Page 53 of Beyond the Cottage

“Fine.” She took a deep breath and literally faced the music. “I’m okay. Let’s meet the broad.”

Gretta continued up the path, concentrating on the birds and bugs chirping, rather than the song. Ansel followed close behind.

After a short hike, the canopy opened, flooding a clearing with hazy sunshine. A ramshackle cabin sat in the center with two trees abutting it, almost growing out of the walls. Smoke curled from the chimney, and a tidy garden took up the side yard.

It looked quaint, charming even. But then, so had the cottage.

When they reached the cabin, they climbed the weathered porch steps, and Ansel reached over Gretta’s shoulder to knock.

The singing stopped. A chain lock jangled, the door creaked open, and a pair of green eyes peered out. They landed on Ansel, and the door flew open, revealing a grinning crone.

She was ninety if she was a day. Her hair, more silver than copper, lay piled in a nest of brittle curls with wisps framing her creped face. Gnarled hands dried themselves on the dish towel draped over her shoulder as she jauntily trotted onto the porch.

“Ansel, love! What a marvelous surprise.” The witch’s fragile-looking fingers laced with his, giving them an aggressive squeeze.

By sight alone, Gretta would have expected her voice to be sandpaper and whiskey, but it tinkled as prettily as her song. Though she didn’t seem hostile yet, Gretta immediately sensed something off about her.

The oddest thing was how little magic she emitted. It was barely a flicker, too small to determine her caste. The bracelet gave off more energy.

Was she damaged somehow? Mystically bound?

Ansel dropped a kiss on the witch’s crinkled cheek. “Hi, Izz. Did you fare well through the storm?”

“Eh, not bad. Lost a bit of my roof but nothing like last time.” The witch let go of Ansel and turned her shrewd eyes on Gretta. “And who’s this little nibble of shortbread? My, she’s a pretty thing.”

Gretta’s fists began to ball. The bracelet hummed, forcing her hands to relax. “Ansel, you didn’t tell me she was senile. Will she even be of use to me?”

He gave her a look, and the witch cackled.

“Isobel,” he said, “this is Gretta. She’s come to ask you some questions.”

The witch’s eyes darted to him. Her amusement vanished. “…YourGretta?”

He nodded.

Isobel clutched her chest, and her faded green eyes grew filmy. “Oh, Ansel, honey.” She beamed at him, covering her mouth as though she didn’t know what to say.

Great. The old bag’s bit was sentimentality.

Without warning, Isobel approached Gretta and took her hands. Gretta gasped. She yanked her hands away, stumbling into Ansel. He steadied her with an arm around the waist as she drove him backward down the porch steps.

“Don’ttouchme!” she screamed at the witch.

Still holding her, Ansel spun, using his body as a shield.

Gretta’s throat constricted. She started panting. The air was too thick, and it wouldn’t reach her lungs. She coughed and choked at the same time.

“Breathe,” Ansel said at her ear. “In and out, slow. Remember what we used to do?”

Hunched over his arm gasping, she clumsily nodded and started counting backward. She vaguely registered Ansel fumbling at her wrist, then the bracelet sailed into the yard. His thumb rubbed firm circles on her scarred inner forearm.

A million years passed. Gretta breathed in and out, slow. When she finished counting, the spots in her vision had receded and the air had gone back to normal.

She straightened, hitting his chest with her back.

“We have to go, Izz,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”

“No,” Gretta croaked. “I can’t leave yet.” Her heartbeat remained quick, but her head had cleared. She broke from his grasp and faced him on reasonably steady legs.

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