Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  He looked down at the table and nodded. “I see. So, then you know that our arrangement, as she liked to call it, was her idea and not mine? You know that I wanted us all to live together like a family, and she refused? You know of the other men she consorted with, despite our vows of marriage? She told you all this, yes?”

  Hazel’s heart hammered in her chest. “You’re lying. When you left, Mother was inconsolable.”

  “Yes, because she no longer was getting her way. I loved Willow, more than you could ever know. And in the beginning, I think she might have even loved me back. But as time went on, it became clear to me that she never wanted a husband so much as she wanted someone to father her children. And once she got her two daughters, her need for me rapidly dwindled. She grew restless and increasingly difficult. She sought out other men, but I forgave her that. I of all people know what it’s like to be searching for something, for a sense of completeness. But I wanted more. I no longer wanted to be just one of her many diversions, to be a… convenient element in her life. I confronted her about it, and when it became clear that our aims in life were no longer compatible, then yes, I left.

  “But what she did not tell you—and I knew she would never tell you—was how badly I wanted to take you with me. We fought about it. Bitterly. Cruel words were exchanged that hurt us both deeply. But in the end your mother prevailed, and I left you and your sister in peace, as she wanted it.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Hazel said. “If you had truly wanted to take Holly and me, you would’ve contacted us somehow. Especially after she died.”

  Ash shook his head. “I didn’t want to take both of you. Just you, Hazel. Holly was always your mother’s daughter. But you… you were always mine. And I did contact you. You know I did.”

  A chill crept down Hazel’s spine. “What are you talking about? You never contacted me.”

  “I suppose not in the traditional sense of written letters or messages, but I most certainly did contact you. How else could you have found your way here? Did you think it was coincidence? Luck?”

  “I…”

  “You were always my daughter, Hazel. Always.”

  Holly leaned against the wall in her room as she stared out the window. The sky had begun to lighten with dawn, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. That had never happened to her before, being unable to sleep. This was all an ugly mess. Hazel leaving to become a necromancer and now them unable to figure out where she’d gone. Hazel was always the one who fixed things, just not lately. Lately it was almost like she’d become another person.

  Except maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe this was who Hazel truly was, only Holly could never see it before. Even in the weird potion dream, Hazel had turned to necromancy even though they had never come to Sarnum or done any of the things that followed. As long as their mother’s soul remain trapped, Hazel wouldn’t ever stop. She couldn’t stop—Holly could see that now. And maybe… maybe Holly wasn’t ever meant to stop her. Maybe she was just supposed to help her through it. Maybe that was the decision the potion meant for her to change.

  Holly rubbed her eyes. When had life gotten so complicated? She didn’t like it—not one bit. It was time she took life by the scruff and rattled it some before it got too big for its breeches.

  She marched to the door and yanked it open, nearly crying out when she saw Hemlock there. His hand was poised as if he had been about to knock on the door.

  “What are you doing here?” Holly said once her heart felt like it was no longer going to run out of her chest.

  “I haven’t been able to sleep, thinking all night, but I keep coming to the same conclusion.” He took a breath. “I need to become a necromancer. I need to go after her.”

  “You’re not doing any such thing.”

  “If that’s what it takes to get me in the Shrine to find out where she’s gone, then I’ll do it. She shouldn’t be alone in all this.”

  “I know, and she won’t be. That’s why we need to go back to Elder.”

  “Elder? He already said he won’t help us.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

  * * *

  “He’s got beer, you say?” Tum said as he, Holly, Hawthorn, and Hemlock stood outside Elder’s home. Dawn had broken, and a thin mist lingered along the damp ground.

  Holly nodded. “Lots of it. Bitter dark. Abby brews it herself. I reckon they’ll have a full cellar of the stuff.”

  Tum rubbed his hands. “Full cellar’s good. What else?”

  “Well, the house is big. And nice. There’s got to be all kinds of spoils in there.”

  “It’s been far too long since old Tum’s gone spoiling, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Well, now’s your chance. You’ve got to spoil it for everything you’re worth.”

