Jenna Ryan - Raven's Hollow

“You think I’m channeling a three-hundred-year-old ghost?” Even knowing Molly was serious, Sadie quirked her lips. “Okay, I doubt that. And possession’s even more out there. My guess is it’s a residual memory.”

“Of our cousin Laura’s death?”

Dropping both her sunglasses and a firm mental shield in place, Sadie regarded the cloudless blue sky over Raven’s Hollow. “The anniversary of her murder’s coming up in ten days.”

“Yes, but, Sadie, Laura died twenty years ago.”

“I know. Look, this topic’s too uncomfortable for me right now. I need to move past it before I spook myself into doing something ridiculous, like consulting a hypnotist. All I wanted when I came into the drugstore was to show you a preview of tomorrow’s B-Section headline.” At Molly’s level stare, she rolled her eyes. “Yes, fine, and buy a bottle of Tylenol.”

Satisfied, her cousin lifted the ponytail from her neck. “You’ve bought two bottles of Tylenol in the last week, Sadie. You don’t usually go through that many in a whole year.” She frowned. “Meaning you have a problem either at home or at the newspaper. And since you put in three years with the Philadelphia Inquirer and two more with the Washington Post, I can’t see our Mini-Me daily overstressing you. So, home it is. And seeing as you live alone...”

“Right, good, got it.” Sadie waved her to a halt. “Your deductive skills are as sharp as ever—and FYI, the offer for you to come and help me run the Chronicle stands.”

Her cousin’s mouth compressed. “You know I’m not good with people.”

“Molly, you’re a pharmacist. You talk to people all day long.”

“I’m in control—well, sort of in control behind the counter. Reporters have to wade into unfamiliar territory and be cheerful, sneaky, sly, whatever it takes to gain an interviewee’s confidence.”

“I said help me run the paper, not trick your friends and neighbors into telling you all their dirty little secrets.”

Molly let her ponytail drop and her shoulders hunch. “I hear plenty of secrets without wading or tricking. Too many some days. Example, Ben Leamer’s sister came in this morning.”

“Ah.” Sadie worked up a smile. “Boils or hemorrhoids?”

“Both. She went into detail for forty minutes.”

“And I’m complaining about a few nightmares. Having said that, and seriously hoping you won’t elaborate on the state of Dorothy Leamer’s hemorrhoids, I’ll ask again, what did you think of my headline?” She dangled the sample copy for her cousin to see.

Raven’s Cove’s Oldest Resident Breezes Into His Second Century.

“It’s good.” Molly pushed her hands into the pockets of her smock. “The photo of old Rooney in his cottage is perfect.”

“Why do I sense a but?”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing things a bit? Rooney Blume’s birthday is two weeks away.”

“And the Chronicle will be running stories about his extremely colorful life until he reaches that landmark date.”

“That’s the point. What if he doesn’t?”

“Reach the landmark? Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because he’s a hundred years old. He could die any day. Any minute. Writing ahead might jinx him.”

Tipping her sunglasses down, Sadie stared. “Have you met the man? Rhetorical question,” she said before her cousin could respond. “He smoked a pipe until he was ninety-two. I hate to think how much whiskey he knocks back in a day. He tells dirty jokes nonstop at the dockside bar that’s basically his second home in the Cove, then laughs until his face turns bright red. If none of those things have gotten him, me writing a series of articles two weeks ahead isn’t likely to do it.”

Molly’s chin came up in a rare show of defiance. “Maybe that’s what your recurring dreams mean.”

“What, you think they’re telling me not to fly in the face of God and/or fate? They’re stories, Molly. Feel-good articles that will, I hope, help stop the residents of our twin towns from going for each other’s throats every time one’s name is mentioned to the other. I’m sure this kind of resent-the-twin thing doesn’t happen in Minneapolis or St. Paul.”

“Raven’s Hollow and Raven’s Cove aren’t twin towns. We’re more like evil stepsisters. The Cove has nasty raven legends. We have a history of witches. You’ll never mesh those two things. Just—never.”

As if cued, a man Sadie recognized from Raven’s Cove strolled past. His name was Samuel Blume. He carried a racing form and a rabbit’s foot in one hand and a copy of the Chronicle in the other. A huge smile split his weathered face.

“Afternoon, ladies. I see you’re forecasting big rain and wind tonight, Sadie. Must be your Bellam blood rearing its witchy head, because the radio and TV both say sunny and hot for at least three more days.”

She shrugged. “You choose, Sam. My newspaper’s going with the rain and wind.”

“Good thing I brought my lucky charm. I’ll be sure to get myself out of here and home safe before whatever storm you’re brewing up hits.”

“I rest my case,” Molly said when the man moved along. “We’re Bellams, he’s a Blume. He assumes we’re all like our ancestor. It’s a battle of sarcastic wills. Hollow witches versus Cove ravens. Whose legends pack a bigger wallop?”

“Well, now you’re getting weird.” Sadie used the folded preview edition of the Chronicle to fan her face. “We’re not supernatural versions of the Hatfields and McCoys, and we’re definitely not Cinderella’s stepsisters in town form. Besides, the Raven’s Hollow police chief’s a Blume, and he doesn’t believe in legends at all. So pax, and thanks for the Tylenol.”

Sadie turned to leave, but a tiny sound from Molly stopped her.

“Problem?” she asked, turning back.

“No. It’s just—you look very nice today.”

Sadie glanced down at her green-black tank top, her long, floaty skirt and high wedge sandals. “Thank you—I think.”

“You seem more city than town to me.”

“Okay.” Her eyebrows went up. “Does that mean something?”

“I wonder how long you’ll stay.”

“I’ve been here for two years so far, plus the seven I put in as a kid.”

“I’ve been here my whole life. You have a transient soul, Sadie. I think you’ll eventually get bored with the Hollow and move on.”

“Maybe.” She waited a beat before asking, “Is that a bad thing?”

“For you, no. But others belong here.”

It took Sadie a moment to figure out where this was going. Then she followed her cousin’s gaze to the police station and heard the click.

“Ty and I were only engaged for a few months. We realized our mistake, ended the engagement and now we’re friends.” Her eyes sparkled. “A Bellam and a Blume, Molly. Can you imagine the repercussions if we’d challenged the natural order of things and followed through with a wedding? Although,” she added, “it’s been done before, and neither the Hollow nor the Cove fell into the Atlantic as a result.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry. Really. I know you like Ty. It’s good. I like him, too, just not the way a potential life mate should.”

Molly’s cheeks went pink. “Everyone likes Ty. I didn’t mean—I don’t have a thing for him.”

“No? Weird,” Sadie repeated. She grinned. “Bye, Molly.”

“Bye, Sadie.”

With a quick—and she had to admit—somewhat guilty glance at the station house, Sadie started off again.

The fact that it took her fifteen minutes to make what should have been a two-minute walk no longer surprised her. Ten people stopped her on the sidewalk to jab fingers at the clear blue sky. Thankfully, only three of the ten inquired about the source of the Chronicle’s forecast.