Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  No one said anything.

  “And why do those lamps have green flames?” she said.

  “Alchemy,” Hawthorn said. When everyone stared at him, he added, “Or so I’ve heard.”

  “How do you know so much about this town?” Hazel asked.

  He shrugged. “Father spoke of it from time to time.”

  “He never spoke of it to me,” Hemlock said.

  “That concerns me how?”

  Hemlock tightened his jaw and looked away.

  Even though it was summer, the night held a chill, and the people on the streets wore long, dark coats with the collars pulled up against the wind. They walked hunched over, hurrying to get to wherever they were going, never looking up at the carriage as it passed or even each other.

  The carriage turned onto a narrow street, then another, zigzagging through the darkness as the horses’ hooves rang on the stones. Hazel clasped her hands in a tight grip, tensing even more as the carriage slowed and, with a final turn, stopped.

  Everyone remained still. Outside came the sound of the driver’s boots hitting the ground. Then the door next to Hazel and Holly opened. The driver smiled.

  “I… I suppose we’re supposed to get out now?” Holly said.

  Hazel swallowed. She wished she didn’t feel as unsettled as Holly sounded. She clenched her hands a little tighter and stepped from the carriage.

  They had come to a great stone house flanked with sharply trimmed hedges. On either side of the great black door, a pair of wrought iron sconces displayed flickering blue flames behind pristine glass.

  The others left the carriage and stood around her.

  “This is it, isn’t it?” Hazel said. “Elder’s home.”

  “It should be,” Hemlock said.

  “It’s awfully late,” Holly said. “Shouldn’t we wait until morning?”

  “Probably,” Hazel said. “But I don’t want to stay in this city longer than we have to. Do you?”

  Holly swallowed and shook her head.

  Hazel took a breath and walked up to the door, grabbed hold of a heavy iron knocker in the shape of a lion, and gave it three solid raps. She tightened her hands as she waited, then harder still as the knob turned and the door swung open.

  A round-faced little old man about as tall as Hazel’s shoulder blinked up at her. “Yes?” He wore a red flannel robe over matching pyjamas and white bunny slippers on his feet.

  Hazel said, “We are looking for someone named Elder.”

  The man smiled. “Well, you found him. What can I do for you?”

  Hazel looked at the others, but everyone remained silent. Turning to Elder, she said, “Perhaps we could come in to talk?”

  Elder chuckled. “Of course. How rude of me.” He backed away and swung the door wide open. “Please, come in.” As everyone filed inside, he tottered down a carpeted hallway lined with wildflower portraits. “Abby! We have company! Best put on the tea!” He returned to them and beamed. “Please, follow me.”

  He led them down the hallway into a wide and well-clothed room. That was really the best description of it. Tapestries hung from the walls, and carpets covered nearly the entire floor. Plush pillows padded the sofas, and knitted blankets were thrown over the backs of upholstered chairs.

  Elder herded them to a pair of sofas by the hearth; when he turned around, he nearly collided with a little old woman wearing a red flannel nightgown and white bunny slippers of her own. She held a tray of sandwiches.

  “Ah, there you are,” Elder said. To Hazel and the others, he said, “This is my wife Abby. Abby, this is… Well, I don’t know who they are, but I’m sure we’ll find out.”

  “I’m Hazel. This is my sister Holly. That’s Hemlock and his brother Hawthorn.”

  Hawthorn smiled and nodded. Holly studied the floor. Hemlock blinked a few times and murmured, “Pleasure.”

  “So many H names,” Elder said. “Have you all banded together? Going to take on the L names by force? Or perhaps the B’s. The B’s can be so uppity, don’t you think?”

  Hazel stared at him. “I-I beg your pardon?”

  He waved his hands. “Never mind.”

  Abby set her tray on a table. The sandwiches were made with fat rolls of floured, crusty bread. She beamed at them. “Tea will be out in a moment.”

  “Abby bakes the bread herself. Don’t you, Abby?”

