JONAH
I’m an early riser by nature, but this morning I’m up long before the dawn. Truth be told, I barely slept at all due to thinking about the beautiful witch sleeping in my bed. I shouldn’t let my thoughts go to such places, yet I can’t help myself.
When the great mother asked this favor of me, it never occurred to me that the witch she would send might be a tawny-haired goddess. I cannot get the first sight of her from my mind. For an instant, I thought Goddess herself had come to visit me.
The room behind my still room is comfortable enough. I’ve slept there many times when I work late and cannot be bothered to return to the house before continuing my mixtures. I lack the innate ability of a witch, but born and raised in a coven, I know all there is to know about curatives and potions.
I wanted to be useful. I believed that if I was the best apothecary possible, my mother’s coven would want me. It was a fool’s thought and I’ve long since given up on them, but living alone between worlds of magic and men is a sorry existence. Still, I learned that there’s little point in getting attached to anyone, as I am disposable.
I make a pot of tea, then fry some eggs and sausage the butcher bartered for a poultice to ease his gout. Leaving Minerva’s and Bellamy’s plates near the fire to stay warm, I take my meal to eat on the porch.
It’s not long before I hear footsteps and movements inside. My body responds, but I fight the desire to see her. She’ll stay inside and eat, and I’ll have my peace. I like quiet, especially in the morning.
The door creaks open and Minerva steps onto the porch, her blond hair wild and free of her bonnet. The scent of peonies and sunshine fills my senses. She sits and places her tea on the low table before quietly eating her breakfast. “This is very good. Thank you. You needn’t have cooked for us. I shan’t be a burden to you, other than to ask questions about Kent and what’s happening in Maidstone.”
I lower my chin in acknowledgment of her thanks. “It’s no trouble.”
Quietly, she finishes her meal, puts her plate down and lifts her tea. “You get very fine leaves. From India?”
It shouldn’t matter that she noticed. It doesn’t matter. She only needs to find my skills useful so that I can join the Windsor coven. Tea making will not be on her list of needs from an apothecary. “I have a good source for many teas and herbs. Perhaps that might be of use to your coven. You might mention it when you discuss me with the high priestess.”
“Why do you wish to join the Windsor coven, or any coven? You have a fine home here, and you have a business that does well enough that the day-to-day work is turned over to an apprentice. What is wrong with your life here?”
Curiosity is the only emotion I can detect from her. “I was raised in a coven. I miss the family atmosphere.” It is the truth. It is also less than accurate.
She cocks that pretty head, and her blue eyes flash with some emotion that might be doubt or concern. I wish I had some talent for knowing what a person thought and felt.
“If you want a family, Mr. Allen, you might just marry and make one of your own.”
Desire flushes through me, and with it, terror that I could be reeled in like a fish, then have the line cut when my lover no longer has need of me. My own mother found me useless. There is no reason to think a wife would be any different. “Perhaps wanting a coven is foolish.”
I stand and take up both plates and my teacup. “Stay and do what you must about the Kent coven. I’ll help if I can, but my skills are for teas and potions. I have no magic to offer you or anyone else.”
Giving her one last look, I turn and stomp into the house. It shouldn’t matter. I’m a grown man of nine and twenty. I scrub the dishes and the pan, and put them on the counter to dry. I need to get away from the house and the woman within it.
Crossing to the back door, I feel her attention on me.
“Mr. Allen, I didn’t mean to offend you. I only asked the question. You assumed I have predisposition for your answer. In any case, I apologize and thank you for the meal.” There is no passion in her words, and her eyes have none of the brightness I’ve beaten myself up for admiring. She turns to the open front door and walks away.
I storm out the back door and trudge across the garden.
“Is something amiss, sir?” Trent, her driver, asks while grooming the horse. He’s been charged to stay and look after her too. He’s a nice enough fellow, but why does this one witch need so much protection?
Normally, when I’m in a mood, I go to the stream and think. Perhaps knowledge is a better cure today. “Trent, what do you know about your lady?”
He brushes more vigorously. “What do you mean, sir?”
“She’s a witch. I assume you were made aware of this before being sent on this errand.” I need to control the volume of my voice, but she’s got me tied in knots. Why couldn’t they have sent a brutish witch with a hook nose and some warts who was on the far side of seventy?
Trent’s smile is easy as he nods. “My employer, Sir William, and his bride are witches. Everyone in the house knows. I was the groom, then promoted to footman. Miss Honeywell has not confided in me, but I know what she is. Since you do as well, what is it you want from me?”
“She vexes me.” I say it mostly to myself.
“Does she?” Trent’s voice rises, and the horse whinnies. He pats the mare and coos to her. “She has always been very polite to me. She’s not used to having a servant, and I think that irritated her on the ride. I tried to get her to wait for me to open the carriage door and put down the step, but she never did.” He laughs.
“She wasn’t raised to such things.” I think about how she jumped up after dinner and washed the dishes. I called her a lady, but she was not raised to that station in life. She’s a woman who has always worked.
