Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  He wove a spell, and the air in front of him glimmered like sunlight reflecting off a pond. The shimmering glare coalesced into form, taking the shape of a hulking man wearing polished silver armor and holding a sword that looked like it was made of glass and sunlight.

  Holly squinted as her eyes watered. She had to turn away as the brightness emanating from Hawthorn’s conjuration was too much to bear. If they were going to face the townsfolk, then she’d better find a way to help. She reached into her pocket and pulled out Chester.

  “I know you’re hungry,” she whispered to him, “but there’s no time for food just yet. I need you to find us some help with the people coming. I don’t think they’re too happy with us, so we might need a lot of help.” She put Chester on the ground, and with a squeak he scurried away into the grass and disappeared.

  The crowd approached, close enough now to catch snippets of their voices. Some were pointing at Hawthorn and Holly, others were taking measure of the hulking, shimmering sword-bearing man blocking their way on the road.

  “Turn around,” Hawthorn called out as the crowd stopped in front of his conjuration. They were staring up at the shimmering man, some with gaping mouths, others shading their eyes. Most were eyeing his glass-like sword with open apprehension.

  “I’m sure there is nothing of interest to you here,” Hawthorn continued. “So you can just scurry back to whatever hole you crawled out of.” When the crowd remained, Hawthorn waggled his fingers at them. “Go on. Shoo, shoo.”

  A man in the crowd stepped forward and thrust a finger at Hawthorn. “You and your friends come to this town sullying our good traditions. You’re the ones that need to get.”

  “Traditions? You mean the mask? You need better traditions, my friend. Horrendous thing. It’s not fit for the fire. It would’ve been a mercy to you all if I’d thrown it on the midden heap.”

  Others in the crowd gasped as the man growled and took a step towards Hawthorn, but the armored conjuration touched his sword to the man’s chest and the man backed away.

  Hawthorn smirked. “As I said. You’d better run along now.”

  The group conferred among themselves. Then the man, balling his fists, said, “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Very well.”

  The armored hulk swung his sword at the crowd, but everyone scattered and ran into the field, surrounding them.

  “Hawthorn…,” Holly said as she tried to keep track of everyone. “What now?”

  Hawthorn altered his spell, and the armored conjuration split into three smaller and less formidable identical aspects. They chased the townsfolk into the grass, but there were close to a dozen people—if not more—so they were well outnumbered.

  Holly crept closer to Hawthorn as she watched one of the townsfolk dodge a sword jab before grabbing hold of the armored man’s arm. The light emanating from the conjuration faded as they struggled, and when others joined in, the spell failed and the conjuration vanished.

  Hawthorn sucked in a breath as the townsfolk, seeing their victory, swarmed upon the remaining two.

  “Now we should leave,” Holly said.

  “Never,” Hawthorn said and brought up a crystalline wall as thin as paper that surrounded them both. It went up just as one of the townsfolk bolted towards them. He ran into the wall and bounced off it with a bloodied lip and dazed expression.

  “That’s nice,” Holly said. “But now we’re stuck here. I don’t think you really thought it through.”

  “I don’t see you assisting in our current situation beyond suggesting we run and hide like a pair of willowy ladies.”

  “Willowy ladies?”

  Hawthorn fixed his attention beyond her. When Holly turned to look, she saw Chester scamper out of the grass. She crouched down to pick him up, but her hand ran into Hawthorn’s wall.

  “Let down the wall,” she said. “We can’t leave him out there.”

  “Oh no,” Hawthorn said. “No, no, no.”

  “Oh yes. You can’t just…” Holly trailed off as Chester scampered away, and behind him, a swarm of rodents poured out of the grass and onto the road. There were mice and voles, rats and weasels, and blind little moles. There were squirrels, chipmunks, and wild jackrabbits with their long legs and longer ears.

  “Lady preserve us.” Hawthorn gasped as he brought out a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to cover his mouth and nose.

