"The good thing about being out here is we'll hear people coming before they get too close," Brook told Dolores. "It's quiet out here. I mean yes, there are forest noises. But someone approaching will just sound...different." Unless someone was trying to sneak up on them, but Brook didn't see any reason why that would happen. And that gave Brook an idea of their first lesson. "I've got an idea," he said. Looking around, Brook found a stick on the ground and grabbed it, handing it to Dolores. "If we really didn't want someone to see what we were up to, we could do a spell so that if anyone approached the perimeter, we would get a sort of alarm. It's not like an alarm with sound, more like a sense that someone had crossed the line. I don't think you'll be able to do one large enough to really be beneficial today, but it's a start."
This was a good place to start as it was a relatively minor spell, especially for a small area. "The stick is just to help focus where you want the perimeter to be," Brook explained. "You don't actually need it, but I've found that if I actually draw the boundary while reciting the incantation, it helps me with my focus of where I want the line to be." He walked a small circle around them, and Brook said, "That feels like a small enough area for now. Now the thing with incantations is there's not like a set one for different spells. It's more about whatever feels right, whatever helps you tap into your power. You could even just say 'circle circle circle' over and over again if that helps. A lot of witches - especially the ones in my family - like their incantations to have a little flourish, but they don't have to. That's really just to add a little pizzaz, you know? It's not necessary though." He walked the circle around them again, instructing Dolores, "Now let's try it."
Dolores' face lit up when he told her about an alarm spell. She had no idea such things were even possible, but it made sense that witches had developed spells to protect them from spies. "Yes, it's a start," she agreed. It was a great start. That way, if Brook became too busy to keep giving her the lessons, she could practice on her own unbothered.
She smiled when he mentioned his family. How she wished she could have been a part of something like that, to have been raised always knowing about her powers and always being valued for them, taught about them, inside a witch culture. When Dolores went to sleep that previous night after meeting Brook, she had dreamt of a big family gathering where there were food plates floating towards the table, bottles filling glasses with water and wine, relatives laughing and telling stories as they passed the bread with an elegant and well-practiced hand flourish. She had been sitting among them, watching them as if for the first time, grinning to herself as she felt truly thankful for them all.
Dolores gripped the stick in her hand, sank the tip of it in the ground, and dragged it along as she muttered 'circle, circle, circle' under her breath. Once she was done she moved back inside, in case she accidentally stepped over the boundary without noticing it. She let a few seconds pass, and then looked around herself. "Is that alright?" she asked. "I... I don't feel anything." Dolores wasn't completely sure what she was expecting to happen. A forcefield of some sort to be conjured up, maybe? A thin veil appearing around her, or a change in the atmosphere? But as the seconds passed, the more she did feel something. A strange tension in the air, delicate, but increasingly clear.
Romeo knew that Dolores was right; he was far from the only competent doctor available at the hospital, and even if he was, it was his right to take breaks and for the hospital to actively seek out enough staff that would allow for that. The honest truth was that while the hospital could manage, Romeo wasn't sure that he could. Of course, that wasn't something he was going to disclose to a work friend in the middle of the bakery, but it was a thought that weighed heavily in his mind. "I suppose you're right," he offered in response.
"Well I haven't actually been here for the holidays in years," in Cardinal Hill, Romeo meant. "We used to always celebrate growing up," something that had transitioned from a great time of excitement into a great time of dread for Romeo after it became glaringly obvious that he would not be inheriting the magical powers the rest of his family had. "I suppose my family still does, but I'm not sure what it'll look like this year," he shrugged his broad shoulders.
After a moment of mentally preparing himself to speak of his ex with a casual tone, as if all had ended well between them, Romeo continued on on the subject. "The last few years I didn't do anything too dramatic, either, my ex and I, we'd just celebrate quietly," he made it, through an entire sentence vaguely related to his ex, and all had turned out just fine. A silent victory. "Maybe I can start some new traditions now that I'm back," he supposed, though he highly doubted such a positive thing would happen. Romeo would much rather improve the days of those in need of medical help than work towards what would likely be a let down for himself. "I hope your holiday season sounds a lot more fun than my own," he added with a chuckle, finally turning the conversation back to his company.
