“And this tea leaf helps with breaking through that barrier?” Abigail asked, shifting Pixel in her arms. He had insisted on coming with us.
“That’s what Elizabeth told me. I only know the night I drank the potion, the night of the ceremony, I felt that I was no longer an individual but a part of a greater whole. I think it wise not to vary from that potion.”
“Here we are.” Mrs. Twiggs stopped in front of a long walkway leading up the hill to a yellow Victorian with a wraparound front porch and a large tower in the center. Two iron gargoyles guarded the entry, I felt their stare as they let us pass. The front walkway was adorned with toothless jack-o-lanterns and colorful fall mums. As we stepped closer, I could see the fine scrolling details milled into the woodwork. I had been here when the craftsmen worked on this house back in the 1890s. By the front door leaned what I imagined Mrs. Owen thought were witches’ brooms with crooked and bent hickory handles and straw bottoms tied with twine. A brass plaque next to the front door read, “Owen House Bed and Breakfast.”
“This is on the Asheville historical registry. It was originally owned by one of the head arborists of the Biltmore Estate,” Mrs. Twiggs said.
As Mrs. Twiggs explained the history of the home, Pixel and I stared at the man rocking in the chair at the end of the porch. He was dressed in a frock coat. At first I thought he was one of the Halloween decorations but then he removed his pocket watch, clicked it open and wound the stem. I glanced back at Abigail and Mrs. Twiggs. Neither one could see the man.
Mrs. Twiggs rang the doorbell. The heavy oak door swung open. Before us stood a beautiful dark-haired woman with luminescent white skin, her dark blue eyes sparkled with recognition. She smiled and shook Mrs. Twiggs’ hand. “Karen, thank you for seeing us with such short notice.”
“Not at all, I’m quite intrigued by your ask, Beatrice. Please come in.” We filed into the hall, which still had its original mahogany floors and large columns separating it from the parlor. The original crystal chandelier dangled, illuminating the dark wood and an intricately scrolled grandfather clock chimed the top of the hour. She seemed neither bothered nor alarmed by two cats following the humans into the house. Her black and white cat on the other hand was not pleased to see us. The creature hissed and swiped a paw at Pixel, who ran and hid behind me. “Stop this nonsense, Squirrel,” Mrs. Owen said. The creature hissed.
The black and white cat looked at me and said, “Squirrel.”
“You’re not a squirrel, you’re a cat,” I told it.
“Squirrel is my name,” the cat repeated.
“Very well then this is Pixel and I’m Terra. We’re friends.”
Squirrel pranced around Pixel sniffing tentatively and then stopped, rubbing its head against Pixel, who fell to the floor laughing. The two took off running up the wide staircase. Mrs. Owen noticed the ruckus and bent down staring me in the eye. She lifted me off the ground. “This is a pretty girl,” she said over her shoulder to Mrs. Twiggs. “Terra, is it?” she asked looking at me.
I fell silent. How did she know my name?
“You look like a Terra,” she said this without moving her lips.
I screeched and wiggled out of her grip. I ran up to the top of the stairs. She smiled up at me and then returned to talking to Mrs. Twiggs. “Bea, I think I have what you need. It’s not quite exact but depending on your purpose it may be sufficient. “ Mrs. Owen knew the purpose of the tea. Of that I was sure. They walked into the parlor and sat in front of the fire. I looked about the room from my vantage point. It had remarkably not changed much since its construction. Some of the furniture was original, I thought. A face pressed against the windowpane near the front door. It was the rocking chair man watching me watching Mrs. Owen. He wasn’t the first ghost I had seen in Asheville but something about him troubled me. I found my courage and quietly walked down and settled on Mrs. Twiggs lap by the fire. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Karen, this is Abigail. She‘s staying with me.”
“Oh, family?”
“Of a sort,” Mrs. Twiggs replied.
“This is a beautiful house you have,” Abigail said.
“Thank you, dear, I bought it when I moved to Asheville. I had to do a lot of restoring to return it to its original glory. Mrs. Twiggs has been a tremendous help; researching records and old photos to make sure everything is period correct. We both share the love of the leaf. Speaking of which.” Mrs. Owen jumped up and ran out. She returned with a small wooden box. I recognized the engravings on the lid. They were Druid. She turned the box toward Mrs. Twiggs and opened it slowly. I could smell the essence of blueberry, a very rare tealeaf found on a small Indonesian island. Elizabeth had brought some with her from Ireland. “How did you find this?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.
Mrs. Owen slapped the lid shut and smiled. “I have made many connections throughout the years in the tea world.” I began to understand who or what Mrs. Owen was. She was a witches’ apothecary. Mrs. Twiggs had not known it but she was drawn to Mrs. Owen for that purpose.
In our village back in Salem we had such a woman who could procure specialty herbs that were not native to the Eastern Seaboard. She traded with pirates and Native Americans, as they are now known. Mrs. Owen was neither a black nor white witch but a witch she was. She traded in needful things, each having a price greater than its worth. She knew what the tea was used for: one purpose and one purpose only, a coven binding ceremony. My unease about the rocking chair man was well earned. He was different than the other ghosts I had met as he was bound to Mrs. Owen. I wondered what need she granted him. The thought frightened me. She smiled down at me letting me know she understood that I understood. “Karen, thank you so much, I can’t tell you what it’s for. Let’s call it a personal favor for me,” Mrs. Twiggs said.
Mrs. Owen smiled. “You know you must be quite careful. It’s a very strong leaf. You must dilute it before drinking. Ten parts hot water to one.”
“What do I owe you for this?”
“Nothing but perhaps a favor.”
“Of course, anything I can do.”
“Let’s keep it for another time.”
“Thank you so much.” I leapt off Mrs. Twiggs’ lap and ran up to retrieve Pixel. I found him and Squirrel rolling down the upstairs hallway. “Pixel, we must leave.”
“Squirrel, me like Squirrel.”
“Yes, Squirrel is very nice, Pixel, but we must leave.” I felt the urgency to leave the house. Mrs. Owen knew me and with familiarity comes great risk.
Mrs. Twiggs hugged Mrs. Owen in the doorway. She and Abigail started down the steps. Pixel behind. I heard a voice behind me. The rocking chair man stood next to Mrs. Owen. She crouched down and whispered in my ear. “Be careful tonight. The reckoning is coming for you.” The door swung open and she lifted off the ground, flying backwards into the house. The door slammed shut. The rocking chair man walked along the porch lighting the candles inside the jack-o-lanterns. As he touched each pumpkin, a black vein of decay spread over the skin. The toothless grins shriveled up into themselves, I ran from the porch.
The Circle
I stood in the center of the circle. The Asheville nine held hands. Abigail walked the circle, with a tray of potion. Each of them took a sip and nodded their head at Abigail as she continued to the next. The harvest moon was a brilliant orange; illuminating the woods behind the cabin. Thousands of stars gazed down with an approving twinkle. I had chosen this spot for the closing of the coven because of the mountain ash that grew on the north corner of the field. Elizabeth had told me once that the humans follow the North Star when they are lost and that witches follow their spirit tree which is always true north. I had not understood the reference but the urgency of this night compelled me to heed her advice. I felt lost, lost in this body, lost in this world, lost in this time.