“Why would witches have been persecuted in a paranormal town?”
“They were guilty of insanity,” Marigold said.
I gripped the arm of the sofa. “They were executed because of mental illness?”
“I’m not even sure that they were actually insane,” Marigold said. “The records were destroyed, but rumor has it that they were simply witches speaking their mind at a time when others wanted to silence them.”
“How many were killed?”
“Seven,” Marigold said. “Including two sets of sisters.”
My stomach churned. “That’s awful. No wizards?”
“No.”
“They basically used murder as a tool to oppress women,” I said.
She looked down her nose at me. “Why do you think no one likes to discuss it?”
Unbelievable. Paranormals weren’t so different from their human counterparts after all.
“Did this happen before or after Ivy Rose was forced to step down as High Priestess?” I asked.
Marigold licked her lips, thinking. “This was decades before.”
In a way, Ivy was fortunate to have only been stripped of her power when she could have been executed like the other witches.
“I can’t believe the energy at the tree is still so powerful after all this time,” I said. I thought of the ritual my cousins and I had performed at Palmetto House after Clark’s murder. “Didn’t the coven ever perform a cleansing spell to get rid of the negative energy?”
“Not to my knowledge. I think they prefer to pretend that event never happened. It’s such a shameful moment in our history.”
“That’s not the right way to handle a traumatic event like that!” I had the feeling that Aunt Hyacinth was among those that thought it best to sweep the ‘incident’ under the rug. “What you fail to acknowledge is doomed to be repeated.” Or something to that effect.
“Maybe you should raise it at the next coven meeting, though I’d be careful if I were you,” Marigold said. “The suggestion is liable to upset some members.”
“Why? The only reason to be upset is if they were complicit.”
“They may not have been, but some of their ancestors were,” Marigold said.
My hand covered my mouth. I couldn’t believe this had happened right here in Starry Hollow.
“From what I understand, the whole thing started with one accusation and then snowballed from there,” Marigold said. “Lunacy was viewed differently back then. It was seen as more like demonic possession.”
Except the witches probably weren’t even insane, just outspoken.
“What about the Council of Elders?” I asked. “Did they try to intervene?”
“I believe they stayed out of the matter,” Marigold said. “No one else wanted to get tangled in the mess.”
“Why do groups work themselves into a frenzy?” I asked. It was sickening.
Marigold nodded. “The mob mentality can be a frightening prospect.”
My thoughts turned to Ivy. “Someone starts hurling accusations and, before you know it, the pitchforks are headed your way, even when the evidence is scant.” I’d thought it was human nature, but it seemed to extend to paranormals as well.
“As someone who tends to move against the current, I can see why you’d feel that way.”
I hugged myself. “I don’t even like concerts. Too much simultaneous clapping makes me uneasy.”
“I have no fear of you turning into a sheep and following the herd, Ember.”
“No, definitely not.” I wasn’t like Sheriff Nash either. Sometimes, he acted as a lone wolf, and other times, he acted as leader of the pack. Whatever the line was, he straddled it well. It was an admirable quality.
“I should get going,” Marigold said. “I’m sure you need to prepare for Hazel’s lesson.”
I threw my head back and moaned in protest. “I totally forgot we doubled up today.”
Marigold patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry. The schedule change was my fault. I have an appointment tomorrow.”
“For a menopause-ectomy?”
She laughed. “Don’t I wish? Good job today, Ember. Practice again with those pencils. Maybe next time we’ll level up to a ruler.”
I walked her to the door, unable to stop thinking about the executed witches. After she left, I closed the door and leaned against it for support. My fingers grazed my neck and I thanked the gods that I had the luxury of being alive right now. If I’d been around during the Tree of Bounty incident, I had no doubt I would’ve been hanged alongside the others. My only consolation was that I would’ve been cursing up a storm until my dying breath.
Chapter Sixteen
PP3 stood at the front door and growled, interrupting my perusal of the magazine I’d managed to snag from Psychic Deadpool’s place. I had every intention of returning it—once I finished reading the articles. My gaze flicked to the clock on my phone. “It’s time for my next lesson already?”
I was eager to finish with Hazel so that I go to the office and see Alec, as well as check on any developments in the investigation.
The Mistress of Runecraft bustled into the cottage with her large bag in tow. She was like a walking, talking circus. “I was about to plan my funeral out there.”
“And here I thought wishing on a star was a myth.”
Hazel ignored the jab. “You look bleary-eyed today. Up late with the nightwalker?”
“His name is Alec, and if you must know, my eyes are tired from looking at screens all weekend.”
Hazel set her bag on the dining table. “Aren’t you a little old for screen addiction?”
I glowered at her. “I’m trying to help Sheriff Nash solve a murder, thank you very much.”
She settled in the chair across from me. “Oh, do you mean the leprechaun?”
“Yes, his name was Clark. He was killed in Linnea’s kitchen at Palmetto House.”
Hazel sucked in a breath. “I didn’t realize that’s where he died. I heard he was killed with a four-leaf clover.”
“Replace four-leaf clover with blunt force trauma with a cast iron skillet and you’d be spot on.”