  She giggled. “Oh, you,” then poked her husband with a sturdy finger. He grabbed hold of her and tickled her ribs. Abby yelped and laughed, wrenched herself away, then slapped at his hands before running from the room.

  Hazel stared down at her lap. Maybe they should have waited until morning.

  Elder dragged over a chair and sat down. “So. What can I do for you fine folks?”

  “I apologize for calling so late,” Hazel said. “But our business is pressing and we didn’t want to wait.”

  “Oh. Sounds serious.” Elder grabbed a sandwich and took a bite. “Better eat up. Serious business needs serious food, I always say. And nothing’s better for serious business than Abby’s liver pâté and pickle sandwiches.”

  Hawthorn brightened. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Holly shrank back into the sofa.

  “No, thank you,” Hazel said. “The matter is my sister and I are looking for our father, a man named—”

  Holly screamed, leaped from the sofa, and darted behind it.

  Hazel started and turned around, and she also got up when she saw a toddler-sized creature—something between a monkey and a bear—with webbed bat-like wings and a long, scaly tail. It carried a teapot in its disturbingly human-like hands.

  “Ah,” Elder said. “You found Augustus.”

  “What… what is it?” Holly said.

  “Friend. Manservant. Bearer of tea. He is so many things it defies description.” Elder took the teapot and shouted, “Thank you!”

  Augustus chittered.

  Elder waved an arm at the thing. “I said thank you. Shoo, now. Shoo!”

  Augustus squawked and half flew, half ran from the room.

  Elder shook his head. “The lad’s useful but a bit dense on the language front. We’re working on it though.”

  “Hazel…” Holly whimpered.

  Hazel swallowed as her stomach sank. “You’re a necromancer.”

  Elder beamed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Hemlock cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. Hawthorn stopped chewing his sandwich as he glanced between Hazel and Elder.

  Hazel clenched her hands. “Why wouldn’t you be? Perhaps because it’s an atrocity? An affront to everything that is good and natural in this world?”

  Elder chuckled and shook his head. “You must be from the Grove. Yes, I should have seen it sooner.” He waggled a finger. “It’s been so long since I’ve been there I had nearly forgotten the closed-minded superstition that plagues the region. I see nothing has changed.”

  Hazel squeezed her eyes shut just as Hemlock got to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hazel,” he whispered. “Please breathe.”

  She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. It didn’t help. “Superstition?” Somehow she managed to keep her voice calm. At least calmer than she felt. “You are telling me my mother is trapped in a geas by superstition? That my father did nothing? That it’s all in my head?!” Now she was yelling. She had tried, but some things were beyond her control. She pushed past Hemlock and glared down at Elder. “Where is he?” she growled.

  “Who?” Elder said.

  She grabbed him by the collar of his flannel pyjamas and gave him a shake. She wouldn’t be toyed with, not by him. “Ash!”

  Elder intoned a series of words, and the lamps in the room extinguished. The air chilled, and an icy pressure wound around Hazel’s arms and towards her head. The chill sank into her skin, almost to her bones. She had felt that kind of cold before—at every new moon in a ramshackle cottage overtaken by briar and ivy. Hazel let go and staggered back.


  Her breath turned shallow and rapid; her palms began to sweat. She needed to get out. Out of this house, out of this town. But the icy darkness continued to press on her, threatening to crush her until nothing remained.

  “Hazel?” Holly whispered, but there was no reply. When had it gotten so dark? She had been so shocked over that creepy tea-bearing bat thing, and then the next thing she knew the room had turned dark and cold.

  She put out a hand and summoned a little ball of flame. It was always harder like that—calling the fire from nothing. But she didn’t have a choice. She was just glad it worked even though the darkness that had been pushed back seemed like nothing at all. It was still so dark, and all Holly could see in the corners of her eyes were shadowed silhouettes that seemed to vanish as soon as she looked at them.

  “Hazel,” she said again, louder now as she found her nerve. Someone touched her arm, and she cried out and leaped back. She reached for a pinecone, then Hemlock stepped into her tiny circle of light and she relaxed.

  “What’s happened?” she whispered.

