I laugh softly, shaking my head. “I am, but Trina warned me I might not like it long-term.”
“I don’t go in there much,” Lacey says. “Fern doesn’t really want it cleaned. Even the mildest cleaning solutions could damage the old paper, just from fumes. I wouldn’t dare dust anything in case those old books just fell apart.”
“They are delicate,” I agree. “So, you think it’s haunted, too, huh? Trina was telling me.”
“Yeah,” Lacey says, taking a slow, thoughtful bite of a donut. “It’s creepy. I’m not sure why.”
“Plenty of the old buildings in town are creepy,” Trina says. “They just have the vibes, especially the old council chambers, the church, and the shack behind the park.”
“Yeah,” Lacey says, laughing. “We used to knock and run on that shed for kicks, remember?”
“Yeah,” Trina laughs. “Remember that night it actually swung open, and we all bolted screaming?”
“How could I forget?” Lacey says. “Probably just the wood and hinges warping over time. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”
Trina looks away as if the subject isn’t funny anymore, and I get a strange feeling in my gut.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
Trina nods. “I had some really bad nightmares after that night,” she admits. “And since then, I pick up nasty vibes from places, and then I just don’t go in. It never happened to me before then.”
“You told me about some of that,” Lacey says. “I didn’t know it was still happening.”
“Not as much,” Trina replies. “But at the time, it was pretty scary.”
“You’re a witch,” Lacey says in a silly, spooky voice, waving her fingers in the air.
“Shut up. I wouldn’t want to be in this town.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“There were witch trials here,” Trina says. “Not historically recorded, so it could just be local lore for tourist trade. But there are stories of women who could cure the sick and bring life back to the fields. There was one in particular who was a founder of the town. Her husband was extremely rich and powerful.”
“Oh,” I say, curiosity beginning to burn inside me. “Do you remember any more of the story? Or their names?”
“Not offhand,” Trina says. “But something went down, and then the witches were all gone, or in hiding.”
“Fascinating,” I mutter.
Trina shrugs, and I know she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. We finish our food and coffee, and then I head back to “the tomb” to keep working.
Out in the small back room with its old wooden shelves and stone walls, I wait for the uncomfortable feeling the other girls talked about, but it just doesn’t come. A tiny window nearthe roof lets in a little light, and the old table has a very bright lamp. The two light sources make very deep shadows in every corner.
But it doesn’t scare me. This room feels comfortable. I’m at peace in here, even.
Thinking about what Trina said, I go to the shelves and run my finger across the old leather spines of the books. A strange feeling seems to gather at my fingertips, like a magnet, and I find my hand hovering over one in particular.
Shrugging, I pull it out to take a look, going to sit under the bright lamp to read it. The book is handwritten in old-fashioned cursive, but I can read it clear as day.
I read notes from town officials—such as the mayor—that tell of a “sorority” assisting the town to bring in a great harvest, as well as keep illness at bay. More reports like this go on page after page, until I find one from one of the women.
My powers grow stronger by the day. We flourish in this new land. The sensation in my hands resonates in time with nature, and I feel there is nothing I cannot do.
Her words intrigue me, and I follow on for the next few pages, a little shocked to read that this woman from another time is describing the same sense of energetic well-being I’m currently experiencing.
It doesn’t mean there’s any such thing as magic or witches. Maybe something is left in these old buildings, or even in this book.
“Hello?”