It was hard to read Romeo's expression and ascertain if he really did miss those holiday celebrations or not. Dolores stared at him, trying to see which one was it. "Hm. I wonder what I would do for the holidays, if I didn't have my mother hanging around all the time." Nothing, most likely. She was not the type to celebrate or have parties, but she did suppose she could try to invite some people over for a meal, at least to make sure she didn't spend the holidays completely alone.
She did not notice Romeo's struggle to talk about his previous partner. What she did was wonder what type of celebration, big or small, he used to have with the ex. Dolores sighed. "All we do for the holidays, my mother and I, is go to this little church in the middle of nowhere to celebrate midnight mass." The two Cuervo women made that trip every year and, dull as it was, Dolores had found ways to tune out and let the experience just wash over her. "Not very fun."
There was a moment in which she kept quiet and kept thinking, if there was any holiday she actually enjoyed. Halloween, most likely. Ever since she was a kid, candy, costumes, getting scared, it all meant a welcome change from the day-to-day and into a few hours where anything could happen. Christmas, well –Christmas was just predictable by now. "What sort of traditions would you think of starting?"
Sujin blinked at the young woman's words, nodding slowly and he processed the information given to them. He'd come across one too many young, lost, confused witches that had stumbled upon his small store before.
Yet, this witch didn't seem as lost, just very, very confused. Patchy, his parrot, fluttered his wings as he relayed the other's words to the witch. And their next words were enough of an explanation for the young witch to understand just why this person seemed so confused.
A new witch? They hummed, as if in thought before giving the other a smile. "Well, this is the secret grove," Sujin started, clasping his hands together. "I sell enchanted plants, mainly," he smiled again, looking around the small place. He sure was proud of himself for how well he'd been looking after the place. "And some magic items here and there, about everything you see here, but the talking bird is for sale."
"Enchanted plants?" Dolores repeated. "For... For potions, and such?" Were potions an actual thing among witches? She thought of herself back as a little girl, digging holes in the ground at the park to fill with muddy water and apple juice, and adding flowers, leaves, dead bugs, everything she could get her hands on and that she felt would be right. Chanting a bunch of words in latin she had found in a dictionary at the library, hoping something would happen. Of course it was all just a mess she made back then, but what if she was actually close to making something with some dormant magic?
She looked around a bit and tried her best to identify some of what she saw: unfortunately, she had never been particularly good at botany. "What is this one for?" Dolores asked, gently touching the leaves of a plant with small, lovely yellow flowers. "I can imagine a lot have healing properties, but... Um, what else do they do?"
Truthfully Brook was starting to wonder if Dolores changed her mind. It was something that had been in his head, wondering if once the thrill of meeting another witch wore off if she would have second thoughts. After all, how good of a teacher could Brook possibly be without doing any magic himself? Better than nothing didn't equate to good. But then Dolores emerged through the trees, Brook smiling; he wouldn't have blamed Dolores, but he was still glad not to be out here waiting around like a fool. "There you are," Brook said with a smile. "It's nice to see you too, Dolores. How are things at the hospital?" Brook hadn't been there for a bit now that the surgeon he had been filling in for was back.
Looking around the area when Dolores did, Brook asked, "Do you think this will work?" He hoped so because it was kind of a perfect place to train. It wasn't too far into the forest, but it was far enough that it felt private, and the area was wide open enough to be amenable to all sorts of magic. "That's a good question," Brook responded with a laugh, trying to gather his confidence because he really, really wanted to be a good teacher. "I think the best way to start," he decided more surely, "is by you showing me just what you can do so I have an idea of what we need to work on."
"Everything's fine... No news, really." Things were quiet at the hospital. Maybe people were taking better care of themselves for once, but at least she didn't have much work for the last couple days. That meant more time for herself, for reading, exploring and practicing. It had her in a slightly better mood than usual. The upcoming new year would find her readier than ever to become a proper witch.
