Witch Myth Omnibus: A Yew Hollow Cozy Mystery

by Alexandria Clarke

  “You’ll find it never needs reloading,” said the beast.

  I clicked the magazine back into place. “Convenient.”

  “Indeed,” agreed the beast. It prodded my father with one large paw, claiming Calvin for its own. “Be on your way now, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid all of this mortal excitement has quite drained my energy, and I find myself in need of a lengthy nap.”

  “Wait!” I called as the beast encouraged my father over the first hill. “Won’t you help send me back to the real world?”

  The beast paused, turning over its shoulder to behold Dorothy and me once more. “It is not in my nature to return lost souls to their bodies.”

  “What was the point of giving her the gun then?” my father asked, halting his ascent over the hill. “If she can’t return home, she won’t be able to use the weapon. That’s a sorry deal.”

  The beast sighed, understanding that Calvin wouldn’t proceed any farther until I was satisfied with the beast’s side of our agreement. The beast turned to me and said, “I cannot send you back to your home, but I can help you and your delightful escort here”—a polite inclination of its massive head toward Dorothy—“pass through to the last level of the otherworld. It’s closely attached to your mortal world, as your escort is aware, and so it will be easier for you to return to the place you consider your true home.”

  “Is that true, Dorothy?” I asked. Even though the beast had provided me with the weapon that I needed to defeat Dominic, I was still wary of its intentions. It seemed to consider humans to be mere playthings, and I wasn’t quite willing to offer myself up as a life-sized Barbie doll.

  Dorothy nodded. “Yes, and we could certainly use the help to get there. It would exhaust me to get both of us to the last level. Not to mention, it would be even easier for Gwenlyn to contact us once we were there.”

  “Alrighty, then,” I said, stepping up the hill toward the beast and motioning for Dorothy to follow me. “Send us through to the last level, oh lord of the otherworld. Through your eyeball again, is it?”

  “Through the lake,” the beast replied.

  Without explanation, our party had suddenly shifted to stand at the edge of the placid body of water. I leaned over and gazed into its rippling depths. Unlike the river on the first level of the otherworld, the water of the lake was a clear, welcoming blue. Sunlight blinked off of the lake’s surface, and I had to squint upward to see the beast properly now.

  “What do—?” I began, but before I could get the entire question out, the beast pushed Dorothy and me into the lake with one gentle nudge of its nose. I felt its cool scales press against my back, saw the water rush up to meet my face, and then splashed down into the depths of the lake. It was almost refreshing, no different than diving into a pool on a hot summer’s day, but I knew that this submersion meant the loss of something else.

  Before the next level could claim me, I spun myself around, opening my eyes beneath the water. The image of the great green lord rippled above me, but it was my father that I focused on. Though he was obscured by the movement of the lake, I tried to fix his features in my mind. I would not see him again for a long time. Then I exhaled, watching my breath bubble to the surface, and let the lake take me.

  I awoke in a comfortable, queen-sized bed, swathed in a downy duvet. The sheets were cool against my skin, and as I stretched to the far corners of the mattress, I forgot for a moment where I was. I felt clean and rejuvenated, as if I had finally had the chance to take a hot bath and sleep a full, uninterrupted eight hours.

  “Up you get, my dear,” said Dorothy.

  Reluctantly, I opened one eye to see Dorothy leaning over me. “Five more minutes, Mom,” I joked, but I propped myself up on my elbows to take in our new surroundings.

  The final level of the otherworld was even more pleasant than the previous one. Dorothy and I now inhabited a spacious but cozy cabin, decorated simply and tastefully with my favorite autumn hues. The scent of freshly baked cookies wafted into the bedroom loft, as though someone was busy in the kitchen downstairs. As I kicked the covers off of my legs and walked over to one large window, I marveled at the level of detail in the otherworld. Outside, lazy snowflakes drifted down and settled among the branches of the trees. It was picture perfect, and were it not for the fact that Yew Hollow needed saving, I would’ve been content to spend my eternal life within the otherworld’s last level.

  “Wow,” I said, my breath fogging the window.