  Tum drew himself up, looking offended. “I always do.”

  Hawthorn said, “Don’t forget about Augustus.”

  Holly cringed.

  “Who’s that?” Tum said.

  “Elder’s creepy little butler,” Holly said. “He’s not even human… or gnomish or anything.”

  “He’ll probably try to bite you,” Hawthorn said.

  “Well, he’s welcome to try,” Tum said. “He might just find out old Tum bites back.”

  Hemlock asked, “How are we supposed to get Tum inside?”

  Tum drew himself up again. “Please. I’m a cellar gnome.” He thrust a finger in the air. “There’s never been a cellar Tum couldn’t get into.”

  “Unless it’s chained shut with a big fat lock,” Holly said.

  Tum shuffled his feet. “Well, yes, but these Sarnum folks aren’t familiar with cellar gnomes—few of us live in these parts. If he’s chained his cellar shut, I’ll eat my pyjamas.”

  “Perhaps I should chain it shut,” Hawthorn said, “because I’d like to see that.”

  Tum opened his mouth, but Holly interrupted him and said, “We need to get moving. Elder’s going to be up any moment now—if he’s not already. We need to get inside.”

  They walked around the house as they searched for a cellar door. But when they ended up back where they had started without finding one, Holly grew concerned.

  “Maybe he doesn’t have a cellar.” It honestly hadn’t occurred to her that Elder wouldn’t have a cellar. Her whole plan hinged on it.

  “Nonsense,” Tum said. “If he’s got as much beer as you say he does, then he’s got a cellar, mark my words.”

  They walked around the house again, only this time Tum poked around the bushes and hedges.

  “Here we go!” he shouted as he rummaged behind a prickly gooseberry shrub. “There’s a window here.”

  Holly peered through the bush and spied a narrow window on the wall of the house right above the ground. “It’s tiny.”

  “Big enough for a gnome.” Tum pushed on the window, then tried to pull on it, but the window didn’t budge. “Blasted thing’s locked.”

  Holly turned to Hemlock and Hawthorn. “Either one of you know Weaving magic?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Hawthorn said and snorted. The man actually snorted. “Weaving magic.” He smirked and shook his head.

  “Sorry, Holly,” Hemlock said. “We’re both strictly Wyr warlocks.”

  Glass shattered and Holly flinched.

  “Got it!” Tum said as he cleared away the broken shards of the window. “Not anything a good rock couldn’t fix.”

  Holly remained speechless for a couple of heartbeats before she regained her senses. Which was good, because Tum was squirming through the window and, before she knew it, had disappeared inside.

  She bent down towards the window. “You all right, Tum?”

  “Tum’s always all right,” he replied from within the darkness.

  “Well, good then. You get to work.” She turned towards Hemlock and Hawthorn and grinned. “This is going to be fun.”

  She and the two warlocks walked to the front door, where she grabbed the knocker and gave it several quick rap
s. Holly clasped her hands together and tried to put on a solemn expression, but she couldn’t do it. A wide grin had spread across her face that she couldn’t dispel. She felt confident, and that confidence filled her with an unexpected glee.

  Elder opened the door in his red flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. “Sweet biscuits and jam. Not you again.”

  “You know,” Holly said, “I don’t think there was any way this was never going to happen. I never used to believe in destiny, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Elder’s brows knitted into a puzzled frown. “What are you talking about?”

  From within the house, Abby screamed, accompanied by Augustus’s squawking. There was a metallic clanging and a loud, hollow thud.

  “Abby?” Elder said as he turned around. “Abby!” He ran down the hallway, his red robe billowing behind him. Holly and the brothers followed him in.

  They passed the living room and headed towards the kitchen. Except for Hemlock—he and Holly exchanged quick glances before he hurried upstairs. Elder hadn’t seemed to notice.

  In the kitchen, they found Tum and Augustus playing tug-of-war with a shiny silver tray while Abby ran around the room until she found a rolling pin. She swung it at Tum.