"I think this is about as good as it gets," Dolores replied as she looked around. It was like where she would try to practice when she was younger, and for that, that familiarity, she had to admit she felt some level of comfort that was quite reassuring. Regardless, it wasn't like there were many other options for places in which a witch could practice her skills.
"Well... I can't do much, but what I can do, I think I can do well enough." Dolores started a little fire on the palm of her right hand, and slowly allowed it to grow until the flames were almost as tall as her. She smiled –there weren't many chances for her to practice this particular skill, so she was happy to see that she could still manage it just fine –and closed her hand in a fist, extinguishing it. "And, of course..." Looking around herself, she selected a dozen or so little pebbles and twigs, took a deep breath, and made them levitate towards her, settling in a little pile by her feet. "Also..." Dolores kneeled and ran her hand across the grass of the clearing. Under the frost and the cold she managed to feel, faintly, the leaves of a dead dandelion that had tried its best: she cupped the little plant under her fingers, as if giving it warmth, and, gritting her teeth, slowly raised it. The dandelion stretched itself over the grass and struggled to grow, first a couple green leaves, then a thin stem, then a blossom... But Dolores drew her hand away, and without it the dandelion withered and died. "Not very impressive, I guess, but... That's what I can do, so far."
Every Christmas, the same ritual took place. Dolores dreaded it, but she knew how much it meant to her mother, so no matter how much she would complain, there was the implicit acceptance of its need in the Cuervo household. And, once again, it was time. The yearly pilgrimage to Our Lady of Sorrows, where the midnight mass would be had.
Dolores always insisted this was the year she wouldn't go. Invariably, her mother forced her to –or rather, Dolores allowed her to force her. Traditionally, Luisa would guilt-trip her daughter, telling her that she couldn't go alone on account of her bad leg, that she could have an accident and trip and fall, completely on her own with nobody around to help her. Dolores would reply that she wouldn't be on her own, that there would be other people that could help her on the way. Luisa would then retort that one could never rely on the kindness of strangers.
They waited a while out there in the cold, having sips of a thermos filled with hot coffee –Luisa said that the struggle, the pain and the effort were part of the religious experience, to be closer to Jesus' divinity –but they were both nurses, too, and would rather not get sick. They took the night bus out of Cardinal Hill, almost empty but for an old skinny man with bleary eyes and trembling jaw, and an apple-cheeked teenager using her backpack as a pillow. They watched the dark winter landscape pass them by, snow banks, bare trees, all barely illuminated by the yellow lights on the side of the road and the dim white glow of a crescent moon. They leaned against each other, wrapped in their thick coats, huddling for warmth. Dolores managed to convince her mother to bring her cane, so at least that was a small victory.
By the time they arrived, the other parishioners were already watching the small procession. Luisa grumbled and complained that the bus went too slow. They joined the others and sang the hymn. It was a reduced congregation, befitting the size of the church. As she sang, her voice barely coming out from her mouth, Dolores glanced at the attendants beside her.
'Father, Son and Holy Spirit'. Dolores' right hand was synchronized with those of the rest of the congregation, and they all lowered their heads in reverence at the exact same time. Once there was a moment of respectful silence, the feverish faces lit up and gazed at the altar, but Dolores didn't, she just turned to look at her mother sitting beside her. Luisa had her eyes wide open, lips quivering, as if in raptured waiting for a miracle, as if there could be any surprises with that mass, at that congregation, in that little godforsaken church in the middle of nowhere. With a subtle sigh, Dolores weaved her fingers together, her warm breath brushing her prickling thumbs, as the candle-lit, almost glowing priest sang the praises of tradition.
Tradition. What good was tradition? It was a safe, well-trodden road meant to comfort those too afraid to get lost. Cowards, in her eyes. But what if they found something new on the less travelled path? Something valuable? Innovation could only come from that deviation... But tradition was important to her mother, so in a sense, it was important to Dolores, too. At least to save face, to keep her happy.
Luisa slapped her daughter's arm to call her attention. Penitence. They bowed their heads and remained still, listening to the breathless hushes of lips begging for forgiveness. Rejection of their sins, devoted repentance, holy absolution.
