Witch in the Lighthouse: The Witch of Emelle, #1

Witch in the Lighthouse

The Witch of Emelle

Book One

Azalea Forrest

Copyright © 2017 Azalea Forrest

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 1983581445

ISBN-13: 978-1983581441

Cover design by Azalea Forrest and Math Graphics & Audio.

Mathematician Records

Florida

www.azaleaforrest.wordpress.com

www.mathematicianrecords.com

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank the artists and animators that have inspired me

throughout my life. There are too many to name.

My friends, for their encouragement and help in editing.

And my partner, for always being there for me.

PROLOGUE

Sunlight shone down through the roof of the greenhouse, warming the redhead’s freckled cheeks while the smell of fresh earth and flowers filled the air. The floor, a mixture of dirt and cobblestone, felt warm and inviting beneath her bare feet. Magnolia Hanna smiled to herself as she clipped chamomile flowers from a shelf of plants with her grandmother Sophie who, although shriveled by the years, was still a charming presence to her granddaughter.

We’ll dry these for the old Parker couple and I’ll show you how to give it a good spark, dear. Grandma Sophie laughed with vigor despite her age. She elbowed her granddaughter in jest and Maggie elbowed her in return as they both chuckled at the idea of giving a love potion to their neighbors.

Grandmother! Maggie laughed and attempted a stern expression at her elder. Sophie gave her a sly look. The young woman collected lavender, basil and mint, each feeling resinous against her fingers and a smidge sticky, then clipped a sunflower from its stalk and placed them all on a drying rack nearby with the chamomile. All but the flowers gave off a strong scent, but each played well against the other, like tea on a warm summer’s day.

I thought we weren’t supposed to judge a customer in need, she continued.

"My dear, give an old woman a break. These bones are due for a good teasing if they’re to make an aphrodisiac for the Parkers."

It did take them a bit of courage to approach us, Maggie commented, smiling.

Perhaps they’ll appreciate our services a bit more, then. You’d think they would have moved out of town by now if they were really so bothered. Batty old fools.

Magnolia rolled her eyes as she adjusted a hefty potted plant so the leaves would stretch out more evenly. The look was of endearment: Grandma Sophie was as energetic as ever.

The Parkers weren’t all that bad. They were new to the lives of witches and had moved to the town of Emelle to be closer to their family, who happened to be witches themselves. In fact, most of the villagers were witches. Not all of them had the potion prowess that Grandma Sophie had, however, which was why Sophie and her granddaughter dried the herbs for the Parker’s potion now.

No, witches had all sorts of specialties and professions in Emelle. Some enchanted clothing, some were farmers, some were even carpenters and potters. There was a librarian witch, a fire-fighting witch and even a mechanic witch. Emelle had a quaint population, but everyone tried to be useful in their own way. Some did dabble in potion making, but Grandma Sophie was the expert.

Magnolia stood from beside the pot on the floor and wiped her hands on her apron, which was tan in color with little plants and flowers detailed in the top corners. It covered the yellow dress she wore beneath. Her mother had made the apron and Maggie couldn’t get over how cute it was.

Well, we’re done for now, aren’t we? Maggie began untying her apron, ready to end the day.

Sophie sighed. Youth, she said, smiling. Ever eager. Yes, dear, for now. Let’s take a break in the house, shall we?

Maggie hung her apron on the hook by the door and picked up the hat that sat on its rack beside it. While she didn’t regularly wear the customary black garb—and no one in her village seemed to do so anymore, either—she at least wore the pointed black hat. She grinned at her grandmother and received a small bow in return.

Grandma Sophie used her cane to hobble across the greenhouse to where Maggie held the door. Once she was through, Maggie followed, and they walked back to the family home together.

Stepping stones were laid casually in the earth and they led to the two story white house of the Hanna’s. Runes were carved into some of the stones and steps that led up the wrap-around porch, where plants and small statues decorated the floorboards and windows. Maggie helped her grandmother up the few steps and opened the screen door. There, the redhead stopped to see her mother sitting in the kitchen, holding a letter and crying.

Mom? Maggie hurried into the kitchen and put her hand on the table, close to her mother’s hand. Sophie stood in the doorway and adjusted her glasses as she took in Amora’s condition.

What’s wrong, dear? Grandma Sophie asked.

Amora stared at Sophie, as if afraid to speak. Her eyes dropped to the letter in her hands. It’s Tom, she wept. He’s died of a heart attack. Leaning back in her chair, she lowered the letter to the table and covered her eyes.

Magnolia and Sophie both blanched, but it was Grandma Sophie that walked into the kitchen and put her hand upon her daughter-in-law’s back. She took the letter, her back to Maggie.

