The Witch of Northester

Weaving Patterns

Fresca entered the shop less than an hour later. She was late than usual, but I didn't say anything about it. She didn't, either, warily eyeing the window currently covered up. "I suppose you heard?"

I looked up. "What?"

"Why this town is so quiet?" Fresca sniffed, throwing her bag on the counter. Her expression was grim indeed.

"I had wondered about that." Even now, noone was about the streets. Doors remained closed, shops darkened. "Where is everyone?"

As if to answer, the church bells clanged. We heard a unanimous hum of voices down the street. Fresca gave me a dark look. "They've all gathered together."

I shivered. "For what?"

"To determine what is to be done." She pulled up a stool, resting her head in her hands. "From what I've heard, they're leaving it up to a vote."

Somehow I didn't like the sound of that. "For...what?"

She peered at me through caged fingers. "To determine your fate."

I shook my head. "They- they can't do that."

"They're doing it."

"Why! All because I made a sarcastic remark last night?"

"Little Johnny Beau is dead."

I remembered Johnny Beau cornering me the day before. "But...I just saw him yesterday."

"I'm sure. Most people did." She shifted. "He was found dead this morning."

That's not good. "So..."

"They think the beast did it. The shadow in the night." Fresca straightened, breathing to the ceiling. "I think they believe you did it."

I shook my head. "No...I...I didn't." But even Fresca is looking at me like I'm the enemy. "Y- you can't think that I did this?"

She didn't answer. Turning her eyes down, she pushed off the stool. "I just...I came to tell you I can't work here. Not now, with everything going on."

I shook my head. "Fresca! We can't show fear. Not now!"

"I think you should leave." And she looked like she meant it. "I wanted to ask you...please go. Please just...get out while you still can. I'm not sure how much time you have left."

I rolled my eyes, but shook my head, emphatic. "I don't think I can go anyway."

"Why not?"

"Kelan's...his actions were not pure."

She started. "Did he...did he attack you?"

"No."

"My god, you're pregnant!"

"No!" I dropped my head in my arms and groaned. "He was after money."

"Money?" She gave a little laugh, but sobered. "Sorry, but...coming here? For money? Or did he think he could turn you into some sort of carnival attraction?"

"Neither. He wanted to pawn mom's necklace."

She stiffened. "How'd he know about that?"

"His mother was a part of the sisterhood. I guess he heard about it from her." I eyed her warily, remembering what he said about her mom. Her reaction, the way she seemed to chew on this information...it's very suspicious. "He also told me...your mother was a part of the sisterhood."

She didn't deny it.

"That his mom ran...and your hid...while mine died."

She's not denying it... "Fresca?"

"She swore me not to tell."

My eyes widened. "She...she did...she hid in Northester. She let my mother die? Without even trying to fight?"

"Don't act like it's all her fault. She had a family. She did what she thought was best. Like you." Fresca pushed off the counter, a bitter look in her eye. "You're going to fault my mother for hiding? She did she smart thing. She told your mother to run, but she stayed."

"Why?" Why would mom stay in Northester when they wanted her head?

"For you." Fresca smirked. "Isn't that ironic."

I didn't like the way she was looking at me, my mouth dry as I asked, "How?"

"Because. You became her death sentence."