“Whoa,” Hazel said. “Those are very hard to replace. Takes ages to get the iron just right for cooking.”
“I’m more concerned with catching Clark’s killer at the moment, given that he or she is still on the loose,” I said. I glanced at her bag. “Where’s the Big Book of Scribbles? I was doing my hand exercises all morning in preparation.”
Hazel folded her arms. “Do not mock me, Ember. I have something else in mind for today.” She opened the bag and produced a display case containing different colored stones.
“Are we making jewelry?” I asked. “I don’t have the best small motor skills, but I’m willing to try if it means no runecraft.”
“Then it’s your lucky day,” Hazel said. “I thought we would try something different and talk about color magic.”
I scrutinized the stones. “Color magic is a real thing?”
Hazel shot me a look of disapproval. “Of course it is. Color is essentially light and light is energy. Have you never noticed the green stone that I wear around my neck?” She tapped the necklace.
To be perfectly honest, I’d never noticed it. I was usually too distracted by her curly red hair and maniacal grin. “I assumed you wore green because you’re a fan of Christmas colors,” I said.
Hazel’s face tightened. “I wear this green stone because I’m prone to headaches and green is a wonderful healing color. It can act as a revitalizer. It’s excellent for colds and heart troubles as well.” She gave me an anemic smile. “I always make sure I’m wearing it when I come here for lessons.”
“Because you’re afraid you’re going to catch a cold?”
She leaned back in her chair. “As I said, I’m prone to headaches.”
“Does it matter which kind of stone?” I asked.
“The color is most important,” she said. “The one in my necklace is jade
.”
I examined the stones in the display case. “This one's pretty," I said, tapping another green stone.
“That’s a blood stone,” she said. “The common ones are green or red. Excellent for nosebleeds.”
Instinctively, I touched my nose. “Well, I don’t suffer from those.” I touched the outside of the case. “Is that the other bloodstone?”
“No, that’s a garnet. It helps with anemia or blood diseases.”
“Does it only work with stones? If the color is more important than the stone, how does that work?”
Hazel appeared delighted. “Finally, a sensible question. Stones are absolutely not required. Gardenia suffers from asthma and is prone to upper respiratory infections, so she makes a habit of wearing an amber ring, but also taking a piece of orange colored glass and setting it in the window. During the time of day when the sunlight streams through that particular window, she sits in front of it for thirty minutes and aims the orange light directly on her chest area. It’s one of the reasons she bought a cottage with a sunroom, so that she would be guaranteed concentrated light most days.”
“That’s dedication,” I said. I could barely commit to taking a painkiller when I had cramps. I usually just waited to see whether they would pass without too much anguish. Mostly because I was lazy.
“I thought you might like to make a necklace out of this one,” Hazel said. She pointed to a pretty purple stone. “It’s an amethyst.”
“Will it make me better at runes?”
“If only there were a color for that,” she lamented. “No, this one serves as an antidote for too much alcohol.” She flashed a demonic smile. “Obviously, I thought of you.”
Hardy har. I ignored her and focused on another green stone. “That one’s interesting. Is it jasper?”
“No, this one is chrysolite. It’s good for warding off nightmares.”
My brow lifted. “That might be a good one for Marley. Is it possible to buy one at the jewelers in town?”
“I’m sure there are several shops in town that you can try,” Hazel said. “I’d offer to let you have this one, but it’s also good for fevers so I prefer to keep it.”
“That’s fine. I wasn’t trying to finagle it from you. What about menopause?”
“A little soon for that, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Not for me,” I said. “For Marigold. Is there a stone for that?”
“A couple of choices. Ideally, she would place the stone on the affected area for a minimum of thirty minutes a day,” Hazel said. “In the case of menopause, placing it over the uterus on the abdomen would suffice.”
I cringed. “What would you do for urinary problems?”
Hazel folded her hands primly on the table. “There is a method to address every affliction.”
Ugh. I didn’t want to think about what that method might be.
“Have you noticed some of the older witches wearing turquoise?” Hazel asked.
“Is that for rheumatism or something?”
“No, it promotes youth.”
“If Calla is decked out in turquoise, I’m not so sure that this is something I’m willing to believe in.”
“The healing properties exist whether you choose to believe in them or not,” Hazel said. “Chromapathy has existed long before you and will continue long after you’re gone.”
“Whew. That’s reassuring. It was going to keep me up at night. I guess I’d need the stone for insomnia. Which one is that?”
“A diamond,” Hazel said. “And I doubt you’ll be getting one of those anytime soon.”
“Meow,” I said. “I don’t need a diamond. I’m not even sure that I ever want to get married again.”
“I suppose that’s easy to say when you’ve already been married,” Hazel said.
It never occurred to me that Hazel was bitter about not finding a life partner. “Oh, come on, Hazel. All those available wizards at the monthly coven meetings and you haven’t managed to land yourself one?”
Hazel averted her gaze. “I’m not looking for your sympathy. Let’s get back to chromapathy.”
