Ladybug sputtered.Shewas no high crone! She didn’t possess any of her great aunt’s ferocity, and she was certain that was a necessary component to leadership. Besides, Cambric Creek already had a coven.
“You really do want to get me in trouble with the regulatory board! I can’t just go start a new coven willy-nilly, Holt. Even if I wanted to — which Idon’t! — there are guidelines to follow!”
Another roll of his eyes, but his smile was self-satisfied. “I never said anything about a coven. I said start astudygroup. A small, intimate gathering at your home. Put to good use all you know, give others an opportunity to learn. That’s all. Hexennacht would be a perfect excuse. I’m sure there are plenty of witches and would-bes who don’t even realize there is celebration to be had.”
She didn’t have a chance to respond. The doors were pulled open, the start of the market, the first two dozen customers coming in almost immediately.
“Welcome, friends. Welcome back, I should say to some of you.” Holt had his witchy showman voice firmly locked in place, leaving her no room to mull over his words. “We have last week’s sell-outs in replenished quantity, as you can see. All made with ample amounts of Araneaen venom, sourced directly from the partner of our witch, right here in Cambric Creek. You never need to worry about an inferior import or nefarious collection tactics with Brackenbridge Spellcraft — it’s all sourced in-house. What a relief it is to have him in town, is it not, ladies?”
Ladybug exhaled on a laugh, shaking her head. He was a shameless salesman, but he was in her corner, at least, for the moment. She would consider Holt’s idea about a study group, she decided. She owed him that.You told yourself you were going to start listening to him. But you can think about all that later. It’s showtime, and you’ve got lube acolytes to convert.
Therewasachillin the air. It had rained that morning — a grey drizzle blown in by a cold front whose winds rattled the tree’s fledgling leaves. The recently opened tulip magnolias trembled on their branches, a handful of the delicate purple blooms scattering across the lawn. The old house seemed to hold the chill and dampness, and the wretched climate was doing nothing to improve her panicked mood.
She had never entertained before.
It was almost embarrassing to admit at her age, but that didn’t make it any less true. They had hosted countless coven meetings in their home, classes and workshops, potion brewing and spellcasting soirées, but that was when her aunts had still been alive. Since they’d been gone, she’d not had anyone else in this house. Not until Anzan had shown up at her door.
And now, because of Holt, she was hosting a party. A Hexennacht party, on the most fraught day of the year for her.
Ladybug felt as though she were going to shake apart. She was meant to pretend that there were no bad memories associated with the celebration, that she had never done anything on this night but danced before the fire with her sisters; eat, drink, and be merry, and exalt the Dark Mother.You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know how to entertain; you don’t know how to smile and laugh and tell stories. This was all a mistake, a terrible mistake!
“I should have never let him talk me into this!” She was pacing the length of the kitchen, wringing her hands. Anzan stood at the counter, eating a small container of gray sludge, dotted with something black suspended in the pudding-like snack. He had disposed of the packaging and she had never tried it, but Ladybug was not entirely sure she believed his claims of it being tapioca. “Why have I listened to Holt about anything?!”
Anzan rolled his eyes. “Little bug, do not pretend that you have not enjoyed these last few weeks at your market. You come home positively ebullient.” She huffed, spinning around to find him grinning. “And I, for one, am thrilled over it. You have scarcely seemed so happy, my Ladybug. You have been listening to the cat man because his ideas for your business have been good. Who is to say that his idea for this witchly gathering is not also a good one?”
“I donotlike you being friends,“ she grumbled. “And you don’t understand,” she sighed, deflating slightly. Anzan opened two of his arms, and she trudged forward, dropping against him as he enfolded her, his other two arms still engaged in his snack. “This is the celebration when I was kicked out of the coven,” she admitted miserably. “This used to be my favorite time of year. I used to look forward to this night for months. But now . . . I don’t know how I feel about it at all, now.”
“Perhaps that is all the better reason to have these witches here as a distraction.” His voice was gentle, the tips of his claws raking carefully through her unruly waves. “Perhaps that is why Holt suggested it in the first place.”
Ladybug scowled against his chest. “This is also the anniversary of Holt being an amoral, self-serving betrayer. I’m not sure why he wants to draw attention to that moment in our shared history.”
“I think maybe that is exactly his reasoning, my little witch.” Anzan shrugged at her scowl. “I do not believe that he is impenitent for the things that have transpired in your relationship. Perhaps this is his way of making amends. And you cannot deny, little bug, that youareenjoying yourself.“ He pressed a knuckle under her chin, raising her face gently. Ladybug blew out an aggrieved breath as he chuckled.
