Milo opened the door and pinned it still with the heel of his brown leather shoe to wave me inside. The door closed behind us, and I scanned the small store with curious and eager eyes. Hanging from the ceiling, live plants crawled down the aged shelving that housed jars with hand-written labels. Herbs, flowers, spices, and essential oils filled the apothecary jars lining the walls. Milo rang the bell at the front desk as I walked over to the oils and began smelling each one, from sandalwood to chamomile to frankincense.
“These are incredible,” I hummed, closing my eyes as the warm and woody scent consumed my senses.
“That is my grounding blend,” a calming woman’s voice replied. “Spruce leaf, ho wood leaf, frankincense, blue chamomile flower, and…” a distinct snap! pierced the air, and I quickly screwed the cap back on over the rollerball, “Oh! yes, the blue tansy flower. Brings harmony to the mind and body.”
My head bounced up. The woman had raven-black hair with stubborn gray wisps framing her delicate features. A tiny lady, easily in her forties or fifties, but you could only tell because of the wrinkles and age spots in her hands that were carrying jars from the back.
Her surprised eyes drifted over me. “It can’t be,” she whispered through a gasp, then in a frenzy, transferred the items from her arms to beside the cash register before scurrying closer. Her gentle fingers threaded through my long white hair. “Freya?”
I froze under her hopeful eyes as they scanned my face. “Freya was my mother.”
“Of course,” her hand dropped, and her features transformed into embarrassment, “I’m so sorry, dear. It’s like … looking into the past.” She offered a weak smile laced with lost memories.
“You knew my mother?” It was strange, being here. The woman who birthed me most likely had eaten at Mina Mae’s Diner, visited this apothecary, and walked across these streets. The people of Weeping Hollow would always have known her, whereas I, her flesh and blood, couldn’t. They had what I never would—memories—and I was suddenly jealous of a town cut off from society because, at one point in time, they weren’t cut off from my mother.
The lady nodded. “She was like a sister to me. Thick as thieves up until—” she paused, shook her head, “Well, you know…but you couldn’t tear us apart, your mom and me,” she said through a light-hearted chuckle. And her laughter quickly faded when her eyes turned glossy. “I think about her every day. And you, Fallon, she loved you very much.”
She wiped at her eyes and sucked in a breath, gathering her composure. “Anyway, are you here for Benny? I can put something together to help with that cough of his.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Milo interrupted. “Each time that old man coughs, the entire town shakes. We’re all gettin’ dizzy.”
There were so many questions flying around inside my head as my feet glued to the floor, only able to watch her pace back and forth across the shop to gather jars from the shelves. The lady returned to the front counter and began twisting open each lid, sprinkling a concoction into a marble bowl before crushing and grinding the leaves into a blend.
“This tea will soothe his throat. The taste is sweet like honey, but the aftertaste will feel like bitter molasses on the tongue. Benny is a stubborn man, so you have to stay on top of him.”
Milo leaned on the counter with one elbow and turned to face me. “You hear that, Fallon? Ms. Agatha knows what she’s doing. Better than that dull and dumb Dr. Morley.” I unglued my feet from the floor and walked up beside Milo as Agatha Blackwell hid her amusement with a tight smile. “You know I’m right,” Milo lifted his palm toward Agatha, “No reason to be gracious when it comes to the truth.”
“You’re one of a kind, Milo,” Agatha sang, shaking her head while sifting the new mixture into a separate mason jar, then slid the jar into a gift bag.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked, finally able to find my voice.
Agatha peered over at me with endearing eyes. “First one’s on the house. I’m just so happy that after all this time I finally get to see you again. The last time I saw you, you were only a baby…I just never thought this day would come, quite honestly. Will you be staying long?”
“Thank you, and no, only until Benny gets back on his feet.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Her smile seemed more forced this time, and she folded her arms over the counter. “In any case, we’re happy to have you back. Let me know how that works out for Benny.”
After farewells, Milo and I left the apothecary and stepped outside onto the paved sidewalk. The fog only thickened, hovering the slick streets as we headed back in the opposite direction, toward my scooter. Though it was only afternoon, the sun had already burnt out as if it had spent the day attempting to break through the clouds but failed to do so.
When we reached the crosswalk, Milo stopped, something catching his attention. I followed his gaze down the street, and the road disappeared into the fog, the black outline of the woods in the distance.
Coming through the damp mist, four silhouettes walked through the murkiness. One by one, they gradually appeared. Four men, all wearing dark coats, worn slacks or jeans, and boots. Their faces, pinned straight ahead, were hidden and masked from the world around them. One wore a bandana, one a Halloween bunny mask, and another a plain black mask. But the one front and center wore the skull of an impala, long ash-brown horns pointing toward the clouded skies.
“Who are they?” It came out in almost a whisper as I watched the pack of guys draw nearer.
Milo laid a hand over my shoulder and pulled me closer to him. “Beck, Zephyr, and Phoenix. Those are the last four of the five original descendants from the Norse Woods Coven.”
“Who is the fourth one?” Less than fifteen feet away, the man in the animal skull hesitated his pace. Familiar silver eyes struck mine, steadfast and binding, holding my breath in their clutches, my gaze in its grasp. Only for a moment before he turned his head away, releasing me.
“The one in the middle? That’s Julian Blackwell. Agatha’s son.”
Julian. The man from the rocks.
They continued past us, neither one of the other three acknowledging us or paying us any attention. They walked with purpose. They walked with certainty. They wore a shield, callous and unaffected.
Milo’s grip tightened on my shoulder. “Those are the Hollow Heathens.”
Chapter 3
Fallon
At the front, near the entrance of Weeping Hollow, where winding trees, tombs, and mausoleums dusted the rolling burial field, St. Christopher’s Funeral Home was tucked away, backing up to the woods. The deserted train tracks cut across the main road and disappeared behind the building into the forest.
It was Wednesday, and I followed Jonah St. Christopher IV through the dwindling hallway until we reached a spiral staircase. Jonah was much younger than I’d expected, mid-thirties, wearing fitted jeans and a crisp white button-up with a slim black tie. His hair was cut short, professional and stylish.
“Your office is down here in the cellar,” he explained as we took the spiral staircase down. Jonah paused mid-way, gripped the curved railing, and jiggled it back and forth. “Careful, this still needs to be fixed.”