Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  “Get up,” she said. “We’re leaving.”

  Holly groaned and reached for the blankets, but her hands found only air and the bare mattress.

  Hazel opened the drawers in the dresser and found men’s clothes. She eyed Holly, and sure enough her sister was wearing a man’s long shirt. “Are you wearing Hawthorn’s clothes?”

  Holly sat up, blinking and looking dazed. “What?”

  “Why are you wearing Hawthorn’s clothes?”

  Holly blinked some more, then looked down at herself. She giggled. “Oh. Yeah. My clothes are still in Hawthorn’s room. I mean my room, that’s now Hawthorn’s. And his clothes are here, so I borrowed a shirt.” She snuggled down into it, burrowing her nose in the collar. “It still smells like him.”

  “Take it off and get dressed. We’re leaving.”

  “It’s not even light out.”

  “Dawn’s broken; it’s light enough. Get dressed. I’ll not say it again.” She marched out of the room and nearly collided with Hemlock.

  Her cheeks turned hot, but she resisted the urge to look away.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked. “I heard shouting.” He wore a purple-and-black evening robe over what looked to be matching pyjamas.

  The heat crept down her neck, so Hazel stiffened her back and, in an equally stiff voice, said, “Holly and I are leaving.”

  Hemlock raised his eyebrows. “So early? Has something happened?”

  “No, I’d just prefer to get this unpleasantness over with.”

  He nodded. “All right. Hawthorn and I will get dressed at once, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  “No, thank you, Hemlock. For everything. But I think it’s best that we go alone. This is, after all, a family matter.”

  Hemlock’s brow furrowed as he studied her. “Does this have something to do with last night?”

  Holly poked her head out the door; she still wore Hawthorn’s shirt. “What happened last night?”

  “Nothing,” Hazel said. “Go get dressed.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Hemlock said.

  “This has nothing to do with last night,” Hazel said.

  Holly bounced out into the hallway with them. She clapped her hands. “Something happened? What happened? Did you kiss?”

  “No,” Hazel said. To Hemlock, she added, “You flatter yourself, but as I said, this is a family matter.”

  “Is someone kissing?” Hawthorn said as he walked towards them. He also wore a purple-and-black robe that matched Hemlock’s.

  “Hazel and Hemlock kissed!” Holly said as she bounded up to him.

  “Nobody’s kissed!” Hazel shouted.

  “What are you afraid of, Hazel?” Hemlock said.

  “I’m not afraid. I told you, it’s—”

  “A family matter. So you said, but I don’t believe you.”

  “You can believe whatever you want. I don’t care.” She started to walk past him, but he grabbed her hand.

  “I held your hand, Hazel. Like this. Nothing else. I didn’t ask anything of you other than to remain near you. Why does that frighten you so much? Because up until last night, I think you’ve enjoyed my company just as much as I’ve enjoyed yours.”

  Holly clasped her hands and sighed.

  Hazel went rigid. She wanted to pull away, but she dared not. She didn’t want to prove him right or let him think she was afraid. So she looked him in the eyes and, hardening her heart, said, “Keeping your company was an obligation. The usefulness of that obligation has now come to an end, and I see no reason to keep up the pretense.”

  Hemlock flinched, then his face took on a stony calm and he let go of her hand. “I see. Well, I will certainly not keep you.” He walked away.

  Hazel swallowed as her stomach wrenched in a sickening way. It was better like this. It was always going to end badly between them—how could it not? Better to end it now and get it over with. Better to end it on her terms and not his.

  Hawthorn followed his brother down the hall as Holly lingered behind with Hazel.

  “Are you an idiot?” Holly hissed. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Hazel swallowed again. When she could, she said, “Get dressed. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  “Lover’s spat, eh?” Tum said as Holly packed the dresses that he had strewn about her room.

  “Hazel’s an idiot,” Holly said. “If Hawthorn ever held my hand or said anything like that to me, I… I don’t know what I’d do. Probably die. But in a good way.”

