“Has anyone ever told you,” Clementine starts in a rueful tone, “that you’re kind of weird?”
Huffing out a low laugh, I nod. “Every day of my life.”
I’m sure my younger sisters rejoiced when they woke up and found me gone.
“Did Nestor follow you?” Clover asks quietly, leaning forward.
“No,” I immediately answer. “That’s not possible. I just… I feel like someone’s watching us.”
Rowyn tilts her head and looks out the window again, trying to get a better look around the wall.
“I haven’t seen anyone,” I add, “but it started as soon as we got to the main street.”
We each have a car, with the exception of Clementine, but decided to walk into town. Mother Earth granted the town a pleasant beginning to the season, and the walk is only twenty minutes. It started nice and normal—the first signs of warmer weather are a thing to enjoy in the Northeast. The closer we got to the town center, the expectancy started to grow, and it hasn’t left in the last few hours.
“Is this why you’ve been so reluctant to come into town?” Rowyn asks. “Did this happen when you got to Briarhollow?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s never happened before. The sensation grew as we got closer to Main Street.”
Lorna walks up with our food then. Placing extra napkins down, she asks, “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Actually,” Rowyn says and sits straighter. “I was wondering, have you seen anyone new lately? I mean, if Briarhollow gets visitors, this must be one of the first places they go, right?”
Lorna says “On therareoccasion we get visitors, yes. No new faces have stopped in today, other than you girls.”
“Hmm,” Rowyn hums.
I’m comforted by her easy acceptance of my feelings, but I don’t want to worry them over nothing. I’ve never made a prediction, so surely this is a mild case of agoraphobia.
“Oh wait,” Lorna says, turning back to us with a finger in the air. “I did see a man and woman walking toward the library earlier. Witches, I think. They looked like they were on a mission.”
“I’ll ask my grandpa,” Rowyn says with a resolute nod, and lays a napkin on her lap.
“Enjoy your food,” Lorna calls over her shoulder.
I try, but the growing apprehension has soured my stomach.
Around sundown, the four of us walk back to the Dreaming Willow. Hexate, Feralia, and Astra are nearby. They’ve begun to explore the wooded areas around the inn. Hexate has always been a solitary creature, but I think we’re both finding a new comfort from being in a group.
The further we get from town square, the lingering paranoia begins to fade. The nagging sensation of someone watching me morphs into a simmering protectiveness. I hadn’t noticed the growing connection I have to the property until I felt a presence before I saw her on the porch steps.
Our familiars beat us back, sitting a few feet away from her on the cobblestone pathway. They’re watching the woman, but don’t move toward her. They eye her curiously and wait for us.
I begin to walk forward, but my steps slow when there’s about ten feet between us.
Her long, dark brown hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and her medium, olive skin glows under the twilight sky. Her smile is pretty and alluring, pulling me in like a siren call.
It’s a very familiar picture.
The stranger’s clothes are different from Isadora’s—a mini velvet skirt and a maroon corset with a black sheer cardigan, rather than the pretty long-sleeved dress—and they aren’t identical. Not like Petra and me. They do look similar enough to be sisters, if anything. Soft, full curves with round features and an aura that could bring anyone to their knees.
“Definitely a Love Witch,” Rowyn leans over and whispers.
Looking at her with a smirk, I raise my eyebrows in silent confirmation.
“Hi,” the woman says in a silky lilt, giving a small wave.
No one replies but multiple sets of eyes land on me, waiting.
