The Hill Witch

Ella

It was damp and rainy in the mountains, the temperature dropping steadily the further north they went. They took Cole's truck, and he did most of the driving. Emma sat on the other side of the bench seat, her chin tucked into her scarf, and stared out the window as the trees grew thicker and wilder the deeper they moved into the Adirondacks. She clutched the file folder in her lap with white knuckles, her grip momentarily easing when she realized how tightly she held it.

The cycle repeated itself for miles.

"What if she doesn't have any answers for us?" Cole asked when he turned on Stafford road. "What do we do then?"

Emma blinked, and swallowed hard. "I don't know." She leaned forward as the mailbox for 756 came up on their right, and she had to remind herself to breathe normally as they went up the long driveway through the trees.

There was an old Ford truck parked in front of what Emma would call a cottage before she called it a house. Smoke trickled from the chimney, and when they finally got out of Cole's Chevy, her breath misted in front of her.

She took small, careful steps toward the house, and stopped abruptly only a foot or so from the door. The whole place – the house and the grounds – was steeped in centuries-old magic.

"Emma?"

It was layer upon layer of it, built up and settled over everything for hundreds of years.

"She's very powerful," she whispered. "She's – someone's been a Sage in her family for nearly a thousand years." She breathed slowly through her nose.

The front door opened; a woman with a mass of curly brown hair, green eyes, and a Sedgetram around her neck stared back at her.

"Ella Hope?" Emma said cautiously.

"Emma Beecher, I presume?" Her eyes flicked to Cole, who Emma figured was doing his best to minimize is six-foot, one hundred and eighty pound frame off her left shoulder. "And your friend?"

"Cole Porter," he said.

Ella's attention slid back to Emma. "You gonna attempt to separate my graveyard from me in an attempt to get my magic?"

She held out the file folder. "That's – that just sounds painful, and no, that's not why we're here. Someone sent me these articles and a photo of you." She licked dry lips. "Sages who went missing a couple months ago?"

"We found them a couple months ago," Ella corrected. "There's a difference." She opened the door a little wider. "Come in, have a seat in the kitchen. This is kind of complicated."

Emma and Cole followed her into the cottage, and politely left their shoes on the mat before taking a look around. It was an open floor plan; the kitchen was on the opposite end of the house, and in full view of the front door. To the left was a fireplace, a couch and chair, and what looked like an opening to a staircase leading up. A piano and a TV stood on the left wall, and nearer to the kitchen was, presumably, the bathroom.

"You're more than welcome to hang your jackets, if you want," Ella said, gesturing to the pegs by the kitchen door. "Coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee, please. If you have it." She handed Cole her coat when he held his hand out for it, and sat at Ella's sturdy, scrubbed wooden kitchen table. She set the folder down, and took the proffered mug from Ella. "Thank you."

"You have a lovely home," Cole said, as she sat.

"Thank you." She ran her fingers over her Sedgetram, and eyed Emma. "You don't look quite like I imagined for a witch. We have mostly Sages up here."