  Tum nodded. “Death By Lover is the best way to go. It’s how Uncle Shem went—had a big old smile on his face too.”

  “Well, I… I don’t think I meant it like that.”

  Tum scampered over to the bed, picked up Hawthorn’s shirt, and whistled. “Mighty fine shirt there. Is it silk?”

  Holly marched up to him and snatched the shirt out of his hands. “That’s not yours! I don’t want you touching it or getting your… your beery, gnomey smell all over it. It’ll be ruined then.”

  Tum sniffed his arm. “Gnomey? What’s that smell like?”

  “Like dirt and tobacco and… I don’t know… strawberries that have been out in the sun. It’s weird. You’re underground all the time. Why do you smell like sunny fruit?”

  Tum smiled and rocked on his heels. “All part of the charm. Sounds like a good smell to me. If you want, I can rub that shirt all over my bits. Give you the full experience.”

  Holly cringed and clutched the shirt to her chest. “What? No! You’re not to touch it! It still smells like him. I know it won’t last, but I want to enjoy it while it does.”

  “What do warlocks smell like?”

  “Well, I don’t know about other warlocks, but Hawthorn smells like chamomile soap and wig powder. Which is kind of weird since he doesn’t wear a wig.” She paused, her mouth hanging open. “Does he?”

  Tum shrugged.

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s what he smells like, and it’s nice. So you don’t touch it. Go manhandle one of my dresses if you have to.”

  Tum brightened. “Even the good one?”

  “Except the good one.”

  He deflated. Even so, he helped her pack though his hands lingered on the fabric of her dresses a little longer than she was comfortable with. When they were done, Holly sighed.

  “Well, I guess we’re supposed to go then.”

  “Right. Meet you outside.” He ran out of the room.

  Holly remained. As much as she wanted to leave this place, she didn’t want to leave like this—without Hawthorn and Hemlock. But she didn’t know what else to do. She headed downstairs.

  Hemlock was there, leaning against the innkeeper’s counter. When he saw her, he straightened, gave her a half smile, then looked away.

  When Holly stood next to him, he said, “I’m trying to make arrangements for the coach. The inn doesn’t have their own, so you and Hazel will take ours to Sarnum, and then the driver will return here and pick up Hawthorn and me and take us home.”

  “You can’t do that,” Holly said.

  Hemlock blinked. “I thought it the best solution, given the circumstances.”

  “No, you can’t give up! You can’t let Hazel go just like that.”

  He shook his head. “She let me go, Holly. I tried, but she has made her feelings very clear.”

  “But they aren’t her feelings! She’s just afraid. You even said so!”

  “Perhaps. But I’m not going to force myself into her life if she doesn’t want me there.”

  Holly wrung her hands. She felt like it was all falling apart even though she wasn’t sure what “it” was. “Then stay for me!”

  “What?”

  She nodded and rubbed her eyes to keep them from filling with tears. “You and Hawthorn both. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without your help. If you leave, we might get stuck again, and then it will just be a big mess. So stay and help me. Hazel can take care of herself.”


  “Holly, I—”

  “Sarnum’s a big place, isn’t it? Hazel doesn’t get to decide who goes there and who doesn’t. And like you said, your coach is the only coach. You’d be doing me a favor by giving us a ride. Not Hazel. Who cares about Hazel, right?” She snorted as she tried to laugh.

  Hemlock gave her a wan smile. “You are a dear girl. Though I’m guessing you don’t want me to leave so much as you want my brother to stay.”

  Holly stared at her hands. “I want you both to stay,” she murmured. “Besides, finding Father is just as much your business as ours, you being warlocks and all.” She looked up at him. “Isn’t that right?”

  He smiled again. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  She nodded. “So it’s settled then? Nobody’s going home? We’re all going to Sarnum? Together?”

  He shrugged. “It would seem so.”

  She grinned. “Good. So now there’s no reason to skip breakfast.”

  * * *

  Breakfast was silent and awkward. They all sat around a cramped circular table, eating waffles topped with blackberry jam and honey syrup.

