Speaker 1: A familiar is not chosen, A familiar chooses, and the
magic obeys. The Nine Old Laws of witchcraft scratched into
Henry's first scratching post. Henry knew something was changing long
before Silver did. Witches were always emotional volcanoes brilliant, chaotic,
occasionally explosive, but this shift was different. Magic in the
hollow hummed louder. Old pathways stirred beneath the roots of
the pines. The lamp post flickered at odd hours, as
if trying to blink out a warning, and Henry Henry
felt his wings tingling beneath his fur, a sign he
had hoped would never return. He sat atop the cottage cabinets,
grooming a wing with unnecessary aggression, when Silver called up
to him, Henry, are you all right, No.
Speaker 2: Henry said flatly, I am preemptively annoyed.
Speaker 1: Silver frowned by what the future? She stared. He continued
grooming with the air of a philosopher who'd lived too
long to explain things concisely. The Fernwood bloodline a problem.
Silver sat at the table with her journal open, flipping
through pages of her mother's handwriting, Henry, what does it mean?
That fernwood witches guard the space between. Henry paused midlick.
His ears twitched, his wings rustled once, like memory passing
through him.
Speaker 2: It means, Henry said slowly, that your family was not
made to stay in one world.
Speaker 1: Silver blinked. But that sounds incredibly stressful.
Speaker 2: Yes, Henry said, it is.
Speaker 1: He hopped down, landing gracefully, wings tucked tight.
Speaker 2: Magic runs in lines, Silver. Most witches cast spells, some heel,
some manipulate the elements. Some brew potions so potent they
violate several culinary safety guidelines.
Speaker 1: Silver winced, like my clarity potion. Henry ignored that.
Speaker 2: But Fernwood's fern Wood's guard the thresholds.
Speaker 1: Silver hesitated, thresholds between what Henry looked up at her
really looked with ancient eyes that had watched centuries shift
around him.
Speaker 2: Between the worlds, he said, quietly, and between the living
and the lost time and more.
Speaker 1: The word more held an ominous glow. Silver's heartbeat stuttered.
A chill swept the room. My family did that. Henry's
tail curled around her ankle.
Speaker 2: Yes, he murmured, and now so will you.
Speaker 1: The origin of Henry properly told. Silver swallowed Henry, how
old are you? Exactly? Henry stared at her, unimpressed.
Speaker 2: I am timeless, so very old. Rude.
Speaker 1: Silver bit her lip. Are you older than Fernwood Hollow?
Henry narrowed his eyes.
Speaker 2: Define older, Henry.
Speaker 1: He sighed, loudly, dramatically, as if she were interrupting his retirement.
Speaker 2: Fine, the truth is this, I was created long before
Fernwood Hollow had cottages or gardens or a bench for
dramatic revelations.
Speaker 1: Silver leaned forward, created by who? Henry's wings unfurled, not fully,
just enough that the silver light shimmering along the feathers
illuminated the kitchen.
Speaker 2: A witch, he said, voice softening, not Rowan, not your
mother older.
Speaker 1: Silver's breath caught.
Speaker 2: Her name was Queen Erelithe Fernwood.
Speaker 1: Silver whispered, my ancestor.
Speaker 2: The first. Henry confirmed. She forged, the line, built the hollow,
spoke with magic as easily as breathing, and summoned forth
the dragons.
Speaker 1: Silver pressed a hand to her chest. A queen was
she powerful?
Speaker 2: Henry's gaze distant, terrifyingly and kind and lonely.
Speaker 1: He looked away.
Speaker 2: She called me into being from moonlight, feather, memory and
something she refused to name.
Speaker 1: Silver smiled gently. She made you because she was lonely.
Henry cleared his throat with a fence.
Speaker 2: She did not make me, but she required assistance. I
simply stayed longer than necessary. But yes, also, companionship, which
is without familiars, do tend to explode.
Speaker 1: Silver blinked emotionally.
Speaker 2: Among other ways.
Speaker 1: The overarching truth Henry has avoided telling her. Silver returned
to the journal. Henry, the spirit yesterday, the one with
the silver glow, was that Queen Arelith. Henry went still, too, still.
Finally he said, mayhaps. Silver exhaled shakily. Oh. I wasn't sure,
because she felt.
Speaker 2: But Henry added, you are not ready. Just know it
was connected to her, to your bloodline, to the hollow waking.
Speaker 1: Silver looked up slowly. What does that mean? Henry stretched
his wings once, as if preparing for something heavy.
Speaker 2: It means the barrier between worlds is thinning.
Speaker 1: And when that happens, Silver waited. Henry's voice dropped.
Speaker 2: Something is preparing to cross.
Speaker 1: The room felt colder, quieter, cross from where Silver whispered.
Henry didn't answer, not directly, because he didn't want to lie,
and he wasn't ready to tell her the truth. Not yet.
Magic misbehaves again. Silver pushed her hair back, trembling slightly.
But Henry, if something is coming through, what are we
supposed to do? Henry hopped onto her lap unusually gentle.
Speaker 2: Prepare, learn, grow stronger, and.
Speaker 1: He hesitated trust colt. Silver's cheeks flushed. Why him? Henry's
wings shimmered faintly.
Speaker 2: Because fern woods do not guard the threshold alone, he said,
they never have. The mcmillans were the other half.
Speaker 1: Silver blinked the what Henry sighed.
Speaker 2: Oh, stars, I really must do everything.
Speaker 1: The McMillan connection, or why fate has no subtlety? Henry
paste tail swishing like an irritated metronome.
Speaker 2: Your line, he said, opens the threshold. His line keeps
it stable. Together. Fern wood and McMillan prevent the worlds
from tearing into each other.
Speaker 1: Silver's eyes widened.
Speaker 2: That sounds important, it is, Henry said, disastrously so. And
the hollow only awakens both bloodlines when something threatens the balance.
Speaker 1: Silver swallowed hard, are we in danger? Henry glanced toward
the window, where Twilight pressed against the glass like an observer. Oh, absolutely, Silver, squeaked,
Henry continued, but.
Speaker 2: Do not be dramatic. The danger is not here yet.
It is simply.
Speaker 1: Awake elsewhere in the woods. Colt stood beneath the pines,
pendant glowing hot against his chest. He didn't know why
the magic reacted to him, or why it whispered Silver's
name like a memory, or why the hollow hummed like
a giant heartbeat beneath the soil, but he felt it.
Something was coming. Thunder snorted beside him, stamping the earth.
Colt exhaled, I know.
Speaker 2: He murmured.
Speaker 1: We're running out of time. Back at the cottage, Silver
wrapped her arms around herself. Henry, what if I'm not
enough for this? His wings unfolded gently, protectively, curling around
her shoulders like moonlit armor.
Speaker 2: You are fern wood, he whispered, and fern wood does
not break.
Speaker 1: Silver leaned into him. Will you stay with me, Henry
pretended to scoff.
Speaker 2: I vowed to stay. My vow is stronger than steal.
Speaker 1: But his wings never left her. Outside, the lamp post flickered,
the hollow trembled lightly like a sleeper stirring, and somewhere
deep within the forest, something answered the stir with a
faint echo. Soon Henry's wings tightened, Silver closed her eyes,
and the story stepped one chapter closer to the truth.