  “Hey!” He let go and tumbled out of the way, and Abby clipped one of Augustus’s wings instead. The blow sent him into a fit of squawks and hopping.

  “I’m outta here,” Tum said, and he darted back into the cellar and slammed the door shut.

  Elder rounded on Holly. “What was that thing? Did you bring it here?”

  Holly smirked at him. “At least he’s not some weird monkey-bat thing.”

  “Why is it in the cellar? What does it want?” He rattled the cellar door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “All your beer’s in there,” Holly said. “And he’s got it. You’re from the Grove. I’m sure you’ve heard of cellar gnomes.”

  Hawthorn said, “They’re really nothing more than a vermin infestation, if you ask me. Except that these particular vermin will drink all your beer and steal your silver, so, in fact, they’re actually worse.”

  “What will happen to your constitution?” Holly said. “You won’t be able to have your beer for breakfast.”

  “Or the pickles.”

  “Oh yes, Tum loves his pickles. That is, when he’s not vandalizing carriages with them.”

  “You don’t have a carriage, do you?” Hawthorn said. “The wretched gnome ruined mine with pickled eggs. I don’t think it’ll ever recover. I’m going to have to burn it.”

  “Let’s just hope he doesn’t get into your linen closet,” Holly added. “With his grabby little hands, who knows what he’ll ruin. One day you’ll pick up a pair of your knickers, only to find out they smell like beer and old cheese.”

  Hawthorn shuddered. “I would have to move. Honestly.”

  Holly nodded. “Oh, absolutely. Once a cellar gnome gets dug in, there’s no getting rid of him.”

  “Not until the beer runs out at least.”

  “Which”—Holly smirked at Elder—“I’m sure won’t happen here for quite some time.”

  Abby crouched on the floor, tending to Augustus’s wing. The creature made a pitiful whining sound. Then Abby straightened and leveled her rolling pin at Elder. “I want that thing out of my house, Elder.” She shook the rolling pin at him as her round face purpled. “Out!”

  Holly flinched. Abby had always been so pleasant and jovial. This side of the woman was a little bit scary.

  “I’m taking Augustus to see the doctor,” Abby continued. “If that thing isn’t gone by the time we get back, then you’d better find yourself a new home, a new wife, and so help me, a new hide.” She took Augustus’s little hand and marched out of the room while the imp hopped frantically alongside her.

  Elder stared at where she had gone, his arms limp and mouth hanging open. He looked like a man who had just woken up in the middle of the forest, missing his shoes along with any recollection of how he had gotten there.

  “So,” Holly said. “We need to get into the Shrine. You help us do that and we’ll leave, take the gnome with us, and you’ll never see us again.”

  Elder ran a hand over his face. He looked exhausted. “I told you, I can’t help you get to the Sea of Severed Stars. If I did, I’d likely suffer worse than a ruined marriage.” His face crumpled a little, but then he sniffed and composed himself.

  Holly began to feel bad for inflicting Tum on Elder like that. But they were desperate—she needed to push on. “I know. We’re not asking you to take us to the sea. We just need to get into the Shrine here in Sarnum. That’s all. If we’re lucky, Hazel will still be there.”

  “And if she’s not?”

  Holly shrugged. “It’s doubtful she managed to get to the sea. We’ll look someplace else.”

  Elder snorted. “Right, and I’m a plucked chicken ready for roasting.”

  Holly stared at him, unable to keep herself from imagining Elder sitting naked in a giant pot as Augustus basted his fleshy limbs.

  Hawthorn nudged her, and she started back to attention.

  “Look,” she said, “you help us get in there, and we’ll take Tum away. We’ll even get you that orange tree we promised. What we do or don’t do later won’t involve you at all. After we get in the Shrine, we’ll part ways, and you’ll never hear from us again. That’s all you know.”

  From beyond the cellar door came a crashing sound. Then a moment later, the sharp smell of vinegar permeated the air.

  Elder closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine. I’ll get you in.”

  Hazel got up from the table and backed away. Ash got up with her.

