Page 1 of Whisker me Away
1
FREYA
Freya Bloom ran her fingers along the dried lavender stems, their purple heads crackling softly as she arranged them in perfect bundles. September morning light streamed through the windows of Bloom & Blossom, carrying the crisp promise of autumn and the earthy sweetness of changing leaves. The familiar ritual should have calmed her nerves, but her stomach twisted tighter with each passing minute. Any moment now, Rowan would walk through the door of her newly opened apothecary with that hopeful smile and the question she'd been dreading.
Just say no. Simple as that.
She practiced the words under her breath while adjusting the fall display of amber-colored bottles that caught the golden light. "Rowan, you're wonderful, but I don't see us that way." Too harsh. "I value our friendship too much to risk it." Too cliché. "I'm not ready for marriage." True, but incomplete.
The truth was messier. She'd known Rowan Ashford since childhood, watched him grow from a gangly boy who pulled her braids to a kind, steady man who brought her tea during late-night study sessions. He deserved better than a woman who feltnothing more than fond affection when he kissed her, especially with harvest season approaching and everyone in Hollow Oak pairing off like it was written in the stars.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating jars of elderflower and bottles of tinctures that lined every available surface. The shop smelled like home: chamomile, rose hips, and the earthy sweetness of healing herbs mixed with the spiced scent of autumn air. This place represented everything she'd worked toward since her grandmother's death three years ago. Independence. Purpose. A legacy worth honoring.
A cool breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of her grandmother's heritage roses from the garden behind the shop. Freya inhaled deeply, expecting the familiar comfort of their perfume, but something sharp and metallic caught in her throat instead. She coughed, her magic recoiling like a startled cat.
What the hell?
The roses had bloomed beautifully this spring, their deep red petals unfurling with the same vigor they'd shown for five generations of Bloom women. Grandmother Sage had always said the roses were the heart of their family's magic, connecting them to the earth's power in ways that made their healing gifts possible. They should be showing their final autumn flush now, preparing for winter's rest with the kind of graceful aging that made September in Hollow Oak legendary throughout the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Freya shook her head and returned to the lavender. Pre-opening nerves, nothing more. Today marked the official launch of her apothecary, the culmination of years spent learning every remedy in her grandmother's journals. She wouldn't let strange smells derail her focus, especially not with the harvest festival only weeks away and half the town already asking about her seasonal preparations.
The bell above the door chimed, and Freya's heart jumped. Too early to be Rowan. She looked up to find Maizy Thornwick standing in the doorway, her usually bright expression replaced by something that looked suspiciously like panic. Her pointed ears, a telltale sign of her fae heritage and distant relation to Twyla Honeytree, twitched with agitation.
"Freya!" Maizy's wild black curls looked like she'd been running her hands through them, and her cheeks were flushed from what must have been a sprint across town. "Thank the Mother you're here. Something's wrong. Really, really wrong."
"Slow down." Freya set aside the lavender and moved toward her best friend. "What's happened?"
"The plants." Maizy's voice cracked. "They're dying. Not just wilting or getting sick from the season change. They're... oh goddess, it's awful."
A chill ran down Freya's spine. "What plants? Where?"
"Started at the Hollow Mercantile about an hour ago. Edgar came running into the café, white as a sheet, begging Twyla to come see. Every single plant in their enchanted goods section is weeping this black... stuff. Like they're bleeding."
Freya's magic stirred uneasily. The Tansley brothers ran Hollow Oak's most eclectic magical supply shop, their mercantile filled with everything from rare crystals to enchanted plants that helped focus supernatural abilities. If their botanical inventory was affected...
"That's not the worst part," Maizy continued. "It's spreading. Mrs. Jenson's garden next door started showing signs twenty minutes later. The corruption, or whatever it is, it's moving through town."
"Corruption?" The word tasted bitter on Freya's tongue.
"That's what Edgar called it. Said he's never seen anything like it in forty years of dealing with magical plants." Maizygrabbed Freya's hands, her fingers ice cold despite the warm morning. "Freya, it started with the heritage roses."
The world tilted sideways. "What?"
"Your grandmother's roses. They were the first to turn. Edgar said he noticed them from the mercantile window around dawn, all twisted and black, and then it spread to his inventory."
Freya's knees went weak. The heritage roses had been in her family longer than Hollow Oak itself. Her great-great-grandmother had brought the cuttings from the old country, and every Bloom woman since had tended them with magic-infused care. They were more than plants. They were a living connection to her bloodline's power, especially important as the growing season wound down toward the harvest celebrations that defined autumn in their magical community.
"No." She pulled away from Maizy and rushed to the window. The garden stretched behind the shop, a riot of color that should have been showing autumn's first blush. But where the heritage roses should have been blooming in their final scarlet glory, preparing for winter's dormancy, she saw only withered black stalks weeping dark sap onto the earth.
"Oh, Grandmother," she whispered. Her magic reached out instinctively, trying to sense what had happened, but recoiled again from the wrongness emanating from the garden. Whatever had killed those roses felt like poison in her veins.
"Freya." Maizy's tone was gentle now. "We need to see how far this has spread."
She turned away from the window, dreading what they might find.
"The community garden," Maizy continued. "You know, the prize-winning one by Moonmirror Lake? If this thing is moving through town systematically, that'll be the best place to see the damage. All the master gardeners in Hollow Oak contributed to those beds."
Of course. The community garden was the pride of their small supernatural town, a collaborative effort between witches, fae, and gifted humans that had won regional awards three years running. Those beds should be magnificent right now, full of late-season blooms and the kind of autumn abundance that made Hollow Oak famous for its harvest celebrations.