“No. Though, I understand some of the witches do come from society, like my employer. Most keep their true natures hidden.” Trent runs a curry comb through the horse’s mane. “Seems a hard way to live.”
“It’s not easy.” I reflect on the pains my mother undertook to keep neighbors out of our business. She would work shields and glamours constantly.
Trent stares. “Are you a witch, sir?”
“No. Just a humble apothecary.” If I’d been born with magic, I would be more. The familiar knot forms in my gut as I wish for what I cannot have. It’s stupid, and at my age, I should have moved on from such things.
Looking at the house and garden, Trent shrugs. “Seem to have done quite well for yourself. This is a fine plot of land with a sturdy house and barn. I have a comfortable room above with all I might need.” He points to loft in the barn.
I’m glad he’s comfortable. “If you need anything, let me know.”
He scans the grounds. “Where is the lady, sir?”
“I think she went for a walk.” I’m ashamed that I have no idea where she is. I told the great mother I would look after her, and in less than twenty-four hours, I’ve lost sight of her.
Concern creases Trent’s young forehead. “I’ll run and find her. There was a lot of talk about dark and evil before we left Windsor. I’m not sure what it’s all about, but she shouldn’t wander too far without an escort.”
I’m an ass. “I’ll go.” Not that either Trent or I are of much use if a dark witch attacks, but I’ll not shirk my duty.
It’s only midmorning, but I have no idea where Minerva went. I saddle Ventus, my horse, round the house, and I scan the drive before heading out toward the road to Maidstone.
Surely, she wouldn’t go into town on foot by herself. The idea is too terrifying. Though, people walk and drive into town all the time, and no harm comes to them. She must have power, or they wouldn’t have sent her. What if something detects her power?
I bring Ventus to a trot. As my panic rises, I nudge him into a gallop.
A flash of pale blue catches my eye, and I slow my mount. I’ve only come about a mile, and there is Minerva, standing in May and Wade Farnum’s yard, chatting over the chicken pen.
Finding calm, I dismount and tie Ventus to a tree at the edge of the yard. “Hello, May. I see you’ve met my guest.”
May smiles, showing off a missing front tooth and her sunny disposition. “Miss Minerva has been kind enough to stop for a chat. Tells me she’s your cousin visiting from Windsor. You never mentioned you had family, Jonah.”
“I suppose it never came up.” I avoid Minerva’s glare, but her nearness affects me nonetheless. “I was worried when you left the yard without a word about where you were going.”
“Some air was needed, and then I met Mrs. Farnum, and we’ve been discussing the low egg production of her chickens.”
May is looking at Minerva as if she’s some kind of genius. “Miss Minerva tells me alfalfa and meal worms will make the chickens lay more and better. I’ll be talking to Wade about it at dinner tonight. I don’t see why we can’t try a mix.”
I can’t argue with Minerva’s recommendation, as it’s sound. I want to disagree, which is completely irrational. I’m losing my mind. “I heard last week that John Tate has alfalfa for sale. Meal worms, you might check at the feed store in town.”
“We’ll do that. Thank you both. I better get these chickens fed before they think to eat me.” May turns and tosses seed from her apron to the ground.
Minerva is still a moment. “I wasn’t running away, Mr. Allen. Just thought a walk would be nice and give me some idea of the area.”
We walk toward Ventus, and my neck heats. “I thought you might go into Maidstone alone and endanger yourself.”
“Do you think the town too dangerous for me to enter? I didn’t realize the coven was overt in their dealings with the public. Has your shop incurred problems?” She waits while I untie the reins, and we stroll back toward the main road.
“No. There haven’t been any issues. I was surprised when I received warnings from the great mother. The coven witches come to my shop from time to time. I doubt they know anything of my past.” I’m a fool, but my worries were real, and I’ll not be ashamed of them.
“If there have been no incidents of note, why did you think my heading to town was dangerous?” She cups her elbows in her hands, and her voice is soft like the breeze.
“My mother can feel a shift in magic when a new witch comes close. The Kent coven may have a witch with that skill, mightn’t they?” A vision of Minerva struck down before she knew what hit her slides into my consciousness.
“I suppose they might, but that’s not a common skill. It could be done with a spell by any witch, but they would have to be looking for me.” She’s quiet as we continue on the road.
I turn to cut through a field near the stream. “Mother felt it without a spell.”
“She must be very powerful. Strange that you should lack magic.” She smiles and skips forward. “What lovely wildflowers.”
Small white bell-shaped flowers dot the field. “Lily of the valley. You may find some dianthus closer to the river.”
She picks a handful of flowers, and her face lights up with pleasure. “It’s beautiful here. I can see why you settled here.”
“I had little choice. I was young and needed to make my way in the world. The old apothecary in Maidstone died, and I was sent off to take his place. The man who I apprenticed for was happy to be rid of me and my big appetite.” I laugh. “At least that’s what he said the day I left.”
“He was kind to you, the apothecary you learned from?” She kneels in the grass and studies a patch of dianthus. It’s not tall, and so she doesn’t pick the flowers, but she stays and admires them.
