It’s not the only reason Briarhollow is stuck in the past. The streetlights aren’t even electric. The oil candles are charmed to be long-lasting and permanently lit. Most of the roads and sidewalks are cobblestone, and a lot of the store signs are made from wood or iron.
Taking in the quaint town, I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I realize I don’t want to run away. Maybe I never actually did. I just wanted to be in a new place with people who appreciated me, or at the very least, who don’t hate my existence.
I’ve become so brainwashed by my mother’s hatred that I stopped wondering how other parts of the world saw Gray Witches—if we were truly coveted due to our magic or feared by the general public. There aren’t a lot of Gray Witches in Hemlocke, and none around my age.Like Divination Witches, our type of magic is less common than the other elements.
Even when I would sneak away to the city for a few hours, it was rare that I’d make the acquaintance of another witch with spirit magic. And Cordelia’s letter was correct—for many people with spirit magic, it’s easy to gain fame by connecting people with their loved ones who have passed over. Sometimes gaining enough recognition for their own television shows.
I don’t want any of that.
My only goal is to give the Gray Witches of the Blackthorn line a better future than the ones Cordelia and I were granted. Even if it comes at the cost of my own sanity.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I resolutely nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”
She watches me for a second before bobbing her head once in agreement, looking back out the windshield.
Some cars are charmed with navigation abilities. Finding the town is usually up to the driver. However, once you’re there, the car will adapt to the current geography. So, all I have to do is tell it the address I’m looking for.
“We need to find Mr. Edmond Finkle at 816 Hazel Lane.”
The car’s magic sputters for a few seconds, waking up from the long slumber it fell under while I was driving. It lurches forward with a rough creak.
I’m silent most of the way, letting out little sounds of surprise or approval as we make our way slowly through the town of Briarhollow.
The run-down buildings and outdated technology are exactly how I’ve always imagined Briarhollow. In other ways, it’s nothing like I would have ever dreamed of. Not from what my mother has said, at least. She’s spewed the same information her mother gave her, who learned from her mother.
There are a few families walking down the street with coffees and sweet treats in their hands. A group of teenagers fly down the road on their bikes and skateboards. Now that I’m closer, I can see how full the diner is. It’s just after breakfast time and people seem to be lingering at the tables, talking and laughing, but I was told that Briarhollow was nearly deserted. A ghost town.
Sure, it’s smaller than Hemlocke and isn’t bustling with crowds like I’m used to, but the people I’m seeing look content—happy. At least, enough so that it eases some of that “only one to save them all” pressure from Cordelia.
I’m still contemplating how brainwashed I’ve become when we slow to a stop in front of a small, green house. It matches the ornate, symmetrical style of homes that seem to be the norm.
Looking at Hexate with raised brows, I take her tilt of the head as a sign of approval—a mutual feeling. Stepping out of my car with my purse in one hand and Hexate wrapped around my other arm, I turn toward the front door.
The raven sitting on the mailbox at the bottom of the porch steps makes me pause. It’s watching Hexate and I with keen attention—head tilted to the side and eyes trained on us.
When it doesn’t move, I take a step forward. My foot barely crosses the fenceline when it rouses and spreads its wings out wide. Flinching back, I second guess going up to the door as Hexate hisses angrily at the bird.
The raven and I stand opposite each other for a few seconds, staring.
“I’m here to see Edmond,” I say, feeling silly but hoping this is his familiar. “May I come in?”
It caws loudly and rouses again.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I mutter and cross my arms.
Looking around the street, I watch one of his neighbors walk into her yard. She’s a short, older woman with gray-streaked brown hair that brushes her shoulders. From the impeccable front garden she has this early into the year, I can tell she’s a Green Witch.
When her kind eyes find me, a sympathetic smile tugs at her lips and she sets her watering can down. The closer she gets, the uncertainty settles in my gut.
“Hello, dear,” she calls out with a friendly wave.
Clearing my throat, I return the gesture awkwardly. “Hi.”
She eyes me then glances at the house behind me. “Can I help you find something—or someone? You look a bit lost.”
My face warms and I nod. “I’m here to see Edmond—” I gesture over my shoulder, “—but the raven isn’t happy about it.”
Sadness creeps into her features. “That’s Poppy. She was Edmond’s familiar.”
