by Kathryn Moon
“June? June are you- ah, there you are!” A woman called out behind him with a voice that spoke of minivans and bake sales.
Ash smirked at the yarn in front of him. So June had herself warded to avoid notice too. And it had worked on him. Even more impressive.
“Sheriff Nolan, how can I help you?”
Ash glanced over his shoulder, surprised to find that the soccer mom was in a Sheriff’s uniform. When she gave him an uneasy glance in return, he focused back on the yarn, catching a shade that was roughly the color of June’s gray eyes and counting the hanks. The stitch witch was right. He was big and it was going to take a lot of yarn to make a sweater to fit his massive frame, but she had a good stock and it had been a long time since he’d gotten to work with human hands.
“It’s a… it’s just a funny little local thing but I uh… I thought you might be able to…umm…” Footsteps shuffled farther away from Ash, and voices lowered. “It’s just that some campers came into the station this morning after, well, seeing some things out in the woods.”
Quiet followed, and Sheriff Nolan cleared her throat several times before speaking again when June refused to. “Um, some symbols and…tools and things. Some blood too,” she added softly. “Not that I think you or- well not that I think you know anything about it. Just that you might be able to say whether or not it was just teenagers or…”
“I see.” June’s voice clipped around the soft words. “Where in the woods?”
“Near the main campsites. Rangers say some new campers are expected this afternoon—“
“I can take a look after work, but I have the shop to run until five, Sheriff.”
Ash turned his face away so they couldn’t catch him grinning. She was a mean little stitch witch, and tough as steel. Incorruptible, he thought. It would be fun to wear her down.
“Yes, of course, I’ll let the Rangers know. They can…keep it out of the way for the campers. Will you call the station and let me know what you think?”
“Of course. I’m sure it’s like you said, some kind of prank.”
The Sheriff left after a few more murmured words, and Ash tried to curl a tendril of power in June’s direction to see if he could catch a chink in the wholesome armor. Instead, he hit a cold and mirroring wall. One glance at June, her eyes glaring into his, and he drew back with a wink and a smile.
“Found what I’d like,” Ash said, drawing the shelf’s worth of gray wool and catching a set of needles out of a basket and into his arms, carrying it toward the desk.
June swallowed, a flash of mourning streaking across her face, like she was already missing the loss of her stock. No wonder she had so many wards up, if she barely even wanted customers.
“Do you need help finding a pattern?”
“Oh, I know my way around a sweater,” he said. “And I’ll come in if I have any questions.”
June ‘hmm’d in response, eyes on the yarn he dropped onto the desk. Ash thought he might even make questions up, see if he could ruffle her glass feathers, or find a weak spot in the armor she clearly loved to build. She glanced at him after delivering the total, a number she expected to warrant shock, but he was on Hell’s dime—and if there was one thing Morningstar didn’t skimp on, it was paying the staff. He passed her a heavy gold card, warm to the touch, and eyed the contrast in their hands. She had long, thin fingers and smooth skin that he wanted to take between his lips and see if it was as cold as she tried to appear. His hands were twice the size of hers, chipped with scars, and dark with the illusion of a sun he’d been dreaming of for over a century.
“Enjoy your work,” she said, passing him a bag heavy with wool.
This time Ash skimmed the back of her hand with calloused fingers, watched her grip tighten around the twine handles of the bag before pulling away, leaving him to catch it before it hit the floor.
“Nice shop you have here,” he said, grinning, watching her grind her teeth and clench her fist at her side. Her other hand rose to her throat, some protective instinct responding to being caught in the sight lines of a predator. There was a flash of regret in his gut—an old side effect of the conquering game that he’d forgotten—and he kicked it aside, adding before he left, “Good luck in the woods.”
He made it nearly to the door before magic sliced a line up his spine. Ash grunted at the sting of pain, feet stumbling in response to her all but shoving him out. The grunt softened into a laugh, and the sting followed him out onto the sidewalk and even into the hardware store.
June the stitch witch.