Dolores' sins –her magic. Nothing had ever terrified her as much as hell did. As excited and joyful as she had been to have discovered powers of her own, by that following Easter she had become fully paranoid of someone, anyone, discovering her dangerous secret. Barely a teenager, her usual questions to the priest on the nature of morality and the greater good were replaced by questions regarding Saint Bernardino and the Malleficarum. Witch trials, witch burnings, witch executions. More and more questions, on everything that could be done to save a soul. It was still astounding the priest hadn't realized something was very, very wrong with young Dolores Cuervo. She would end up teary-eyed and with grit teeth after every talk, having received nothing of real help. She had wanted this –magic powers of her own –but now that the threat of damnation was real... Now what? Was there no way to turn back?
She tried renouncing her powers. She made an improvised ritual in the woods one night of full moon, while her mother was asleep and the path was clear. She prayed for hours on end for God to take her magic away. She promised never to use magic again, if that would mean her soul would be saved.
This, of course, only lasted for a few months. Nothing took her magic away –it was still there, in the veins throbbing under the skin of her palms, in the blood rushing through her head, in the joints cracking from the effort to push everything down. It was so, so hard. And if God hadn't taken it away, if He wouldn't save her, if it was her fate to be condemned –then why not embrace it? Midnights became the witching hour in the Cuervo houseshold, where, in the intimacy of her bedroom, Dolores could give in to the temptation to use her powers, even if it was only a little bit every once in a while, just to reassure herself, to confirm to herself, that her magic was there, and that God did not care. He should care.
'Even these may forget, says the Lord God, yet I will not forget you'. The priest listed the ways God's love was absolute, and the congregation was soon engrossed by the miracle of Jesus' birth, the prophecy finally being fulfilled. The priest spoke of God's strength, and the faithful replied with their promise of 'rest in God, alone, my soul'. Dolores wondered if the priest could see her, see all the guilt and the pain, and if he wished to make it tenfold. There was no real goodness in that man, she believed. If there was, she would be consoled.
Dolores shut her eyes. She counted to seven. She raised her chin, and looked up –at the bleeding, dying Christ on the cross, hanging ominously over the priest's head, glorious in all His terrible suffering. She asked the same questions she had always asked: did He have magic, was He a witch? Did the Father pass the gift to the Son? And was He so clever and charismatic that people loved Him despite of it, because of it?
Dolores knew nobody would love her because of her power. Maybe, though, they would fear her.
The priest began the sermon, and Dolores tuned out. The same as it ever was. Love and peace on Earth. Good wishes, hopeful words. Gratitude above all. Who did Dolores have to thank for the power she had received? She had so many questions, and no wise being to ask them to, no true mother, no true father. All she had were puppets meant to pacify.
'I believe in one God, the father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible...' Was Dolores even a true believer anymore? She wasn't even sure she believed in heaven and hell. Perhaps she just didn't believe out of sheer denial, out of the fear of finding herself condemned if she did. Witches were dangerous, they were an affront to God. But why would otherwise good witches, the sort to wish nothing but peace, health and fortune upon the world, be sent to hell? What was their sin, apart from their accidental birth as someone whose sole existence threatened God?
The priest came down from the altar. The congregation readied itself. Dolores opened her mouth and took the body and the blood. She tasted it, feeling its numb flavor during its brief life on her tongue, devoid of taste, devoid of warmth. She knew what the body and the blood were really like. Life was not a prayer book. Pretty poetry and metaphors meant nothing to her. Guts and nerves were real sacrifice, healing hands were real salvation. That was the real magic, the real conduit of divinity. Real, real, real. That was all Dolores wanted, all that this place could not give her. Luisa's hand reached out for Dolores', in a gesture that could be interpreted at reassuring. She didn't even know what was real about her daughter. She couldn't even understand it. She could never. All she knew was of her dreams of surgical mastery, of passionate revitalization, and she scoffed at them. What would she say if she knew about her dreams of magical power and unlimited potential? She would call her deluded. No, her mother would never understand.