  “I don’t understand,” Hawthorn said. “Where is the bacon? I told you to order bacon.”

  Hemlock glanced at Hazel and said, “It was my understanding that the meat here was less than optimal.”

  Hawthorn sniffed and flipped his hair. “Hard to get bacon wrong,” he murmured.

  “The waffles are yummy though,” Holly said. “Aren’t they yummy?” She broke off a piece and dropped it in her pocket for Chester. The mouse grabbed it in his paws and nibbled on it.

  Hawthorn wrinkled his nose. “Women eat breads for breakfast. Men need meat in their diet.”

  Holly screwed up her face at him. “That’s just stupid.”

  Hazel snorted. Then she cleared her throat and put on a sober expression.

  Holly kicked her under the table.

  Hazel glared at her. “Stop being a child, Holly.”

  “I’m not the one being childish.”

  Silence settled among them again.

  “What about sausage?” Hawthorn said.

  Hemlock sighed. “Sausage is meat, brother, or didn’t you know?”

  He waved a hand. “It barely is. They could grind up just about anything in there, and you wouldn’t be the wiser. It should be standard fare in places of ill repute.”

  “I was trying to avoid ill-reputed meat, but if that’s what you want, then you go right ahead.”

  Hawthorn threw his napkin over his plate. “I will.” He got up and wandered through the door that the innkeeper usually disappeared behind.

  Holly removed his napkin and transferred the half-eaten waffle from his plate to hers. She topped it with extra jam and syrup, took a bite, and said, “It’s nice of Hemlock and Hawthorn to give us a ride to Sarnum, isn’t it, Hazel? Given their coach is the only one around. Bet you didn’t think of that earlier.”

  Hazel glared at her. “No, I hadn’t, and yes, it’s very kind.”

  “Should we talk about what we’re going to do when we get there?” Holly said. “How are we going to find Elder?”

  “I know where he is,” Hemlock said.

  Holly’s mouth hung open. “What? How?”

  Hemlock cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Well, it wasn’t too hard, really. His name had been stricken from the Conclave records, though whether by himself or someone else, I couldn’t say. So I asked around and found out where he once lived. I then went to the postman to see if Elder had left a forwarding address. He had, though the postman wouldn’t tell me what it was until I gave him one of Hawthorn’s scarves.”

  “His scarves are nice.”

  “Uh, yes. Anyway, I gave him the scarf, and he gave me the address of a Miss Abegail Thornton in the care of Ellison Browne’s Culinary Institute for Women.”

  Holly scrunched up her nose. “That’s weird. Did he change his name and become a woman?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t think so. I contacted the school and found out that Miss Thornton was a resident instructor there who had resigned once she married. The headmaster was… reluctant to give me her forwarding address but relented after receiving a generous donation to the school.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and put it on the table. “That is, I hope, her and Elder’s address. At any rate, it gives us a place to start.”

  Holly stared at him. “And you’re saying all that was easy?”

  He shrugged. “It was more time-consuming than anything.”

  “Well, all right. It’s doubly good that you’re coming along then.” She gave Hazel a smug look. “Right, Hazel?”

  Hazel tightened her jaw. “Of course.”

  Hazel glared at Holly. She knew what Holly was up to. She was trying to throw her and Hemlock together. And it seemed to be working. Hemlock was going along with it as if nothing had happened. Hazel wasn’t sure if she was upset or relieved that he had decided to stay. She admired him though. She doubted she could have behaved so well if he had said such cruel things to her. It made her feel even worse.

  They finished eating in silence. Holly, wondering where Hawthorn had gone and if there were any more waffles to be had, got up and disappeared behind the door.

  Hazel tensed, feeling awkward at being alone with Hemlock.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You clearly are not. You’ve hardly said a word, and you didn’t snap at Hawthorn once. You’re not yourself.”

  Hazel stared at her plate. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. You were never an obligation, and I regret saying it. But I cannot give you what you want.”

