Page 25 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
The two-story house was pretty and white, blanketed in snow and topped with a smoking chimney. Frosty blue shutters stood out against the clean exterior, Adirondack chairs decorated the porch, and shadows darkened gilded windows, flickering like ghosts beyond the glass. Lincoln took Tehlor’s palm, lacing their fingers, and raised his free hand to knock politely at the door.
An immediate hush came over the chatter inside as if a fox had breached the entrance of a busy chicken coop.
Weird. Goosebumps scaled Tehlor’s arms. She inhaled deeply and glanced at Lincoln, but before she could whisperwhat the fuck was thatthe door swung open.
Phillip flashed a princely grin. “Friends, welcome.”
Lincoln extended his hand and clasped Philip’s palm. “Thank you for opening your home to us.”
“This is Daniel’s rental, actually,” the pastor said, gesturing inside with a sweep of his arm. “Rose and I are grateful to have a supportive congregation. What we’ve built at Haven really transcends the typical couch-to-pew routine, you know? It’s a lifestyle for us, and it’s all for him.” He pointed at the ceiling with his index finger and pressed his mouth into a thin, pensive smile. He repeated the last three words, “All for him,” nodding.
Tehlor forced a smile and nodded along.Fuckin’ psychopath.
“I’ll take this to the kitchen,” she said, like a good little housewife, and lifted the casserole dish.
Lincoln met her eyes and smiled, granting her a curt nod. “Good idea, honey.”
As unnatural as it was, she channeled meekness and lowered her eyes, smiling at the floor. “Good to see you, Pastor Phillip.”
“Same to you, Tehlor. I’m sure the girls are in the kitchen. Fix yourself some wine,” Phillip said. He touched her elbow, like a teacher, like someone used to touching whomever he pleased, however he pleased, and then swatted Lincoln on the back, steering him toward the living room. “Lincoln, how do you take your whiskey?”
The stark entryway led to a wide, bland hall. She scanned the eggshell walls and paused at the mouth of the staircase on the left, listening to footsteps creak on the second story. She turned, stepping into the kitchen. Her heels clicked the tile and she remembered to smile at Rose and Amy, surrounded by chittering church ladies.
Amy whipped toward Tehlor and gasped through a grin, bouncing excitedly. Rose gave Tehlor a cold once over. Her disapproving gaze lingered on Tehlor’s tall shoes for a heartbeat too long before she took a sip from a sleek, stemless wine glass and resumed whatever conversation she’d paused.
The women in the kitchen embodied a chic, clean-girl aesthetic. Slick ponytails, minimalist makeup, savannah cotton blouses, dainty Christian jewelry—crucifixes, rose gold bands, and stone-carved rosaries. Trendy, taupe flats. Designer athleisure. Bodies meant for missionary position, green juices, and gestation.
Tehlor pitied them. She did, seriously—Girl Scout’s honor. But she hated them more.
“You made it,” Amy cooed, coming around the marble island to take the casserole dish. She set it down and peeled off the foil, making a pleased noise. “Wow, you’re quite the cook, babe! Is this a family recipe?”
“Lincoln’s mom,” she lied, smiling wide for a chorus ofawwandhow sweet.
“Well, thank you for blessing us with her tradition. Can I get you some wine? Kombucha? I think Candice brought an apricot mocktail, too,” Amy said.
“Wine, please.”
“Red or white?” Rose interjected. She met Tehlor’s gaze and lifted her chin, offering a delicate smile. Her cashmere sweater drooped over one shoulder, stark atop a soft, sandy dress with skinny straps.
Somehow, the question felt like a test. Tehlor considered, tongue pressed hard against the roof of her mouth, before she shrugged and said, “Whatever you’re having.”
Cabernet ribboned from a dark bottle and splashed at the bottom of a spotless glass. Rose made a point to set the beverage in front of Tehlor rather than handing it to her. The women in the kitchen postured, lions in a pride, following Rose’s example. Tehlor had been introduced abruptly, carelessly, and the only way forward was to roll onto her back and show her underbelly to the matriarch. She bowed her head and took the glass, sipping gingerly.
“I love your tattoos, Tehlor,” one of the women said. Her fiery hair was smoothed into a low, modest braid, and her teeth looked expensive. She gestured to her own neck, swallowing nervously. “Is that a bird or…?”
“It’s a Nordic hawk.” Tehlor traded her glass from one hand to the other.
Quiet snaked through the house. Somewhere in a nearby room, men laughed. Something moved upstairs and Tehlor blinked, shielding a sudden bolt of fear.Not a single kid, she thought.I’ve seen no children.The realization shouldn’t have made her afraid, but it did. It terrified her. She snapped back to the conversation and held out her hand, displaying her inked knuckles.
Bless these lies for the truth takes root, deadly and full of thorns.“Norse runes, too. My ancestors heard the Lord’s good word, but the transition was painful.”We were eradicated. Slaughtered. Forced.“So, I got these as a reminder that anything is possible. If Christ could reach their hearts, he can certainly have mine.” Bile scorched her throat. Forgive me, Freya. Fill me with gratitude, Odin Allfather.“They’re a bit crude, I know.”
Another wife tilted her head as if she agreed. “Remember when Ashleigh got her serpent tattoo after the divorce? Such a shame.”
“Ashleigh went on her way, Meredith. The Lord will keep her,” Rose said.
In unison, every woman in the kitchen said, “The Lord will keep her,” except for Tehlor.
Every mental alarm that could’ve rang out did so at the very same time. Jaws music. The theme song from Halloween. Admiral Ackbar holleringit's a trap!Fire alarms, air-raid sirens, and the iconic slasher movieching ching ching. She’d understood Haven was a whacky fucking cult before walking into the cookout, but she hadn’t realized how disquieting being a part of the charade would be until right then, standing in a kitchen, listening to Haven housewives echo each other in prayer.