  “You’re lying,” she said. “You didn’t contact me.” But the words felt hollow. Deep down, she knew her father spoke the truth, and that frightened her more than she wanted to admit.

  Ash’s expression softened. “You know that I’m not.”

  Hazel closed her eyes. The windmill where she had found the enigmatic message with a lock of Willow’s hair. The abandoned house with the pristine alchemical table in the cellar. The first time she had summoned her mother’s aspect in that abandoned cottage back in the Grove. She clenched her eyes shut tighter for one more treasured moment, then opened them and looked at Ash. “You planted those things for me to find. At the windmill, at that house.”

  Her father smiled. “Yes.”

  Hazel fought down her rising anger at his pleased expression. “Including Mother. Did you…” She swallowed. “Please tell me you didn’t trap her soul in a geas for me.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” he said quietly.

  Hazel studied him, looking for any sign of falseness, but he gave none. “Then why did you do it?”

  Ash averted his gaze. “It is not always an easy thing to understand one’s own mind and heart. To confess the truth, I cannot say for certain why I did it.”

  “That’s not good enough. There has to be more than that.”

  He scowled at her. “Of course there is more. A great deal more. So much so that one is hard-pressed to make any sense out of the emotional racket going on in one’s mind. I left your mother. I was through with her, and yet…” He shook his head. “Can we ever truly leave behind those we love? Can we live the entirety of our lives without them, either in presence or in thought?”

  “You tell me. You’ve had more experience than me in that regard.”

  Ash gave her a cool look. “Yes, to my great regret. But you know the answer already. That you stand here now is all the answer either one of us needs.”

  Hazel and her father shared a tense, silent moment as they regarded each other.

  “How did you do it then?” Hazel asked. “If you can’t tell me why, then tell me how.”

  Ash frowned, looking mildly puzzled. “I’m afraid the practical application of such spells is much too advanced for you to understand right now. You are gifted, Hazel, but some things remain beyond your understanding.”

  Hazel clenched her ha
nds. “I don’t care about the spell! How did you know she was sick? How did you even have the opportunity to do what you did?”

  Ash regarded her silently for a moment. Then he said, “Come with me,” and walked to a door hidden behind a tapestry depicting a forest scene populated with woodland animals dining under a twilit, summer sky.

  Hazel followed him into a dark hallway illuminated by a single flickering blue light at the far end. There they turned left and walked a few steps further to another door that Ash pushed open. It led to a chamber that looked to be a combination of a workroom and library. There were benches and desks littered with jars and vials, piles of papers, and an occasional bowl or ewer or other receptacle for holding water. Tall bookshelves lined the walls to the left and right, but straight ahead the wall remained bare.

  Ash walked to the wall and to a table that bore a single tallow candle, a mirror, a wide shallow bowl, and a tall silver ewer. He turned to Hazel. “You are familiar with such implements, I am sure. They are quite similar to the magic you performed to summon the aspect of your departed mother.”

  Hazel flinched despite her efforts to remain calm and collected. He hadn’t told her anything she hadn’t already known—she had realized herself that each time she had called upon her mother at each new moon that she had performed necromantic magic even if she didn’t understand how she had managed to do it. But it still shocked her to hear him say it out loud, like she had crossed a bridge that had now collapsed into an endless chasm behind her.

  Hazel cleared her throat, struggling to collect her thoughts. “I’m not familiar with the mirror or candle,” she finally managed to say and almost immediately regretted it. Was she really going to discuss necromancy with her father?

  Ash nodded. “The flame from the candle serves as a beacon that leads a soul through the Void with its light and warmth. The water poured from an ewer to a bowl serves a similar purpose and helps a soul to navigate between worlds. It is drawn to the source of life that water brings, as well as to the sound, though there are some necromancers who will argue that point. The mirror is used to capture the soul’s aspect so that they cannot leave before bidden.” He squinted at her. “I’m curious, if you did not use a mirror, what did you use to get your mother to stay? And you must have had a flame of some sort somewhere.”