Page 15 of The Witch's Werewolf
My glance goes to Alma, who’s muttering something unintelligible. I let the subject of Finn drop, and I think the elder witches ought to as well. I can practically see the quills of irritation surrounding Alma’s aura.
I go over to the bonfire and help her with the kindling. “Hey Alma,” I say gently. “Maybe after this, we can go check out the dance party in town.”
I know I told Timber I would stay out of the woods, and the only way into town between the witch’s colony and Birchdale proper is the woods. But Alma seems like she could use a friend. Even if she is unpleasant.
For decades, the normies in town have thrown the biggest party on this night. Though I wouldn’t want to miss my first Samhain with my grandmother, why not do both while I’m still young?
Alma studies me for a moment, trying to decide if my intentions are pure.
“Sure, why not?” Alma says flatly.
Wow. Did I just make a friend my age?
“You can go ahead and go now.” I turn as the voice of the matriarch rings out over all the other chatter. Grandma Morgan isn’t loud or shrill, per se. But her voice has an eerie way of carrying in a crowd.
“Grandma,” I say, wiping the dirt from my knees. “I didn’t see you there.”
She smiles. “I know.”
“I didn’t mean any offense. I’d love to experience my first Samhain celebration.”
Grandma tilts her head. “No offense taken. And really, you have your whole long life to live. You’ll get a hundred Halloweens or more to learn about all our ways. Now get out of here and go crash out with some beers.”
I hear Alma chuckle behind me. “That’s not what crash out means, Grandma,” I say.
She waves her hand. “Whatever. Go have fun. Just make sure you stick together. And take this,” she says, digging in her pocket. “A rabid dog was hanging around downtown last night, terrorizing the normies. Don’t know if they caught it yet.”
I stare at her closed hand. “An amulet?” I ask hopefully.
“No, dear. Professional pepper gel spray. And a condom. Depending on how things go tonight.”
Wow. Really could have used the pepper gel last night against Toby and avoided the whole mess with Timber being a wanted criminal. Oddly, I don’t feel safer with it in my purse. But I appreciate the condom.
Before we leave, Alma invites me to dig through her closet, where she has a surprising array of costumes to choose from.
“Here,” she says, shoving a cape at me. “You’re definitely a Red Riding Hood type.”
I shove the wool cloak over my head and pull up the hood. “Really?”
“Oh, Cherry. You look like wolf bait.”
If only she knew.
Alma hands me a basket to use as a prop, adds some glamour magic to my eyes—quicker than makeup—and we’re off.
We trek mostly in awkward silence until the main trail is in sight. When I see the first covered footbridge crossing, I let out a relieved breath. We’re over halfway to town.
“So how come there are so few witches these days?” I ask.
“Just jumping into the hard questions, I see,” she says sardonically.
“I’m not big on small talk.”
She laughs. “Me neither. But to answer your questions, they’re around. Everywhere, actually. Just not many live in the enclaves like Colony Hill. They don’t like to think about the unfortunate history.”
“You mean about the witch trials and the persecution?”
“Yeah. And the public executions, and the old laws that used to discriminate. Plus, most of them prefer to spread their wings and join bigger covens in towns with more to do,” she says.
