Page 4 of Wallflower Witch

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An hour later and I’m doing just that, opening the journal to the ribboned page.

The resistance to our new laws was much stronger than originally anticipated. M suggested lightening the severity of punishments for breaking those laws, but if we become lax in our governing of the people, how will we protect the people? No. Indeed, I believe we must remain steadfast in our original goals. Though the townsfolk may not see it yet, this is for the greater good of humankind.

A breeze flutters the pages. I glance up. “James? Did you leave the window open again?”

“Window? Nah, it’s too chilly in the morning for that yet. Why, is something wrong?” James pops his head out from the back shelves, elbow-deep in a box of new papers for us to categorize.

“I thought I felt some wind. It must’ve just been my imagination.” I rub my eyes, wishing I’d had time for a nap before coming in this morning. The weird dream I had is making me feel extra exhausted, and it isn’t even noon. “Are you finding anything worthwhile back there?”

“Yeah, looks like there are a few new journals and diaries, an old map, and those four boxes are all full of old newspapers and pictures.” He stands up, pushing his glasses farther up his nose as he walks to me. “Here, this might be of interest to you. That map and this journal are from Spells Hollow, the same place as that diary you transcribed a month or so ago. I remember you saying you were curious about what happened after the diary cut off suddenly in the last entry.”

The leather-bound book thuds onto my desk, and I stare up at James in shock as he continues, “I’m not sure who keeps sending ‘em here, but it sure makes interesting reading.”

I snatch the book up, carefully flipping it open to the first page. There, in a large scrawl, reads Property of William O’Byrne, Lord of the House of O’Byrne, in the year of our Lord: 1667.

William O’Byrne.

My mind flashes back to the dream I had a few nights ago of the snooty old man on the beach. He said he was my multiple-greats uncle and had even used that exact title. But there’s no way I could’ve seen an actual ancestor of mine in my dreams.

“I…have to go,” I say shakily.

Pushing away from the computer, I grab my things in a rush, calling out an apology to James and George in turn as I run to my car and floor it back home. I’ll have to email them an excuse once I make it into Spells Hollow.

Packing my bags only takes twenty minutes and then I’m back on the road, Quoth happily resting in a cage on the passenger seat.

“Okay, Quoth. Let’s see what this place is about.”

Itype the address into my GPS and hit the road, singing along to some of my favorite artists to help pass the time, and sharing snacks with Quoth. After leaving the city, there’s nothing out here for miles aside from the occasional gas station.

Finally, as the sun is about to rise, I see lights up ahead. It looks like a gas station. Once I’m closer, I see it’s also an old timey diner and a motel that looks like more people pass it up than stay.

I guess it’s not totally abandoned then, but I don’t see any houses or places where locals would live. GPS says that I’m only a few miles away from Spells Hollow but I can’t imagine such a thriving town in a place like this.

I slow the car, and a fog settles on the road in front of me. The GPS cheerily announces my exit on a dirt road I can barely see between the trees, and I take it rolling forward to look for anything that could relate to the journal. This doesn’t feel right. I feel a pull that I’m missing something. Looking to the side, I notice a small dirt path barely big enough for a car to pass through with large rocks and plants growing in the middle, like it hasn’t been maintained in years. A shiver creeps down my spine as Quoth caws softly.

The fog is dense enough that I can’t see anything more than a few feet in front of me as I turn onto the path. My hands ache from the white-knuckled grip I have on the wheel. Letting my foot off the gas, I quickly turn my music down, then squint at the dirt road ahead of me. I don’t know how, but I know I have to go this way.

I shriek. A man wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and looking the part of a lumberjack is in the middle of the road. I slam on the brakes, hoping there is enough time to stop. He turns slowly, his eyes locking with mine as I jerk to a stop.

He blinks, cocking his head to the side. Throwing the car in park, I jump out.

“Are you okay?!” I ask. “I swear, I didn’t see you there. I’m a good driver. I’ve never been in a wreck or gotten a ticket or anything!”

The man looks at my hands waving wildly before opening his mouth, but no sound comes out.

“Wait, why are you just standing in the road? And where did you come from?” I pause, sucking in a deep breath.

The man shuffles forward, and I take a small step backward. I almost hit him with my car, and if that doesn’t give him a reason to attack me, I’m not sure what would.

He pauses and shakes his head. I freeze too.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t let you answer yet. Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, his mouth moving like he’s talking, but again, no sound comes out.

“Hmm… I don’t have any paper with me, but you could type on my phone.”

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