Hazel followed the wooded path back to the cottage she shared with her sister. The sun was well up by the time she returned, and the new warmth pulled the heady scent of honeysuckle into the air. She eyed the herb patch as she passed through the garden, noted a number of red mites on the hyssop and lemon balm, and made a mental note to return later with a bowl of soapy water to wash the pests away.
She rounded a corner and found a young man standing near the front door, his back against the wall as Holly, with a broom in hand, stood too close to him than was proper or polite.
“What’s going on?” Hazel said.
Holly turned, and the young man slumped as he let out a heavy breath. Her sister grinned, and her round cheeks flushed like apple blossoms. “We have a visitor!” she said, brushing away a few wisps of honey-golden hair that had escaped from her kerchief.
“I can see that,” Hazel said. “Why is he here?”
Holly blinked. “I… I don’t know.” She turned to the young man, and he cringed back against the wall. “Why are you here?”
The young man held up an envelope sealed with a glob of purple wax. “Delivery for the Witch Hazel sisters,” he said in a feeble voice.
Holly squealed and snatched the envelope from his hand. Dropping the broom, she broke the seal and opened the letter. The young man slinked away and ran out of sight.
Hazel picked up the broom and propped it against the wall. “What does it say?”
Holly held the letter in a white-knuckled grip, her lips moving as she silently read to herself. Then she looked up and beamed at Hazel. “It’s an invitation!”
“To what?”
But Holly just dropped the letter and ran into the house.
Hazel sighed. The girl was exhausting. She picked up the letter and peered at an elaborate, scrolling hand adorned with motifs of rabbits, acorns, birds, and trees. It was ridiculously lavish, which made the reading laborious at best. Hazel was tempted to throw it on the trash heap but didn’t for fear of not being able to get an answer out of Holly. Ignoring the ornamentation as best she could, she made out the following message:
To the most excellent Sisters of Witchery, Hazel and Holly,
You are cordially invited to the estate of Hawthorn and Hemlock, Brothers Extraordinaire of Warlockery, Sorcery, and Intrigue, for a night of Magic, Enchantment, and Fabulous Feasting. Present yourselves in your finest attire, along with this invitation, at the Brothers’ estate at eight o’clock on the 23rd night of Ascending Midren, and brace yourselves for what is surely to be the most ineffable event of your entire lives.
As always: Punctuality is of the essence; lollygaggers will be turned away at the gate.
Respectfully and Eagerly,
Hawthorn and Hemlock
Hazel wrinkled her nose. What utter nonsense. Warlockery? That wasn’t even a word. She walked inside the cottage and found Holly in her room, rummaging through a chest of clothes.
“I haven’t anything to wear!”
Hazel waved the letter. “Don’t tell me you want to go to this thing.”
Holly poked her head out of the chest and screwed up her face at Hazel. “You mean you don’t? They said it’s going to be ineffable, Hazel. Ineffable. We have to go!”
“We don’t have to do anything other than use our good sense. That party is bound to be nothing more than a ridiculous charade.”
“But I love charades!”
“We’re not going.”
Holly’s face fell as if she had just heard the most devastating news of her life. Then she drew herself up and said, “Fine. I’ll go by myself.”
“What?”
“If you don’t want to go, then don’t go. But I’m going.”
“You most certainly are not. You don’t know these warlocks or what they’ll be doing.”
“They’ll be throwing an amazing party. And I’ll be there. I am a woman grown now, Hazel.”
“You’re seventeen.” At twenty-three, Hazel was hardly an old woman. But sometimes her younger sister made her feel ancient.
Holly nodded. “Exactly.” She returned to rummaging through her chest of clothes and didn’t notice Hazel’s glare.
“And what will you do if you’re taken advantage of and thrown in a ditch?”
“Nobody in the Grove has ever been thrown in a ditch.”
“What about Redwood?”
“Everyone knows he got drunk and fell in the ditch.”
“Well, what if you get taken advantage of then?”
“Then that will be your fault for not coming with me. Honestly, Hazel, you’re the older sister. You’re supposed to be looking out for me.”
Hazel’s mouth fell open. She was about to tell Holly off when her younger sister smiled in that way she did whenever she succeeded in goading Hazel. Then she turned serious. “Please, Hazel. We never go anywhere or do anything. Just this once?”
Hazel clenched her jaw. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. “You have a festival dress. You can wear that.”
“Oh no, I can’t wear that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s rustic!”
Hazel folded her arms. “What’s wrong with rustic?”
“Nothing, it’s just…” Holly peered at Hazel with dewy, hopeful eyes. “It’s going to be ineffable, Hazel. Ineffable.”
“I’m really starting to hate that word.”
“I can’t go dressed as a rustic to something like that!”
Hazel rubbed her eyes. “Fine. If you want something nicer to wear, then you’ll be the one to make it. I’ll not be burdened with being your seamstress, you hear me?”
A broad smile split across Holly’s face, and she nodded and headed for the door.
“You’d best hurry,” Hazel called after her. “The twenty-third Ascending is less than ten days away.”
Later, Hazel stood in the kitchen, pounding a particularly stubborn rump of mutton into submission with a mallet when Holly stumbled through the front door. Her entrance was like a cascade of dried leaves, all rustling and crackling as she held in her arms a heap of shiny, blue-black material. Holly had draped part of the fabric around her body and over her head, forming a hood. The rest she clutched in a haphazard bundle.
“What on earth is that?” Hazel said.
Holly beamed. “Oh, Hazel, have you ever seen such material? The merchant called it taffeta. Have you ever heard such a delicious word? It sounds like candy.”
“A dress made of candy? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s not really candy. It just sounds like it. Look, touch it. It’s so shiny and… and smooth.” She presented the heap of fabric to Hazel.