I like her. Ash paused in front of some reclaimed wood and frowned at the thought. He liked the witch the way a fox liked spotting a mother rabbit coming out of its warren. She’s a challenge, he assured himself. Or was she challenging?
He let the hardware shop clerk—a kid with black hair hanging in his eyes and a nervous shift of his feet—interrupt his musing, and he started to rattle off an order of supplies for the club. It was time to think like Pie. Do the right things in the right order, starting with the club. And maybe with swinging by the campgrounds to see what Sheriff Nolan was whispering about.
You could throw June off. Give her something to worry about.
“Color preference on the paint?”
Ash cleared his throat, and reached to grab a handful of charcoal and bruise green paint chips.
“It’ll come out darker than it looks here,” the kid, Danny by the name tag, squeaked at him.
“I’m aware,” Ash answered, the snarl in his voice coming out unbidden.
Maybe he would wait to tell Beleth about the woods. Catch it before the rangers cleaned things up, but after June had a chance to investigate. If he wanted to snare her, he’d have to find a way of getting her guard to lower first.
An hour later, Beleth frowned at the sack of yarn Ash set by the door as he returned to the club, but the darkness on his face sharpened to expectation as Ash stepped aside to reveal the young hardware clerk behind him, loaded down with supplies. Work stopped in the club. Aim and Barbie had gone shirtless, baring skin patterned with tattoos as they tore up the old carpet. Vinny and Pie were dismantling the lamps above the bar, and Vinny paused to sneer at the kid in the doorway.
“Just drop the stuff on the tables,” Ash said, heaving a paint can up on the bar. “Boys, this is Danny. He rides a Yamaha.”
Beleth grinned at Ash, and then stepped into Danny’s path before the kid could make it back to the door and escape. “Welcome to Hell’s Bells MC. I’m Bell.”
Danny released a soft squeak, the sound of air escaping a balloon.
“Don’t mind the smell,” Aim added, grinning.
Josie was carrying out the trash after closing the shop—looking forward to getting up to her apartment in time to cook something fancier than a grilled cheese, and binge some Great British Baking Show—when a shadow slid up the length of the alley. Her heart seized in her chest, body vibrating and feet stumbling backwards to pin herself against the wall.
And then June appeared, stepping under the fall of the flickering alley lamp, her eyes as wide and startled, as if it was Josie sneaking up on her rather than the other way around.
“Ah merde! June! What the—”
“Are you busy?”
Josie blinked, her mouth hanging open. “Uh. Yeah. I need to go to the emergency room because you gave me a heart attack. What are you doing out here?”
“I need your help,” June said, eyes wincing as if the words cost her.
Come to think of it, Josie’d never heard those words from June’s mouth before. Not in that order. She set her hand over her heart as if to slow the wild beating in her chest and released a long breath. It was dark in the alley, surrounded by brick buildings, but the sun wouldn’t be down quite yet. A fancy dinner would probably be out of the question if June needed a favor. That was okay, Josie actually loved grilled cheese, even if it had become a too frequent staple in her diet.
“Alright. Just let me lock up.” Josie thre
w the trash into the dumpster, and locked the backdoor after glancing inside one last time to be sure she hadn’t forgotten to turn anything off or put any dairy away. June had her arms wrapped around her waist as Josie faced her. “You could’ve texted,” Josie said, trying not to sound too prickly.
June shrugged. “I didn’t think of it. And you’re just down the alley. Come on. We’re going up to Merryweather.”
“Aww, the park? June, it’ll be dark by the time we get there.”
“That’s for the best. I’ll drive.”
Josie followed June down the alley with slow steps. “I should go grab a sweater or something.”
“I’ve got sweaters in the car.”
Of course she did. June was simultaneously the coziest person Josie knew, as well as the chilliest in demeanor. But she was no-bullshit, and supportive in her own way, and she’d given Josie every piece of advice needed to fight the local council in getting the patisserie cleared with all of its regulations.
