1. Lorin

Chapter one

Lorin

I t felt like stepping back in time. As if nothing had changed since the last time he'd seen the dingy old bus station of his hometown.

The name on the old metal plate was barely visible anymore. If Lorin hadn't already known he was in Oak's Hollow, there was a chance he wouldn't have been able to read the sign at all.

The paint on the walls of the main building was still chipping off, the chairs were still broken or missing, leaving people shuffling around as they waited. The buses huffed and puffed as they pulled in and out of the station, filling the air with the musty scent of exhaust fumes and dust.

People milled around like ants, dragging their luggage and canvas bags filled with fresh produce along. Greeting each other mindlessly as they walked by, because even busy and frustrated, they recognized each other and wanted to be respectful.

Just as he remembered.

He took one step forward and almost fell back on his ass when someone brushed past him, knocking his leather bag off his shoulder and the few books he had in his hands onto the floor.

"I am so sorry," the woman said, muttering a few short words and holding her hands up in apology, the dark designs on her nails and fingers stark against her pale skin.

Somehow, it was the sight of them that drove the point home.

Lorin was back in his hometown.

Back in the place he'd worked so hard to escape.

"All good," he forced himself to say just as the books rushed through the air and thumped into his arms. The woman rushed away, not sparing him another glance.

He focused on the hands of others instinctually. They all wore their marks with pride. Sharp nails decorated heavily with designs spreading down their fingers and the backs of their palms.

Lines, runes, numbers, and letters. Drawings. Combinations of it all. They came in every version imaginable, and Lorin gripped the straps of his bag firmly, his own hands hidden by soft black gloves.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward again, careful to avoid slamming into anyone else as he crossed the small station and went through the building to the other side. He walked out onto the sidewalk, watching small cars rushing by and trying to spot a taxi he could take.

The address was still fresh in his mind over a decade later, like he'd never really left.

He spotted a car with a plaque on top approaching and was about to lift his hand up and call it over when something sharp landed in the crook of his elbow.

"You're not in your big city, boy. You don't just wave at people here like they're pigeons." The voice came from behind him, and Lorin looked down at his arm to find the intricately carved tip of the wooden staff he knew all too well. He followed it with his eyes, every inch of it engraved into his memory.

The surface from the bottom to near the top was smooth, dark wood, polished to perfection. The top consisted of hollow spirals and ridges carved right into the wood. It looked delicate. Fragile. But he knew it was sturdy. Just like its owner.

He spun on his heel and came face to face with a tall, gray-haired woman dressed in a billowing black robe. She had piercing blue eyes, curly hair she let gray naturally, and a pointy hat perched on top of her head.

The wrinkled skin on her face was testament to her years in the realm of the living, each crease hiding wisdom and knowledge few could lay claim to.

The staff in her hands was almost the same height as she was, and Lorin would have sworn she was born with it and the thing grew with her, because he didn't remember ever seeing her without it.

"Grandma," he said, stunned when he met her eyes. She pursed her lips into a disapproving moue at his greeting. "How did you know I was coming today…now?"

She stared at him for a few long moments before scoffing the way only she knew how. The kind of scoff that made you re-examine that last five years of your existence in great detail, just to see if you had done something that would have offended her. And you probably had. Even if you couldn't recall.

The sound of it brought the memories of his entire childhood like a tidal wave to the forefront of his mind. Days spent getting into trouble while avoiding her all-knowing stare. Nights spent sleeping outside with her as she tried to teach him the ways of nature under the moon's loving gaze. Back when things were simple. When he still held wonder and awe at the possibilities of magic.

Before his innocence had crumbled to the cruelties of reality.

Life had shifted into years of defiance from him and relentless stubbornness from her, culminating in an argument that had driven him to finally pack up his things and leave.

She hadn't changed a single bit since the last time he'd seen her.

"Don't be daft, child," she said, using the staff to make him walk forward. "I know everything. Now move, I don't have all day."

"I didn't know you'd come and pick me up," he said, marching to the beat of her drum in front of her, once again unable to stand up to her unless pushed right to the edge.

"You would have if you'd called," she bit back. "But no. Mysterious city boy has to keep the entire town on their toes."

"I wasn't trying to—"

"Stars only know what you were trying to do. I doubt you know. My car is this way. Walk faster."

He picked up speed, tucking his books under one arm and bowing his back as her staff dug into it, steering him toward the small parking lot right by the bus station's main building.

He recognized her beat-up old mustard yellow car from across the lot. And the raven sitting on top of it. The same one that had found him at his apartment. Sjena. His grandmother's familiar.

The car looked like only magic was holding it together. Knowing his grandmother, it probably was. The thing was older than he was, and he was uncomfortably pushing thirty.

"Still driving the old beater?" he asked as they approached her car, trying to ease the tension.

"Not all of us feel the need to replace things the moment we grow tired of them," she said, voice clipped as she rattled the door to get it open.

She settled inside, slamming it shut directly in his face. He stumbled back a step or two, forcing himself not to take her words to heart, even if they were pointed jabs at the choices he'd made. She disagreed with them, and he'd always known that. He told himself he had to live with it before shaking his head and walking back to the trunk.