  “I’ve only wanted to see you happy, Hazel. If your happiness does not lie with me, then I can accept that. But I still want to help you. That hasn’t changed.”

  Hazel bit her lip. What was he up to? How could he just want to help her and want nothing in return? It made no sense.

  Holly returned with a fresh stack of waffles while Hawthorn trailed after her munching on a handful of bacon. She set the plate on the table and, leaning towards Hazel and Hemlock, whispered, “You should see the cook. He’s bald and massive, like a big wall with legs. I… I don’t think he has eyes.” She speared some waffles with a fork and dragged them to her plate. “Isn’t that remarkable though? A blind cook?”

  Hazel suppressed a groan. Who knew what went into the food? “Please hurry up so we can leave.”

  Holly nodded. “We can go right now. She flopped the waffles back onto the waffle plate before picking up the whole thing. Then she grabbed the honey syrup pitcher. “Ready.”

  “We can’t take that with us.”

  “Sure we can.”

  “The dishes don’t belong to us.”

  “And all the dead animals nailed to the walls don’t belong to that creepy innkeeper. But he’s done it anyway. It’s what he gets.”

  Hemlock leaned over and whispered, “I can leave a little extra payment for the dishes.”

  “That’s not really the point…,” Hazel said, and then she closed her eyes and took a breath. It didn’t matter. Holly would do what she wanted, no matter what Hazel said. “Fine, let’s go.”

  Hazel glanced at the others in the carriage as it rattled down the dusty road. Somehow the mood inside seemed less heavy than it had the previous day. It was a wonder, given everything that had happened. But Hawthorn and Holly no longer seemed so uncomfortable around each other. And Hemlock seemed, well, like Hemlock. It was both comforting as well as puzzling. She didn’t entirely trust him or his motives, and yet she was glad he was there.

  Tum sat outside with the driver, and every now and then snippets of his voice would carry over the horses and carriage.

  “Strawberries!” Tum shouted. “I smell like strawberries!”

  “It’s true,” Holly said. “He does.”

  “Doubtful,” Haw
thorn said. “It’s more likely you’re associating his sweet, sickly, unwashed stench with that of fruit.”

  “You saying I don’t know what a strawberry smells like?”

  Hawthorn arched an eyebrow. “If you’re insisting that little man smells like one then, yes, I am. It is an affront to all fruits and to those who eat them.”

  Holly opened her mouth but then snapped it shut. She slumped in her seat. “Well, that’s probably true.”

  The journey to Sarnum stretched on. As the day faded, the forests of the Grove thinned until they, too, had gone with the light. The driver stopped to light the lanterns hanging on the sides of the carriage. Holly pressed her nose to the glass as she looked out the window.

  “It’s so dark out there,” she whispered. “And empty. Why is it so empty?”

  Hemlock squinted as he peered out the window. “I think it’s a field. That pale patch there, I think that’s grass.”

  “Creepy grass,” Holly murmured.

  “Indeed,” Hawthorn said. “‘Hair of the dead,’ Father used to call it.”

  Holly shrank back into her seat. “What?”

  Hemlock said, “Father drank too much.”

  “True,” Hawthorn said, “but he did have a way with words.”

  Thankfully, the coach started moving again.

  “Did your father come out this way often?” Hazel asked.

  “On occasion,” Hawthorn said.

  “Why?”

  He waved a hand, all murky and shadowed within the gloom of the carriage. “Why does anyone go anywhere?”

  She shook her head and looked out the darkened window, but all she could see was the wavering light from a lamp as it swung to and fro.

  The carriage slowed, men shouted, and there was a grinding of metal gears. They passed through a gate into an arched tunnel lined with torches, before coming to a city of brick houses and stone streets lit by flickering blue-and-green flames in tall iron lamps.

  “Is this it?” Holly said. “Sarnum?”

  “I certainly hope so,” Hawthorn said. “Otherwise it’s a wasted trip.”

  “Why is there a gate? Who are they trying to keep out? Or who are they trying to keep in?”