Chapter 1
Farewell to Emma Tangledwood
Present Day,
Black Mountain, North Carolina
I gazed across the open field surrounding the cabin, Agatha Hollows’s cabin up Black Mountain, North Carolina. For the most part, it stood well, being two hundred years old. The covered front porch had its share of creaking boards but still was a comfortable place to rock. We had patched the roof and replaced the front steps. Besides that, the cabin stood as it did when Agatha Hollows stood in it.
Eighteen-year-old Abigail lay on the ground, a book of Appalachian folk remedies open in front of her. Her long hair, once blond, now almost white since her turning into a full-blooded witch. Her skin was iridescent, but the most remarkable change were her eyes from sky blue to violet, the same color as her great-grandmother’s eyes—the sign of a very powerful witch. The humans call it albinism, a condition caused by a lack of pigment in skin, hair, and eyes. Light passes through the eyes and reflects back out, causing the irises to appear violet. In the case of Abigail, her change was not from lack of pigment but the opposite. She had become a perfect being, able to see all the colors of the human and witch spectrum. As her powers grew, she would also be able to see the colors of the alternate realms. For now, she appeared to be merely an amazingly beautiful young woman. Her Australian shepherd puppy, Tracker, shared her eye color as familiars do. Abigail was able to see through Tracker’s eyes. Ghost eyes is what the Native Americans called them, considering these puppies sacred.
If I were still a girl in my former body, I would be jealous of her, but I was trapped in this feline body, elegant and slender but a cat just the same. Heads turned when Abigail walked, her elfin body glided, slicing through the air. I asked her repeatedly to dress more ladylike, a remnant of my upbringing. She refused, donning her ripped jeans and leather jacket. Even in peasant garb, she carried the air of royalty as well she should as she was the heir to the throne of the Oakhavens. Great-granddaughter of Elizabeth Oakhaven, Abigail was the keeper of the Oakhaven bloodline, descendants of the original earth walkers, white witches with unlimited power. I loved Abigail as I loved Elizabeth. For that reason, I devoted my life to training and protecting her. Unfortunately, she shared her great-grandmother’s stubborn streak. I found my patience growing short with her.
I heard gurgling noises and turned to see Tracker carrying a protesting fluffy orange tabby in his mouth. He prefers me to describe him as fluffy, not chubby, Pixel he does. Since the recent darkness had ebbed, the Australian shepherd pup had resorted to puppy behavior, and taunting Pixel was his favorite play. “No, Tracker,” I scolded him, but he did not understand or chose not to. He continued nipping at Pixel and taunting him.
My protests drew Abigail’s attention from her book. “Tracker, put Pixel down.” The puppy obeyed and ran to Abigail’s side, wiggling his tailless butt.
Pixel dusted off his fur. He stood upright and pranced away. “Me hungry,” I heard him say as he made his way toward the stream, which flowed adjacent to the cabin.
I could follow him, search for food, but I was uneasy leaving Abigail. I felt a stirring in the air. It brought back memories of intruders descending upon Agatha Hollows so long ago. Chills traveled through my fur. Pixel flew back as though he felt my fear. He tilted his head and then pounced on me.
“Pixel, we’re fine. Nothing to worry about,” I told him.
Pixel gave me another sideways glance. He sensed when I was telling half-truths. Not that I would lie to him, but I thought it best at times to conceal the complete truth from him.
“Terra, why won’t you let me read my great-grandmother’s book of spells?” Abigail slammed the book she was reading shut, not the one she was referring to.
“You’re not ready for the power contained in that book yet, Abigail. You have to understand who you are first before you become who you should be. Your magic is entwined with these woods just as Agatha Hollows was, that’s why I have you studying the Appalachian folklore.”
“I thought my family was from Salem.”
“Yes, that’s true, Abigail, but before that from Ireland. And before Ireland, they were.” I stopped myself. “That’s something we’ll talk about once you are able to understand.” I stepped across the book, rubbing my body across Abigail’s face. Abigail ran her fingers along my fur until our attention was drawn away by Pixel.
My friend, the big orange cat, scampered about, trying to catch the first dragonfly of spring. He stopped suddenly, stuck his nose up in the air, and the dragonfly landed on his head. He crossed his eyes, trying to see it, and then he let out a Pixel roar of laughter. The dragonfly flew off with Pixel in pursuit.
“You always say I’m never ready. I’ve read every book you’ve given me. I know how to make a mustard plaster, insect repellents, and even a love potion. I think I can even churn butter if I had to, so what’s the point, Terra?” Abigail reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a cigarette.
I jumped on her lap, swatting it out of her hand.
“Hey,” she yelled, pushing me off her lap.
I landed in a mud puddle, then jumped out. The mud clung to me.
Abigail put her hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter. “Gee, really, really sorry,” she said, not attempting to conceal her sarcasm or her laughter.
I shook myself off. I had reached my limit. “Are you done, Abigail? Did you enjoy that?”
“Geez, Terra, it was an accident, okay?”
“I told you I don’t want you smoking. It will kill you.”
“So I survived the tornado of black magic, but one cigarette is going to kill me. I don’t think so.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out another cigarette.
“Okay, Abigail, put away the cigarette. It’s time,” I said.
She paused with the cigarette halfway up to her lips, the lighter half-open in her other hand. “Time for what?”
“Go get the broom on the front porch.”
Abigail ran up the steps and brought back the old straw broom leaning against the rocking chair. “What’s this for?”
“I think it’s time you learned to fly.”
“But you said that the whole flying broom thing was a myth. That’s not how witches fly.”
“I said that because you weren’t ready and I didn’t want you running off and trying to ride your first broom and crashing.”
“Really, Terra? I’m going to fly.”
“Yes,” I told her.
“Okay, what do I do?” She held the broom.
“First you need to straddle the broom.”
“Okay.” Abigail did.
I went up the front stairs, jumped on the railing for a good vantage point. Pixel bounded back and joined me on the railing. “What doing?” Pixel said.
“I’m having fun with Abigail.”
“Me like fun.”
“Okay, Abigail, now you need to get a good running start.”
Abigail ran across the length of the front of the house and then back and then again and then again. “Nothing’s happening,” she yelled.
“You have to create enough lift. The faster you run, the more lift you’ll create.”
“Okay,” she said, panting.
Pixel gazed at me. “We’re playing a joke on Abigail,” I said.
Pixel roared and fell off the railing. He jumped back up.
“Wait, wait, Abigail,” I said.
Abigail stopped, huffing and puffing, clutching the broom.
“You have to recite the flight incantation while you’re running.”
“Now you tell me,” Abigail said. “Okay, fine, what is it?”
“It’s Ohwhatas, illygoo, siam.”
Abigail began running with the broom between her legs, shouting, “Ohwhatas, illygoo, siam.”