  Holly grinned. “Good boy, Chester!” she shouted, hoping he could hear her through the wall. The rodents moved in packs, looking like living earth that shifted and heaved upon the field.

  At first none of the townsfolk seemed to notice them. But when weasels started twining around people’s legs, mice crawling up underneath pants and skirts, rabbits kicking at anyone who came near, and all the other rodents nibbling at whatever they could find—panic erupted. People swatted at their legs and chests as rodents crawled up them. One man ran into Hawthorn’s translucent wall, his arms flailing as two squirrels clung to the back of his shirt. A woman tripped over her skirts and fell down on the road in a cloud of dust. The rodents swarmed over her, eclipsing her form under a writhing mass of furry little bodies.

  One man ran away. When another tried to help the fallen woman, the rodents swarmed over him as well, and the rest of the group of townsfolk lost their nerve and ran down the road in the direction they came.

  Hawthorn continued to press the kerchief to his mouth, his eyes wide and filled with horror.

  Holly folded her arms grinned at him. “What were you saying about me not contributing?”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Wild witches,” he said and turned to look at her. “Crazy like a pack of sodden badgers.”

  Holly’s grin widened. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Just as Hawthorn let down his crystalline wall and retrieved his jacket, a carriage came rattling down the road behind them. The carriage slowed as it approached, and Tum glowered down at them from his perch next to the driver.

  “You think you can just ditch old Tum? Placate him with dolls and leave him in the cellar? Not nearly enough beer to ditch me in a place like that. So if you want to keep on my good side, you’d best think again the next time you’re of a mind to be playing your tricks.”

  “We weren’t trying to trick you, Tum,” Holly said. “We meant to come back. We—”

  Tum put up a hand. “Tricksters’ tongues wag only lies. Old Uncle Tid told me that one. You calling my uncle a liar?”

  “I… what?”

  “Get in the carriage and let us be done with it. I’ve still words to share with Miss Hazel, so let’s go find her before my mood changes.”

  Hawthorn opened the carriage door. A rotten draft of air wafted out, and inside on the floor lay a heap of Francis’s wheat dolls. A few tumbled out and landed in the dirt.

  Holly clapped a hand over her nose and mouth. “Ugh, what’s that smell? And where are we supposed to sit?”

  “You should have thought of that before you crossed me.” He thrust a finger in the air. “Never cross a cellar gnome. Not if you want to live to tell about it.”

  Hawthorn, covering his nose with a handkerchief, said, “The only thing threatening our lives is the stench emanating from my once pristine coach. Did something die in there?”

  Tum sniffed. “I may or may not have broken a jar of those pickled eggs in the coach. Not that it should matter. In my day, we were lucky if a jar of eggs broke on our heads, and then if we were really lucky, we got to eat the glass afterwards.”

  “That makes no sense,” Holly said.

  Tum waved his hands. “You coming or not? Time’s wasting, it is.”

  They clambered inside. Hawthorn shoved most of the dolls out onto the road, ignoring Tum’s shrieking protests. Then the carriage started moving, and both Holly and Hawthorn unlatched the catches on the windows and stuck their heads out into the cool, clean air.

  Hazel and Hemlock hurried along the road. They had managed to escape the to
wn undetected with the help of a few well-timed spells that had diverted unwanted attention. Well, from the people that had remained behind anyway. Hazel kept a sharp eye out for the mob that had left in case they came back.

  So when she saw a pack of people on the road ahead, she grabbed Hemlock’s arm before he had a chance to react, and they both darted into a field and flattened themselves in the tall grass. They remained there even after the shuffling footsteps and murmuring of voices had faded in the distance.

  “Well, that was—” Hemlock began, but Hazel clamped a hand over his mouth as she strained to listen.

  “I think a carriage is coming.” She removed her hand, and they both peeked over the grass in time to witness their carriage rattle along the road while Holly and Hawthorn both hung halfway out of the windows.

  “Do they think they’re on a joyride?” Hazel said and got to her feet to run after them.