  “Don’t get too excited,” said Dorothy, joining me at the window. She draped a wool blanket across my shoulders, hugging me to her side. Then she rapped on the glass before us.

  In an instant, the image outside shifted. The snowy trees vanished, replaced by the familiar sight of Yew Hollow’s town square. As the yew tree came into view, I rested my forehead against the window. I never thought that I would miss Yew Hollow, having had such a turbulent relationship with it, but I longed to stroll through the square again. Though, admittedly, I hoped my next jaunt through town would be free of the undead.

  “This is how we keep an eye on the people that we love,” explained Dorothy. She swiped a palm across the window, and we were suddenly watching my mother, looking down at her from above. Cassandra busied herself at the stove in the kitchen of our house in Yew Hollow, in the process of adding potatoes to a large pot of stew. To my relief, she appeared unharmed except for the strange, vacant gaze of her gray eyes.

  Dorothy swiped again. This time, the window showed my sister Karma, curled up in a nest of blankets in her bedroom and reading a book. Swipe. My youngest sister, Laurel, was outside in the backyard, gazing up at the stars. Swipe. Malia, the eldest of the Summers sisters, sat at the dining room table, mixing herbs for a spell.

  “And the people we don’t love,” Dorothy added.

  Swipe.

  The graveyard. It was in shambles, the earth upturned. Many of the headstones were cracked and broken. Dominic’s army of ghosts cast an eerie, silver light across the devastation. They seemed to be standing guard over whatever occupied the rest of the graveyard, and I realized what Gwenlyn had meant when she said that waking life in Yew Hollow was now worse than her nightmares. Animated corpses, in various states of decay, wandered listlessly about the remaining headstones. It was a wonder how the bodies even managed to perform a function so simple as walking, considering the despicable state of them. I made to turn away from the window, unable to watch the dead amble amongst the living, but Dorothy held me fast.

  “Look,” she ordered, pointing to the central area of the cemetery, where a large mausoleum stood.

  As I watched, Dominic emerged from the tomb. Yet another of his undead cronies followed behind him, its empty eyes glowing with an unearthly, sickly green shade of witchcraft. Clearly, this was a newly summoned corpse.

  “Dominic’s craft was purple,” I said, watching as the zombie joined its cohorts in the cemetery.

  “Necromancy distorts witchcraft,” explained Dorothy. “He’s possessing the bodies. They aren’t simply reanimated corpses. They’re demons.”

  “Demons?”

  “Lesser ones,” said Dorothy, “but demons nonetheless.”

  As we watched, Dominic crouched in the graveyard. For a moment or two, he only rested his forehead in his hands. Then he stood, kicked the nearest demon in what appeared to be a fit or tantrum, and yelled obscenities up into the sky.

  “Not going so well for him, I see,” I said. I should have felt relief at Dominic’s frustration but it only made me even more uneasy. “Will the gun work on the demons?” I asked Dorothy.

  Dorothy’s eyes narrowed as she watched Dominic stomp through the cemetery and disappear into the trees of the forest. “Yes. Fortunately, that weapon is strong enough to rid the mortal world of any negative influence as you see fit. Just be careful. Demons are no laughing matter, even if they are housed in poorly restored bodies.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself.

  �
��It’s not you I’m worried about.” Dorothy released me to wrap her arms around herself as if she was struck by a sudden chill. “You’ll have to protect the others, Morgan. Your gun will be the only effective weapon against the ghosts and demons. Witchcraft and attack spells will slow them down, but ultimately, you’re the only witch in the coven that will be able to send Dominic’s creations back to the otherworld for good.”

  I removed the wool blanket from my shoulders and cloaked Dorothy in it instead. “That’s if I’m even able to free the coven of Dominic’s trance.”

  “Fortunately, I may have a solution to that particular dilemma,” said Dorothy. “Have you ever heard of a blood bond?”

  I glanced sharply at her. Blood bonds had once been quite prevalent within our community. When one witch shared blood with another, it provided each witch with the abilities of the other. Covens often linked themselves together in order to strengthen their overall power, but sharing your life essence was no trivial decision. A blood bond was permanent. “I hope you aren’t serious.”

