhile.”

  Tum grabbed hold of it and grinned. “Tum’s always useful.” Then he scampered away with it into the inn.

  Hazel shook her head. To Hemlock, she said, “I hope you didn’t bring any valuables,” and followed Tum inside.

  Holly sat on a fallen tree trunk, twining together fern leaves into a wreath as Chester scampered in the brush. She’d like to make a matching wreath for him to wear, but her fingers weren’t nimble enough for such tiny weave work. Maybe Odd had some tools she could use that would help her make such a thing. She’d have to remember to ask him when they returned. If they returned. Holly put down the leaves, staring at the darkening sky that seemed on the verge of swallowing her in its shadow.

  “Holly?”

  She turned and found Hemlock approaching.

  “Are you all right?” he said.

  Her throat clenched as she tried to answer, so she nodded instead.

  He sat down next to her. “It’s getting dark. Wouldn’t you like to come inside?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t like it here. It’s dark and depressing, and that’s just outside. I don’t want to see what it’s like inside.”

  “It’s actually not that bad. And that wreath you made is lovely, so it can’t all be so depressing, can it?”

  She shrugged. They sat in silence for a while, then she said, “Do you miss it?”

  “What?”

  “Home.”

  “Well, I…” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before letting out a breath. “No, not really.”

  Holly slumped. “Oh.”

  “I envy you, though, for missing it.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “You have a place you have given your heart, a place where you belong. You have a home, Holly. I just have a place where I live with an annoying brother. There is a difference, and I envy yours.”

  “You could have a home if you wanted.”

  He gave a wan smile. “Maybe, though I wouldn’t know how.”