Chapter 8

After deliveringthe second tin of pumpkin biscotti to Cohen at the Magic Brewery—who was delighted I’d considered his offer, even though I stressed to him this was just a test run—I returned to the farmhouse. Sawyer was perched on one of the white fence posts, front paws mincing with anticipation at my approach.

“The hobs have formed a posse,” he blurted as soon as I stepped out of the car.

“What?”

“The coyotes came back for the chickens! Rhett got a few slashes in, but they tore out a bunch of his feathers. No hens were hurt, but the hobs aren’t taking any chances.”

Groaning, I asked, “How many are in the posse?”

“Um, all of them?”

“Then who’s making the wassail?”

Thistle thorns, that was the main source of our income through the winter! And we needed it, too, for I’d spent a good chunk of our First of Fall Festival proceeds on getting the cider mill certified as an FDA-approved bottling facility so we wouldn’t have to pay higher prices to ship the wassail off to be bottled elsewhere. News of our success had spread, and now the whole of Patoka County wanted to feature Sweet Cider Farm Wassail at all their wintertime festivities, not just Redbud. Mayor Robert had been thrilled, and he crowed about it to Mayor Thomas of Tussock every time the opportunity presented itself.

Huffing out a sigh, I traipsed up the garden path to the farmhouse to retrieve my foraging bag. Inside, I placed two quarts of bone broth and the container of tuna cookies. I was back outside in just a few moments, trudging for the wildflower fields. “C’mon, Sawyer, we have a delivery to make for Ame.”

My legs were longer than the hobs’, and I caught up to them as they neared the eastern orchard fence. “Fellas,” I said sternly, “I need you to go back to the mill. That wassail cannot get overcooked.” The spices and citrus fruits had a tendency to get bitter or sour if they simmered for over twelve hours. While the farm wasn’t in danger of being unable to pay its bills any longer, we still couldn’t afford any mishaps.

“Now, lass,” Roland began, “those chickens need defending and the striped one isn’t pulling his weight in that regard.”

“I’m like eight pounds,” Sawyer protested. “They’re at least three times my weight! I mean, I can rough one up pretty good on my own, but a bunch of them? I like my skin on my body, thank you very much.”

“Aren’t you a magical cat?” Dale asked. “What about casting some fireballs?”

The tabby tomcat pursed his lips, whiskers flattening. “I haven’t learned battle magic yet.”

“We need a fighter, not a scout,” Joe said. “Sorry, Stripes.”

Ricky swung a stout stick above his head, “C’mon, boys, let’s rip out a bunch of their fur and see how they like having bare bottoms in this cold weather!”

“Gentlemen,” I said, lacing my words with magic. “Go back to the mill. I will handle this.”

The hobs jumped at the power in my voice, at the green glow in my eyes, then clustered together and shooed each other back towards the orchard.

“Let us know how it goes,” Dale called, only to be immediately shushed by Roland.

After I climbed the fence and dropped down on the other side, I placed a hand on one of the posts. In the span of an inhale, I grounded my intention and called upon the magic of my core. It sprang to life, the tree of my power branching and rooting with a riot of color and energy.

Green light bloomed from my palm, the emerald hue flickering to a darker shade, but not quite ivy, as I constricted the flow of magic into a single purpose. On my wrist, the parasite bracelet bit into my flesh, siphoning off the excess magic. I was playing a dangerous game, flirting with the line of summoning true battle magic. Of rousing the runes on my iron cuffs.

Brow furrowing, I maintained control, and six-inch thorns grew out of the rails and posts. They sprouted at every angle for hundreds of yards in either direction, creating my own version of barbed wire. The gaps between the rails shrank. Now, if a coyote wanted to get through, it would have to sacrifice some flesh, no matter if it tried to wiggle through the rails or belly-crawled along the grass. They could still jump the fence, if they really wanted to risk slicing open their stomachs.

When it was done, I called the magic back into my core instead of just releasing my hold on it. I couldn’t risk a flare turning into true battle magic and activating my cuffs. While my knees wobbled, I didn’t buckle. Remaining more or less upright, I braced my hands on my thighs and panted. The tourmaline crystals had only glowed briefly towards the end.

“You really have gotten stronger,” Sawyer murmured.

“Maybe. Maybe I’m just more precise now.” Claiming a piece of deadwood for a walking stick, I took a shaking step forward and then another, strength slowly returning to my legs.

In the full light of the day, we checked on the moonflower grove and found no tracks that told us definitively who our other early morning visitor had been. Picking up the pace, we traipsed the thirty minutes through the forest to the other side where the little house squatted at the end of the cul-de-sac on Weaver Lane.

More dead leaves had collected in the sharp angles of its roof, clustering in the seam where the covered porch and veranda met the house, like a ribbon of crushed velvet around the brim of witch’s hat. Woodsmoke rose from the chimney in the back, curling lazily before disappearing against the gray November sky. Walking around the side to access the front porch steps, I noticed Daphne’s turquoise Thunderbird was missing.

The dream catchers didn’t stir as I climbed the porch steps, and the wards I’d helped place let me through without so much as a tingle against my skin. Sawyer hopped up onto the windowsill and pawed at the glass.

“Stop that,” I chastised. “They have a doorbell, you know.”

“Like Shari will hear that over her audiobooks? At least she’ll see me.”

While he did have a point, I still rang the doorbell, then knocked. When that still didn’t rouse anyone inside, I turned to search the porch steps for a tin of cat food. Shari used a code with Ame, the type of food left out telling the cat where her humans had gone off to if they left without her knowing. No tin meant they’d left in a hurry, that there was trouble afoot.