The ritual was over. Dolores looked around to see if there were any changes to the church she knew so well. Nothing ever changed. Same darkness, same dirt. The congregation moved around as if waking up from a deep sleep, a shared dream. They stumbled out of the white church and onto the deep black night, into their cars, back to their lives, waving goodbye at the priest and offering him the customary Christmas greetings. Nothing was learned. Nothing had changed, at all. She wasn't cleaner or more pure than before. There was nothing but that gnawing sensation that something about her, something intrinsic to her nature, to her soul, was wrong.
For: Anyone | @cardinalstart | cap of 3 | 1 taken
Location: The Museum of World Wonders, Curiosities, and Taxidermy
Character: Rune
The Museum of World Wonders, Curiosities, and Taxidermy didn’t exactly scream come visit me from the outside. The walls were an odd shade of weathered green, with mismatched shutters and a sign that looked like it had been hand-painted by someone with a questionable sense of humor. On the door, there was a small placard that read:
"Enter if you dare, or don’t. We’re open anyway. Unless we're closed."
Inside, it was strange. More than strange, actually. It was downright peculiar. The layout of the museum had the chaotic energy of a house that had grown more as a result of whimsy than any sensible blueprint. Rune hadn't never figured it out. One room led into another with no rhyme or reason, as if the building itself had been rearranged in the middle of the night by a very eccentric, and blind, poltergeist.
The hallway that should have been a neat line of doorways instead curved in bizarre, illogical directions. Some doors led to rooms full of antique furniture, while others led to nothing but sheer brick walls—no handle, no sign of exit. Windows opened to dark, empty space, the glass panes shimmering in eerie stillness. There were staircases that slanted slightly to the right and hallways that sloped down at odd angles, as though the house was perpetually tilting.
At the front desk sat Rune, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the wood in a perfect imitation of someone trying not to throw themselves out of the window. He stared at the door, half-expecting someone to wander in, though the hopeful anticipation was always crushed by reality. Most days, it was just the occasional tourist peeking in from curiosity, unsure whether they'd just wandered into a house of horrors or a very niche historical attraction.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
"Step right up! Step right up!" Rune grumbled under his breath, though his voice did little to carry through the dusty air. "Come witness the world's most perplexing curios! Behold the room where gravity doesn't work quite right! Marvel at the taxidermied creatures that could’ve sworn they were still alive! And of course, don't forget to visit the Room of Doors That Don’t Go Anywhere... except the walls. You won’t want to miss it!"
Rune half-heartedly adjusted his scarf, glancing around. No one. Again.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyeing the nearby door that led to a room purportedly full of mystery artifacts. The truth? It was filled with items that probably came from somewhere important. They were certainly important to someone, but not to Algernon. But he’d never get around to fixing the signs. He hadn't even dusted since he arrived in January.
"Maybe next time..." Rune muttered to no one in particular.
Dolores liked to think of herself as smart and observant. While the first was harder to question, the second was very much up for debate. She knew Cardinal Hill well, and perfectly remembered all the chipped details from the windowframes, the tiny dents on the doors, that one creaky floorboard, and all the faces of everyone that crossed her path at the market, at the bakery, at the butcher's... They were the only places where she had to look up and interact with others. The rest of the town, save for the park and a couple other stores, she passed by without a second glance. She walked lost in thought, more often than not staring down at her shoes, avoiding other people's eyes, ignoring what happened around her, mostly because she didn't really care. So, even if she had a general idea that this place existed, she didn't actually register it until a voice announced all the wonders found inside. She had some free time on her hands: she decided to stop and have a look.
Taxidermy was what had called her attention. Dolores had always had an interest in the hobby, despite never really taking it up. The place didn't look as charming as the Peculiar Preservationist, but it did appear to be quite interesting. Now, would it be worth the money for a ticket? Who could say. Dolores did like a good curio cabinet, though, and the idea of a whole house of curiosities intrigued her.
"How much's the price of admission?" she asked the person behind the front desk.
For: Anyone | @cardinalstart - cap of 3! - 0 taken
Location: The Hidden Archives
Character: Ren Alvarez
Note: Ren, like her faceclaim, is legally blind without her glasses. It should be assumed that she's always wearing them regardless of gif use.
