A Witch's Revenge

Chapter 1

Morning. The quiet in the house settled around her like a soothing blanket. The birds chirping, the jolt of caffeine ... it was Henrietta 'Henry' Tomas's favorite time of the day.

As she stared out the kitchen window waiting for the coffee to brew, the fog hung heavy, making it nearly impossible to see the shoreline beyond the pasture housing four horses and six sheep.

Some days, she wished she could wake to a bright, sunny day as she'd sometimes been able to when her life had been normal. But then, she'd remember what the mist protected on this island, and she then wanted to drop to her knees in thanks for it. If anyone would ever find Gladstone Cabin—the place where young witches and warlocks went to learn their craft—it could become disastrous. She had visions of people who didn't comprehend witchcraft wanting the islands' inhabitants killed, similar to the Salem Witch Trials. Humans tended to hate what they didn't understand.

She took her coffee and headed outside, wishing she'd worn a coat over her sweatshirt.

The brume enfolded her in its cool tendrils, sending a little chill down her spine. She opened the gate to the pasture, and some of the horses looked up from the grass to see who had entered their domain. The sheep completely ignored her. The silence weighed all around her, almost as thick as the fog.

Alice, a pretty palomino, came over and said hello and sniffed Henry's hand for some treats.

"I didn't bring you any," she whispered as she petted her muzzle. "Ms. Gladstone says you need to lay off them for a bit because you're getting a little chunky."

The horse shook its head, then turned and sauntered away indignantly with her head held high, almost as if she'd understood everything Henry had said.

With a sigh, Henry walked to the other side of the pasture toward the shoreline, wondering if Alice had comprehended her words, and decided she'd apologize on her way back to the house.

She leaned up against the white fence and stared out into the fog. The water lapped gently against the grassy shoreline as she sipped her coffee. She'd always found the solitude of the early mornings quiet and soothing.

To her left, she heard a loud meow and rolled her eyes. Before the cat came into view, she knew which one it was. Helter, the black feline, was one of two—the other, white, named Skelter. The owner of the island, Ms. Gladstone, had an affinity for the Beatles.

Hello, Human.

The silky-smooth voice echoed in her head as if they were her own thoughts, but as she looked over her shoulder and saw the cat staring at her, she knew exactly who—or in this case, what—was responsible.

She glanced around to make sure no one was near before she answered.

"Hi, Helter."

This new ability had started a few months ago. At first, she'd thought she had lost her mind, but had then figured out she only heard the voices when the cats were around. She had no idea what to do with this new witchcraft and couldn't understand how it could possibly be helpful at any time in her life. Now that she could actually communicate with the felines, she had realized they were pretty big jerks, especially Helter.

Supposedly, the cats were to stay in the barn to keep the rodent population to a minimum, but this little dictator had other plans.

You didn't leave the window open as we instructed.

She took another sip of coffee. The damn cats had been hassling her about letting them into the house at night, claiming they wanted to cuddle with the kids. They were done sleeping in the barn. Considering their dispositions, she didn't think it had anything to do with the kids, but more to do with causing havoc in the middle of the night by terrorizing the house occupants, knocking things over, and finding some snacks in the kitchen.