June’s old Toyota was parked behind her yarn store, and sure enough, there was a pile of sweaters and scarves tossed into the backseat. Josie slid into the passenger’s seat and twisted around to rifle through the selection as June started up the engine. She found a plain and exceptionally soft pink sweatshirt style and pulled it on over her head before buckling in. June glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.
“You can keep that one. Pink’s not my color.” Pink would look wonderful on June with all her pale wintery coloring, but Josie’d never seen her wear anything other than soft earth tones, like she was constantly trying to blend in to an office wall. “Just don’t throw it in the machine. It’s a cashmere blend.” Josie stroked her hands over the sleeves, enjoying the kitten soft texture as June chewed on her lip. “Maybe just bring it to me when you need it washed.”
Josie snorted, and June startled in her seat as if she missed the joke. The car turned out onto Main Street and headed out of downtown Sweet Pea, passing the last door on the corner where light was creeping out from behind windows blacked out with newspaper. Even from inside the car, Josie could hear the blare of droning rock music coming from inside the motorcycle club’s new headquarters.
“One of them came into the shop today.”
“Mr. Bad News?” Josie asked, immediately swiveling to face June. When she frowned in confusion, Josie explained, “Tall, studly tower of a man? Black hair to here,” she said, gesturing to her chin.
June shook her head and hummed. “Um, major giant. Dull blond hair. Big beard.”
“Ohhh the brown bear, mhm.” For a moment, Josie almost thought she saw June’s lips twitch with a smile. “So what did he want?”
There was a pause of quiet as they turned right. “Yarn,” June said, sounding as baffled by the word as Josie was. When Josie blinked at her, June shrugged. “He said he wanted to make a sweater.”
“Huh. He did seem to like my macarons.” There was that almost smile again. “Maybe he’s like… a Bear bear. You know,” Josie said as June frowned. “They’re all living together. Maybe they’re a gay biker gang.”
June’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “You hadn’t considered it before?”
Josie shrugged, ignoring the stab of disappointment at the thought of Mr. Bad News being more interested in men than he might be in her. She did not need to have her eye on that man.
“I’m officially guilty of stereotyping,” Josie said, smirking. “Probably in multiple directions since it took me until the knitting thing to consider it. Is it bad if I’m like… more charmed at the idea of all those scary dudes being gay?”
June huffed a brief laugh. “I have no idea, but I think you were right about them. I didn’t smell brimstone but Ash… passed my wards as he came in, and it felt like a violation. Like someone had just broken into my house. I don’t think he should’ve gotten in.”
“Ash?”
June’s lips pressed together as she turned left onto the road leading to the park. “That was his name.”
Damn. Why hadn’t Josie grabbed Mr. Bad News’ name? No. Bad Josie. Banish the man from your brain, girl.
“I’ll do a tarot reading later,” June continued. “For now, Sheriff Nolan came in while he was there. Said tourists found evidence of some kind of ritual near the campsites. Including blood.”
“Whoa! What? June, how did we take this car drive without you saying something before?” They passed Grimsby House, Josie’s eyes straying out the car window to stare at the building. She knew the bikers were at the club, and the house was dark, but she rolled her eyes at herself for trying to find any evidence of them. It looked like the same old cute Victorian it had before they’d rolled into town. What was she expecting? Skull flags flying on the parapets? The house painted black? Fire in the windows?
“Nolan asked me to take a look at the spot. See if it looked like it was made by someone who knew what they were doing.”
“Do you think it could be the bikers?” Josie asked.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the park sign. June turned off her lights, leaving the engine running in the dark for another moment. “Maybe. Or teenagers. I’m hoping teens, it is getting close to Halloween. But since you felt something when the men were in your shop yesterday, I was hoping maybe you could… pick up an energy?” She frowned at her own words.
“Okay, yeah. Let’s hike.”
The car stuttered into silence, and they stepped out and marched up the path. Josie was warm in the sweater June lent her—or gifted, depending on the washing situation—despite the bite of fall hanging in the air. The sky was rosy with sunset through the trees, and smoke traveled through the forest to the path, fragrant with meat cooking.
