by Terri Reid
“See, that makes it a little harder for you to untie yourself,” Hazel explained. She nodded. “Okay then. It was nice to meet you. I’ve got to go.”
She heard the howl of anger as she stepped outside. Then she waited, outside the door, to hear claws scrambling across the wooden floor. At just the right time, she slammed the door shut. Hazel heard the muffled thump and the whimper. “Ouch, that had to hurt,” she said and then, with the bottle in hand, jogged back to the church.
Chapter Thirty-five
Hazel ran back to the church and slipped through the small door that she’d left slightly ajar. She turned and bolted the door behind her. “Just in case wolf woman decides to come looking for me,” she said to herself.
As she ran up the staircase, she saw Joseph at the top of the stairs. “Where did you go?” he asked.
“I had a little run-in with one of your townspeople,” she said, hurrying up the steps. “And I think I found the poison.”
“What?” he asked. “Who?”
“I don’t know her name,” she said as she reached the second floor and handed him the bottle. “But I saw a woman coming down the hall with a bottle in her hand. When she heard voices from Gabriella’s room, she quickly turned around and hurried down the stairs.”
They both walked down the hallway back to the room.
“When I followed her back to her cabin, I saw her pouring bottles of this down her drain,” Hazel continued. “So, I decided to save this last one for us.”
“May I have it?” Henry asked.
Joseph handed Henry the bottle, and Henry opened it, smelled it, then dabbed his finger on the edge and tasted a tiny sample. “This is what I tasted,” he said.
“What is it?” Rowan asked, taking the bottle from Henry. She also smelled it and tasted a minute amount. “It’s rue!”
“Rue?” Hazel asked. “But isn’t that okay?”
“Not if it’s used fresh or in large amounts,” Rowan said, shaking her head. “And this medicine has a large amount of rue oil in it.”
Gabriella looked at the bottle. “That’s Sister Helga’s medicine,” she said. “I can smell it from here.”
“Sister Helga gave you this?” Joseph asked.
“She made me take it,” Gabriella said. “She told me that it would make me better.”
Joseph turned to his grandfather. “If she did this…”
Henrich nodded. “We are going to have to deal with her.”
Hazel sighed and looked at Joseph. “About that,” she began.
Suddenly there was a commotion from outside. Joseph went to the window and opened it up.
“Witch! Witch! Witch!” came the chant from outside.
“Well, damn,” Hazel muttered.
Joseph turned to Hazel. “What?”
“Okay, I may have used magic,” she admitted. “But only for self-defense.”
He looked back out the window. A crowd was gathering together, holding torches and pitchforks. From the back came Helga, still wearing the cone around her neck and the muzzle over her face.
“What’s Helga wearing?” Joseph asked.
Hazel peered around him at the crowd. “Oh, well, that would be a muzzle and a cone of shame,” she replied. “She really was acting like a bad dog.”
Joseph turned to Hazel in amazement. “This is not a laughing matter,” he said. “Do you know what they did to witches in the old country?”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Do you really think those were witches they did that to?” she asked. “Really?”
Henrich shook his head. “What are we going to do?” he asked. “We will have a riot on our hands if we don’t give them some kind of explanation. We need a miracle.”
Hazel turned and smiled at him. “That’s perfect,” she said, hurrying to the door. “Okay, you all stay here. I have an idea.”
“I’m going with you,” Joseph insisted.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, but you need to stay in the background.”
She hurried down the stairs and then out into the chapel. As she walked down the large center aisle, she waved her hand, and both doors opened wide. “Angelus,” she whispered.
Suddenly her clothing was transformed into long robes of white and gold, and large, white wings were attached to her back. She stepped out of the church and faced the crowd. Her long, chestnut hair was flowing freely. A golden halo hovered above her head, and her wings were outstretched.
She lifted her arms and hovered above the steps of the church.
“Good people of Wulffolk,” she said in her best English accent. “We have heard your prayers of faith for the healing of your own little Gabriella.”
Rowan, looking down from the window, shook her head and smiled. “She did this every year at Christmastime,” she said. “She loves being an angel.”
“Yeah, but will they buy it?” Henry asked, looking over her shoulder. “Her English accent is atrocious.”
Suddenly, Helga ran forward with a pitchfork. “She’s a witch!” she screamed. “We need to kill her! She’s a witch!”
“My sweet, confused child,” Hazel said. “As you can see, I am not a witch, but an angel.”
The townsfolk dropped their weapons and knelt on the ground, their faces bent.
“Looks like she convinced them,” Henry said.
“Please, my good friends, please arise and be wary,” she said. “We heard your prayers. And we are concerned about the innocents in your town, because there is one among you who is poisoning them.”
“Poison?” the crowd gasped.
Hazel slowly lowered herself to the steps of the church and looked directly at Helga. “It is written that confession is good for the soul, Sister Helga,” she said.
The crowd gasped.
“She’s lying!” Helga screamed, slowly backing away from the rest of the townspeople. “She’s lying. She’s not an angel. She’s a witch.”
