Hedgewitchin' in the Kitchen Page 20

  But Ma hadn’t shown her. Her parents had disappeared only days before. Now Abigail didn’t know if she’d ever learn to use her talents.

  She didn’t know if they’d ever find the portal to the land her father had come from originally in the Morty Realm, the place he called Scotland.

  After her parents had lost the farm, they had told her they would be leaving the Unseen Realm. They had to travel into the heart of the Faerie Realm, the kingdom where the thickest of magic and most dangerous of creatures dwelled, to get to the portal that would take them to the Morty Realm. They would be safe from witch’s curses and the cruelty of Fae nobles who unjustly stole from poor farmers. There would be no magic in this other land, and they would be out of danger—if they could get there.

  Emmet lifted his nose up in the air, inhaling. “Do ye smell that? Blackberries!” In his excitement, he sprinted a few yards before stopping for her. “Hurry! It’s just over yonder!”

  Abigail hastened forward, the perfume inviting them closer. When they came upon the hedges in the clearing, they dove forward, snatching up berries and gobbling them up as fast as they could. Thorns scratched Abigail’s arms, but she was too hungry to care. They’d been so close to the bushes, they could have eaten these the day before if only Niall hadn’t forbidden the use of magic. It seemed silly now to worry so much. What was the point in having a cunning with plants if one couldn’t use it?

  A rustle came from behind them.

  A voice called out, “Fee-fie-foe-fum. What’s this? Two little moppets without their mum. Mwah-ha-ha-ha!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Son of a Fae

  Emmet screamed and dove behind Abigail. She snatched up her stick. It wasn’t a man or even a giant who had spoken, though the boy was tall, and she could see the sparkle of magic glittering around him.

  Magic meant danger.

  His black hair was cut unevenly, contrasting with the otherworldly perfection of his face. He was so tall and thin he could have been made of sticks. His smile was impish, and his eyes an unsettling gray that reminded Abigail of storm clouds. Wisps of magic clung to him, smelling of starlight and water dancing over rocks. It was strange magic, nothing like Abigail’s family used for farming and tending to sheep.

  Maybe he was a faerie creature, like the tales their ma and da had told them. The air shimmered around him with magic that tasted like thunderstorms. Abigail would have thought he was Fae, but in stories, Fae dressed in fine clothes. His attire was clean but plain, not so different from Emmet’s breeches and vest, though the length of this boy’s sleeves and pants were too short for him.

  “What’s this?” The hint of a stuffy accent flavored the boy’s words. “Two little moppets picking berries from my bushes without my consent?”

  Emmet hugged Abigail around the waist.

  The boy waved them off, a bucket in his hand as he gestured. “I order you to leave these woods before I eat you up.”

  “Who ye be? Are ye one of the Fae?” Abigail’s words came out in such a rush, her accent made her sound unschooled and ignorant—which she was. Back when her Da had taken her to the fair, he’d said people would take advantage of country folk they thought were simple. She didn’t want this stranger to see her as an easy mark, but it was too late to stuff the words back into her mouth.

  “Me? A Fae.” The boy paused, a wicked grin spreading over his face. “Indeed, that’s what I am. Part Fae anyway. Lucifer Thatch, at your service. Or disservice, as the case may be.” The boy bowed. “Now, off with you. Be on your way.”

  Despite his ominous name, Lucifer didn’t look particularly menacing with his lanky frame and the way he fidgeted with his buckets. He would have been cute if he hadn’t been trying so hard to scowl. He couldn’t have been much older than Abigail, maybe sixteen or seventeen at the most. She had heard people speak with the same accent when they’d taken their animals to the fair. Her father had called it an English dialect and had shown her a map of the Morty Realm showing lands with exotic names like Czechoslovakia, Persia, and the Kingdom of Hawaii.

  Emmet nudged her. “Oi! He said his name is Lucifer.”

  Abigail thought he looked more like a mischievous boy than a devil. Probably that wasn’t even his real name. Her ma and da said Fae were liars. They would say anything to entice you.

