“I think someone was hungry after all,” Tyler noted.
“I might’ve been a little hungrier than I realized,” Hannah hedged. “I’m only eating because it’s necessary for survival, though. I’m also reading.”
Cooper smirked. “I think that’s fair. Tell me what the book says.”
“Well, it’s written like a history book,” Hannah noted. “I’m not sure why if this is supposed to be a legend.”
“A fable,” Cooper corrected. “It’s a cautionary tale about good versus evil.”
“Whatever.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “The book is written by Helga Longfellow, a local witch back in the day. Maybe she wrote it this way because the story is true and it’s somehow fallen into legend because the so-called normal people in the area would never believe something so fantastical.”
“That’s certainly possible,” Cooper agreed. “Just tell me the story.”
“Well, there’s a lot of fanciful language here — and a few mentions of herbs that I’ve never heard of — but here’s the basic gist,” she said. “Clement was a native New Orleans resident and his wife Josette was from Louisiana, but it doesn’t say where. According to this, she was a black woman who could pass for white.”
“That would’ve been a big deal back then,” Tyler noted. “Black people had zero rights, especially in the south.”
“Yeah,” Hannah agreed. “Clement was white but apparently he was worried enough about people finding out who Josette really was that they moved to Kentucky. They wanted the option of bolting farther north if it became necessary.”
“He sounds like a strategic thinker,” Cooper said.
“They settled in a rural town about twenty miles from here,” Hannah continued. “It was very small, but they were comfortable. There weren’t enough people to worry about discovering Josette’s secret.”
“Someone obviously discovered it,” Tyler countered. “Helga wrote about it, after all.”
“Good point.” Hannah barreled forward. “They had a farm, sold their goods in town. Josette canned on the side. For the times, they made a good living. Everyone commented on how their farm thrived when others were struggling.”
Cooper paused with a huge mound of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. “Magic?”
“That would be my guess,” Hannah agreed. “There were whispers that they were practicing black magic. A couple local girls went missing and the rumor was that they were sacrificing the girls for the crops.”
“I wonder if that’s true,” Tyler mused. “I mean ... is there a sort of magic where you can sacrifice people for corn?”
Hannah shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’m magic ignorant.”
Cooper chuckled. “I prefer to think of it as you’re still learning. As for the sort of magic you’re theorizing about, it’s possible. I know from listening to Astra and Abigail talk. They had really long discussions about it. I only half-listened, but I remember a lot of what was said. It’s called blood magic, and it’s powerful.”
“I’m assuming blood magic is performed by dark witches,” Hannah said.
“I don’t have statistics on it but that would be my guess, too,” Cooper agreed. “Keep going with the story.”
Hannah ate two bites of steak before continuing. “After five years without a crop failure, when those around them had lost at least two crops in the same amount of time, the rumors got to be too much and they packed up and moved away. They sold their farm for a lot of money — to a local rich guy who believed he would be able to turn the magic soil into endless food — and the property never yielded a good crop again. There’s a notation here about it and everything.”
“We don’t know that the land never had another good crop,” Cooper cautioned. “What year was that book written?”
“Good point,” Hannah acknowledged. “It doesn’t say. I would guess the book was written less than a hundred years after the events being mentioned ... although I have no proof of that. It’s just a feeling.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Cooper winked. “Keep telling the story, Ms. Hickok. I’m actually fairly interested in it.”
“You can go back to calling me baby. I’m no longer mad.”
“Good to know.”
Hannah focused on the text. “So, they moved here — back then twenty miles was a lot farther away than it is now — and even though a few rumors followed them, most of the locals in the area thought it was nonsense because they were such a nice family.
“By that time, they had three-year-old twins,” she continued. “Amelia and Bettina.”
“Does it say which one was which? I mean ... one was supposed to be a dark witch and the other a white witch. It would be easier if we could figure out which one was which witch.”
“Amelia is described as fair and pale. Bettina as dark and brooding.”
“I’m guessing there wasn’t a lot of character layering back then,” Tyler offered, opening the container that held the deep-fried onion. “Plus, if Cooper is right about it being a fable, I’m willing to bet a lot of the story was enhanced — or maybe even bent a little bit — to match a specific narrative.”
“That makes sense,” Hannah agreed, grabbing a piece of the onion. “Maybe the story is enhanced and not completely true. That’s going to make sussing out the truth all the harder.”
“It will, but it’s a place to start,” Cooper noted. “We’re still not certain how all of this fits together. We’re going to have to weed it out piece by piece. That starts with the story.”
“Pretty much,” Hannah agreed, grabbing another onion piece.
“Baby, can you lay off the onions?” Cooper asked in his nicest voice. “If you’re going to punish me later, the onions and garlic are going to be overwhelming.”
Hannah popped the onion into her mouth despite his request. “Or you could just eat some onion, too. Then we’ll both stink and not be
