Page 11 of The Witch's Cottage
Almost as soon as I step onto Brookside Road, something rustles a bush off to my left. I pause and tip my head, scanning the dry undergrowth. Everything is dead and brown, so it’s easy to spot the pair of big green eyes staring at me from beneath a tall withered flowerhead.
It’s Aurora’s cat. I don’t know its name. But it’s staring at me, unblinking.
I feel like I’m supposed to say something.
“Good morning, cat,” I say. Then I resume walking.
But the undergrowth keeps rustling, and every time I look down, those green eyes are staring at me. I get the feeling it’s judging me.
By the time I make it to the end of the road, the cat has scampered off into the trees. Its going makes me feel better than it should. Who knew a cat could make me feel so... exposed. Weird bugger.
I’m so distracted that it takes me a moment to realize there’s movement in the garden.
Movement and . . . singing?
“Oh, the earth turns green and the sky turns blue, in a dance that’s ancient and forever true.”
It’s Aurora’s voice, but it has a magical quality to it, and I half expect to see light swirling around her as I take a few steps closer to peer over the garden fence. She’s on her knees beside a low garden bed, her long dark green hair pulled back into a braid that swings as she leans forward to pull weeds from the soil.
“From the mountains high to the valleys low, the earth and sky in a waltz they go.”
The cat slips through the fence and into the garden, meowing to Aurora as it goes. As if she can understand what it’s saying, she whips around, her eyes going wide as they meet mine.
“Oh, Alden. I didn’t hear you.” She lets out a nervous laugh. “Good morning.”
That’s the second time she’s said my name, and it still has the strangest effect on me. I clear my throat, trying to shake off the desire to hear her say it again.
“Morning.”
Her gaze slides past me, and her pink lips part into an expression of surprise. “Is that...?”
Turning, I follow her gaze to my cart, on top of which I’ve balanced a mattress.
“It’s only lightly used,” I explain. “A family in town had it lying around after their daughter moved to Wysteria. If you don’t want it, I’ll—”
“Of course I want it!” Her voice is so loud it startles me into silence.
The next thing I know, she’s racing out of the garden and to the cart, poking a finger and then a whole hand into the mattress to test its softness.
“It’sperfect.” Her green eyes meet mine, and my chest tightens up. “Thank you so much.”
With her staring at me like that, I suddenly find myself at a loss for words—not that I usually have many to begin with. So instead of responding, I untie the ropes I used to hold the mattress to the cart and heft it onto my shoulder.
Aurora hurries to open the door to the cottage, then follows along behind me like a duckling as I carry the mattress up the creaking stairs and into the south-facing bedroom. Sunlight streams into the space, and a little puff of dust drifts through the rays of light when I settle the mattress onto the floor and lean it up against the wall. Aurora hurriedly grabs the corner of the old moth-eaten mattress still sitting on the bed frame, but she struggles to move it.
Watching her, brow furrowed and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she tries to lift the mattress’s weight, makes me almost want to smile. But I don’t.
Instead, I gently ease her to the side and grab the mattress off the frame, easily moving it out into the hallway so I can take it back down the stairs when we’re done. Then I step back into the room, and Aurora scurries out of the way so that I can grab the new mattress and settle it down in the old one’s place. It fits perfectly.
I wasn’tplanningon finding a mattress for her, but when I saw it sitting against a wall in the Clarks’ house, I figured I’d ask if they needed someone to take it off their hands. And they did—for a few eldertokens. On the walk here, I told myself I’d ask Aurora for the money, but now, watching her face light up as she sits on the end of the bed and then collapses back into its pillowy softness, I can’t bring myself to do it.
And that irritates me.
Why do I care that she’s smiling and laughing, her green hair spread out around her like a summer halo? Why do I wish that cat hadn’t disturbed Aurora while she was singing, stealing away my chance to hear more?
Without a word, I turn and stride back into the hall, pausing to grab the old mattress before heading down the stairs, my boots heavier on each step than they probably need to be.
Just as I reach the foyer, Aurora calls, “Alden? Is everything all right?”