  “Elder happened.” His brow furrowed—he looked angry. Hemlock always seemed so collected; seeing him angry just concerned Holly even more.

  “Where’s Hazel?”

  “I don’t know.” He patted his pockets and pulled out a silver watch. He threw it in the air, and the watch erupted into a ball of light, out of which sprung a small winged sprite. The fairy caught the glowing watch by its chain and flitted around the room with it. The darkness was pushed back a little more, illuminating tapestried walls that now looked foreign and sterile.

  “Over here,” Hemlock said, waving a hand towards the middle of the room.

  The sprite flitted over to where he pointed. The darkness receded, and where Hazel had been standing was now only a vague, shadowed form, as if made from mist and midnight. A similar form sat on the nearby sofa, exactly where Hawthorn had been sitting.

  Holly gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. She extinguished her flame—it wasn’t doing any good anyway—and walked up to the shadow that had been Hazel. She reached out to touch her, cringing at the way the air chilled the closer she got. But before she could, Hemlock grabbed her hand and pulled her away. Frowning, he shook his head, but Holly could see the fear lingering in his eyes.

  Holly brought out a pinecone. She’d ignite the thing and throw it on one of those plush couches. That should get the chill out of the room. But then a narrow panel in a wall pulled back, showing a pair of suspicious eyes.

  “What do you want?” Elder said, his voice muffled from the wall that stood between them.

  “I want my sister!” Holly shouted. “You give her back, or I’ll torch your house!”

  “You try it and I’ll set Augustus after you!”

  Holly cringed as she suppressed a whimper. “You wouldn’t…” That thing just wasn’t natural.

  “I would. You watch me!”

  Holly wrung her hands as Hemlock walked up to the panel on the wall. He leaned down to meet the eyes that peered out at them.

  “We know where you live, Elder,” Hemlock said, his voice surprisingly calm. “I think the Conclave would be quite interested to learn of your… research down here in Sarnum. In fact, you’ve been out of the Grove so long everyone would be so thrilled to know of your whereabouts that I’m sure they’d all flock down here within days to see you.”

  Silence hung in the room.

  “What do you want?” Elder said again.

  “I’d like Hazel and my brother back, to start, and then I’d like us all to sit down and discuss matters quietly and civilly, as I’m sure we are all capable of doing.”

  “Your Hazel didn’t seem capable of it to me.”

  “You took her by surprise. If you knew her, then you’d know why she was so upset.”

  “Well, I don’t know her. I don’t know any of you, and I don’t think I care to.”

  “Very well,” Hemlock said. “I’ll return to the Grove and give the Conclave your regards.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Elder squeaked.

  Hemlock turned back around, but the eyes in the wall had gone. After a moment, a door opened and Elder shuffled in. He scowled at Hemlock and Holly. Then he raised his arms, and the darkness lifted. The shadows that clung to Hazel melted away, and the chill in the air dissipated. Hawthorn’s shadows also faded, and he was once again sitting on a sofa with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand and a befuddled look on his unglamoured face.

  “Hazel!” Holly said and ran up and hugged her.

  Hazel shivered as the dreaded cold faded from her body, and then the next thing she knew, Holly was there, hugging her.

  Feeling disoriented, Hazel put her arms around Holly as she looked around. Hemlock stood nearby. He let out a breath and gave her a crooked smile, then moved his gaze to the floor. Hawthorn blinked at the sandwich he held, as if mystified by its presence. When she saw Elder, the disorientation faded and she remembered what happened. She let go of Holly and took a step back. “What did you do?”

  “Protected me and my family. Just when you think you’re safe somewhere, a roving band of H names comes into your home and starts threatening you. How’d you like it if I came to your house, uninvited I might add, and throttled you, eh?”

  Hazel looked down at her hands. He was a necromancer—an abomination—she shouldn’t feel bad for what she had done. But she did. “I’m… sorry,” she said in a tight voice. “You took me by surprise, and my experience with necromancy hasn’t exactly been pleasant.”