“Same tourists still camping?” Josie asked June. If the ones who’d found the ritual remnants were still around, they might be able to ask them questions, like if they’d heard anything in the night. Like a chicken squawking its last squawk.
“No. New ones. They should be out of the way.”
They passed the campfire and tent from the opposite fork in the campsite paths, and Josie caught a glimpse of a young couple kissing by firelight, a marshmallow ignored and burning at the end of a skewer. Good. Those two definitely wouldn’t notice her and June creeping around in the dark. On the other end of the campsites, Deputy Nolan—Sheriff Nolan’s son—and a local ranger waited on a picnic table. The men tucked the beers in their hands behind them as they caught sight of the witches.
“Sorry for the wait,” June said as they reached the park table where the men were waiting.
“Hey there,” Mark Nolan greeted, jumping up from the table and pulling off his uniform hat, sweeping fingers through brown hair as he smiled at June. “No problem. Good to see ya!”
Poor guy, Josie thought. June’s shoulders drew in and she nodded, her eyes searching the ground for the ritual marks.
“Hey Mark,” Josie offered. She was no June Byrne, not to a guy like Mark who had probably been in love with June Byrne since elementary school, but at least Josie had manners when it came to saying hello. “So where’s the spooky shit?”
June glared at her, and Josie stared back, willing her friend to be halfway human for once. They did not need the locals thinking that they were up in Merryweather doing blood rituals on the weekend. So it was time to play it cool.
“This way,” the Ranger said, jerking his head behind him and away from the paths. He was a shorter guy, stocky, with a sunburn and the kind of unkempt beard on his chin that said he was either well into married life or determinedly single. “It’s likely just kids,” he said in a grunt.
Josie didn’t blame him. If it weren’t for the Sheriff knowing hints about their coven, he could’ve cleaned the site up and gone home hours ago, satisfied with his own assessment.
“That’s what we figure,” Josie said, letting a hint of her old New Orleans drawl slide out. It’d been twenty years since Mama had dragged her north, and for the most part any accent was long gone by now. But Jos
ie had learned over the years that there was something about sounding southern that made northerners smile and ease up, like they thought you were suddenly a redneck on their favorite TV show because you said ‘y’all.’
Sure enough, the ranger relaxed, hooking his thumbs into his belt loop and letting his gut hang forward. Men are simple, I swear, Josie thought.
“Here it is,” he said.
It took her a moment to spot the circle in the sweep of his arm. It was dark out, and a day of sitting out in the open left some of the marks softened in the earth and the blood long dried. What did catch Josie’s eye was the knife. June stepped up to her side, gray eyes wide and fixed on the blade. It was simple, but not common. In fact, it was familiar and that was freaking them both out. Josie nudged June toward the knife, the athame—a ceremonial blade meant to direct energy, not cut things—now stained with crusted blood, and then took a slow walk around the circle.
“I’ll see if I can make anything out of the marks,” Josie said, crouching and squinting at the fading chalk in the grass. Squiggles mostly, nothing familiar. If it weren’t for the athame, she would’ve said this was absolutely teenagers.
“If it’d just been spray paint and candles, I’d never’ve mentioned it to the Sheriff,” the Ranger said.
Josie feigned balancing herself in her crouch, running her hand around the edge of the circle to see if there was any snap of magic. Nothing. Her gaze slid to June’s and they stared at one another, trying to remain blank while feeling equally disturbed and confused.
“But with the blood, and that fancy looking knife…”
“I dunno about the blood, aside from they sell pig’s at the butchers,” Josie said, locking eyes with June as she continued, “But that knife looks like something a boy would probably order himself online.”
June blinked, and then nodded. “Google makes it easier for amateurs to mimic real practitioners,” she said.
One look at the two men, and Josie knew they thought “real” was a pretty subjective term when it came to this kind of thing. Which was better for their coven in the long run.