When I couldn’t find a tin, my pulse started to rise. Maybe Ame had eaten it and during the process had pushed it off the step and into the bushes? “Sawyer, c’mere. I need your nose.”

“Coming— Ah!”

I spun as Sawyer dropped to the porch, Ame appearing in the window like a ghost. She flicked her eyes pointedly to the door, and a second later, it opened, Shari looking disheveled as if she’d just woken up from a nap. Daphne had mentioned she’d been sleeping more nowadays.

“Misty,” she greeted, wiggling her fingers under her glasses to smear the crust from her eyes.

“Sorry to wake you up,” I said, peeling back the flap on my forager bag. “I came by to drop off some bone broth and tuna cookies for Ame.”

The caliby cat, who had been weaving in and out of Shari’s ankles, darted forward to inspect the goods.

“She’ll like that, thanks.” Shari hefted the jars into her arms, not moving from the doorway. “Daph’s at the shelter with a new intake, in case you’re wondering.”

“So everything’s okay here?”

She nodded. “Flora called her this morning. I overheard them talking about… cultists.” She spat out the word.

As much as I wanted to press her, to plow down that avenue of conversation now that she had mentioned it, I forced myself to ask instead, “How are you doing, Shari?”

Despite the gentleness in my tone, the quiet crafter flinched, the glass jars in her arms rattling. She dropped her gaze and stepped back into the safety of her house, her elbow braced against the door to jerk it shut.

“Shari.” I stepped forward, preventing the door from closing, and placed my hand softly on her arm. She gave me the panicked look of a doe with nowhere to run. “I don’t want to trigger you. If you don’t want to ever talk about what happened to you, I’ll respect that. It won’t change our friendship. But I want you to know you can trust me with the truth if you ever want to share it.”

“Speaking about it makes it real,” she whispered. “I c-can’t.”

“Okay.” I gave her a reassuring nod. “Do you want me to help you bring those into the kitchen?”

From the way she was leaning away from me, she looked like she was ready to topple over. “I got it. Bye.”

I stepped back so she could kick the door shut, but I didn’t leave the porch right away. I needed a moment to collect myself. Shari knew something that could help me, Ame was sure of that, but she wouldn’t tell me. The angry, desperate side of me wanted to seize Shari’s shoulders and give her a shake, demanding her to quit being a coward and put her big girl panties on and tell me already. As a Hawthorne, I knew ways of making her talk, whether she wanted to or not, but I refused to do it. That wasn’t me, wasn’t anything I ever wanted to be. It was abilities such as those that made me, not for the first time, suspect that’s what had made us targets for the rival coven.

Releasing a long exhale, I backed away from the door and said goodbye to Ame. Then I was striding purposefully through the woods, Sawyer quiet at my heels as I stewed.

There was more than one way to arrive at the right answer, more than one way to deal with this half-heart in the grimoire. After this umpteenth failure to get Shari to divulge even a hint of what she knew, I was more determined than ever to hunt that Big Nasty down. Maybe it’d just take its half-heart back if I asked nicely? Or traded something? Maybe I didn’t have to kill it, after all, but I’d be a fool if I entered such negotiations without being prepared to do exactly that.

And my best chance at doing that would be to ask Arthur to train with me. I needed to hone my skills against the strongest person I could, so it was time to swallow my pride and my own fear and just ask.

He’d probably say no and crush my soul a little more, but I had to try. Tonight. I’d call and ask him tonight. After some hob grog. Okay, after a lot of hob grog, heavy on Grandpappy’s whiskey.

“Misty? Your phone’s ringing.”

I snapped out of my reverie and recognized Daphne’s number on my screen just as I accepted the call. “Daph, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s just fine, dear. Well, almost. I have a new intake at the shelter I’ve been wrangling all morning. He’s quite the handful. Doesn’t get along with the other dogs at all, which is a problem since he’s massive. Clearly a livestock guardian dog, though he’s not chipped and no one seems to know who he belongs to.”

“Oh, um, do you need help or something? I could make a sedative to take his edge off if you think that’ll help him adjust to his new surroundings a little easier. Or grow a muzzle.”

“Oh, no,” she replied, somewhat cheerfully. “I tranq’ed his fanny just a short while ago, and he’s snoozing comfortably now. But I was wondering, are you still in the market for a dog?”

A glance down at Sawyer confirmed he’s heard the whole conversation and that he wasn’t happy one bit about it. But from the way his ears were only lowered, not flattened against his skull, and his tail was flicking instead of lashing, he was at least reconsidering his stance on his no-dog policy. Especially with the coyotes increasing their visits to the farm.

“Just a sec, Daph.”

“I can feel you looking at me,” Sawyer groused.

“This is a decision for both of us, don’t you think?” I asked him.

His little cheeks puffed as he sighed. “Fine. But I’ll explain to him with the clarity of my claws that I’m not to be chased or eaten or mauled or anything of the sort. He even nips at my tail, he’s gone!”

“Fair enough. Daph? Yeah, I think we can try this dog out on a trial basis.”

“Wonderful! Where are you?”

“Uh… I’m in the orchard headed back to the farmhouse now.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth did I feel the telltale ripple beneath my feet of the hearth’s warning pulse. As its power had grown, so had its ability to adjust the strength of its pulses. This was a little thing, like a nudging elbow of a friend. For it was a friend indeed who’d just stepped on my property.

“Perfect,” Daphne chirped. “We just turned onto your driveway. See you soon. Ta-ta!”