Dark Corner

Chapter 11

Pixel Makes a Friend

Agatha Hollows Cabin,

Black Mountain

“This is going to work this time. I know it, Terra.” Abigail stirred the potion boiling on the potbellied stove.

I appreciated her enthusiasm but didn’t share her faith. There was only one person who could turn me back to my real self, and Elizabeth was lost to me. I had seen her twice in the past three hundred years, and the second was when she came to protect her great-granddaughter, Abigail. She had come and gone so quickly that my moment was lost. Even if she had the power to turn me back, she was in a different realm of existence. Her powers might not transfer to this world.

“Try it, Terra.”

I took a sip and spit it out. The witch hazel was bitter to the tongue.

Pixel sniffed, grunted, and walked away.

“Where did you find this potion, Abigail?”

Abigail ran into the bedroom and retrieved a book. I recognized it as the one she had found under the floorboards.

“How were you able to translate that potion?”

Abigail smiled. “I placed the book up to a mirror, and the words unscrambled. I could read the directions in the mirror.”

The simplest answers are usually the best. I never would have thought of that.

“It’s a transformation potion Agatha Hollows used to help the dying pass from this world to the next. I thought maybe it would help you return to your true self in this world.”

“Agatha used that potion to comfort the dying to reaffirm that there was a life after this one.”

“Did it work?”

“No, but it provided comfort to them and their families.”

Pixel’s cries drew us outside. Tracker stood over the orange cat, his mouth around the cat’s neck.

“Tracker, no,” Abigail scolded. Pixel swatted him on the nose and took off into the woods. I chased him across the stream toward the valley, which was full of spring blooms, irises, and daffodils.

Pixel rolled about the flowers, giggling. “Tickle. Flowers tickle.” He was remarkably fast for a fluffy cat.

The mountain laurels were starting to bloom pinks and whites. Pixel jumped and ran into the hollow beyond the valley. Lush green moss ran along the stream that flowed past the cabin and into the French Broad River. He stopped and stared.

“Pixel, what is it?”

“Pixel, friend.” He turned his head back to gaze at me. I could see his smile as a pink-and-purple butterfly fluttered over his shoulder.

On the stream’s shore bloomed fern leaf yarrow, red valerian, cosmos, rosemary, thyme, purple coneflower, pincushion scabiosa, French lavender, and heliotrope. It was a garden. Butterflies danced about, landing from one beautiful flower to another. “Butterflies are beautiful, Pixel.”

“No, Pixel’s friend.”

“I’m sure the butterflies like you, Pixel.” I hid my sarcasm. I tried not to deflate Pixel’s enthusiasm.

The large purple-and-white butterfly landed on his nose. He giggled, trying to stand still. The butterfly flew off and joined the monarchs, the silver-spotted skippers, pipevine swallowtails. Agatha Hollows never would have planted a butterfly garden. Not that she didn’t appreciate their beauty, but she was a practical woman. There was no medicinal property to these flowers. This garden hadn’t been planted with that purpose. We sat for hours, watching the butterflies, mesmerized by their flight and their beauty. My cat instincts screaming at me to catch one, I held back. I held all life sacred even the mice I had to eat when I was starving. I made quick of them to spare their suffering. I hated that part of my life. The more Abigail tried to change me back, the more I hated being a cat. Even the slightest hope brings despair. But I cannot resolve myself to this eternity of this creature’s body. I wish I had the bliss of ignorance like Pixel. He is what he is, and that’s enough for him.

“Fairy garden?” Pixel asked.

“Yes, Pixel, like the garden Mrs. Twiggs planted behind the Leaf & Page.” When she arrived in Asheville, Mrs. Twiggs planted a garden for the “wee folk,” complete with stone cottages, a waterfall, and twinkling lights. It was housed in the small yard behind the store. I had never met an actual fairy. Mrs. Twiggs did her best efforts to attract them to her little garden, but I knew better. They had been driven out of this world many years ago. I’d never told Mrs. Twiggs. She enjoyed her fairy garden and her fairy tales.

We returned to the cabin as the sun was setting. Pixel rushed past me through the door when we smelled the turkey. Abigail’s cooking skills had improved over the past few months, and the air smelled of butter and sage.

“No mice tonight,” I whispered gratefully. We sat silently at the table enjoying Abigail’s food.

“Terra, I think I know what went wrong with the potion,” Abigail said, picking up her guitar and strumming it when we were done eating. “You’re not passing through worlds, you’re passing through bodies in this world.”

Abigail has an inquisitive mind like all witches, a requirement to be a good witch. I didn’t want to inhibit her enthusiasm. “I think you’re right, Abigail. Keep looking. I’m sure you’ll find a way to change me back.”

Abigail smiled and handed Pixel and Tracker both another piece of turkey. She went into her bedroom and returned wearing a yellow polka-dot sundress. She twirled around as the skirt chased after her. “What do you think? For May Day?”

“You’re beautiful, Abigail.” She looked so much like Elizabeth, with her long white-blond hair. I remembered Elizabeth warning us about celebrating May Day, but those were different times. Ashevillians celebrated witches in a way that Salem did not. Here the witches and Wiccans were safe.

“What May Day?” Pixel asked from his spot by the fire.

“Beltane and Samhain are considered the two turning points of the year. Wiccans believe the veil between the human and supernatural world is at its thinnest, making those two days potent for magic crafting. Beltane mean fires of bel in honor of the Celtic sun god Belenus. Fire has the power to cleanse and purify. They light fires, dance, and feast.”

“Feast?” Pixel’s ears popped up.

“They dance around a maypole, which is a spring fertility ritual.”

“Pixel like feast. Pixel like May Day.” He wound around me, purring and nuzzling me.

“We’re going to celebrate,” Abigail said. “We’ll tell the ladies.”

“Yes, I believe it is safe.” It would do the ladies good to have a celebration. It would be relief from the recent darkness.

“What do you mean safe, Terra?”

“I’ve seen a lot of magic awakening in Asheville. Celebrating May Day would draw that magic out. We need to control it before it is commanded elsewhere and becomes black magic. We need to find a ninth Wiccan to complete the circle. This could draw her to us.”

Abigail half listened as she admired her reflection in a copper kettle. I hadn’t thought it possible, but she was becoming more beautiful. Bryson stared at Abigail as she stared at herself. Watchers had deep affections for their watched but never turned that into love. That was dangerous. Bryson loved Abigail. He saw me staring at him and disappeared.