The Hill Witch

Emmaline Elizabeth Beecher, Witch

Emmaline Elizabeth Beecher, Witch

A howl floated up from the gully; she wrapped her sweater closer around her as the orange-colored full moon rose behind her.

"Sounds like Chuck," she said, the deck boards beneath her bare feet vibrating from Cole's work boots.

Cole set a mason jar of something clear on the table near her elbow, and cocked his head to the side. Another howl joined the first.

"No," he said slowly, easing himself onto the opposite bench. "The second one's Chuck. But why he's out on a Wednesday..."

Emma prodded the jar with her finger. It could be water, or it could be...not water. She ignored it for the moment, and said, "I thought your mother had a No Shifting on School Nights Rule."

"She does."

The silence between them was broken by a yowl, clearly angry.

Cole sat up straight in surprise. "That's JJ. What the hell is goody two-shoes doing down there?"

"Why's JJ without Mike is my question," Emma said, standing and buttoning her gray cable knit.

"They're not actually joined at the hip." He heaved himself to his feet with a sigh. "I hate being the oldest."

She snorted, and slid her feet back into her unlaced Converse. "No, you don't." She left the jar on the table, and went down the deck steps to the yard.

Cole vaulted the railing and landed heavily on the wet grass, yards ahead of her. "You wanna walk faster, princess?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "They're your brothers."

He grinned, and slung an arm around her shoulders. Together, they went down the short hill at the end of the yard.

Starting about twenty feet from beyond the edge of Emma's property was an overgrown field that gently sloped toward the gully. She and Cole had traced a path between her deck and the fire pit many times, both day and night.

Once she was sure none of her more curious neighbors could see, she held her left hand out to Cole and brought her right to her lips. She blew gently into her palm, and a soft, bluish-white light appeared in the center. Flexing her fingers, it trailed upward until it hovered just above her head.

"You can open your eyes now, Cole," she murmured.

He dropped her hand like it burned.

"You've – you been practicing?"

"A little bit." She pulled the cuffs of her sweater down over her knuckles. "Nothing major."

"No more joint projects between you and Foster?" He jumped Glen Creek – a normally heavy stream now doing a fairly good impression of a country ditch – in one go while she crossed using a number of slick stones.

"Not at the moment, no." Emma stopped, the witch-light putting half her face into shadow. "He's – he's powerful, Cole."

"It's literally in his blood." Cole's eyes glowed a faint yellow in the dark. "He can't help it anymore than you can."

She looked away, her stick-straight brown hair falling across her forehead and nose. Her lineage wasn't nearly as impressive as Ralurick Foster's, but her magic was in her blood all the same, passed through generations before her, and born from the very hills around her.