  “You aren’t from around here, are you?” Lucifer smiled, but his eyes narrowed. “Where abouts are you from?”

  Abigail felt like his words were a trap. She should have remembered to speak more refined like him. He would take advantage of their ignorance just like Ma and Da had feared.

  “Ye stay away from us.” Abigail swung her stick at the boy, hoping to scare him off. He was bigger, but he didn’t have a stick. He only had buckets. Probably for collecting berries.

  The boy dodged back. “I wasn’t planning on coming any closer. I don’t want your fleas.”

  “We donnae have fleas.” Abigail swung at him again, this time out of anger, not fear.

  “No? How about lice?”

  She managed to strike him on the arm, but he didn’t back away.

  “Fie! What was that for?” He grabbed onto the end of her stick to keep her from swinging at him again.

  Abigail tried to tug it out of his hands, but he didn’t let go. “I donnae like churlish lads sassing off to us. I want ye to leave us be.”

  “I will not leave. This is my berry bush. I’m on a mission. I have to fill both these buckets for the witch.”

  “A witch?” Emmet squealed.

  There wasn’t anything worse than Fae, except perhaps witches. Abigail had seen the black cat the night before, evidence there was a witch in the vicinity.

  “Indeed. I’m apprentice to a hedge witch,” Lucifer said in a self-assured way that Abigail didn’t like. “The Witch of Nightmares has laid claim to these bushes.”

  “Donnae be such a muttonhead,” Abigail said. “There’s plenty of other bushes over yonder.”

  “Indeed, but I like these ones.” He winked at Emmet. “How about I make a deal with you? I shall allow you to pick berries at this bush if you pay me. Have anything good to offer me? And don’t even think about offering me your fleas. I just got rid of my own.”

  Fae were always making bargains and demanding prices for their deeds. They were devils and dealmakers. That was how Abigail’s parents had lost the farm. If her father hadn’t accepted the Fae noble’s offer, he wouldn’t have lost a bet, and if he hadn’t lost the bet, the duke of the Silver Court wouldn’t have driven them off their own land and set his hellhounds after them.

  Witches and Fae couldn’t be trusted.

  Abigail lifted her chin. “I donnae like bullies.”

  She stopped pulling on the stick. Instead, she shoved it at the boy, attempting to jab him in the ribs. He sidestepped and yanked the wood out of her hands.

  Lucifer poked her with in the belly with her own stick. “See how you like it being hit.” He grinned. “Not so tough now, are you? What should I do with two little ragamuffins? Should I tell the witch about you when she asks why I didn’t collect enough berries for her?”

  Emmet darted out from behind Abigail and dove for the boy’s legs. He plowed into him, and when that only made Lucifer laugh, Emmet bit the boy on the ankle.

  “Emmet!” Abigail yelled, leaping after her brother.

  “Oh, fie!” Lucifer dropped Abigail’s stick and tried to shake Emmet off. “I was only jesting. I wasn’t going to tell the witch about you.”

  Abigail tore her brother off Lucifer before Emmet got kicked in the head like the last time he had tackled someone to the ground. As soon as she hauled him off Lucifer, the other boy retreated. Abigail kicked his two buckets toward him.

  Lucifer frowned. “I bet I have rabies now.”

  “What’s rabies?” Emmet asked.

  Lucifer smirked. “A disease you get from ill animals—and feral children.” The boy stooped to pick up his buckets. He
stuck his nose up into the air. “I shall venture to yonder side of the bushes where I can pick blackberries all by myself, without ragamuffins molesting me as I perform errands for the wicked hedge witch. And do not even think about following me back to find her cottage so you can nibble on it later. She’ll lock you up in a cage if she catches you—and she always catches children. Then she’ll eat you up.” He continued muttering to himself as he strode off.

  Abigail watched him go. He was the most vexing boy she’d ever met. It didn’t surprise her he was a witch with how vexing he was.

  “Do ye think he was joshing us about being a witch’s apprentice?” Emmet asked.

  “Mayhap.” It seemed like he would have hexed Emmet for biting him if he had. Then again, she had sensed something dark in the forest. That could have been the witch. What if a witch had snatched her older brother?

