Greg had already mapped out a mental plan of what he wanted to do with the garden. He continued to speak enthusiastically about the potential the garden had while I boiled water in a teakettle.
“Think it’s a good idea?” Greg asked.
I hummed in agreement, although I knew I hadn’t really been thinking about what he’d said. None of it had gone in. “Can you draw it out?” I asked, grabbing a blank envelope from a drawer.
“Sure, you have a—”
I handed him the paper and a pen. “Yep,” I said. “Do you want sugar or honey with your tea?”
“Honey,” he said.
He sketched out a short decking from the back door, adding in a little barbeque stand and couple deck chairs. Two small squares for planting. Toward the end of the garden was space for a shed and beside it a little compost heap.
I pulled the paper to the glass window of the back garden, comparing the vision to the complete mess it was in reality. “It looks great,” I said.
He shrugged. “Well, it’s just a plan.”
“I like it.” I turned to see him standing behind me.
He squished his lips together, biting them shut. “Can I nip outside and check out the situation?”
“I’ve been told it’s pretty clean out there,” I said. “No unwanted nibblers.”
He chuckled. “They don’t bother me.” Squeezing his hands into gloves he kept on his belt.
While Greg went out into the wilderness I’d accidentally grown, I began washing away the empty mugs of tea, watching Greg being eaten alive by the tangled green mess of grass.
I grabbed a dry cloth, drying off the mugs.
A screech came.
Crash.
The mug smashed on the ground.
Crunch .
“Ahhhh!”
TEN
The cry came again from outside. I rushed to the back door, skipping around the broken ceramic on the ground. Ivory let out a muffled snap, complaining about the shriek.
“Greg?” I called out, pushing large weeds aside.
“Urgh.” A deep groaning grumble came.
I hurried toward the sound, seeing Greg’s head bob around. “What happened?”
“Gah.”
Beside him, stuck in the ground, was a pair of rusted shears. They looked familiar, but I couldn’t be certain I ever bought them. It had been years since I’d stepped foot in the garden. Greg held his hand in a fist, keeping it shut. “What—”
“Cut myself.” He nodded to the shears.
All the way through his gloves. “Come on, let me fix you up.”
Another job a lot of witches had out in the world were healers. I wasn’t much of a healer, naturally, I could heal, but it wasn’t something I was passionate about. My aunt, Rose Lavender, on the other hand, she ran a successful boutique herbal shop in Dover.
“What are you going to do?” Greg asked, looking up at me while trying to stare at his gloved hand. A single slice through the palm.
“Sit down,” I said. “Let me make it better.”
He gulped. “I should just—”
I clapped my hands. “Sit down, Gregory.” I smiled. “I have a salve that will help the healing process.”
Greg took a seat at the table while I rummaged through the cupboard. I had no idea where anything was. Having magic do all the work for you sometimes was awfully taxing when you were looking for something it had done on your behalf. I should’ve known where my things were.
In a cabinet beneath a counter, all of my premixed vials had been sorted. I knelt, and sorted through them, picking through what was needed.
Greg tssked his teeth together in pain. “Anything else out there I should know about?” he chuckled, his voice shaken.
“I’ll also get something in case of tetanus,” I said.
He groaned. “That’s the last thing I need.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, collecting glass vials in my arms. “Can you remove the glove?”
His face flinched, removing the glove. I placed the vials on the table. “Maybe something for the pain too?” he said, his eyes bulging at the look of the different murky glasses.
I hurried to the cupboard, grabbing my green first aid kit. Always handy to have around. “Okay, how does it look?” I asked, sitting opposite him.
He groaned harder. “Not deep,” he said. “Stings.”
The cut went across the width of his palm, right across the crease. There was only a small amount of blood, a little redness from the raw and tender cut. I squinted through my glasses at it, pulling his hand into my hand.
“It’s fine,” I said.
He looked relieved, or shocked, perhaps disbelief.
I unzipped the first aid kit, pulled out a small pair of scissors, roll of gauze, some cotton pads, and a plaster. “It may sting a little at first,” I said.
“What are they?” he asked, nodding to the vials.
“Well, they’re just some things I’ve collected, curated, you know, created, over the years,” I said. “They’ll have you feeling new again.”
Unease settled across Greg’s face, not something I was unfamiliar with. I knew that people didn’t like to lose control to something they didn’t know about, especially when that something came in the form of magic.
I pulled the cork from a vial to first clean the cut, tipping it for a second to soak into a cotton pad. “Just a little stinging,” I said, wiping it across Greg’s palm.
His lips were screwed so tightly, they turned white. He couldn’t utter a word, even through the sheer slice of pain. I knew exactly how it felt, I’d used this stuff a number of times on myself.
“Is that—” he tried pulling his hand away.
“Nope,” I said, snatching his hand back, placing it on the table.
Another vial had cleansing capabilities, especially where the threat of tetanus was concerned. I dragged the damp cotton across this cut, and this time Greg’s knee thrusted up at the table. The bottles toppled with a clatter around. None of them spilled. I snapped my fingers, and they appeared upright.