Ren paced the hidden archives with quiet but purposeful steps, her gaze scanning the dimly lit shelves. The musty smell of old paper clung to the air, and the faint rustle of pages echoed in the silence. She reached for the next book on the client's list, her fingers brushing against the worn leather binding. But then her eyes narrowed as she noticed something—damage. A tear, small but visible, at the edge of the cover. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, the irritation curling in her chest.
"Unbelievable," Ren muttered under her breath, her voice rough with disdain. She yanked the book off the shelf, inspecting it further. "What kind of careless idiot handles these like they're some damn paperback from the market?"
She spun around, muttering curses in Spanish as she moved down the rows. The last thing she needed was to fix another idiot’s mistake. The archives were sacred to her—an intricate web of knowledge, history, and power, and she would be damned if she'd let it all fall to ruin.
"Honestly, I swear, if they can't even take the time to treat a book with respect, maybe they shouldn’t be allowed near these shelves at all." She was practically growling as she pulled another volume from its resting place. It was worn, but intact, a sharp contrast to the wreck she had just discovered. "What’s next? Someone going to spill tea on a first edition?"
Ren slammed her hand onto the counter, glaring at the damaged book. "If you're going to borrow these, at least act like you’ve got some damn sense."
Ren's tirade came to an abrupt halt when her gaze snapped up, locking eyes with the person standing nearby. She blinked once, then twice, and for a moment, the realization of who was there sank in. Her mouth curled into a slight scowl.
"Ah," she grumbled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking at you." She gave a dismissive wave, though there was a faint hint of self-awareness in her tone.
Ren shifted the damaged book onto the shelf with a soft, irritated sigh. "People really need to learn how to treat things properly. Some of these are... well, they're important." She muttered the last word like it was a deep, personal grievance.
"Sorry," she added reluctantly, though her voice still held an edge. "It's just… it’s like no one cares."
Knowing there were, indeed, witches in Cardinal Hill sent Dolores on a quest to know as many places related to the community as she could. Slowly, she had managed to train herself to be more careful and pay more attention to where magic felt more potent: it was hard, especially when she felt like it could all go south very quickly, if she mistook a place as having magic where it did not. But, after finding the cabin in the woods, her confidence had received a nice boost. That afternoon, walking around slowly, eyes open and ears perked, she made her way through the light layer of snow and ice on the streets, and found herself walking into Orion's Reach, the local observatory. She smiled a smidge when she saw the big telescope inside. She remembered that time she sneaked away from her group on a school trip, and had explored the building up and down, evading the few security guards, feeling like a spy in a secret mission. Just a handful of places in Cardinal Hill had a real nostalgic value to Dolores, and this was one of them.
The nurse could be quiet and unnoticeable if she so chose –and if she didn't choose to, as well. When she felt a pull to a particular door down a dark hallway –a magic pull? Who could say –she followed that instinct and went through. She found herself walking down stairs, going deeper and deeper in a path that felt just oddly secretive. When she found a new door, though, she didn't doubt for a moment. She opened it, and saw shelves after shelves of files and books. Dolores held her breath. She didn't need to open a single one to know these were old, and valuable, and important. Closing the door behind her, she slipped in and began exploring, tilting her head to read the names on the spines, unable to hold back the need to graze them with the tip of her fingers, as if, in that way, she could subtly access to a piece of whatever information was written and contained in those books.
Dolores was enjoying this gentle exploration of what, she was now certain, was some kind of magic library, when she saw a woman grumbling by a counter, muttering familiar words in a familiar voice. "They do look important," the nurse agreed, almost low enough to be a whisper. She was about to move away from her and let her deal with her anger on her own, when she finally realized why the woman seemed like something plucked out of a memory.
"Renata? Ren?" Dolores exclaimed with a frown. "I'm Dolores Cuervo... Do you remember me?" She certainly remembered Ren. For most of her early childhood, she had been babysat by her neighbors, an old couple she had never really liked; but she did like her babysitter Ren, she really did. She was probably the coolest person she knew. She was tough, took no shit from anyone, and always stood her ground. Back when she was a child, Ren was who she wanted to be when she grew up. Now that she was an adult, Dolores sort of resented the fact she hadn't quite managed to achieve that.