“He was, and as I knew more than him about plants and fungus, we traded knowledge before he gave me his blessing and a letter of recommendation.” I owe Mr. Pratt a letter.
“You keep in touch with him. How nice.” She sighs.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “You invaded my thoughts.”
When my voice rises, Ventus blows a loud sigh.
Minerva’s eyes are wide. Then she cocks her head. “I did.” She says it more to herself. “I’m not usually able to hear someone’s thoughts. Perhaps you were thinking very loud.” She’s not really speaking to me. It’s as if she’s trying to work out a puzzle. “I apologize. I will be more guarded. It was not my intention to invade your privacy.”
Her obvious surprise confuses me. “You’re not accustomed to hearing the thoughts of others?”
Standing, she shakes her head. “I have the ability to sense a lie, but it was as if you said you owed Mr. Pratt a letter out loud. That has never happened to me before.”
There is no reason to trust this witch, but still I do. I may not have sight or magic of any kind, but I know people, and Minerva isn’t lying. She was as surprised as I that she’d heard my thought. Perhaps more so. “Shall we talk of the coven and why you have come?”
Her smile is warmer than sunshine. “I will tell you what transpired in Windsor.”
“There was a particular incident that brought you here?” I’m only surprised because the coven has been quiet.
Holding her flowers close, she sighs and walks beside me. “A powerful witch named Orin possessed a young witch while she was fostered by the Kent coven. He sent her back with the intent to kill Sir William Meriwether. When she failed, he came himself and attacked the coven. He hopes to get to the king by taking over the Windsor coven.”
“I know of no witch named Orin,” I say.
Minerva stops and gapes at me. “Orin Sallows is not the high priest of the Kent coven?”
“Patricia Mason is the high priestess. She’s in her seventies and has led the coven for more than thirty years. I know her well. She’s a healer and has some sight.” I don’t wish to mistrust what Minerva tells me, but whoever this Orin is, he doesn’t head the Kent witches.
There’s a deep crease between her eyes as she glances from me to the ground, then back to me. “And you know of no Orin?”
I see her dismay, and I wish I could help. “I’m sorry, Miss Honeywell. There is no witch by that name in the town of Maidstone, or in the county of Kent as far as I know. I may not be a member of the coven, but the witches all come to my shop and purchase ingredients from me. They also gossip about each other. Phillip would have told me if a new witch, and a man, had come in, or it would be written in the bookkeeping.”
“How often do you go into your shop, Mr. Allen?” She starts walking again, but the look of confusion doesn’t leave her face.
“Once a week. I’m well known, despite my aversion to crowds and conversation,” I assure her.
“The great mother speaks very highly of you. She told me she met you when you were just a boy.” Her expression lightens, as if she’s trying to picture me as a small child.
“Did she tell you that she offered to take me in? Even then, my mother lamented my lack of skills. I think I was eight or nine, and I heard them talking in the still room. I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but I was a boy, and we didn’t have many strangers come to visit. The great mother was so kind to me that I wanted to be constantly in her company, but my mother had shooed me away.
“Mother said I was as useless as my father before me, and I’d likely meet the same end. But Great Mother Prudence scolded her. She said she saw only light in my heart and expected wondrous things from me. Then she offered to take me off my mother’s hands.” My heart tightens with the memory. I felt at once abandoned and wanted, and at the time, didn’t know which was better.
“What did your mother say?” Minerva’s face fills with emotion, and her cheeks and neck turn pink.
Is she upset for the boy I was, or has something else affected her?
“Mother said something about waiting to see if the great mother’s predictions would come to pass.” It had been harsher, but I’ll not repeat the words used by the woman who bore me.
“I’m sorry for your pain.” Minerva touches my arm, and my worries lighten. The memories remain, but soften as the weight I’ve carried for so many years lifts from my shoulders.
Closing my eyes to enjoy the touch, I say, “You do have gifts, Miss Honeywell. Are you a healer or a siphon?”
“A healer of sorts.” She removes her touch. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“It is a gift, and I’ll not argue for permission to receive a gift.”
We continue toward the house, where Bellamy is sitting on the porch.
Minerva waves. “I think we should go to Maidstone tomorrow and see what there is to see. Trina was taken advantage of by a witch when she was sent here for training. Orin Sallows is that witch. So, he either has you fooled, or everyone, but why? He’s one of the most powerful witches I’ve ever seen. If not for Sir William’s powers, we might not have survived.”
At the cottage, I bow to Bellamy. “I trust you found your breakfast, madam.”
“Oh, yes. Splendid. I see you found my wayward girl.” She offers a crooked-toothed grin.
“I only went for a short walk and visited with some neighbors, Aunt. There was no need to fuss.”
A low chortle fills the air, and Bellamy says, “Yes, but isn’t it nice to fuss and be fussed over from time to time?”
I’m surprised by my desire to agree, and keep my mouth shut and my head from nodding like a fool. It is nice to worry over more than myself.