“Wha—you—”
I smiled. “Let me fix your hand,” I said. “One final glass to go and we should be ready to wrap it.”
The final vial had a healing salve to close the cut. Luckily, I’d learnt enough to know that you should always apply them in a certain order. It would’ve done more harm than good to seal the cut and then try and disinfect the area. The cream had a cooling tingle to it. Looking at the scratched label, I saw something about peppermint.
Once the lotion was across the cut, I quickly wrapped the palm of his hand with a gauze, snipping the thin mesh fabric to secure the area. I stuck it in place with a colourful plaster, it read. ‘Good Boy ’ in bubble letters.
“There,” I said, beginning to clean away the first aid kit.
He held his hand up, looking at it. “All done?”
“Yep.”
“I know a lot of strange things have been happening in Witchwood, but—” he began, looking away from me to gulp, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “This is really magic, what you’ve done.”
I would hope so, as well, considering it was. “But what type of strange things?”
He shrugged. “Just weird things, like with Maureen.”
That much was true. Maureen’s garden situation was a little bit of an enigma, unless the ring being in the soil was giving out some ghostly apparition of her husband. That would’ve explained things quite well. All I’d have to do now is wait and see if she’s still receiving visitors .
“I should be off though,” Greg said. “Thanks for this.” He held his hand up as he stood, pushing his chair out. “I’ll be back around tomorrow to cut the grass.”
“Maybe I’ll check to make sure there’s no more incidentals laying around.”
He chuckled. “That would be grand.”
Once Greg had left, I sorted through my potion cupboard. Placing a small warded piece of green jade in the corner to
keep it away from prying eyes, but also a reminder that’s where I was keeping them.
ELEVEN
Given the amount of free-time I had and the adventurous nature of my day, I decided to climb back into bed around mid-afternoon to take a little nap. Of course, anyone who has taken a nap without setting an alarm knows that they will wake whenever their body tells them. It was incredibly reminiscent of the times I worked during the night with Ivory.
Like old times, Ivory pecked her beak at the door, knocking it open to wake me.
“Uh—what—” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes. I sat up in bed. “What time is it?”
“Let me look at my watch,” Ivory scoffed, fluffing her wings out.
Right. She was awake, and that meant it was late. I pulled my sleeve up. 8:34 P.M. “Are you heading out?” I asked, combing a hand through my hair, feeling the small nest that had formed from the way I’d been sleeping.
“What happened earlier?” she asked.
“When?” I asked, forcing to think through the sleepy haze. Maureen or Greg? She’d definitely heard Greg’s yelp, and probably also Maureen’s sobbing through the phone.
“The one that woke me up.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Greg cut himself on some shears out in the garden,” I said. “I had to bring him in and do a little magic.”
“We’re definitely keeping a low profile then,” she laughed, tapping her talons on the floor.
“You could’ve told me it was a minefield out there.” I swung my legs over the bed and rested my elbows on my knees, propping my head up. “Greg’s a decent guy. So, we’re lucky.”
“You’re lucky.”
I stood and stretched, pushing myself on the tips of my toes. “If we’re going to have another witch around, I should really prepare to have more people know. A select few people, I don’t want to have pitchforks and torches at the door.”
“Bad idea,” Ivory squawked.
Scratching a spot on the top of her head, I smiled to myself. “When you’re out there tonight, can you see if there’s any more tools that might accidentally try and kill someone.”
She pulled her head away, hopping out of the bedroom.
I followed her into the kitchen. “So?”
“Why?”
“Greg’s coming back over tomorrow to start cutting the grass,” I said.
“Make sure you’re not telling him about the talking owl.”
Well, there was that. He knew I was a witch, he knew I had an owl – I think. It wasn’t every day you met someone with an owl, let alone one living in a cupboard. “Then hush when he’s here,” I said.
I busied myself with the teakettle, pouring water in the spout before placing it on the hob. My stomach grumbled.
“Oh god, even I heard that,” Ivory said.
“I took a nap before lunch.” I wrapped my hands around my stomach, feeling for the second grumble. “I haven’t even been shopping.”
I’d so far been surviving on what little I had, the basics; bread, pasta, milk, and eggs. It looked like another evening of pasta, which I wasn’t opposed to. I made a mean carbonara. I added a pan of water with a dash of salt to the hob.
“Do you want to help me write the letter to the Witches Council?” I asked, watching Ivory walking around in circles, staring out the window. The sky was dark blue but by no means dark enough for Ivory to leave and go hunting.
“I’ll write it for you,” she said, clawing at the tiles. “Dear Council, please don’t let my insane owner invite another witch into our small house, she doesn’t even have adequate room for her familiar.”
I huffed. “I’ve already told you, once Greg’s sorted the garden, we’ll have somewhere for you to live. Out in the garden, with nature, everything you need.”
“So much for being a witch, can’t you do it yourself?” she scoffed, running away, her talons scratching the tiles as she left the kitchen.
I was being careless with my magic lately, something I was never known for, but also having the Witches Council and their store of energy to fall back on in time of need, I wasn’t as frugal as I should’ve been.