Closed starter: Dolores ( @dolores-cuervo )
Location: The Hallowed Woods
Brook wasn't so sure about how this would go. When he had agreed to help Dolores develop her powers, he had had similar concerns, but mostly at the time Brook had been worried he wouldn't be able to help much without actually using his powers. And that was still true, but Brook had decided that worst case scenario was that he wouldn't be able help Dolores, but no harm done ultimately. But now Brook had another concern: what if his attempts to help Dolores tempted Brook to use his magic? Sometimes he could feel that itch, that urge, a voice inside him telling him that just a little magic would be alright. But Brook knew himself, and he knew that was a slippery slope. He would have to keep his resolve.
Standing in a clearing not very deep into the forest, Brook waited for Dolores, hoping he would be able to help. He knew how much having guidance from his family had helped him, knew how scary these abilities could sometimes be without anyone to help you understand them, and he wanted to do that for Dolores. Sitting down on a large rock, Brook rummaged through his bag, in which he had stored supplies, candles, crystals, a few books, things like that, basic things he thought would help.
Dolores had wanted to arrive early, but she had ended up deciding she needed to warm up before going to the woods at the agreed time. Sitting on her bed, first making a few books spin on their axis and then also in circles around her, she spent about half an hour instead of the ten minutes she had hoped for, and while she was newly confident and proud of her talent, she was very much embarrassed about being late.
"I'm here, I'm here," she called once she saw Brook at a distance, in a clearing almost hidden beyond the tall trees. It seemed he had brought a bag, probably filled with all sorts of training material, she noticed with a smile, happy to know he took it as seriously as she did.
"It's good to see you again," the nurse said as a greeting. She entered the clearing and brushed some leaves and twigs off her coat and hair. She had a look around, at the thick trees with their long branches, at the piece of grey sky over her head, at the brush under her winter boots. It felt like the right place to practice. Her intuition hadn't fully kicked in yet, at least not the magical type she wanted; and yet, in any case, she was certain this would be a fruitful afternoon. "Alright," Dolores said as she exhaled and rubbed her hands. "How do we begin?"
Elspeth nodded in acknowledgment of Dolores' words about Mrs. Hawthorne. “She appeared to be kind from her letters, yes. I’ve only just arrived, but from what I’ve heard, she's well-liked by her friend group and those who know her.” They didn’t elaborate further, though they did feel a sense of relief knowing that Mrs. Hawthorne wasn’t at least openly difficult.
At the question about what they planned to do, Elspeth glanced down at their suitcase, uncertain. "Well... I hadn’t really planned anything beyond meeting Mrs. Hawthorne," they admitted. "In all of the planning that my parents did, it was supposed to be easy. I would board the flight from London and then arrive in Seattle, from Seattle I would come here. It didn't happen that way, and yet - I know Mrs. Hawthorne sticks to a routine, so I can't go early." It was unclear if it was Mrs. Hawthorne who was routine based or if it was Elspeth or a mix of both.
When Dolores mentioned Cardinal Hill's main street, they nodded gratefully. “I’ll head there then, thank you. I’m sure I’ll find something. A bed will do for the night.” Their stomach let out another, more insistent growl, and they laughed softly. "But food first, definitely." They paused awkwardly. "Eating alone is lonely," they said finally. "If I pay for dinner, would you mind eating with me?"
"I see," Dolores said with a little nod. So they couldn't really just appeal to Mrs Hawthorne's good nature and ask her to let her in. It was understandable... But at the very least, supposing something might go wrong, she should have told them about somewhere to stay the night, just in case.
"Were you personally referred to Mrs Hawthorne?" she asked. "I find it sort of strange that she would ask specifically for someone who's all the way from Europe." Elspeth must be very good at their job. It wasn't really Dolores' business, but her curiosity was now piqued, and since they were some blocks away from Old Mill Dinner, she supposed she should probably make some conversation, for their sake.