  Dorothy continued to observe Dominic’s thralls as they paced about the cemetery. “You’ll need the coven’s help to truly vanquish Dominic. Even if they don’t have the power to kill the ghosts themselves, they can still assist you in doing so yourself. Since you arrived in the otherworld, I’ve been thinking of ways for you to thwart Dominic’s trance.”

  “And the only thing you came up with was a blood bond?” I asked. “That’s walking a fine line, Dorothy. I know the coven is family, but a blood bond means sharing everything that makes me, well, me.”

  She gripped the corners of her wool blanket, drawing it tighter around her. “I’m well aware of these consequences.”

  “Yet you still suggest them?”

  “To my knowledge, there is no other way to free the coven of Dominic’s grasp,” she said. “Unless you think you can take him on all by yourself, what with his cavalry of demons and ghosts. Do you have that much faith in your own abilities? Or is there something about your young apprentice that you haven’t shared with me?”

  I sucked in a breath. Dorothy had a point. There was no way that Gwenlyn and I would be able to defeat Dominic on our own. He had too much fire power. We would need the rest of the coven’s help, even if it meant binding all of us together for the rest of eternity.

  “What about Gwenlyn?” I asked Dorothy, pushing thoughts of the blood bond away for the moment. “Can you show her to me? We’re basically just waiting on her to contact us, right?”

  Dorothy remained silent, her lips pursed.

  “What?” I asked her. I had spent enough time with Dorothy to know that a keen comment often lay behind her impassive expression.

  She pivoted from the window to face me. “I won’t show you Gwenlyn.”

  I stepped away from her, back toward the bed. “Excuse me? You promised—”

  “You made a promise too, Morgan,” Dorothy said, advancing toward me. She shook off the blanket, and it fell to the floor in a heap.

  “To destroy the yew tree, I know,” I said, wondering why Dorothy’s faith in me had inexplicably faltered. Dominic had wreaked havoc on Yew Hollow, but there was no way I’d let him take over my own family’s legacy.

  “You will waver,” Dorothy said. She took me by the shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin. “When the time comes to burn the tree, you will hesitate. But you must complete the ritual. It’s the only way. Promise me.”

  “I already did,” I said and attempted to shrug out of her grasp.

  She held me fast. “Promise me again.”

  When I looked into Dorothy’s eyes, they were not the familiar gray of my mother’s. They burned with the intense royal blue of her craft, an odd and archaic display of power in our world. I gripped her wrists and said, “I promise.”

  Thankfully, my sincere tone seemed to convince her of my dedication to the task at hand, since she released me and spun back to the window.

  “Chances are, as soon as I show you Gwenlyn, she’ll be able to contact you,” Dorothy said, taking one last look at Dominic’s demonic camp. She swiped once more at the window, and finally, Gwenlyn came into view. This time, though, we did not peer down at the scene from above.

  It was almost as if I were at home in my loft, sitting cross-legged across from Gwenlyn. She looked directly at me and smiled, but the expression did nothing to soothe my worry. In fact, judging by the bags beneath her eyes and her pale complexion, Gwenlyn had not slept since we spoke last.

  “Gwen?” I said as Dorothy moved away from the window to allow Gwen and me to talk in private.

  “Hey, Morgan,” she said, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. “You ready for this?”

  “You actually got the hair?” I asked, a little incredulous. When she held two nearly invisible strands of hair up so that I could see them, relief flooded through me. Half of me was so proud that Gwen had managed on her own. The other half of me wondered what kind of hell Gwen had gone through to procure such a trivial piece of the human body.

  “It wasn’t easy,” she rasped. She cleared her throat. “Dominic had some crazy protection wards around the house.”

  “How did you get through them?”

  “Magic,” she said, coughing out an unconvincing laugh.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. She looked far from well. Her hair was tied back haphazardly, her eyes were bloodshot, and tear tracks stained her cheeks, as if she had been crying just before our call. “What happened?”

  She lay the two strands of hair side by side on the floor in front of her. An empty olive-wood bowl stood nearby. “I’m fine. Just worn out. Are you ready?”

