Page 7 of Welcome to Blackbird Hollow
I fetch the apples out of the bed as Fallon gets to work pouring tea for everyone on the porch. This is what it’s like to do the majority of our work with witches. You get good at making tea. Hedgeriders and witches go together like hellhounds and the Hunt.
Wanda tells Fallon everything she knows about the missing leafers. They’re a couple from the Coast, white, affluent, but not truly wealthy, and not much experience with the outdoors. They told the Mill Creek rangers that they were going to do the boardwalk tour at the visitors station three days ago and never returned. Apparently, they’ve missed three reservations for Mill Creek’s fancy restaurants. Fallon looks like she wants to spit when Wanda says that.
Before she launches into a diatribe about Mill Creek selling out to rich tourists and the academics at Three Ravens College, I interrupt. “What makes the coven think this is our sort of thing?”
Wanda shakes her head, her ebony curls bouncing a little. She’s a pretty Black witch in her late thirties and is the Foxglove Coven’s leader. “To be honest, if there weren’t so many rumors swirling about the Hunt coming this way, I wouldn’t be worried. Leafers go missing every year… But with rumors about the Hunt…”
Wanda trails off, but Fallon finishes her thought. It’s what we’re all thinking. “Sector’s bound to show up.”
Widow Harkness spits like she always does when anyone mentions Sector. “Damn traitors.”
I share her sentiment, and so does Fallon, who spits in solidarity, her hock traveling into the foxgloves by Widow Harkness’s white picket fence. Wanda looks like she might lose her patience, but Widow Harkness smiles. Too many hedgeriders and witches went over to the government duringthe Dark Years, sharing secrets our people had kept well for thousands of years in the blink of an eye.
Fallon leans against the porch railing, squinting a little as she stares down the road toward town. “Better let the coven know. Batten down the hatches. If it is the Hunt, we’ll need everyone prepared.”
Wanda tips back in her chair. “Betty’s making sure extra nails are going out to every household, and we’ve got the PTA phone tree working on sewing them into the kids’ coats.”
“You got enough help?” I ask. “For the kids whose parents work?”
Widow Harkness grins at me. “Nobody wants your help with sewing, boy.” She pokes Fallon in the side. “Remember your senior pageant?”
Fallon snickers. “Who could forget?”
I glare at them both. “The dragon turned out alright.”
Everyone laughs, and they get back to talking about rowan fences and salt bags. Fallon nods at me. “Marion’s got the rest of the rock salt in storage at the Stardust. Can you go out and get it tomorrow?”
“Sure thing,” I agree.
Fallon doesn’t have to tell me to talk to Marion about who’s been coming and going. I know the drill. I check my watch. It’s just about time to pick up lunch from the diner, and then I’ve got errands that’ll piss Fallon off.
“You good to get home?” I ask. “I’ve got a full afternoon.”
My sister narrows her eyes at me, but nods. “I’ll walk you out.”
She follows me to the truck, scratches Fern’s ears, and then leans against my door, blocking me from leaving. “You can’t keep doing it all for him, Wyatt. He’s had a year. I let it slide for this long because he’s the baby, but he has to stand on his own two feet at some point.”
We’ve had this argument dozens of times. Our views on Caden are decidedly different. “He’s standing on them, Fallon. He just needs us.”
She leans toward me, pushing off the truck. “What that kid needs is to get his ass kicked six ways from Sunday and to get real fucking brave.”
I stare down at her boots and mine, both scuffed beyond fixing, resoled and worn. The two of us have always disagreed about how to raise Caden, and we might be adults now, but there’s no doubt we’re still raising him up.
“Heisbrave,” I argue. “You know it as well as I do. He’s been to hell and back this year, though. Cut him a little slack.”
Fallon’s jaw clenches tight. Her lashes brush her cheeks as she looks down, sharing my view of our boots. “Anybody ever cutyouany slack, Wyatt?”
I cross my arms tight over my chest. “You sure as shit didn’t.”
My sister flashes me those dead eyes of hers and smiles. “You’re doing just fine, and so am I.”
She moves to go back to the house, but I grab her arm. I lean close to my sister, so the witches—the ever-loving gossips that they are—don’t hear me. “Neither one of us is fine, Fallon. We’re the walking wounded, and you fucking know it.”
A breeze sends the shorter layers of her dark hair into her eyes. “You tell Caden Hayes I expect to see him at my table for Sunday dinner this week.” I open my mouth to argue about Cade’s agoraphobia, but Fallon shakes her head at me with a scowl. “No excuses. He doesn’t show up, and I’ll drag his ass out of that hovel in the woods myself.”
Chapter 5
Alice