  “Would that surprise you?” Hemlock said as he followed her.

  “Hazel!” Holly shouted. “Tum, stop the carriage!”

  “Tum stops for no one!” he shouted back.

  The carriage careened down the road, leaving Hazel and Hemlock behind. There were some unintelligible shouts, then the carriage stopped. Then somehow it managed an awkward turn on the narrow road and headed back.

  Holly hopped out of the carriage before it stopped and ran over and hugged Hazel. Then she pulled away, put her hands on her hips, and gave her a severe look. “What were you thinking with that stupid plan of yours? Did you have a plan for when it didn’t work out? Because it didn’t work out, did it?”

  “It didn’t work out because I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut,” Hazel said.

  Hawthorn had also left the carriage and stood next to Holly. “Shocking. Perhaps you should stop putting yourself—and all of us—in situations where keeping your mouth shut is imperative.”

  Hazel scowled at him, but before she could say anything, Holly grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the carriage. “We’d better get out of here before the townspeople come back. They got a good scare with the voles and weasels, but I doubt it’ll last long.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll explain later. Come on.”

  “We need to go back to Emmond’s house,” Hazel said as she freed her arm from Holly.

  “Um, no?” Holly said. “We need to leave. Right now.”

  “Listen to your sister,” Hawthorn said. “At least one of you has sense.”

  “Hazel,” Hemlock said as he shot Hawthorn a sharp look. “I don’t think going back would be a good idea.”

  “It’s a terrible idea!” Hazel said, throwing up her hands. “But we still need to do it. There’s something there connected to Father. I know there is.”

  “Ah, yes,” Hawthorn said. “Your ‘vision’ from a necromantic potion. It’s not enough for you to dabble in the dark arts, now you feel compelled to drag us all into the mire with you?”

  Holly elbowed him. To Hazel, she said, “You don’t know it’s the same place.”

  “I know it’s the only place we’ve come across that resembles what I saw. We have to go back.”

  When no one said anything, Hazel lifted her chin. “Fine, I’ll go back myself.” She started down the road, but Hemlock stopped her.

  “Nobody’s going off alone. We’ll go with you.” He looked at the others. “Right?”

  Holly wrung her hands, but she nodded. “Right.”

  Hawthorn remained distinctly silent. Holly swatted him on the shoulder, and he sighed and said, “Right.”

  They all headed towards the carriage. Hazel covered her nose. “Ugh. What’s that smell?”

  “Your charming gnome had his way with the carriage,” Hawthorn said.

  “It’s not too bad if you stick your head out the window,” Holly said.

  “I’m not sticking my head—” Hazel began, but then her throat clenched shut when Hawthorn opened the carriage door and the smell of vinegar and sulphur hit her like a wall. “Show me how.”

  What a sight they must have been, Hazel thought as she leaned nearly halfway out the window. Four adults hanging out of a moving carriage like drunken revelers.

  Hemlock smiled at her as the carriage rattled along. “It’s rather refreshing, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yes,” Hazel said. “Very refreshing what with all the gnats and flies bouncing off my face.” She grimaced. “I think I swallowed one.”

  Hemlock laughed and closed his eyes as he lifted his face towards the sun.

  Thankfully, the trip back was blessedly short. For once, Hazel didn’t wait for the carriage to stop and hopped out as soon as it had sufficiently slowed. Holly yelped and clapped, then did the same.

  Hazel looked around. None of the townsfolk were in sight, though they’d probably show up soon enough. She hurried up the steps and, holding her breath, eased the door open and poked her head inside. The room stood quiet and dark, save for the diffused streams of sunlight filtering through the linen curtains.

  “Hello?” Hazel called, but no answer came. She stepped inside and headed to the cramped tincture room where Emmond had proposed his ridiculous plan.