Maggie was too stunned to do much of anything but stand there, staring at the letter shaking in her grandmother’s grip. How could she console either of them?

Even though Tom was Amora’s brother-in-law, he may as well have been blood, for how close they all were. For him to die so suddenly and so young was shocking.

Amora, where’s Daniel? Grandma Sophie asked, the grief stark in her voice.

Magnolia’s mother shook her head, unable to answer, and Sophie finally turned to face Maggie.

Fetch your father, dear. Go on.

The look on her grandmother’s face seized Maggie’s heart, and she dashed from the room to find her father, already struggling to brush the tears from her eyes.

~*~

The next few weeks were filled with meetings and letters, discussing the funeral and going over the will. At the end of it all, Maggie was sitting in her room wrapped in blankets and staring at a paper. It was a personal letter from Uncle Thomas that was included with his will.

"Dear Magpie,

I can imagine this letter doesn’t find you well. I am sorry for that, but it seems I have passed. Excuse me if this comes off as rather queer. You see, I’ve had a share of strange feelings lately. I felt it imperative to write this out and let you know how much I love and miss you and the family.

I’m sure Daniel is happy in his hovel, and I say that lovingly. So in the event of my passing, I want you to have the lighthouse. Please, take care of it, if you would have it. I know you loved it as a child, and in our letters you seem to still comment on it affectionately. I think the town would be happy to have a competent witch taking care of the lighthouse; I think you’d do a better job than an old man like me, and with time to spare. Once they get to know you, they’ll warm up.

I love you, Magnolia. And the family, too.

~Thomas"

Tom had always written a bit differently than how he spoke in person and it always made her laugh, even during a serious matter such as this and even through the tears. It was always prim and proper.

She wiped her eyes and sat the letter down in her lap. When she was little, Tom would hold her hand as they climbed the lighthouse stairwell together. Every time she reached the top, she would be amazed at how far she could see. She felt like a giant, and Tom would tell her so. She remembered when they would drink hot chocolate in his living room, especially when it rained… The tears had come again, and she hadn’t even noticed. I should have gone to see him again, she thought bitterly. But she couldn’t let the grief take over, so she drew a deep, shaky breath.

Maggie had never dreamed she would own the lighthouse, nor that her uncle would pass so soon. It was so sudden, and she was anxious to think of moving away from home. She had been thinking of going to visit her uncle before all this happened, that was true. She might have even considered living with him, if he would have had her.

Being close to her family, it was difficult to part from them, and now that Tom was gone, being alone in that empty lighthouse full of memories almost made her feel paralyzed. But she was a proper witch now, and considered an adult at twenty-one, so maybe it was the right time. This was a real opportunity to grow and be independent, despite the unhappy circumstance. She did miss the town, and the smell of the ocean...and especially the lighthouse up on the hill. What she missed most, though, she would never see again.

Still, she managed to smile. Tom wanted her to have it, so she would accept it. Someone needed to take care of the old spire, after all, and she did have fond memories of it. When she really got down to her feelings, and she always tried to be honest with herself, she would love to own the lighthouse. This would be a new beginning. She could share her magic and make new friends.

A tear, and then another, ran down her face. She lifted a hand, quietly laughing, to wipe them away. Gods, she missed him.

The idea of spending another moment moping in her room was suddenly abhorrent. She gently folded the letter and placed it on her nightstand. With a flourish, she threw the blankets still covering her to the floor and stood. Placing her hands on her hips, she surveyed her belongings, her eyes still red and puffy, but her heart full of hope.

It was time to pack.

~*~

Magnolia stayed for the funeral, but as soon as it was over, she had her pack prepared and was ready to leave the next morning. She viewed her uncle’s grave once more, where it stood at the forest’s edge in Emelle’s cemetery. Ferns crept out from the forest, peeking out along the edge of the treeline, and a lone dogwood grew outside of the pine to offer shade over Tom’s grave. The leaves of the dogwood were as white as snow, and had been grown from magic. Maggie left more flowers on his tombstone and a drawing of his lighthouse, as if solidifying her promise and her farewell.

On the family porch, she hugged her parents goodbye.

Are you sure you need to leave today? Her father brushed some of Maggie’s hair from her face. He was tall like his late brother, but willowy in comparison to Tom’s stocky demeanor. Amora held onto his arm, forlorn but smiling through it all.

Yes, Maggie said, positive. If I stay any longer, I might not leave at all. She forced a smile to match her mother’s.

"Be careful. You can visit us any time. We’d love to visit you when you’re