A full month had transpired since the first week at the market, two months since Holt had turned up in the garden. Every week was an agony at the Makers’ Mart. Every week without fail, she would start the morning off as a life-sized bundle of nerves, her stomach sitting somewhere in her chest and her heart sitting at the back of her mouth, unable to sit still, suffering from both nervous hands and indigestion.
. . . But then the doors would open and the people would flood in, and she didn’t have time to dwell on her inability to make small talk at all. She had questions to answer, products to explain, and an Araneaen lover to boast over. Anzan was right. Every week started the same, but so, too, did it end the same way. She would be flushed and happy, buzzing with the adrenaline that came from so much socialization, riding the high of another successful market day.
“I do not say this lightly, for I do not wish other felines to think I am so generous with compliments, but in fairness, little bug, he has been right about most things thus far, has he not? Perhaps it would be worthwhile to take his advice over this as well. After all, what is the worst that could possibly happen?” He went on, cutting off the protestation forming on her lips. “If your gathering is unsuccessful and you have a miserable time, then next time you will say no with a clear mind.”
She disliked being outnumbered in her own home. Inviting Holt in had been her first mistake. But allowing him and Anzan to conspire against her had been a bigger one.
“Fine. I will have this party. But youdounderstand what he’s doing, do you not? It starts with a little party to celebrate the Sabbath. Then he wants me to have these witches over once or twice a month so that we can discuss our histories, to review skills, to help them find resources to learn. And who better to practice your skills with? Your fellow witches, all assembled right there! Do you know what that sounds like, Anzan?”
“I am not a witch, little bug,” he responded somberly, the corner of his smile twitching when she stamped her foot. “But I do believe that has the makings of one of your covens.”
“That’s exactly what it sounds like to me as well,” she grumbled, wondering why she was allowing Holt to talk her into yet another new thing.
Despite her reservations, she decided Anzan was right.What is the worst that can come of it? If it’s as wretched as coven meetings always were, you never do it again. And if a garden cat wants to push the issue, then we banish him for good. Burdock and cumin, red pepper and caraway, an oil of holy thistle. Either that or we drop him off at the shelter.
Holt had provided the guest list. At least, part of it. Bethany, his former witch and business partner, a school administrator named Tara, Marina, the singer in a band Holt and his girlfriend followed around the city, and a few others he knew from his shop.
He had somehow unearthed a handful of solitary practitioners of the craft right here in town using his showman voice at their table at the Makers’ Mart to find his recruits. Milaya was another vendor from the Makers’ Mart, a vampiric beekeeper who sold her honey. Then there was the kitsune who’d shopped their table weekly, cheerfully announcing she was self-taught, probably clueless, and asked to bring a plus one to the party, and Agatha, the old crone who sold the dodgy potions. A motley bunch, but she was confident they’d be better companions than her former sisters. Ladybug had invited Agatha herself, and the old woman’s gap-toothed smile had been enough to convince her that maybe Anzan was right. This, too, was something she ought to listen to Holt on.
She had prepared a feast. It was technically the feast for Beltane, but she had made far too much, more than she and Anzan could eat alone, so the Beltane feast became the Hexennacht feast, and they would enjoy the leftovers the following day together. Raspberry oatcakes and spring lamb, bright lemon syrup and milky lavender tea, tray after tray of tiny finger foods, hors d’oeuvres both hot and cold, and creamy clementine possets for Anzan, poured into their hollowed-out rinds. She had flowers she’d been drying since the previous year, ready to be added to her incense for the fire, and fresh blooms to be woven into her hair.
She’d almost thrown in the towel several times over the course of her preparation. She wasn’t cut out for hosting. Ladybug accepted that she was very good at a great many things, butthiswas not one of them. She wasn’t sweet and she didn’t sparkle, nor could she enthrall guests with her storytelling prowess. Potions and powders,thosewere her friends. She’d never encountered a gossiping group of herbs or a cauldron that refused her as a charms partner.
As Hexennacht drew closer, the memories rose like a tide around her, leaving her stranded and alone on a rock amidst a turbulent sea.The high council cannot see how you can continue amongst our ranks. A witch who will not observe the sabbaths is not a witch at all.All she wanted to do was hide away, conceal her embarrassment and hurt, and lick her wounds and injured pride in solitude. This was all a terrible plan, and if she were wise, she would halt it before she further embarrassed herself, her home, her family name.