  Elder grunted and nodded towards Hemlock. “That’s pretty much what he said.” He sighed and waved at a sofa. “Well, if you want to talk, let’s talk and get this over with.” He marched over to the tray of sandwiches, grabbed one, and took a big bite.

  Hazel, Holly, and Hemlock all exchanged glances before sitting down. Hawthorn reacquainted himself with his sandwich and resumed eating it.

  “So, you’re looking for someone,” Elder said.

  Hazel nodded. “My father, Ash. He’s also a necromancer.”

  “And you think I know him because of that? That we belong to some kind of club or something?”

  “No,” Hazel said, taking care to keep her voice calm. “We didn’t know you were a necromancer at all. Someone told us you might know who teaches the… discipline, so that’s why we’re here.”

  Elder grunted again and took another bite of his sandwich. He fell quiet as he chewed, and Hazel clenched her hands together as she waited.

  “Say I did know someone,” he said. “What happens then?”

  “We’d go and talk to him… or her… or… it?” Hazel cringed inwardly. She hoped it wasn’t an “it.” She couldn’t believe she was even having this conversation.

  Elder chuckled and waggled his sandwich at her. “Oh, no. I’ve seen the way you talk, and I’m not looking to inflict that on anyone. Some of us in this world still believe in decency. You stay here tonight and think about what you’ve done, and then tomorrow I’ll think more about helping you.”

  Hazel opened her mouth to protest being called indecent by a necromancer when the rest of his words sank in. “What? We’re not staying here.”

  Elder chuckled. “You’re free to go if you’d like, but I’d not recommend it. You got here late. Clock’s now past twelve.” He pointed at a little silver clock on the mantelpiece. “Trust me, you don’t want to be out there past twelve.”

  Hazel’s stomach turned leaden. “Why not? What’s out there?”

  Elder gave her a wry grin. “Let’s just say that I’m not the only necromancer in town. Far from it, and not everyone’s companions are as pleasant as my Augustus.”

  Hazel swallowed as she struggled to keep her face calm.

  “You’ll have to double up,” Elder said. “I’ve not got rooms for all of you. But I’m sure that’s all right, isn’t it?”

  Feeling numb, it was all Hazel could do to nod.

  He smiled, though his eyes lacked th
eir previous warmth. “Excellent. Augustus will show you the way.”

  Holly whimpered before clapping a hand over her mouth. “Hazel…” she whispered.

  But Hazel just shook her head. What could they do? She didn’t think Elder was lying, though how could she be sure? Should she risk it? And if he was telling the truth…

  “It’s just for one night,” she whispered.

  Holly bit her lip and nodded, her blue eyes filling with tears.

  Hazel felt wretched. What had she gotten them into?

  Hand in hand, Hazel and Holly followed Augustus as he led them up the stairs and down a dimly lit hallway. He stopped in front of a door and chittered at the sisters.

  Holly flinched. “What does it want?”

  “I think this might be our room.”

  Augustus’s chittering turned to squawks as he hopped up and down.

  “Or maybe it just wants our spleens,” Holly said, covering her ears.

  “We’d better go in.” Hazel opened the door. Inside loomed the shadowed limbs of a four-poster bed, dimly illuminated by a stream of moonlight from a single sash window.

  Augustus squawked again. Holly darted into the room, pulling Hazel after her, and slammed the door shut. Augustus’s chittering continued a few moments before finally fading away.

  Holly pawed at the door. “This thing got a lock?”

  “Doubtful,” Hazel said and went to a dresser near the door. “Help me move this thing over. It’ll be better than a lock.”

  Hazel pushed as Holly pulled, and the dresser groaned when they slid it across the polished wood floor to barricade the door.

  “Now what?” Holly said.

  “I don’t know.” Hazel moved over to the window. Outside, an orb of pale blue light danced along the cobblestone street. Then the light skittered away, and in its wake followed a shambling shadow, dragging a heavy bag along the ground as it went. Hazel cringed and drew the curtains closed.

  “What’s out there?” Holly said.

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to know.” Hazel sat on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands.

  Holly sat next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.