Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Four Days Until Halloween

The home fries in my cast-iron skillet are crisping up perfectly when Matthew walks into the kitchen. The cottage is bright and airy this morning. All the windows are thrown open, welcoming in the pristine blue sky and fresh air. It’s cold outside, but the sunlight streaming through the trees gives off enough warmth to keep the shivers at bay.

“Have a seat,” I call over my shoulder to Matthew. “Breakfast is almost ready.” One of the dining chairs scrapes against the floor behind me as he settles in.

“How did you have time to make all this?” he asks, bemused. The table is already covered in dishes. Parmesan scrambled eggs paired with smoky paprika ketchup; a citrus salad with cinnamon syrup; an apple spice coffee cake with sugar streusel on top and whipped maple yogurt in the center; and finally the steaming, crispy potatoes with garlic, chives, and caramelized onions that I’m finishing up. I place the potatoes on the table and pour two cups of black coffee from my French press.

“I woke up a bit earlier than normal,” I answer semi-honestly as I sprinkle a dusting of cardamom into the coffee. Matthew accepts one of the mugs gratefully. “We need a hearty breakfast. There’s a long day ahead of us.”

He stares at me in disbelief. The various serving dishes sit on the table between us, a massive feast inappropriate for only two people.

“A bit earlier?” he questions.

I don’t meet his gaze.

I’ve been awake since four this morning, unable to fall back asleep after my nightmare. I’d headed to the kitchen to whip something up in the hopes of luring myself back to sleep. My ever-helpful Herbal had autonomously flipped to a recipe for Pass-Out Pie, a suggestion I ignored. When a freshly brewed pot of de-stimulating tea failed, I found myself furiously whipping together batter, slicing apples, chopping herbs, and making pumpkin hummus, with Merlin asleep at my feet.

I load a dollop of the whipped yogurt onto the coffee cake and take a bite. The tanginess of the yogurt pairs perfectly with the spiced apples strewn throughout the cake. For a brief moment, terrifying dreams and mysterious books are far from my mind. I take a sip of my coffee, letting the cardamom transport me somewhere far away. I let out a long, slow sigh.

“Is everything all right?” Matthew asks after piling some eggs onto his plate.

“Just mentally preparing, that’s all,” I answer quietly, watching steam rise off my mug.

“Is she really that frightening?” His brow furrows.

I look up at him. “Winifred? No. And yes,” I admit. “Have you ever been around a meta-magic witch?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s a rare choice for people in the Pacific Gate. Their life expectancy is too short.”

I nod. It’s a miracle Winifred has lived as long as she has. The Atlantic Key meta-magic witch before her didn’t make it to fifty. In other covens, they are lucky to see thirty-five.

“I’ve known Winifred since I was a baby,” I explain to Matthew. “She was almost like a grandmother. But it’s always disconcerting, being in the same room with her. She can drain a witch or hexan’s magic within minutes, excommunicating them, leaving them unable to access intention. It doesn’t matter how close you are to someone like that—the unease never fully subsides.”

I hadn’t minded too much when I was younger. I’d trusted Winifred with my life. But a meta-magic witch’s power eventually turns unstable until it ultimately consumes them. Winifred has held on, but the cracks have begun to show as she approaches her mid-seventies.

“I don’t know what to expect from today,” I acknowledge to Matthew.

He sets his fork down and gives me a steadying look.

“What’s the first thing that needs to be done? Once we approach that, all other plans will fall into place.”

I think for a minute. If we are going to head to the Bennet Farm, we will need transportation.

“I should ride my bike to the Raven the extended spell is beginning to exhaust her.

“Folktales diverge here at the end, depending on the country of origin. Some say the wizard went mad from loneliness, eventually turning into a trickster deity that lures innocent villagers into deadly bargains. Other tales morph into a parable explaining the seasons. So long as the medicine woman lived, the wizard was able to walk half the year among the living, though he brought Death and Winter with him. But when her time came and she herself passed into the land below, he became trapped forever.”

“Is he dangerous?” I ask, my stomach in knots.

Ginny is quiet for a moment; her black eyes shift back and forth.

“I’m not sure?” she says, uncertain. She grimaces, as if the admission tastes sour in her mouth. “He’s bound by very specific magic. He can only affect the world of the living through those he bargains with.”

I can hear Matthew and Rebecca wrapping up their conversation.

“That’s enough, Ginny,” I say quickly, taking the burnt paper out of her hands and placing one of my cool fingertips at a pressure point just under her ear. “Come out of your mind. Be here.”

Ginny shudders and the inky haze in her eyes floats away, like clouds on wind. She reaches up to remove her glasses.

“Fascinating,” she says, wiping the foggy lenses on her sunflower-yellow cardigan. “Why the sudden interest in a figure from the Late Middle Ages?” she asks.

I sigh and shake my head.

“Things are afoot, Gin,” I whisper. She gives me a confused look, but the fire of interest lingers in her gaze. I straighten quickly as Matthew and Rebecca come back through the door. Matthew holds a small basket full of glass bottles packed with dried herbs and powders.

“Are you good to go?” I ask him, my voice too chipper.

He nods. “Very well stocked and well educated. The customer service at this establishment is impeccable.” He grins at Rebecca, who gives him a beaming smile. It seems he passed whatever test she put him through.

“I hope you two have a great time at the festival,” she says, digging into her skirt and handing me the keys to her truck. “Have some of the cider for me.”

“Looking forward to it,” Matthew says.

The dainty chime rings again as he holds the door open for me. Rebecca’s large red pickup truck is parked on the street outside the Raven & Crone.

“Would you like to do the honors?” I say to Matthew, tossing him the keys.

He catches them easily. “As long as you navigate,” he agrees.

We climb into the cab of the truck, stuffing the bags of his newly acquired clothing into the passenger footwell. The leather of the seats is cracked with age, but the car is nice and clean and, happily, full of gas.

Matthew sets his basket of herbs between us. I spy the damiana and juniper berries and try not to guess what shadow magic they will be used for.

“That was a very successful trip,” Matthew says. “Rebecca is an interesting woman.”

“I think it still would have been easier if I’d just gone to the apothecary myself and then picked you up. She will tell the whole coven about you. We’ll be lucky if we keep the fact that you’re from the Pacific Gate a secret.”

“I don’t see the need for that,” he says, starting the car. The engine roars to life and he pulls out of the parking spot. “And I’m glad I came. I enjoyed the walk into town. I’ve always thought Ipswich was charming.” He grins as we drive down Main Street.

Sunlight is streaming, reflecting off the glass windows and metallic cars. Every store front has finalized their Halloween display with pumpkins, witches, and ghosts, crowding the sidewalks. Zumi’s, the local coffee shop, has a chalkboard sign advertising their Autumn Spice and Caramel Cloud Lattes. Groups of people walk with strollers up and down the sidewalks, chatting with one another as their children babble nonsense to themselves. One infant, already dressed in costume as a tiny little pumpkin, naps under a soft blanket in her bassinet.

“And besides,” Matthew says, “how would you have survived, leaving a stranger unattended in your beloved cottage all morning?” He gives me an amused sideways glance. I roll my eyes.

“I would have managed through the pain somehow,” I say. His grin widens. “But you aren’t really a stranger anyway,” I add, just to be difficult. This seems only to please him further. His eyes crinkle in amusement.

“It’s this turn, right here,” I say quickly, remembering I’m supposed to navigate. Matthew flips on the blinker, and the ticking sounds like a countdown as he makes the turn onto County Road. Off to the Bennet Farm. Off to see the meta-magic witch.