Witch Myth Super Boxset: A Yew Hollow Cozy Mystery

by Alexandria Clarke

  Nora hugged me from the side, and we walked up the stairs to my room attached at the hip. “I’m not tired of you.”

  “Whether I stay or go isn’t up to you.”

  A wicked smile played at the edges of her lips. “Wanna bet?”

  6

  The gala was set for a weekend in late October. As Adrienne met with caterers and party planners and florists to discuss menus and decorations, she kept to her word and mostly left me alone. Every once in a while, she directed a dismissive comment in my direction, but for the most part she simply acted as if I didn’t exist. This suited me well, as it was not only convenient but downright amusing to watch Adrienne attempt to have a conversation with Nora at the breakfast table while I crunched loudly on toast one seat over. It also annoyed Adrienne that I was on excellent terms with all of the staff within a week, including the grumpy gardener that tended the grounds. He filled my musty bedroom with fresh flowers every morning, the cook designed dishes specifically for my diet plan, and Helen drew me a bath first in the evenings so that no one monopolized the hot water before I had a chance to bathe. To vex Adrienne further, I often posed polite questions for her in my most sincere tone of voice. What exactly is the difference between the cream napkins and the off-white napkins? Dad wanted to know. Or Say, those salmon puffs were divine, weren’t they? I vote to serve those at your little event.

  The best part was that the deal with my father forced her into equally polite responses, though she delivered them with a seething glare. I winked back, enjoying the sight of her furious face turning bright red. More than once, I received a pinch under the table from Nora, who was doing her best to keep me in check. Despite the welts, I knew I could get used to this. It was the first time I’d ever had a leg up on Adrienne.

  Of course, such things came with consequences. Though my father insisted that I could stay at the house as long as I needed to, it was better and healthier for me to have a time frame in mind. The gala was over a month away, and I decided that if I lived to see it, the sight of such excess might kill me anyway. I planned to leave the day of and not a moment later, no matter if I had my affairs in order or not. The problem with this plan was when to tell Nora. She stuck to my side like a burr, chattering on and on about things that would never come to pass. Could I see her off to Homecoming, and would I help her study for her French literature midterm, and won’t it be great to spend another Christmas together? The thought of leaving Nora behind broke my heart, which was why I didn’t have the courage to tell her I was doing it sooner rather than later.

  I left the house every morning to walk into town, sit in a local coffee shop, and search for jobs and apartments on the laptop that I borrowed from Nora. It was easier to fathom a life with limited access to her while she was at school, but as each afternoon waned and Nora made it routine to meet me at the coffee shop for a shared scone after Windsor’s final bell, I grew heavier and heavier with the thought of moving on. I wished desperately for a way to stay close to her and even looked for jobs in the area. Alas, I was hardly qualified to use a stapler, and the only realistic option was to find a serving job at one of the numerous classy restaurants on the Avenue, but those who worked in the service industry certainly could not afford to live in the expensive township. The matter remained that I had no money at all. Even if I could immediately move elsewhere, I had no means with which to do so. One day, I buried my pride and went door-to-door down the Avenue to ask for open positions. Finally, an uppity French restaurant granted me an interview. At first, the owner looked at me with such disdain that I longed to smack his pompous smirk right off his face. Instead, I told him off in flawless, fluent French, and he hired me as a hostess on the spot.

  In other news, Nora continued to keep my inner energy controlled. Her presence alone lessened the effect of my bad luck. I hadn’t spontaneously lit anything on fire or emitted the strange orange glow since that first day on the Avenue. We spent every spare hour in the meadow behind the house, experimenting with my abilities. Nora set the lessons. We discussed theory, practiced connecting to the source of our energy, and focused on releasing tiny streams of power in controlled scenarios. To Nora’s credit, it seemed to be working. Though I grew weary of the smell of burning dandelions, the fact remained that in the span of a few days I went from struggling with uncontrollable raw energy to shaping it to my own specifications. It comforted me to have Nora nearby. Two or three times, I let my power run away from me. Both Nora and I had been on the bad end of some nasty burns, but Nora’s quick initiative healed our blistering skin before the pain had time to really set in. One of the advantages to training in such a rigorous manner was that when we were finished with the day’s practice, I was too exhausted to accidentally access my energy. I practically fell into bed every evening, asleep before my head hit the pillow. Most nights, Nora slept in my room, and though she had the unfortunate habit of sleeping smack in the middle of the queen-sized mattress, I didn’t have the heart to kick her back to her own bedroom.