Hazel pursed her lips. She didn’t want to touch it, but Holly might not leave her alone otherwise. She rubbed a piece of fabric between her fingers. It felt coarser than it looked. Not all that wonderful, in her estimation. “How much did this cost?”
“It’s my money, so don’t you worry about it.”
“You paid too much, in other words.”
“It wasn’t too much; it was worth it. Occasions like this don’t come along every day, you know.”
“You’re right. Mid-Ascension festivals only come four times a year. That’s not counting the Declension festivals, which, of course, last for three days and nights.”
“You know what I mean. Stop being sour.”
“Fine. Go make your dress. Revel in sewing and clipping and trimming.”
“I will.” Holly drew herself up, clutched the fabric to her chest, and swished out of the room.
Hazel remained still, watching the door where Holly had disappeared. Then, tightening her jaw, she followed.
She opened the door, finding the tiny bedroom draped with the taffeta. It hung from the rafters along with wooden charms and bundles of dried herbs and flowers. Holly pushed one of the drapes aside and scowled at Hazel. “Now what?”
“You never asked about my visit with Mother.”
Holly deflated as she looked down. “How did it go?”
“Terribly. We had an argument. She’s unconcerned with trying to find a way to undo the geas. She says it can’t be done.”
Holly wrung her hands, her gaze darting off to the side. “Maybe she’s right. Mother always did know best.”
Hazel glowered at her. “Mother never knew best. Ever. Her current situation proves that.”
Holly straightened, her eyes turning misty. “Do not speak ill of the dead.”
Hazel closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m at my wit’s end trying to figure out how to fix this, and yet no one else seems to care.”
“I care,” Holly said in a small voice.
They watched each other. Then, letting out a breath, Hazel waved towards the reams of fabric. “You’ll not get this fabric worked into a dress with it draped around like this.”
Holly smiled. “I know, but it’s just so sumptuous I couldn’t resist. I hope I have some left over for curtains.”
“You have everything you need? Thread? Buttons?”
Holly opened her mouth but hesitated. Then she said, “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
She cringed. “I was hoping Chester would have renewed his stash, and he has… partially. But it’s not enough.” She went to a corner of her room and, from a hole in the wall, pulled out a mouse the color of chestnuts.
Hazel backed out of the room “No.”
Holly followed her. “Please, Hazel.”
“If you think I’ll have anything to do with that filthy little beast, then you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Holly gasped. “He’s not filthy! I bathe him twice a week.”
Hazel gave a disgusted grunt. “Of course you do.”
“Please. I’d do it myself, but I need all the time I can get to make this dress before the twenty-third.” Holly’s clear blue eyes turned liquidy as she stared at Hazel.
Hazel sighed. “Fine.” When Holly squeaked, she added, “But just this once! You’ll not ask me to do anything like this ever again.”
Holly clamped her mouth shut and nodded. Hazel waited as Holly returned to her room and rummaged around. After a few minutes, she walked back out, mouse in hand, who was now equipped with what looked to be an oversized vest with pockets.
“What on earth is he wearing?”
Holly beamed. “It’s his fetching vest. It’s got deep pockets so he has a place to stash his spoils. I made it myself.”
Hazel tried to keep the horror from showing on her face, but she suspected she failed miserably. “And what is it I’m supposed to do with him?”
“I need you to take him to Zinnia’s place and… well… let him loose.”
“You want me to set that filthy creature loose in a fellow witch’s house? You’ve gone mad!”
“He’s not filthy!” Holly took deep breath. “Zinnia’s house might as well be a museum, what with all the junk she has stashed there. She keeps everything. We’re doing her a favor by relieving her of some of the clutter.” She petted the mouse on his tiny head. “Chester will do all the work. You just set him loose and wait for him to return, empty his pockets, and send him back until you have enough supplies. He’s very polite and well trained, never leaves behind any droppings, and he never chews on anything. She’ll not even notice he was there.”
“Except for her missing possessions.”
Holly scoffed. “There’s enough for everyone. Not my fault she doesn’t know how to share.”
“And how much is ‘enough’?”
“Well,” Holly began, looking thoughtful. “As much as you can carry, really.”
Hazel’s mouth hung open.
Holly beamed and offered the mouse on her outstretched hand.
Hazel backed away. “What are you doing?”
“You need to take Chester with you, silly. That’s the whole point.”
“I know, but… I’m not going to carry him… like that.”
“No, of course not. Chester usually likes to ride on top of my head, all nestled in my hair. Or on my shoulder. Or, when he’s sleepy, in my pocket. He’s very versatile.”
Once again, Hazel’s mouth fell open. This conversation with Holly was starting to make her feel like a lackwit. “You’re joking, right? No, I know you’re joking, because I will die a spectacular, frenzied death before I ever allow that to happen.”
Holly emitted a guttural sigh. “Fine.” She returned to her room and, after a few minutes, came back and held out a little wicker cage, the lower portion of which had been woven with strips of colorful ribbons. Chester, still wearing his vest, sat inside, nibbling on a scattering of sunflower seeds.
Ignoring the sickening feeling settling in her stomach, Hazel took the cage. “How am I supposed to get in her house? I’ve not been invited. Unless, of course, you’re going to suggest I wait until she leaves and then break inside.”
“Of course not,” Holly said. “You don’t need to go in. Just let Chester loose outside and he’ll find his own way. He’s very resourceful.”
“Clearly.”
“And be sure to wait for him! Don’t you dare leave him behind or smoosh him or whatever terrible things you’re probably thinking right now. I’ll never forgive you.”
“Noted.”
“Promise.”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “I promise I won’t hurt or abandon your trained rat.”
Holly gasped. “He’s a mouse. Rats are filthy.”