“Let’s get back to your romantic life because that’s just as likely to happen as a garnet healing my insomnia.”
“This is part of your problem,” Hazel said.
I leaned back and folded my arms. “And what problem would that be?”
“You’re not a believer.”
“How can I not be a believer? I was literally transported from the human world in a blaze of magic.”
“Then why is it so outlandish to suggest a semiprecious stone can have healing properties?” Hazel asked. “There’s no end to what magic can do, Ember. Jewels, flowers, runes. They can help us achieve even the most distant goals.”
“Like youth and beauty?”
“Sure, why not?”
“In that case, you should have a jewel on every finger and sleep on a bed of roses.”
Hazel drummed her fingers on the table. “Maybe it’s because you don’t believe in yourself.”
I balked. “Excuse me? I believe in myself plenty.”
“No, your confidence is misplaced.”
I thought of Sara’s boastful claims versus her actual ability. Egads, I wasn’t like the troll, was I? “Give me an example.”
“That blue dress you wore last week.” Hazel smiled as though she’d just triple-jumped me in checkers.
“What about it?” I pictured the boatneck, knee-length dress.
“It isn’t flattering.”
My mouth dropped open. “Of course it’s flattering. I look great in blue. It’s one of my best colors.”
“Knee-length doesn’t suit you.”
I pushed back my chair to examine my knees. “What’s wrong with my knees?” I held up a leg at an award angle. “Not too bony. Not too fleshy. They’re Goldilocks knees!”
Hazel’s eyes rolled skyward. “Your knees aren’t the problem. Your calves are a little…muscular. They tend to look even more so when you’re wearing a dress that length.”
I inhaled sharply. “Alec said I looked stunning.”
“Because Alec wants you out of the dress by the end of the evening. I have no such interest.”
I resisted the urge to sulk. This was Hazel, not the Fashion Police. “I feel good about myself in that dress and now you’ve ruined it.”
“See? Misplaced confidence.”
I was pretty sure I growled, but I tried to pass it off as a cough. “So what are you suggesting? That the confidence I have in my fashion sense should be invested in my magical abilities instead?”
“Maybe.” She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “And maybe in some other areas as well.”
“I’m a terrible cook,” I said.
“Yes, and that’s what you tell yourself every day, I’m sure. What if you stopped accepting that identity and started to believe that you could be a tremendous cook?”
Laughter erupted from the staircase and Raoul appeared, dragging a statue behind him. With each step, there was a corresponding thump as the head of the statue hit the stairs on the way down.
Bozo the Psychotic Clown thinks you can master culinary skills? Now I’ve heard everything.
“Why does your familiar have his mouth open?” Hazel asked. “Is he having trouble breathing?”
“He will be in a minute if he doesn’t stop talking,” I said.
Raoul tossed down the statue and it skidded across the floor and stopped at my feet. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was the god Pan and he was—shall we say—visibly happy. Perhaps he’d spotted an attractive nymph in the forest.
Hazel stood up to peer over the table. “Why on earth has your familiar got that?”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Another gift, huh?”
I want to stop accepting gifts. I think I’m getting the raw end of the deal.
I glanced at the evidence of Pan’s excitement and cringed. “I think I’m getting the raw end of the deal.”
“Would
you mind getting rid of that so we can continue our lesson?” Hazel asked. “I can’t work under these conditions.”
Keep that thing here, I told Raoul. It’s working better than a charm. Who needed a red stone when I had horny Pan?
Hazel began to gather her belongings and stuff them hastily into the bottomless bag. “I think we’ve done enough for today. Why don’t you think about a few ailments you’d like to heal and next time we can make a bracelet?”
PP3 suddenly bolted past her, barking wildly.
“What is it, buddy?” I didn’t hear the sound of a car or even a knock. The Yorkshire terrier raced back and forth in front of the door and continued to bark angrily. I crossed the room and opened the door to peer outside. There didn’t seem to be anyone in sight. The dog trotted past me and began to sniff loudly, prompting me to look down.
“Great popcorn balls!” I leaped back at least foot. On the doorstep was half a pizza covered in ants. This wasn’t in good shape like the kind Raoul had been bringing from the dump. This pizza had been partially eaten and seemed to have been exposed to the elements for a few days. PP3 tried to lick the crust and I nudged him back with my foot.
Hazel hopped over the pizza box without looking down. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. I’ll see you next time, Ember.”
I closed the door and whirled around to call my familiar.
Raoul, where did you go? I asked.
The kitchen door opened and the raccoon scrambled into the living room. You rang?
I frowned. “What were you doing in there?” I squinted at his face. “Did you get into chocolate that quickly?”
He rubbed his cheek. That’s just my fur. What’s the emergency? Did you forget how to operate the electric toothbrush again?
“That never happened,” I said. “I think someone left you a present on the doorstep.”
He dropped to all fours and ambled to the door. He stopped and sniffed the air. I smell pizza. He worked the door handle and stuck his head outside. Just as quickly, he snapped his head back and slammed the door shut.
I watched him with interest. “Some gift, huh?”
He leaned against the door. I don’t think it was meant to be a present.
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