  Since that first argument, I wore my mother’s necklace around my neck at all times. I no longer cared what Adrienne or my father thought about this decision, though whenever Adrienne spotted the gold chain beneath the collar of my shirt, a feeling of uneasiness washed over me. Neither one of us mentioned to the other any recollection of what occurred in the kitchen. I started to wonder if Adrienne hadn’t even seen the black force that had ripped through me to wreak havoc on the dishware. She acted like the incident hadn’t happened, which was probably for the best. I juggled overflowing handfuls of anxiety regarding this new dark energy—I hadn’t felt it at all when it blasted out of me, unlike my original fire—and I didn’t have the capacity to add in Adrienne’s potential suspicion. Talking through it with Nora was confusing enough. Thankfully, it hadn’t happened since. My energy remained vibrant and bright rather than dark and depressing.

  The days passed in a blend of relatively bearable moments with Adrienne, easy comfort with Nora, and an attempt at bonding with my father. Before I knew it, the gala was only a few days away. I saved enough money for a deposit on a studio apartment across the railroad tracks from Windsor Prep. It was a bit of a hike from my father’s house but close enough to continue working at the French restaurant. I figured it was a decent compromise. I’d be out of Adrienne’s hair, my father and I could possibly begin to close the figurative distance between us, and Nora would be able to visit me whenever she wanted. That last detail mattered to me the most. I knew how many of my recent successes I owed to Nora. When my one month anniversary of working at the French restaurant came and went, I danced for joy on the inside. It was the longest I’d held a job, and so far I’d managed not to light anything on fire. I couldn’t have done it without Nora’s influence, and I started to have hope that maybe things could change.

  The night before the gala, I confronted my final hurdle. I got home late from the restaurant. My feet ached from standing at the host’s podium all evening, and I was dying to take off the starched oxford shirt and pressed black pants that served as my uniform. Nora was asleep in my bed. I tiptoed around the room, changed into pajamas, and eased under the sheets next to her, trying my best not to wake her. Usually, she slept like a rock. Tonight, she rolled over to face me, her palms pillowed beneath her cheek.

  “Were you even going to tell me?” she asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  “That you’re leaving.”

  I paused in my attempt to flatten a pillow. “I—how did you know?”

  Nora pointed to the wardrobe. “You packed up all of your clothes.”

  “Listen, Nancy Drew. You shouldn’t go through other people’s things.”

  She pulled the duvet over her nose, hiding beneath the covers. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Dad told you that you could stay as long as you want. You’re actually making progress with your energy. Why are you rushing off? Aren’t you happy here?”

  I gently tugged the blanket away from her face. In the
dim moonlight, I could see the sad downward tilt of her eyebrows and mouth. “Nora, you’re forgetting that I don’t live here. I can’t live here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my visit is conditional,” I reminded her. “One of the reasons we’ve been able to make such progress is because your mother hasn’t been bombarding me with hatred. That ends tomorrow. She gets her gala, and then I’m back to suffering through whatever abuse she’s stored up over the past month.”

  “But Dad—”

  “Dad is first and foremost on Adrienne’s side,” I said. “Yes, he loves me—I think—but it’s his wife that he has to live with. Besides, I’m not sixteen. I’ve long outgrown the right to mooch off of my parents’ dollar.”

  “When are you going?”

  I hesitated. “Tomorrow morning.”

  She sat up against the headboard to glare at me. Previously, I didn’t think Nora had the ability to express negative emotion, but there was no mistaking the anger in the look she gave me. “Tomorrow morning,” she repeated flatly. “You let me think you were going to be around for the gala.”