  She opened one of the desk drawers and rifled around through sheaves of paper. She glanced at a few of them, which looked to be nothing more than bills and invoices and inventory lists for nearby farms. She opened another drawer and found an array of steel-tipped pens and sealed pots of ink. Another drawer held a bundle of Francis’s dolls, and Hazel slammed the drawer shut a bit harder than she intended. The desk held nothing of interest that she could find, so she turned her attention to the cabinet.

  Inside she found an array of ointment pots and jars and little bottles similar to the ones on the shelves lining the walls. None were labeled though. How was anyone supposed to find anything if nothing was labeled? She picked up a narrow, cylindrical jar about as big around as her thumb and twice as tall. She pulled out the cork stopper and sniffed the contents and nearly dropped the thing when her eyes stung and watered and she staggered back in a fit of coughing.

  “Careful,” Hemlock said as he stood at the door’s threshold.

  Holly poked her head in. “What’re you sniffing at?”

  Hazel wiped her eyes. “I don’t know. You’re the Hearth witch, maybe you’d do a better job going through all this stuff.”

  “Maybe, if I knew what I was looking for.”

  “Yes, well, unfortunately we don’t have that luxury.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  “The point is to find something that stands out that will hopefully give us a hint to where Father has gone.”

  “You do hear yourself, right? You do realize how nonsensical that sounds?”

  Hazel snorted. “You’re the queen of nonsense. This should be your area of expertise.”

  But Holly was not amused. “There’s nothing here!”

  Everyone turned quiet. Hemlock, flanked by the sisters, tried to press himself into the door’s threshold as he studied his feet. Hawthorn stood out in the main room, shaking his head as he otherwise pretended not to notice their argument.

  Hazel tightened her jaw as she stared at Holly. Holly’s cheeks had turned a deep red, but she stood her ground and glowered back at Hazel.

  The silence broke when Tum tottered inside the house. “Hate to break up the party, but we got a band o’ those townsfolk coming up the way, so we might want to skedaddle, if you catch my meaning.”

  “We need to go, Hazel,” Holly said.

  “Excellent idea,” Hawthorn said and followed Tum out the door.

  “We can come back later,” Hemlock said. “After they leave.”

  “You mean after they ransack the place?” Hazel said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Hazel, please,” Holly said.

  “You can leave if you want. I’m staying here.”

  Holly planted her hands on her hips, but before she could say anything, Hemlock took her by the arm and led her out.

&n
bsp; “She’s lost it,” Holly said as Hemlock gently led her across the main room. “Her mind’s finally snapped, and she’s gone the wrong way round the bend.”

  They reached the door, and Hemlock opened it and led them outside.

  “I mean, you agree with me, right?” Holly said. “We shouldn’t be staying here.”

  Hemlock stopped as they reached the bottom of the steps at the base of the porch. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Hazel’s dug in, and she’s not going to change her mind. Arguing about it isn’t going to help us at this point. Not when we’ve got an angry mob headed our way. We need to decide what we’re going to do about that.”

  Holly threw up her hands. “I don’t know! I don’t know what to do that will scare them away again. I don’t think they’ll be chased off twice by weasels and moles.” She scratched her head. “I could try to bring a pack of wolves over, but that’s trickier. A lot trickier.”

  “So,” Hawthorn said as he came over to stand next to them. “We have a choice of either getting mauled by an angry mob or by a pack of wild wolves. Brilliant.”

  “I pick the wolves,” Holly said.

  “Nobody’s getting mauled,” Hemlock said. To Hawthorn, he added, “Have you ever done a keyhole illusion?”

  Hawthorn arched an eyebrow. “A couple of times. Why? Have you?”

  Hemlock shook his head. “I’ve read about them, but no, never tried one.”

  “What’s a keyhole illusion?” Holly said.

  Hawthorn held up a hand at her. To Hemlock, he said, “You’re not suggesting we try one, are you?”

  Hemlock remained silent a moment as he met Hawthorn’s gaze. “You have any other ideas?”

  Hawthorn chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “Well, this should be interesting. Do you have an illusion in mind?”