“Sure sounds like mind reading,” Leticia responded.
“Tell me,” began Ysabella, “do you folks know of any practitioners here in Ember Hollow?”
“Witches?” Stella wondered if she should mention her own psychic moments or her success with dowsing as a teenager.
“We can’t afford to be fussy. Wicca, Vodun, Taoist.” Ysabella looked at McGlazer. “And you, good Reverend.”
McGlazer’s eyebrows rose. “Me?”
“Of course.”
“You surely must believe in ghosts,” Maisie dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, “after having been possessed by one.”
“Well…yes.”
“Then you know what we’re dealing with. You’re invaluable to this process.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see how all these conflicting beliefs can work together,” Leticia remarked.
“The conflict is imaginary. Everything has the same source.”
Maisie’s answer struck Leticia as ridiculously obvious.
“Maaay-mim!” Wanda said again, to everyone’s delight, twin points of candlelight alive in her brown eyes.
“How long do we have you, Leticia?” asked Maisie without credulity.
“We should hear from Henderson County any day now.”
“So you might leave before we can finish?”
Leticia frowned, reluctant to answer.
“What about your church?” asked Maisie.
“Closed and locked up since last Halloween,” Stella answered. “Only a handful of us know what was down there.”
“I couldn’t see any good coming of telling everyone what happened and having the old place condemned…” explained McGlazer. He was pained to say the next word. “…destroyed.”
“We told everyone there was a massive mold problem, which is not entirely untrue,” Stella added. “Moved services to the Community Center.”
“Saint Saturn’s is a crucial part of this town. We’ve prayed and brainstormed ever since, to come up with some solution other than condemning it.” McGlazer’s fork shook in his hands. “Thinking of the witch in the hills. Matilda. I thought it couldn’t hurt to contact you ladies, if only to learn more.”
Maisie smiled. “You love your church. We’ll do our best to save it.”
“Miss Iss,” whispered Emera with a giggle, drawing everyone’s gaze.
The elder witch was holding an intense stare with the little one. In less than a second, both the woman and the girl cycled through expressions of sympathy and understanding.
Ysabella laughed, and so did Emera.
“We’ve found one of our new recruits,” explained Ysabella. “Maybe two. Tell me about her and her sister.”
“Emera and Candace? They’ve already been through so much…” Stella said.
“So often, that’s exactly what makes a powerful witch,” explained Ysabella, as she continued to hold the loving gaze with Emera. The child smiled and smiled, like she did when big sister/best friend Candace was near. “Tell us more.”
Stella gave the short version: Candace’s parents were murdered by her brother, Everett Geelens, the Trick-or-Treat Terror, during his Halloween night rampage two years earlier. She was placed in a group home as Emera’s roommate. The house parents had sought to provoke Candace into violent behavior, to exploit the rights to her story.
“The Fireheads gang had a different plan for Candace,” added McGlazer. “To sacrifice her. They were in wolf form when they kidnapped her.”
“Thanks to Matilda Saxon’s magic,” said Leticia.
Maisie raised her hand to her mouth. “The poor child must be traumatized beyond our understanding.”
“Then Everett returned, quite literally, from the dead.”
Maisie reached across the table and grasped Stella’s hand. “You’re a saint, to adopt these troubled babies.”
While everyone else took on grim faces, Ysabella and Emera continued to hold a smile filled on both sides with wisdom. “Don’t worry. We would never endanger any of these precious children. It’s only their imaginations we need.”
Ysabella untied the leather and jade Green Man bracelet from her wrist and handed it to Emera. The little girl raised it in both hands with awe. “Thank you, Miss Iss!”
As Stella tied it on Emera’s wrist, she realized she felt…jealousy? She would tell the witches about her own experiences. But now was not the time. “How do we get started?”
“To heal the town, we’ll have to start with Matilda’s farm,” Ysabella said.
“We need to go as soon as possible,” added Maisie.
After a pause, Ysabella pronounced “Tonight.”
“Why tonight?” asked Leticia.
Just as Ysabella stood, Hudson opened the front door, looking weary and smelling of woods and sweat.
“Daddeee!” called Wanda.
“You’re home a day early, babe!” said Leticia.
Ysabella stood. “Deputy Lott, I’m sorry. There’s no time for rest or pleasantries. Please take us to the farm. Before something terrible happens.”
* * * *
Settlement era
Not long ago, this daily ritual had been a form of relaxation for settlement founder Wilcott Bennington, nothing more than pleasant time spent with his quarter horse Jupiter, appreciating the new-world acreage he had claimed and conquered.
With the enmity growing between him and the forceful Irishman O’Herlihy, it felt less like a leisurely ride these days, and more like patrol duty. There had been threats, implied by both words and mere looks, from O’Herlihy and his growing group of followers. Given the size of the house and estate Bennington had made for himself and his loyal maidservant, Chloris, he knew it was best to keep a lookout for trespassers, and to make sure everyone knew he was doing so.
Bennington inhaled the unique scent of southeastern autumn air and absently patted Jupiter. Though wary, he did not expect an ambush. Matters had not decayed to that level just yet.
He had a sense that they would, soon enough. There were rumblings that O’Herlihy was holding organized gatherings, to discuss—and perhaps breed—dissatisfaction with settlement affairs and with Bennington’s odd beliefs. That was their right, of course, but it made Bennington sad and regretful that he had been too eager and forthcoming in discussing his evolving spiritual philosophy when winnowing potential partners for his new-world settlement.
Still, it was hard not to lose himself in the unique beauty of the land, especially at harvest season. Its beauty whispered a song of dread and a promise of difficult times ahead that made these short days feel all the more precious.
Jupiter whinnied and snapped his head sharply, alerting Bennington that he was pulling the reins too hard. It was a bad habit that accompanied his dark ponderings. The pioneer eased his grip and scratched the horse’s neck. “Very sorry, old friend.”
Yet Jupiter