  “I never said that.”

  She thumped me with a pillow. “And you never denied it either!”

  “I’m sorry.” I shielded my head against the fluffy attack. “I didn’t know how to tell you. By the way, you didn’t give me the chance to fill you in on the good news.”

  Nora paused with her weapon raised in mid air. “What’s the good news?”

  “I found an apartment near Windsor,” I told her. “It’s not too far. You could come visit me after school every day if you wanted. After all, that fancy new car of yours drives itself.”

  She lowered the pillow. “You’re staying?”

  “In the area. Yes. That way, I can still work at the restaurant and practice with you.”

  Nora launched herself forward and threw her arms around my neck. “Oh, thank goodness! Why didn’t you tell me that first? God, Kennedy, you can be so cryptic sometimes.”

  I grinned into her shoulder. “So you approve of my plan?”

  She drew away. “Yes! Anything that means I can see you more than once a year.”

  What a difference a bit of good luck made. We were both happy. I had a decent outlook for the foreseeable future. I had a job, an apartment, and a handle on my wayward energy.

  “One thing though,” Nora added. “Before you leave.”

  “What?”

  “You have to come to the gala.”

  I groaned, collapsing on the mattress in defeat. “I am not going to the gala. I’m leaving tomorrow morning for a reason: to avoid the entire evening of insanity.”

  “You lied to me,” Nora said. “So you owe me.”

  “I withheld the truth,” I corrected. “And when am I going to stop owing you?”

  “Never,” she declared. “We’re sisters. You owe me and I owe you. Forever.”

  “I feel like you meant that to be inspiring, but honestly I’m just scared of you right now,” I joked.

  She lay back down on her side of the bed, snuggling under the covers. “You’re not getting out of going to the gala, Ken.”

  “Nora! I don’t even have a dress.”

  “We’ll get one for you tomorrow.”

  “Adrienne will kill me.”

  “I’ll deal with Mom.”

  And that was that. She rolled over, bundling herself up like a burrito, and fell asleep, leaving me to stare at the ceiling and wonder what kind of chaos waited for me at the gala tomorrow evening.

  We escaped from the house as soon as possible the following morning. Adrienne was already on a rampage, arguing with everyone from the caterer to the hired entertainment. The theme of the night was La Belle Époque, which was amusing considering Adrienne frowned upon “bohemian” lifestyles in every other aspect. I had to admit that the decorations pulled together nicely. For the first half of the week, it looked like a bomb had gone off in the entryway, ballroom, and backyard, but as the decorators worked their magic, the house transformed into a flawless combination of casino, cabaret, and fashion runway. Part of me was actually excited to see how everything would turn out, but until the first guest walked through the door and Adrienne flipped on her society switch, it was best to avoid the house altogether. Nora and I spent the day on the Avenue. We ate breakfast, shopped for dresses, dropped by the French restaurant to pick up my paycheck, and ran last-minute errands for Adrienne to keep the peace. We couldn’t stay in town forever though. Nora insisted on returning to the house mid-afternoon so that we would have enough time to get ready for the festivities that night.

  To my dismay, Adrienne had hired a makeup artist and a hairstylist to manage our looks for the evening. I sat in front of a makeshift vanity mirror in Nora’s oversized bathroom for two and a half hours, wincing as the stylist cut, shaped, and colored my auburn mop before maneuvering it into a complicated half-up, half-down braid. Beside me, the makeup artist painted Nora’s face with cosmetics. When each was finished, the professionals switched positions, and I powered through another hour of eyebrow tweezing, blemish coverage, and the application of a pound of mascara on my eyelashes. When we were done, Nora helped me into the silver floor-length gown we’d purchased earlier so that I wouldn’t rub my face off all over the expensive material. As the gown settled and I took in the full effect of my makeover in the mirror, a lump rose in my throat. The person looking back at me was unrecognizable. This was the woman I would’ve become had I grown up without the complications of my childhood—a woman that Adrienne might actually approve of—but I wasn’t sure if I liked that idea.