  Her parents had told them to leave this world and go to the portal where they would find safety in the Morty Realm, but Abigail didn’t know how to get there. Her older brother might, but she didn’t know where he was. They needed to find Niall.

  She kept worrying about her brother and the witch who might have caught him as they continued picking berries. She didn’t know how to get by without Niall.

  Emmet napped as Abigail fashioned baskets out of the tender shoots of young saplings so they could carry the spoils they’d won after facing Lucifer. She’d always been adept at weaving, but these plants moved under her fingers as though they read her mind and wanted to become baskets. She didn’t think she was using her cunning, but she didn’t see any other explanation for the weaving. Here in the forest, her gifts were sprouting up for her to use in a way they never had at home on the farm.

  It wasn’t witchcraft. She was using these skills for good, not for harm. That made her different from Fae and witches, she told herself.

  When she’d finished two baskets, she shook Emmet awake from his nap. They had a limited time to find the portal and go through it. “Let’s go back and see if Niall has returned.” It was wishful thinking, she knew, but she wanted it to be true.

  He leapt to his feet in excitement.

  There was still no sign of Abigail’s older brother. They explored the area nearby, calling his name. Along their way, they found a variety of medicinal plants. Magic stirred inside Abigail every time she stepped in front of an oak tree, and she suspected those trees fancied her—if trees could fancy people. The greatest treasure of the day was a large oak tree that thrummed with power. She was drawn to its energy and liked the power it stirred inside her. There was a hollow at the base so large that both Emmet and she could fit inside.

  “We can sleep here tonight. It will be like a fort,” Emmet said.

  Abigail was torn. Her parents had wanted them to flee. But she didn’t know where to find the portal. What if they left without Niall, and he returned—not even knowing where they had gone? Wasn’t it better to be together, even if they were stuck here? Besides, they had plenty of time—four more days to find it and cross into the other realm.

  “I’m thirsty,” Emmet said.

  Abigail was too. Her mouth was sticky with the sweet juice of berries.

  “Use your cunning,” he said.

  She wasn’t supposed to be bad or use magic—at least not until she knew how to use it properly.

  “Please,” Emmet begged.

  Abigail had a duty to take care of him. She didn’t want to use her cunning, but she had to in order to keep him from dying of thirst.

  She sank into the forest to find a source of water. There was a stream half a mile away. The only bad thing was that it was closer to that place in the forest full of dark-bright magic. She didn’t like the way the earth tasted of blood. The plants were strangely alien in that area of the woods, too brilliant to see clearly. The magic of the Fae’s bright-dark place called to her, wisps of magic curling like mist toward her.

  The perfume of honey and springtime almost masked the scent of death.

  That place of magic was on the other side of the stream, too close to gather water safely, but water was a necessity. The magic was near enough she feared Niall might have gone there searching for their parents. She hoped the blood she tasted in the ground wasn’t his.

  Abigail blinked the magic from her eyes as she came out of using her talent. “Have a care as we—” She looked around for her brother, not seeing him anywhere. “Emmet?”

  She hadn’t done a good job minding him while she’d lost herself in her cunning. Panic rose inside her. “Emmet?”

  “Oi! Over here.” He called down to her from a fir tree that he’d climbed halfway up. “Look how high I am!”

  “Get down here, muttonhead!”

  He scrambled down, dropping from the lowest branch and landing on all fours like a cat.

  “Are ye still thirsty? Let’s get ourselves some water.” She took his hand. “We need to make haste when we do.”

  Abigail used her walking stick to clear brush from their path.

  “Is there nae an easier way?” Emmet complained. “Use yer cunning.”

  “Nay.” Abigail didn’t want to keep using her magic. She’d already used so much of her gifts that day. For all she knew, that was how Lucifer had found them.

  They took the shortcut through the brush instead of finding a trail. Abigail was careful to avoid the nettles and poison ivy. The more she traveled through the forest, the easier it became to sense obstacles. Her feet knew where the dips and rises and fallen logs would be.

