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CHAPTER TEN

T he walk to town was a pleasant one. Once I crossed the bridge and took a right, I found my way quickly to a narrow-paved road shaded by tall trees, all of them bursting with Fall foliage.

The air smelled like Autumn—the spicy scent of dried leaves, a hint of smoke, a whisper of snow on the wind that wouldn’t come for a while yet. I breathed it in—filling my lungs with delight.

The sky was a pure, deep blue without any clouds but the weather was cool enough to make the golden sunshine a blessing rather than a hot, miserable curse like it was in Central Florida on a sunny day.

There was hardly any humidity either—I was blessedly free of under-boob sweat, which is the bane of my existence.

All in all, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so happy to be outside.

Living in Florida for so long, I was used to scurrying from one air-conditioned structure to another.

Being caught out in the open meant feeling like I was slowly boiling in a pot of humidity soup.

It wasn’t like that here in Hidden Hollow. Here, the weather was just perfect.

I hummed happily to myself as I walked along the deserted road. I didn’t see a single car, which was nice. I was just beginning to wonder if maybe I could get a bike—that would be a good, cheap way to get around—when the road curved and the town came abruptly into sight.

At first glance, Hidden Hollow seemed to be the quintessential picturesque New England small town. The Main Street was lined with shops and businesses and shoppers and residents were going about their daily lives and chores.

Then I took a closer look at some of the shoppers. Was that a centaur trotting down Main Street? And had I just seen a fairy flitting into one of the shops? Also, across the street I saw a Minotaur raking leaves.

But none of that was possible…right?

“Oh my God!” I murmured, feeling my eyes get wider and wider as I stared. I supposed I shouldn’t be so surprised. After my encounter with the Orc, why did seeing other monsters out in the open shock me?

Maybe it was the casual way they were acting. They weren’t rampaging or growling or chasing down the humans (yes, there were a few of those too.) Instead, they were going about their business, running errands and getting things done—just like regular people.

I walked down the street, trying not to stare as I entered the town. Nobody gave me a second glance…until an older woman came outside from a rambling, Victorian style structure and saw me.

“Well, as I live and breathe!” she exclaimed, cocking her head and looking at me over the thin golden rims of her reading spectacles. “If it isn’t Elvira’s granddaughter!”

She startled me so much I jumped. I wanted to ask her how in the world she knew who I was, but as usual, my words got stuck in my throat. I must have looked distressed, because she came down her front porch steps and put a hand on my arm.

“Oh, honey—are you okay?”

I nodded and then put a hand to my throat and shook my head. Sometimes it worked best if people just thought I was mute.

“You can’t speak?” she asked.

I shook my head and tapped my throat again.

“Hmmm…”

The woman put a hand on my forehead and stared into my face intently for a moment which gave me a chance to study her. She had curly gray hair and sharp green eyes behind her glasses. She was also wearing a colorful pink and green muumuu and fuzzy pink slippers to match.

“Of course you can’t speak,” she said at last, shaking her head. “Why, you’re bound so tightly it’s a wonder you can communicate with anyone at all!”

I shook my head in confusion. What did she mean I was “bound?”

“Oh, I see you have questions. Come on with me—I’ll do what I can to answer them.”

She took me by the arm without asking and led me up the steps to the enormous Victorian structure. It was painted a soft white color and had black trim. The plaque beside the front door had a lion painted in red. It said,

The Red Lion Inn

Established 1744

I stared in surprise—here was another extremely old structure—though not as old as the grocery store, apparently.

If I ever got to the grocery store. For now I found myself following the woman in her colorful muumuu through a lovely antique sitting room with old-fashioned furniture and a fire burning in a large fireplace.

She led me through the house to the very back—we walked through the kitchen as well, which was bustling with workers—not all of them humans.

In fact, most of them seemed to have dark, bark-like skin, knobbly elbows, and long, crooked noses.

Their hair looked a lot like the moss you see growing on the sides of trees.

“Lynta, please bring us a pot of tea back to my private sun parlor,” the woman said to one of them.

“Yes, Goody Albright,” was the quick reply and the strange looking creature scuttled off.

“Don’t look so shocked, dear—they’re only Brownies! You know—house sprites?” the woman said to me, laughing at my surprised expression. “I have to employ quite a lot of them—the Lion has been so busy lately.”

She led me to the back of the house and soon I found myself seated at a small, two-person table that was set up in a kind of glassed-in sun porch. Outside the many windows I could see a thriving garden filled with a wide variety of plants and flowers, all mixed in together.

“Oh, are you noticing my garden?” Goody Albright asked, smiling as she saw where I was looking.

I nodded and made a gesture I hoped conveyed that I thought it was lovely.

“I’m so glad you like it!” she exclaimed brightly.

“So many people have the silly idea that one must keep the vegetables and flowers separate, but when you think about it, that makes no sense! You want the pollinators to find your plants and the fastest way to lead them in the right direction is to have some lovely bright flowers blooming nearby.”