Pulling drawers open in search of paper, I grabbed another blank envelope and picked the pen Greg had used to sketch his plans for the garden. I needed a list, I needed several lists. Nothing sorted a life out more than a well-organised list.
To do:
- write to the Council
- sort the garden out
- get Ivory a shed!
- buy crystals
- and a toaster
I never had a fixed store of crystals. Being on the move all the time meant I was only able to have a few at any one time. Alongside my rings. And the crystals I did have weren’t large, or they were already in use around the house, protecting it.
- compost heap (NEED!)
To keep crystals healthy, a good soil was required. Alongside my ability to garden, a compost heap would make sure I could keep my crystals replenished at all times.
I fixed myself a cup of green tea, nothing too fancy. No sugar or honey this time. I added the bag to the cup and poured the hot water over it, adding a splash of tap water to keep it from scalding my tongue.
Before leaving the kitchen with my cup of tea, I added dry pasta noodles to the boiling pot of water.
“Has this place always been so boring?” Ivory asked, making circles in the living room.
I sat with my tea. “Probably.” I shrugged. “But, there’s a woman seeing ghosts a couple streets away. That’s at least a little bit exciting.”
“Mental instability isn’t exciting.”
My mouth snapped shut in shock. “I—I—I never said that, I said it was a ghost.”
Ivory laughed. “I know, I know. Plus, those ravens are hanging around for a reason.”
Hmm. There was that too. “Or pure coincidence?” I pressed the cup of tea to my lips, testing the heat. I knew nothing happened by coincidence. Everything had a reason.
A deep choking charcoal came in through my nose. I sputtered out the tea that swirled around my mouth. Coughing. The entire ceiling of the living room was covered in a grey mist.
“What is it?” Ivory asked.
“Something’s burning!” I hastily placed the cup on the table, tea spilling across the wood.
“Oh. Again?”
TWELVE
I ran to the kitchen. I’d only just put the pasta in the pot. It couldn’t have been burning. There was enough water in the pan. As suspected, it wasn’t on fire. The kitchen was also flooded with the hazy grey mist. I coughed a little, noticing the kitchen window open as more smoke poured inside.
“Oh, Goddess.” I slapped my hands together. Every window slammed shut, locking in place. “Out.” I snapped again, this time the smoke dropped, absorbed into the ground.
“What have you done?” Ivory asked, running after me.
I turned the hob off. “I think it’s next door,” I said.
I didn’t know which direction. I stepped passed Ivory, down the hallway to the front door. I opened it slightly to see half the neighbours on their doorsteps, looking to the house to the left of mine. The empty house.
“Stay inside,” I told Ivory before I left, closing the door.
She didn’t have much say in the matter. I wasn’t letting her out now, even though I knew she could open a door. One of her many abilities. I slowly strolled down the path of the front garden, looking at the house as plumes of dark grey smoke left through smashed windows.
An old lady in the house beside me stood on her stoop, pulling at her large pink dressing gown. She had a blue film hairnet on with large Velcro curlers in. She squinted, saying something and waving at me. I left the gate and walked closer to the burning house.
“Has anyone called the emergency services?” I asked myself in a mumble. All the lights were off in the house, the only light came from a fire, clinging to anything and everything, eating at the entire house. I slowly frisked myself for my phone, it must’ve been insi
de.
Wee—oh. Wee—oh.
Bright flashing blue lights cascaded down houses and trees as the fire engine followed. I watched as it parked outside the house. Three men hauled themselves from the large red truck, shouting to each other while I stood in the way.
“Is this your house?” a tall fireman asked, lifting the visor of his yellow helmet.
I looked around at my surroundings, I was stood right in front of the gate. I shook my head. “No, I live next door,” I said.
“Do you know who lives here?” he asked.
I shook my head again. “No, the house is empty.”
“Okay. Thank you,” he said, quickly leaving—probably to relay the information.
Another man approached me, ushering me away from the gate. I took a couple steps to the side, closer to my house. My eyes traced the path. On the ground, near my feet was a small damp circle. Like breadcrumbs, the more my eyes looked around, the more I noticed the floor was dotted with the stuff.
I knelt and dipped a finger in it. Red.
Ugh.
“Blood?” my gut clenched.
Quickly standing on my feet, I looked around to see the entry street of neighbours watching the firemen at work, pulling the hose from the truck. I glanced back to the blood. I had no idea where it went, but I wanted to find out.
Not far at all, it seemed. I passed the burning house and the trail stopped.
I scratched my head a little, puzzled by the situation. Had Greg somehow reopened the wound on his hand, dripping blood on his way back home? Perhaps it wasn’t blood at all.
My arm was yanked from behind me, pulling me back.
“Get off,” I protested, pulling my arm away.
Greg held a finger to my lips. “Shhh.”
“What?”
He pulled me behind a car and dipped his head, pulling me to follow. I knelt beside him behind the car.
“What?” I asked again, with more frustration in my voice.
Fiddling with his fingers and shaking. “Oh, Nora.”
“Greg, what happened?”
He stuttered over his words.
I pulled his hand into mine. “You’ve taken the bandage off?”
Cryptic Curses in Witchwood Page 4
