Page 42 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
"Paige, I'm deeply sorry about Beverly."
I reached out to touch her arm, but she jerked away as if my contact might burn her.
"I knew something was wrong with her," she muttered, already spiraling into the dangerous territory of self-blame. "I should have done something."
"This isn't your fault, Paige. Not in any way." I tried to offer comfort, but my words seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Instead of addressing my reassurance, she shifted topics abruptly. "Don't you think it's strange that our parents gave us such similar names?" she asked, deflecting from her grief in the way that people do when pain becomes too overwhelming to face directly.
"Not particularly." I shook my head. "They were best friends, practically inseparable."
The explanation felt inadequate even as I spoke it. Our mothers had been more than cousins; they'd been soulmates in the way that only true friends can be, until death claimed them both. My mother had died first, followed a year later by Paige's mother, who'd succumbed to a dangerous spell while trying to communicate with the dead to solve the mystery of my parents' deaths. The spellhad taken not just my parents' killer, but Paige's only remaining parent as well, leaving us both orphaned by the same dark magic. Despite the ten-year age difference between us, Paige had always felt more like a sister than a goddaughter. Gran had given her the Blackstone name, though I still wasn't certain whether that was a blessing or a curse.
As we continued along the winding path toward Gran's house, our conversation naturally drifted to the dark undercurrents that seemed to permeate every corner of Old Hollows. The autumn splendor surrounding us created a stark contrast to the sinister secrets that plagued our town like a persistent infection.
"Do you ever feel like there's something fundamentally wrong with this place?" Paige asked, kicking at a stray pebble with obvious frustration. "Like there are secrets buried just beneath the surface, waiting to claw their way into the light?"
I nodded thoughtfully. "Constantly. It's as if the very air is saturated with unspoken truths and hidden agendas. And now, with these disappearances..." I trailed off, suppressing a shudder.
Paige hugged herself against more than just the autumn chill. "I can't stop thinking about Beverly. The way she appeared to me in that vision, so lost and terrified. It was like she was desperately trying to communicate something important, but couldn't find the words, or wasn't allowed to speak them."
"Perhaps someone was preventing her," I murmured darkly. At Paige's questioning look, I elaborated. "Consider the pattern. Every time trouble has surfaced in OldHollows, the council has been remarkably quick to assign blame and point fingers, but they never seem to actually solve anything. It's as if they're more invested in maintaining control than discovering truth."
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather crept down my spine as the realization crystallized.
"You think they're actively concealing something? Something connected to the disappearances?"
"I think it's a possibility we can't afford to ignore," I replied grimly. "There's definitely a pattern here, Paige. The specific girls who vanished, the whispers about pureblood ideology, the way the council consistently obstructs the investigation at every turn. It's all connected somehow, we just need to determine how."
As we approached Gran's house, a sudden gust of wind sent leaves swirling around us in a miniature tornado, carrying with it what sounded like the faint whisper of long-buried secrets. The hair on my neck stood at attention, warning bells chiming in my subconscious.
Paige shivered and pulled her jacket tighter, as if the same unease had reached out to touch her as well. "Do you ever get the feeling that the answers we're desperately seeking might be closer than we realize? Like maybe Gran knows significantly more than she's admitting?"
I hesitated, torn between loyalty to my grandmother and the nagging suspicion that Paige might be onto something important. Gran had always been fiercely protective of our family, but she was also a master of keeping secrets locked away. Growing up, I'd frequently caught her engaged in hushed conversations with various communitymembers, discussions that stopped abruptly whenever I appeared.
At the time, I'd dismissed it as boring adult politics.
Shaking my head, I bit my lip in consideration. "I'm honestly not sure, but we should definitely ask her directly."
"So, speaking of people with secrets," Paige began with obvious determination, "let's discuss Callum." The conversational shift was so abrupt it gave me mental whiplash.
"He's here to find the person responsible for these disappearances," I stated firmly, shoving my hands deep into my coat pockets while carefully avoiding Paige's penetrating pale blue gaze.
"Is he now?" She chuckled with the knowing tone of someone who'd observed more than I'd intended to reveal. "Because while the entire town is pointing accusatory fingers at you, their designated bad apple witch, he's defending your honor with every breath he takes."
"I never claimed he was particularly intelligent," I replied, feeling the corners of my mouth twitch traitorously upward.
"But he certainly is aesthetically pleasing," Paige added with obvious appreciation. Then, as my head whipped toward her in alarm, she quickly backtracked. "Though obviously we don't like him. Still. Absolutely not."
"Absolutely correct. I don't like him. He's a complete ass." I nodded emphatically, though each word felt like a lie burning my tongue. Because if I was being brutally honest with myself, I did like him. I'd never stopped liking him, and if I was willing to dig deeper into uncomfortabletruths, it was significantly more than mere liking. I just prayed that when he inevitably left again, the pain wouldn't hurt so badly that I'd want to embrace my reputation as the town's wicked witch even more thoroughly.
"By the goddess, Sage." Paige's eyes widened as she stopped dead in the middle of the cobblestone street, realization dawning across her features. "You still?—"
"Don't say it," I commanded with desperation. Because if she spoke it into existence, it would become an undeniable reality rather than something I could continue to suppress.
Cosmo, who had remained diplomatically silent throughout our conversation, chose that particular moment to contribute his unsolicited opinion.
"That magically conjured pillow you spelled to resemble him will certainly be relieved to get a break from duty," Cosmo observed with dry amusement. "Though I'm not entirely sure why you thought hiding it under your bed would keep it secret when it purrs his name while you sleep."
