“Fairy garden?” Pixel asked.
“Yes, Pixel, like the garden Mrs. Twiggs planted behind the Leaf & Page.” When she arrived in Asheville, Mrs. Twiggs planted a garden for the “wee folk,” complete with stone cottages, a waterfall, and twinkling lights. It was housed in the small yard behind the store. I had never met an actual fairy. Mrs. Twiggs did her best efforts to attract them to her little garden, but I knew better. They had been driven out of this world many years ago. I’d never told Mrs. Twiggs. She enjoyed her fairy garden and her fairy tales.
We returned to the cabin as the sun was setting. Pixel rushed past me through the door when we smelled the turkey. Abigail’s cooking skills had improved over the past few months, and the air smelled of butter and sage.
“No mice tonight,” I whispered gratefully. We sat silently at the table enjoying Abigail’s food.
“Terra, I think I know what went wrong with the potion,” Abigail said, picking up her guitar and strumming it when we were done eating. “You’re not passing through worlds, you’re passing through bodies in this world.”
Abigail has an inquisitive mind like all witches, a requirement to be a good witch. I didn’t want to inhibit her enthusiasm. “I think you’re right, Abigail. Keep looking. I’m sure you’ll find a way to change me back.”
Abigail smiled and handed Pixel and Tracker both another piece of turkey. She went into her bedroom and returned wearing a yellow polka-dot sundress. She twirled around as the skirt chased after her. “What do you think? For May Day?”
“You’re beautiful, Abigail.” She looked so much like Elizabeth, with her long white-blond hair. I remembered Elizabeth warning us about celebrating May Day, but those were different times. Ashevillians celebrated witches in a way that Salem did not. Here the witches and Wiccans were safe.
“What May Day?” Pixel asked from his spot by the fire.
“Beltane and Samhain are considered the two turning points of the year. Wiccans believe the veil between the human and supernatural world is at its thinnest, making those two days potent for magic crafting. Beltane mean fires of bel in honor of the Celtic sun god Belenus. Fire has the power to cleanse and purify. They light fires, dance, and feast.”
“Feast?” Pixel’s ears popped up.
“They dance around a maypole, which is a spring fertility ritual.”
“Pixel like feast. Pixel like May Day.” He wound around me, purring and nuzzling me.
“We’re going to celebrate,” Abigail said. “We’ll tell the ladies.”
“Yes, I believe it is safe.” It would do the ladies good to have a celebration. It would be relief from the recent darkness.
“What do you mean safe, Terra?”
“I’ve seen a lot of magic awakening in Asheville. Celebrating May Day would draw that magic out. We need to control it before it is commanded elsewhere and becomes black magic. We need to find a ninth Wiccan to complete the circle. This could draw her to us.”
Abigail half listened as she admired her reflection in a copper kettle. I hadn’t thought it possible, but she was becoming more beautiful. Bryson stared at Abigail as she stared at herself. Watchers had deep affections for their watched but never turned that into love. That was dangerous. Bryson loved Abigail. He saw me staring at him and disappeared.
Chapter 12
Training Day
“Right on time,” I said to Abigail as she opened the cabin door. Mrs. Raintree stood on the porch, dressed in an authentic Cherokee medicine woman’s dress and hiking boots. Her dark brown eyes sparkled in the morning sun; her long raven hair with its single silver streak was braided down her back.
“You are taking this seriously, aren’t you?” Abigail asked.
“Of course, Abigail. This dress is almost two hundred years old. It’s older than the Trail of Tears. It’s been passed down to the women in my family. I’ve never had an occasion to wear it.”
Abigail gathered a backpack. She had filled it with beef jerky, trail mix, and bottles of water, none of which we would need for our adventure, the purpose being to teach both Mrs. Raintree and Abigail how to survive in the woods. We headed out down toward the valley, making our way along the ridge that ran halfway up Black Mountain. Pixel and Tracker stayed close to us even while they ran off to chase butterflies. I led the way. We stopped under a willow tree along the stream. Mrs. Raintree bent down, cupped her hand, and took a drink from the stream. Abigail ran her hand along the bark of the willow tree and pulled it away, leaving her hand full of sticky sap.
I walked up to Abigail. “Gather mud from the stream bank, Abigail,” I told her. She did as I requested, scooping it into the metal pail she had brought with her. “Cover your hands and arms with the mud.”
“Why, Terra?”
Mrs. Raintree watched intensely. “There are dark creatures that hunt at night, not by sight but track you by the heat radiating off your body. They track you by your colors. The mud will contain your body heat.”
“You mean like in Predator?”
I didn’t understand the reference. “Yes, predators hunt at night, Abigail.”
“You don’t mean like vampires, do you?” Mrs. Raintree asked.
“No, vampires aren’t real.”
Mrs. Raintree walked in front of me. I studied her gait. “Mrs. Raintree, stop a minute. Put your fingers in your ears.”
She looked at me with a question mark.
“Please,” I repeated. “And then start walking.”
She did as I asked. I ran up to her and stopped her by placing a paw on her leg. She removed her fingers. “Could you hear the thud of your steps as you were walking?” I asked.
“Yes, Terra.”
“That’s the sound of wasted energy, traveling through your knees and feet into the ground. You are burning extra calories and creating extra impact on your joints, and you’re making it easy for hunters to find you. Now take your boots off. Try walking now. Notice the impact of the ground is closer to the front of your foot. I want you to land your forefoot first. This impact is absorbed by your body’s natural shock absorber—your forefoot instead of the heel. You see how much quieter you walk now.”
Mrs. Raintree reached into her backpack and removed a pair of moccasins. I nodded. “Those will mimic your bare feet.”
We walked for several miles, stopping in a small clearing surrounded by early spring purple phlox and yellow lady slippers. I stared up at the clouds. “Thin, wispy clouds up high,” I said. “If they are still, it means good weather for at least the next day. If they move quickly, it means a change is coming. If those clouds blanket the sky so thin that they give the sun a halo, that means a storm is coming soon. Gray clouds you can expect rain before the end of day. If those gray clouds form at a lower elevation and build becoming thick, that means thunderstorms by afternoon. If that gray blanket is low and has a constant drizzle, there will be no thunder or lightning. Most importantly—” I looked over at Abigail picking flowers. “Abigail,” I yelled.