  Emmet thrashed through the brambles, complaining when his trousers caught on thorns.

  “Of all the barmy things! I swear, the nettles move out of the way for ye.” He leapt over a bush, laughing. “They reach out to grab me.”

  Abigail hushed him. It was fortunate they weren’t trying to be quiet with all the twigs snapping under his feet and the way he carried on.

  She laughed at his antics. “I imagine ye would be quieter climbing trees and swinging from branches than walking on the ground.”

  “Can I nae climb instead of walk?” He gazed wistfully up at the boughs of trees.

  “It depends on how thirsty ye are. Do ye want to get to the stream today?” She tickled him in the ribs.

  Emmet squirmed back, laughing.

  As they neared the stream, the burble of water drowned out the music of leaves whispering in the wind. The air tasted of moisture. They were so close.

  Something rustled through the bushes up ahead. It was too large to be a chipmunk or a rabbit. Abigail caught movement through the trees. From around a cluster of birches strode Lucifer, a bucket of water in each of his hands. Abigail halted. Emmet plowed into her, not seeing. Lucifer froze, his eyes going wide.

  She shifted her stick into both her hands.

  “Good day, ragamuffins,” Lucifer said. “I see you haven’t taken my advice and left the forest yet.”

  He scooted to the edge of the path, eyes on Emmet. Probably he still had the bite marks on his ankle to make him wary.

  “Is that water ye have there?” Emmet asked.

  “It isn’t milk.” The boy grinned.

  “Can we have a wee bit?” Emmet asked.

  “Nay,” Abigail said. “We do nae accept food or drink from strange boys who are Fae.” Abigail took hold of her brother and walked as far around the other boy as she could manage.

  “There’s a stream over yonder.” Lucifer set the pails down. “But just so you know, it’s my stream, and you cannot have any water without paying the toll.”

  Abigail placed a fist on her hip. “No one owns a stream, muttonhead.”

  Lucifer winked. “Not that I would deny you water. You need it to wash all the lice off you.”

  Emmet stopped scratching under his cap. “We donnae have lice.”

  “That’s what they all say.” Lucifer grinned.

  “Come along.” Abigail tugged her brother after her. She wasn’t going to reward that boy
by letting him get a rise out of her.

  “Hey, Hansel, Gretel,” Lucifer called after them. “Take heed. Keep to this side of the stream.”

  “Why?” Emmet turned back to look at Lucifer.

  “The other side is where the Fae live. But you needn’t fret. So long as you don’t cross the stream, you’ll be safe. These Fae haven’t the ability to cross moving streams of water, even at the bridge.”

  Abigail reluctantly turned, waiting for one of the boy’s quips. “And why nae? Be there a troll under the bridge?” After her last encounter, she knew enough to be wary of feral creatures like trolls.

  “Not this one. Just some frogs.” His expression turned serious. “I mean it about the Fae. Refrain from crossing the stream. If they spot you, they’ll snatch you. That’s what they do with lost children. They’ll drain your life from you and make you their supper.”

  The idea of that sent shivers through Abigail. She thought of the dark presence she’d felt when she’d used her cunning powers. It would make sense that monsters lived in that place where the plants hadn’t been right. She only hoped they stayed on their side as Lucifer said they would.

  The few Fae Abigail had met in the Unseen Realm where she had previously lived had no problems crossing a bridge. Everything was different in the Faerie Realm. The rules were particular and strange. She didn’t like being ignorant of so many details.

  Lucifer looked to the sun high in the sky. “If you can wait a few hours, it’s safer for the likes of you to collect your water at night—if you don’t slip in the water and drown. The Fae in this forest sleep at night. They’ll only try to lure you to their side during the day.” Lucifer studied them thoughtfully. “But after that, it would be best if you went on your way. The forest isn’t a safe place for orphans.”

  As if on cue, a wolf howled in the distance. Abigail started. Lucifer eyed the trees, frowning.

  “We arenae orphans. We have a ma and da,” Emmet said.

  “Do you? Where are they?” Lucifer’s stormy eyes seemed to stare into Abigail’s soul.