  “Wow,” Nora said, gazing adoringly at me. She looked flawless in an equally exquisite red gown that blew any department store prom dress out of the water. “What a difference a shower makes.”

  I jabbed her shoulder with a little more force that I meant to.

  “Ow!”

  “Come on,” I sighed. Downstairs, the bustle of arriving guests had already begun, and Adrienne would never forgive us if we arrived late to our own party. “Let’s get this over with.”

  From the mezzanine, the babble of voices crescendoed as Nora and I neared the heart of the gala. The entryway was full of people greeting one another and clamoring to check their coats. A replica of the Eiffel Tower, the tip of which grazed the high ceiling, beckoned guests into the main ballroom. Nora and I descended the staircase together. I held on to her for dear life and ignored the stares aimed at us from below, and when our heels finally found level ground again, I let out a sigh of relief. Nora was immediately swept up in discussion and introductions as we blended into the crowd siphoning through the entryway. I, on the other hand, didn’t recognize many of the locals unless they habitually dined at the French restaurant. Those around me greeted me with unusually amiable charm, and I wondered if the dress and heels had tricked them into thinking me one of them.

  When we emerged in the ballroom, I let out an audible gasp. A band played in one corner of the room while can-can dancers flounced nearby. A giant runway had been constructed in the middle of the floor, upon which a collection of flawless models showcased French period clothing. Guests in tuxedos and ballgowns crowded around card tables, clicking poker chips together between their fingers. A banquet table stretched along the far wall, sporting everything from bite-sized coq au vin to a towering chocolate fondue fountain. The floor-to-ceiling windows supplied a beautiful view of the backyard, where fairy lights illuminated a less chaotic dance floor and the lake gleamed in the moonlight beyond.

  I lost Nora quickly. Her friends from school whisked her away for a spin on the dance floor, which left me to fend for myself. I beelined for the banquet table, figuring I might as well enjoy myself. After filling my plate and obtaining a glass of champagne, I slipped outside to the quieter side of the party. In the lush backyard, I settled at an empty table to savor my food and watch couples dance under the string lights to soft music. Before long, someone approached my table, and I looked up mid-
bite to find Toby O’Toole, dressed in a tailored tux with a dark blue satin cummerbund and bowtie, smiling down at me and holding a plate of his own.

  “Hi, Kennedy. Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.”

  He unbuttoned his suit jacket, drew out the chair beside mine, and sat down. He tucked into his food, putting away three salmon puffs in a matter of seconds. Years may have passed, and Toby might have gained a little more confidence since our high school days, but a hint of intense self-awareness remained in the uncertainty of his narrow shoulders. He glanced up as I watched him.

  “You clean up nice,” I told him, nodding at his bowtie.

  “Thanks. So do you.” He wiped his hands on a cloth napkin and raised his glass to clink against mine. “I didn’t think this kind of thing was your scene.”

  “It’s not,” I agreed. “But it’s a little hard to avoid when the hostess is your stepmother.”

  “Touché. Do you want a salmon puff?”

  I nodded, having already finished the ones on my own plate, and accepted the offered puff. “Fill me in, Toby,” I said. “How was Windsor after I left? It looks like you did okay for yourself.”

  Toby chuckled. “I wasn’t okay for a while. No one spoke to me for the rest of that year. I bulked up over the summer and joined the lacrosse team in the fall. I learned the true meaning of walk tall—”

  “And carry a big stick,” I finished with a laugh. “Good, I’m glad. Who did you end up marrying, if you don’t mind me asking? Anyone I know?”

  “Bridget Callahan.”

  “Bridget… the cello prodigy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I always liked her,” I said fondly.

  “Glad to hear it,” a new voice said. A familiar, petite brunette approached the table, her dark gown the same color as Toby’s cummerbund. Toby stood up to pull out a chair for her. Bridget sat down, swiped some kind of sushi roll from Toby’s plate, and smiled at me from across the table. “You look amazing, Kennedy. What have you been up to?”