“And yet, I’m standing on hallowed ground,” Hazel countered. “Why did you poison the children with rue, Sister Helga?”
“I saw her gathering rue just the other day,” one townswoman cried out.
“She’s a murderer!” one of the older men yelled.
Changing back into her wolf form, Helga sprinted away from the square and to the edge of town. Then she disappeared through the hedge at the border. Other townsfolk began to change too until Joseph stepped forward. “Wait,” he called. “I will find Helga and we will let the laws of our country deal with her. For now, you should go back to your homes and give thanks that Gabriella is going to live.”
As the townspeople started to disperse, Joseph discreetly grabbed hold of the back of Hazel’s robe and pulled her back into the church. Once inside, he closed and locked the doors. Then he just stared at her.
“What?” she asked.
He stepped forward, cupped her face in his hands and whispered, “This!” And then he kissed her.
She slipped her arms around his neck and enveloped them both in her wings as she returned his kiss. Finally, they slowly separated, their breathing unsteady. “I’ve never kissed an angel before,” he whispered, sliding his lips over hers once more.
She sighed softly. “How did you like it?” she asked, her eyes filled with love.
“It’s something I could definitely get used to,” he replied softly, tenderly kissing her again. Then he smiled into her eyes. “But I still think I prefer sassy witches. Even when they cause chaos and unrest wherever they go.”
She grinned. “At least I’m not boring.”
He laughed out loud. “No, never that.”
She rested her head against his chest. “We should probably look through her cabin to see if there’s anything else relevant there,” she said.
He nodded, held her close for another moment, and then released her. “Okay,” he agreed. “Back to reality.”
As she stepped back, her wings disappeared, and her long robes were replaced by jeans and a shirt. “Back to normal,” she sai
d.
He shook his head. “You will never be merely normal,” he replied.
She grinned. “Yeah, that’s what my family’s been telling me for years.”
Chapter Thirty-six
The crow flew over the area again, searching for the small group of people. He had followed them from the Willoughby Farm and had watched them park the car and start walking through the field. He’d circled several times, keeping watch on their whereabouts, but when he made his final turn, they had all disappeared.
He flew lower, flying just above the tops of the grasses, but he couldn’t see them. He tried again, flying even lower, following the path below the grass line. Suddenly the path ended, and he pulled up, flapping his wings to avoid hitting the thick brush ahead of him.
He dropped to the ground in front of the brush and noticed that the path seemed to continue into the vegetation. He hopped up to a small branch and tried to peer inside the foliage. Was there something moving in there?
Helga slashed at the deep brush, trying to find her way out of the village. She’d never come this way before, had always stayed within the safe confines of the village. But now, because of that witch, she was forced to abandon her home and her dreams. Damn them! Damn them all— but especially that witch.
Like a machete, her claws raked across the brush, creating a narrow opening that she could push through. The collar around her neck was her greatest hindrance, constantly getting stuck on limbs and branches and yanking her head backwards. Growling, she swiped at the plastic monstrosity, but it just sprung back into place, slapping her across her snout. She growled again, her temper flaring. As soon as she got away, she would take care of the collar first thing.
Thrashing forward, she was making slow but steady progress. Finally, she peered through the leaves and could see the field beyond. She was only a yard or so away from freedom. Just then a crow alighted on one of the branches on the outermost part of the brush. This time it was Helga’s stomach that growled, and her mouth watered. She’d been so busy she hadn’t bothered to eat anything that morning. Although crow would be more bones than meat, it would satiate her hunger until she could hunt something more substantial.
She slowly positioned herself in the brush, knowing how far she could leap through the small window into the boughs. She waited until the crow turned toward the open field, and then, pushing with the mighty muscles in her back legs, she bounded forward toward the unsuspecting bird.
Her head soared through the shrubbery, but the cone of shame caught on a thick, low-hanging branch. She was jerked sideways, which changed the angle of her attack. She tried to slow down, but the power of her launch was too strong for her to be able to stop. She tumbled out of the brush and fell to the ground, landing with a thump.
“I beg your pardon!” an outraged, muffled voice sounded from underneath her.
Helga lifted her head to find Kendall pinned underneath her. He looked up at her, and his eyes widened in shock. He screamed and tried to scramble out from under her, but her clawed paw held him tight.
“Who are you?” she growled. “And what are you doing here?”
Scared beyond the ability to deceive, Kendall shook his head. “I’m following Norwalk and those Willoughbys,” he said.
Helga angled her head and stared at him with her yellow eyes. “Are you friend or foe of the Willoughbys?” she asked.
“Those damn witches have caused me nothing but trouble since I’ve been in Whitewater,” he raged. “We’d all be better off without them.”
She stood up, towering over him, and then smiled. “I think we could perhaps be helpful to each other,” she offered.
He scrambled to his feet and quickly backed up several feet. “What are you?” he asked.
She shifted back to her human form. “No more than you,” she replied. “Only more powerful.”
He looked at the plastic collar around her neck and the loose muzzle on her face. “Willoughby work?” he asked.