He opened it, trying to put his things inside, but clearly he was taking too long for her liking, because she honked the squeaky horn, making him jump a foot into the air. He stuffed his bag and books inside and closed the trunk as fast as possible, walking back to the front of the car and folding himself inside just in time for her to peel out of the parking lot.

They didn't talk, the silence between them strained by too many years. Too many words that couldn't be taken back.

He turned his head away to stare at the passing sights.

It was all familiar to him. Even with the changes, he knew the narrow roads leading from the town's center to his grandma's cabin just outside its borders. He knew the dinky old houses lining the streets and the people that lived inside them.

He knew the dark, thick trees in their gardens, despite them being so much taller and denser than the last time he'd seen them. He recognized the unique scent of oak moss and the chill bite in the air as they drove toward the outskirts of the town. The small creeks filled with murky water were still the same as he'd remembered. He squashed down the weird nostalgia that threatened to take shape inside his chest.

"Gloves?" his grandmother asked with a curl to her lip that screamed displeasure.

He followed the quick glance she threw his way and wrung his fingers in his lap as he nodded. It wasn't just the stain of a witch he was hiding. He could feel the tips of his nails pressing against the material of his gloves, sharp and pointed and making his nail beds ache.

"You haven't changed a bit," she said, taking a sharp left turn and heading up the winding driveway to the small, rickety cabin painted a muted brown. The windows were framed by darker brown shutters and lined with pot after pot of weird-looking roots and succulents.

"Neither has this place," he said when she parked in front of the steps, trying to make his voice sound curious instead of accusing.

Because the house truly looked frozen in time. Like the past decade had never happened. Like he had stepped out after lunch for a stroll and came back home for dinner.

It was unnerving just how…unmoving things seemed to be there.

The trees looming around the house looked like shadow monsters protecting it from intruders, and tiny burlap bags hung off the branches, giving the entire place an eerie look most people wanted to avoid.

She stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut. He hopped out after her, grabbing his things and following her up the short flight of stairs to the front door.

She stood in front of the entrance to her home, ringing the doorbell before entering. Inviting good spirits in, like she always did.

She took off her shoes in the entryway, turning sharp blue eyes on him.

"There is sage and fennel in the pot to your right," she said. "I assume you remember how to cleanse. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You know where your room is."

She disappeared inside before he could respond, leaving him scrambling to do as she said, despite the protests bubbling inside him.

He didn't want to perform a cleansing ritual.

He didn't think he had to.

He had done nothing wrong. He'd just tried to live his own life, and there was nothing about it that needed cleansing.

"An hour, boy! Get to it!" she called, and he jumped in place before dropping his bag to the floor, setting the books on top of it, and grabbing the clay pot sitting on a shelf to the right, just where she'd said it would be.

He opened the lid and found at least a dozen small bundles of sage, tied with string and stacked inside. There was a small pack of matches right next to the pot and another clay bowl filled with abalone shells.

He wanted this over with as soon as possible, so he bypassed the shells and grabbed the smallest sage bundle he could find among them. He replaced the pot on the shelf and closed the lid, grabbing the matches and striking one before lighting the sage bundle. He blew on it until the smoke intensified, waving the bundle over and around himself until his eyes watered and he couldn't smell anything but the overpowering scent of sage.

Lorin knew you were expected to take your time with the cleansing. Clearing your mind and finding intent behind what you were doing. But all he wanted to do was go through the motions so he could be free again. It wasn't the correct intent behind what he was doing, but it was the best he could manage at the moment.

He let the sage bundle burn completely, watching it so it didn't catch the fabric of his gloves. Then he let it drop to the ground just as the last smidge of it flickered out and stepped on it with his boot. He didn't feel any cleaner than he had before, but he figured it would have to be enough, so he stepped inside the house for the first time in years.

Kit

They were putting the fences up.

He could see them from the bush he'd crawled into earlier to avoid being seen. Luckily, whatever kind it was, it was an evergreen, so it provided some shelter despite the cold winter weather.

Shelter was all it was good for though. It scratched at his snout and the scent was overwhelmingly bitter. The branches dug into his fur and tugged, and he could already tell there were twigs stuck on him as he moved.

But it was secluded, and people would have to try very hard to find him there. So he stayed put and observed.

He was pretty sure he had the time frame right, but being in his fox form didn't allow for an accurate date assessment. There was no snow yet, but the air was getting crisp, and the winds blowing at night had stopped feeling like gentle whispers. The stars shone paler in the sky and the daylight ran away faster.

His winter fur had grown in. He liked it. It was his favorite time of the year. It meant comfort. Fewer people skulking around his little nook in the woods. Less chance of being discovered.

It also meant a new possibility.

A new bonding festival where maybe, just maybe he'd be able to find a witch to bond with.

That was what the fences were for. To create a makeshift area where witches and potential familiars could spend some time together, trying to find their perfect match.

He wouldn't be joining them inside, that was too risky for him. If he didn't find his witch, the look of him would raise a lot of questions, and he didn't need that. He needed freedom so he could travel to a different witch community and try his luck there.

Year after year.

He'd lost track of how long he'd been doing it. How many times he'd sat on the outskirts, watching, sniffing, trying so very hard to feel it.

That call. That drive. That pull toward his witch.

It never came.

But he wasn't ready to give up just yet. One more year, he said to himself.

Like he did every year.