Page 52 of Return to Garoureve

Magic, the elements of this town, the spirits, whatever... they needed to chill the fuck out and maybe go fuck themselves.

“Alright, I guess this is the game we’re playing,” Violet said with a sigh as she finally moved forward. Each step was easy, now, and without anything forcing her back. The earth didn’t have ears, but she was going to just accept it rather than asking the question, because her basket of questions was overflowing, and she had no intention of adding to that giant stack.

The front room was the same as always, which was unsurprising, but something about standing there, looking at the couch, looking at the kitchen counter, looking at the kitchen itself... She could see the candles still scattered about, her mother’s recipe book open on the counter. The food stuff was all perfectly preserved, not that she planned to eat any of it, but—

It was as though she had stepped back in time, stepped back to that night. If she went upstairs, she would see her bed, the blankets tossed aside. She would see her desk drawer still open, from where she had grabbed all of her art notebooks. She would see Henrik’s drawer filled with clothes, from when he stayed the night. She would see his blanket, folded at the foot of her bed, for when he stayed over. Her haircare products still in the bathroom. Her wax would be sitting in the various jars. Herbs would still be drying in her mother’s workspace, the ones for personal use.

A step back in time...

What would she find?

The door to her mother’s little library was closed, as it often was. That space was one where her mother often went for meditation, the quiet calmness of the space a complete neutral from the rest of the home, and the town itself. Every time her mother entered, and returned, she was like a new person. Violet had spent a good amount of time in the room in her younger years, looking at her mother’s various books, or playing while her mother sat on the phone. Her mother had so many books within, notes in some for various packs, recipes for potions and tinctures, a few books on healing, some on history, some for records. Wolf shifter packs often didn’t see the importance of keeping good records of who was part of the pack and who was not, but witches liked their data.

Hopefully, within all of the data, she would be able to find answers.

The phone was an older one, even for 2003, without a call log or voicemail, which was annoying, because she would love to know who had called over the years... although fifteen years of data was unlikely.

What she really wanted to know was whether or not anyone had called since her arrival in Garoureve. She had spoken with her mother before leaving, told her that she was returning to the town, and the response her mother gave her... It had seemed odd before, but now she was troubled.

Her mother had encouraged her to return, to open herself to the possibilities, but there was something else. Something...

“When you get there, try to not be too hard on anyone. Time can... change a lot of perspective. Can change how people feel about things. You and I, we’ve had time to grow, to learn. Don’t be too hard on anyone.”

She had asked her mother who she would be hard on, but now that she knew how many were gone, how many were dead...

Questions. Fuck.

Violet picked up the phone, ready to hear nothing on the other end, only to hear the dial tone. So, the phone was still working, which was good, but... why had no one answered? Could a wolf not enter? Or were they simply completely unaware of the fact that a phone existed?

Colburn sent Mardoc out in town to make phone calls to the banking witches that Colburn now insisted were demons... honestly...

Her finger remembered, easily, how to dial the phone number, and she lifted the phone to her ear, waiting for someone to pick up.

The phone rang, and rang, and she was nearly ready to give up, when finally, someone did.

“Wait a moment. Don’t speak.” The voice was an unfamiliar one. “We’re getting your mother.”

Funny, how caller ID suddenly worked now that she was calling from Garoureve.

Violet sighed as she sat down in her mother’s chair, the phone tucked under her ear. It felt far too large, the phone quite literally from the 90s, the shape unfamiliar to her after years with a cellphone, but she waited. How long would it take to find her mom, particularly now that her phone calls were apparently important.

Something poked against her thigh, and she looked down to see an ink pen. Why was an ink pen sitting shoved into a cushion? She shoved her hand into the side and felt a book, a journal, really. Oh, her mother’s journal. How odd that it would be shoved into the chair, rather than sitting on her mother’s desk, or better yet, with her mother.

It was the place where her mother had always recorded... everything. Grocery lists, inventory, what she was working on, changes to potions, people who had called, various meetings and events... everything was saved within the journals. Some would cover the span of a few months, others just a few weeks. They were all dated, each page marked carefully.

The journal in question was, of course, the most recent one, the one her mother had been using in the days leading up to the fire, and their leaving. She flipped to the last few pages, not that she expected them to tell her anything, and glanced. There was a recipe for a new soap that had been recommended from a witch in Montana, thoughts for meals over the next few days, predictions on coming weather patterns, and even notes to start drying the lavender growing in the fields near Reeve farm. Everything about the pages was normal, nothing odd in the slightest.

“Violet?”

She nearly jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice, only just remembering she had been on hold. Right. Her call to her mother.

“Hi mom.”

“How is it? How’s the town?”

Her mother’s words were rushed, impatient. Why...

“It’s...”

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