Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“I don’t know about that,” I said uncertainly.
“Of course not—you haven’t drunk the memory tea yet.” She patted my hand. “Don’t worry—all things come at the proper time here in Hidden Hollow. In the meantime, we’re just glad to have you here.”
My throat tightened. I looked around the booth. All these women sitting here, their lives transformed by this impossible place.
And now… here I was, too.
Outside, the wind howled softly and blew another swirl of golden leaves across the windowpane. I felt a shiver go down my spine.
Maybe I had been called here after all.
Maybe I wasn’t crazy to believe in the monster under my bed.
Maybe I had finally come home.
13
DANNI
I returned to the cottage after setting a time for Harmony’s first knitting lesson and saying goodbye to all my new witch friends. It was strange how quickly my life had turned around since coming to Hidden Hollow. Only that morning I’d been standing in my soon-to-be foreclosed house in a bathrobe, feeling like the world had forgotten me. Now, I had people to talk to, a purpose—however small—and a cottage that felt more alive than most places I'd ever called home.
I paused in the doorway of the bedroom. Should I go in? My heart beat faster as I crossed the room and crouched to lift the corner of the quilt. No eyes peered out at me from the shadows. Still, the room held a presence, like something unseen was watching—or waiting. Not threatening, exactly. Just…there. I couldn’t explain it, but the sense of it settled over my skin like a breath—like the memory of a touch.
The scent of fur and cedar and cinnamon lingered faintly in the air. It curled in my nostrils and stirred something deep inside me—a whisper of familiarity I couldn’t pin down. A name tickled the back of my mind. Shadow Boy.
I turned abruptly and walked out of the room, pushing the memory down. I didn’t want to think about it, not right now. My stomach growled and I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I had only had a cup of tea at the diner. It was time for dinner.
The kitchen welcomed me with the smell of home. The loaf of homemade bread I’d found in the oven when I first arrived sat on the counter, now wrapped in a checkered towel. Had the cottage done that? I had no idea. Regardless, it smelled delicious and I decided I was going to have some.
I sliced into it with a worn bread knife I found in the drawer, the crust cracking just right and the warm, yeasty scent making my mouth water. I found the white American cheese in the fridge—don’t ask me why but it tastes better than the yellow stuff. I layered slices between the bread and slathered the outsides with butter, then set the sandwich in a cast-iron skillet I found hanging from a hook over the stove.
While it sizzled, I opened a can of tomato soup from the cupboard. Grandma always swore by the Campbell’s brand, and it was oddly comforting to find a few cans still tucked away. I added mostly water with just a splash of milk to make it creamier and stirred it as it warmed in a small pot.
The grilled cheese turned a perfect golden brown, and I flipped it with satisfaction. When everything was ready, I carried my plate and bowl to the little kitchen table and sat down. The wood was scarred and worn, but very clean—Grandma always kept a tidy house. I ate slowly, dipping the crusty grilled cheese into the steaming soup, savoring the warmth and comfort.
But despite the delicious food, a heavy loneliness sat in my chest.
I missed Craig. Or at least, I thought I did. But as I sat there with the soup warming my insides, I realized it wasn’t just him I missed. The ache ran deeper, older—like missing a limb you’d forgotten you ever had. Someone else… someone I couldn’t quite remember. Someone who had protected me, loved me, long before Craig ever came into the picture—that’s who I was missing. But who was he?
Then I remembered the vial of memory tea Goody Albright had given me. I went and got the little glass vial and stared at it. The contents looked like sparkling liquid silver.
I turned the thought over in my mind. Was I really ready to remember? My childhood wasn’t exactly filled with sunshine and roses, especially after Duke, my stepfather, came into the picture. What if there was a reason I’d blocked it all out?
But then again… if I didn’t open myself up, I might never figure out what was happening. I might never learn if I truly had magic—or how to access it.
Decision made, I stood and rinsed my dishes at the sink, feeling Grandma’s expectations in the back of my mind. She’d always insisted on a clean kitchen. “A tidy space makes a tidy mind,” she used to say.