  My heart leapt. I was more than ready to go back to Yew Hollow, but Gwenlyn looked like she could barely stand up straight, let alone bring my soul back from the otherworld.

  “Dorothy,” I said, beckoning the older witch to my side. “Can you help Gwenlyn with this?”

  Dorothy peered through the window at Gwenlyn. “Of course. I push, Gwenlyn pulls. My goodness, she does not look well, does she?”

  “I can hear you,” Gwenlyn said, wiping a leaking tear from the corner of her eye. “I told you, I’m just tired. Can we just do this already?”

  The edge to Gwenlyn’s voice cut through me. Something was wrong. Gwenlyn was one of the strongest people I had ever met, even for a sixteen-year-old. If something was bothering her—

  “I’m ready,” said Dorothy. She raised her hands, royal-blue witchcraft glowing at the tips of her fingers.

  “Wait,” I said, reaching out to push Dorothy’s hands back down to her sides. I looked at Gwenlyn. “Gwen, I know when you’re trying to hide something. What are you not telling me?”

  For a moment, I thought that Gwen would only stare back at me, a look that was born out of both defeat and defiance etched on her face. Then she reached behind her and produced a simple paring knife. My breath hitched.

  “I’m scared,” she said, her voice breaking. She ran a finger down the length of the paring knife.

  “What’s the knife for, Gwenlyn?” I asked, willing my voice not to shake.

  She refused to meet my eye. “The second part of the ritual.”

  “What’s the second part?”

  The knife made a daring path across the breadth of Gwenlyn’s right wrist, the skin there already marred by a collection of scars from past traumas. She’d been through hell and back before I had even met her, but somehow she had managed to muddle through all of her issues and find her place amongst the Summerses. She was family, and seeing that knife so close to her lifeline made my soul ache.

  “The ritual to bring you back requires a sacrifice,” she said. Her fingers trembled as she adjusted the olive-wood bowl in front of her. “Balance. Equality. Equilibrium.”

  “Gwenlyn,” I said firmly, tapping on the window in the hopes that it would get her to make eye contact with me. She glanced up.

  “Once I do this,” she began, her voice now solid and steady, “you have to come bac
k right away. You have to be the one to find me—to save me.”

  “Save you from what?” I thundered, pounding on the glass. “Dorothy, help me here!”

  Dorothy raised an eyebrow, watching as the knife hovered above Gwenlyn’s pale skin. “The girl is aware of her actions,” she said. “She’s doing what is necessary in order to return you to Yew Hollow. We have no other option.”

  A realization clicked into place in my brain. I rounded on Dorothy without taking my eyes off of Gwenlyn’s trembling hands. “You knew?” I demanded of my ancestor. “You knew that she would have to kill herself for me? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Dorothy bristled with agitation. “She doesn’t have to die. Have you been listening to her at all?” she asked. “Once you return to the mortal world, you’ll have to find Gwenlyn and perform a healing spell. This ritual, her sacrifice for you, will establish the initial blood bond between the two of you. She won’t be able to heal herself. The ritual will only be complete when you save her life. She saves you, you save her. Equilibrium.”

  “Equilibrium,” Gwenlyn repeated. Her eyes fluttered shut, as though Dorothy’s thorough explanation of the ritual had relieved some of the pressure to perform the spell correctly.

  “Gwen, it doesn’t have to be like this,” I said. “I’ll find another way.”

  “There is no other way,” Dorothy said.

  “Shut up,” I shot back. I was pissed at Dorothy. She had known all along what Gwenlyn would have to do to get me back to Yew Hollow. In hindsight, I realized that my father’s dislike for Dorothy was justified. She cared solely about the survival of the coven. Since Gwenlyn wasn’t born into the Summers family, Dorothy considered her expendable. I wasn’t like that. I couldn’t just write someone off because they weren’t related to me. Gwenlyn had saved my life back in Yew Hollow, and here she was, planning to do it again.

  “Morgan,” said Gwenlyn. My eyes snapped back to hers. “Promise me you’ll come find me as soon as you get back.”