I wished I could ask her how it was possible to have what looked like a full summer garden in the Fall, but I still couldn’t speak. It was too bad because she seemed so nice—and she’d clearly known my Grandma. Then I remembered that I had my purse with me.

I dug around in it, looking for a pad and pen that I always carried. Eventually I found them and pulled them out, just as the Brownie called Lynta brought a tray with a steaming pot of tea and two cups.

“Ah, here we go! Let me pour you a cup and we can have a chat,” Goody Albright said, smiling.

As she busied herself with the tea, I started writing. The garden wasn’t really important, so I began with what was really on my mind. I finished my question and handed her the paper, just as she was handing me a cup of sweet-smelling tea.

“How do you know my Grandmother?” she read aloud as I took a small sip of the tea. It was sweet and hot and deliciously fragrant.

Goody Albright smiled.

“How did I know her? My dear, she was my best friend for years!” She sighed and shook her head. “I miss her dreadfully. Ever since she faded, I’ve felt so alone .” She fluttered her hands dramatically.

I nodded sympathetically. I missed my Grandma too—even though I had only just remembered her yesterday.

Goody Albright leaned forward and studied me again.

“You have her eyes— and her nose,” she added. “In case you’re wondering how I knew who you are. Also, you have the scent of Morris on you—which is good! It should let people and Creatures around here know that you’re under his protection.”

So I smelled like my Grandmother’s house? I frowned and turned my head to sniff my sleeve.

Goody Albright laughed.

“No, no, my dear! It’s not a physical smell—it’s a magical smell. Which means that anyone who has or is magic will be able to scent it on you.”

This brought up even more questions—“anyone who has or is magic?” What did that mean? But I had an even more pressing query to ask. I scribbled it quickly on another sheet of paper from my pad, tore it off, and handed it to her.

“What did you mean when you said I’m ‘bound’?” she read aloud.

She looked at me with wide eyes.

“Why, I meant exactly what I said—your magic is bound. And along with it, your voice.” She cleared her throat and glanced down at my lap. “As well as some other things, I shouldn’t wonder.”

I scribbled again and handed her another piece of paper.

“I don’t have any magic,” she read and then burst into peals of laughter.

“Oh, my dear—of course you have magic!” she exclaimed.

“Any witch of the Pruitt bloodline has more magic than they know what to do with. Why, I remember when you were just a little thing and your talents started to show—your Grandmother was so proud of you! She bragged to me that you were going to be the strongest witch in generations.”

I wrote again and passed the note to her.

“I’m not a witch?” she read, making it into a question.

She frowned at me. “Why, sweetheart—of course you’re a witch!

I can feel the magic, just under your skin.

” She put out a long-fingered artistic hand and gripped my wrist. “It’s all bound up in knots because it can’t get free, but it’s there all right—like an electric current looking for an outlet. ”

Now I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start! But one seemed to be the most important. I scribbled it down.

“How do I get unbound?” Goody Albright read aloud.

She frowned. “Well, you’d have to find a way to break the binding spell that was put on you.

” She sighed. “But I’m afraid that might be difficult, since it was your own mother who placed it.

Oh, I remember how she and your Grandmother fought about it!

Elvira was against binding you but your mother insisted it was for your own good. ”

This was making my head whirl. Was she saying that my mother had been a witch too? Not only that, but she had bound me somehow with a spell?

“I don’t understand,” I wrote. “None of this makes sense.”

“I expect not, if you’ve been living in the human world,” Goody Albright said, after reading my note. “You probably didn’t even know magic was real until you were drawn back to Hidden Hollow, am I right?”

I nodded and then shrugged, trying to indicate my bewilderment.

“Yes, we’re one of the magical enclaves in the world where magic workers are free to use their craft and Creatures don’t have to wear disguises,” she remarked. “And we?—”

But just then another one of the Brownies came into the sun parlor and bent down to whisper in her ear.

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Goody Albright looked irritated. “Excuse me, my dear,” she said to me. “But one of our guests is having some difficulty and is demanding to see the owner which happens to be yours truly.”

She sighed theatrically and rose from her chair.

I rose as well, since it seemed like our “chat” was at an end.

“Thank you so much for dropping by.” Goody Albright leaned down to kiss me on the cheek.

“And don’t worry—I’m sure you’ll find your way out of that binding spell.

It’s getting old by now—it must be fraying around the edges.

If you can even find one person you can talk to, that will help unravel it even more. ”

Then she flitted away like a brightly colored butterfly, leaving me to find my own way out of the sprawling B&B. I barely saw my surroundings as I went—my head was too full of questions.

Was I really the descendent of a family of witches? And did that make me a witch too? Was it a spell that made my words stick in my throat? And had my own mother really been the one who cast that spell?

I didn’t have any answers and it seemed the eccentric Goody Albright was too busy at the moment for me to ask her anything else.

But I was determined to find out one way or another…