Surprised, she nodded. “How did you know?” she asked.
“Seems like their sense of humor,” he said. He waved his hand, and the objects vanished.
Helga lifted her hand to her neck and, feeling it empty, nodded her thanks. “What is it that you need to find out about Norwalk?” she asked.
“I need to discover his secrets,” Kendall said.
Helga smiled slowly. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Hazel and Joseph went back up to Gabriella’s room and found the others waiting for them. When they entered the room, Henrich immediately turned to his grandson. “Joseph, I must speak with you in private for a moment,” he said insistently. He turned to the others in the room and nodded politely. “If you will excuse us please.”
“Of course,” Hazel replied. “We’ll wait here for you.”
Henrich closed the door behind them, which left Rowan, Henry and Hazel in the small bedroom with the sleeping Gabriella.
“I was impressed with your angel,” Rowan said with a smile. “Quick thinking.”
“Well, I really didn’t feel like being burned at a stake today,” Hazel replied, sitting on a wooden chair in the corner of the room. “I mean, it’s been a really good hair day, and I would hate to waste it with a fire.”
“Good point,” Rowan laughed.
Hazel looked over at Gabriella. “How’s she doing?”
“Good,” Rowan said, her eyes gentling as they looked at the child. “She chatted with us for a little while. Then she just wore herself out. But her vitals are all good, and I think we got all of the poison out.”
“You know what’s weird?” Henry asked suddenly, interrupting their conversation. He’d been quietly sitting in the corner, musing over some problem for quite some time.
The girls smiled at each other. “No, professor,” Hazel replied. “What’s weird?”
“There aren’t a lot of men in this village,” he said slowly.
“What?” Hazel asked.
Henry shrugged. “As an anthropologist, it’s kind of second nature to notice demographics—age, population, genders— and while I was studying that crowd out there, there were at least fifteen women to every one man. And the men were mostly older.”
“Lucky men,” Hazel teased.
Henry shook his head. “No, not lucky men,” he said. “I looked at the children down there, and they seemed to be fairly evenly divided between boys and girls.”
“So, something happens to the men at some point in their lives to make them leave the village?” Rowan asked.
“Make them leave,” Henry said, meeting her eyes. “One way or the other.”
“Are you talking about a disease?” Hazel asked. “Do you think the men died?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But I think there are more secrets to this town than just wolf people.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Henrich and Joseph walked to the other end of the hallway where Henrich opened a wooden door into a small study. “Please, go in,” he requested.
Joseph went in and sat in one of the small, leather chairs that flanked a small, unlit, wood burning stove. “What is it, grandfather?”
Henrich sat down across from Joseph and studied the young man’s face for a few moments. Then he sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I went downstairs,” he said slowly, “to see if I could be of help with the villagers. I saw you and Miss Willoughby.”
Joseph straightened in the chair. “You saw us?”
“I saw you kiss her,” Henrich clarified. “And I saw her kiss you back.”
Joseph nodded. “A kiss is not a sin, grandfather,” he said.
“But a lie is,” Henrich replied. “Even a lie of omission.”
“I’m not lying to her,” Joseph argued, dropping his eyes to look at the floor.
“If you cannot be honest with me,” Henrich said, “at least be honest with yourself.”
Joseph looked up, his eyes filled with regret. �
�She makes me feel…” he began. “I have never met someone…”
“You sound like your father,” Henrich said with a sad sigh.
“My mother was my father’s great love,” Joseph said, defending his parents.
Henrich nodded slowly. “I will not argue with that,” he said. “But your father was not truthful with your mother. If he had been, there would have been less pain in the end.”
Joseph stood up and walked to the window that looked over the back of the village. “He didn’t know if she would stay with him if he told her the truth,” he said quietly.
“He did not trust their love enough,” Henrich argued.
“Perhaps he didn’t,” Joseph agreed. “But perhaps he thought that even a few days with her would be enough for both of them.”
“He should have told her,” Henrich said firmly. “He should have let her make her own choice. Just as you need to tell Hazel.”
Joseph whirled around. “But I might not carry that gene,” he said. “It may not even be an issue. Why should I bring it up when I’m probably fine?”
Henrich stood up and walked over to his grandson, placing his hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “You should tell her because secrets destroy a relationship,” he said. “And you should tell her because you trust her.”
Joseph shook his head. “I don’t even know if this relationship is—”
“Don’t lie to me, boy,” Henrich interrupted sharply. Then he softened his tone. “And don’t lie to yourself. I have never seen you like this.”
Joseph sighed and nodded. “I have never felt like this, and I don’t know what I would do if she walked away.”
“You don’t give her enough credit,” Henrich said. “This Hazel Willoughby is not a shrinking violet who would run away when things get hard.”
“But if I do carry the gene, what woman wants to tie herself to a man like me?” he asked regretfully.
“A woman who understands that a great love only comes around once in a lifetime.” Henrich replied. “And is willing to sacrifice for that love, even if it is only for a short amount of time.”
