The Tales and Tellings of Hallows' Grove (MLM)

CHAPTER ONE.

Text copyright © KatherineBlackmare ™ 2022

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***

                The air felt different. Colder. The rest of Hallows' Grove owed that to the changing weather. Henry knew that was part of it. But only part of it.

Henry Everwood lived a while away from the rest of the quaint little town. His cottage was encircled with trees now turned to red, rust, and gold, the scattering leaves across the grounds and whichever of the remaining redwings' singing the only company in his studies.

He stood by his window hugging a mug of chamomile tea, looking out onto the weather-worn brick wall around his home, the sky blanketed in grey clouds, the wind howling softly through the branches. Off to the corner behind him a thick concoction bubbled and spewed in its cauldron. Every so often, Henry walked over and stirred the contents.

His sitting room was a small, circular space, a collection of squat armchairs and couches, thick rugs all over the stone floors, throw pillows and blankets, and a roaring fireplace in the corner. As he pulled a cardigan off a rocking chair, he checked the hands on the small clock on his mantelpiece.

"Almost finished," he told his black cat, Nox, who was pacing the length of the worktable, manoeuvring around the glass jars and ink bottles with ease, his golden eyes fixed on the mixture. "Think it needs anything else?"

Nox sniffed the contents once, twice, then meowed and swiped his tail at one of the many corked bottles of dried herbs.

"Rosemary?" he picked it up. "You sure?"

"Meow!" Nox sounded insulted.

Henry chuckled. "All right, all right, if you insist."

An hour later, the greenish brew had cooled, and Henry ladled them into five mason jars. He sealed the rest with some fabric and twine yarn, leaving only one which he took outside to the garden, his cat following behind to lunge at falling leaves.

"There you are, my darlings," Henry murmured to the cluster of jasmines whose petals had started to wilt. "This ought to put you right. Autumn's very pretty, but rough on the herbs, I'm afraid. Careful, Nox," he warned, "don't touch the hemlock."

Nox hissed half-heartedly at the white plant before he went to chew the mints instead. Once Henry had finished applying the mixture to the soil and cleaned his hands off on a cloth, he picked up Nox, breathing into his fur to restore some warmth to his face.

Nox meowed under his breath. "I know," Henry murmured, studying the grounds carefully, looking for any shift in the air, anything moving on its own, any low moan disguised as wind. "I know."

Walking back into his kitchen, Henry waved a hand and the tap turned. A sponge rose into the air and started scrubbing at the cauldron. A broom swept the fallen herbs off the floor and the windows opened on their own to change the smell of the room.