"Well... Sure." This Elspeth person seemed nice enough. Dolores wasn't particularly excited about eating with someone she had just met, but since they offered to pay, she was definitely not going to refuse a free meal. Especially when it was not out of pity, but of sheer loneliness.
“I’m glad.” Naija commented with genuine delight before responding, “I’m doing alright, too. Was walking around the town a bit aimlessly today. Smelled the soup from across the street and simply had to stop in.” It’s been one of her favorite spots for a long time, and even though she didn’t recognize the staff anymore, Naija could assume the recipes and deliciousness of their menu remained true. The inside also looked a little remodeled, which made her think that perhaps there were new owners. However, she left that chat for another day when she was more focused on the shop itself and not on the book Dolores read.
Pointing in the direction of the - now closed - book, Naija inquired, “What you got there?” She didn’t go out of her way to read very many books, that was more her husband’s hobby than hers, but Naija could indulge in a good story once in a while. Usually when the rest of her life was in absolute disarray and she could use it for a sense of order and organized chaos. Not much unlike now, so she waited curiously and patiently for a response.
Dolores gave Naija a soft smile. "Yes... I wish I could come by more often, but I'm more used to cooking at home. My mother considers eating out an unnecessary expense." She almost rolled her eyes, before realizing how that would look. She wasn't a kid anymore, she couldn't exactly do that sort of things she would do as an angry teenager. And besides, in a sense, she was right. If they had perfectly good food at home, why pay for someone else to do it?
"Is there a soup that's your favorite? The few times I've come by I had the pumpkin one, but I'd be willing to try something new." It was something she had decided for herself: try new things this upcoming year, especially now that she definitely knew there were other witches like her. Dolores stared at Naija for a few seconds. Might she be a witch, too? How could she ask her that without looking insane? She had been lucky when meeting Brook, but right then her intuition didn't tell her anything about the pharmacist.
"The Making of a Surgeon, by William Nolen. One of my favorites," she replied, showing Naija the book. "Not to brag, but I've read it about twenty-eight times already, cover to cover."
Brook was glad that Dolores didn't ask him about all the things he wasn't saying. That was a much heavier conversation than he was willing to have with her or almost anyone (the only person being someone back in Salem he might never see again). Looking at the young witch, Brook could see the wheels turning in her head, and he didn't know if it was an extension of his powers that told him what she was thinking (sometimes that still happened even if it wasn't an active use of his abilities...at least Brook didn't think it was an active use of them) or if he could just tell because he'd been in her place before, but he told the girl, "A lot of magic is intuition, figuring things out as you go, listening to yourself. That's all normal; uncertainty is normal while you're learning. It takes time to get a firm grasp on your powers."
As the conversation continued, Brook told Dolores, "Hey, I'm not saying that you've got to flaunt it or even that you should, and if you don't want to tell anyone else, that's well within your rights. I just...I don't want you to be constantly afraid or paranoid either. Cardinal Hill is different from other towns. It's why I chose this place when I left Salem." Cardinal Hill and Salem were both hotspots for witches, and Brook had thought it would help ease his transition. At Dolores's question, Brook considered it, and he said, "You know, a patient the other day was just telling me about a few places we could check out. Apparently there are places in town secret to humans that are just for witches, a lot of them hidden rooms or basements of other establishments. I wrote them down, but some of the places I remember are a secret section of Family Paws, a hidden basement below Little Red Barn Antiques, and a backroom at The Twilight Cauldron. Maybe we could check some of these places out sometime?" Brook thought Dolores might feel better if he accompanied her.
Intuition. That wasn't a quality Dolores was certain she had, but maybe it was something she could develop. What she had was discipline, diligence. Most of all, she had the need to get going and start getting the hang of it. She hadn't been this anxious in her life...
Dolores took a deep breath. It takes time. There will be time. And it was better she was focused and relaxed to try and work magic: otherwise, she had a feeling it might go wrong very quickly. She could still remember some failed experiments she had done back in the day, little trial-and-error experiences that had her this close to accidentally revealing to her mother what she was and what she could do. She knew her emotions could get the better of her, especially her anger and her frustration. Not good for a future surgeon, even less for a powerful witch.
She nodded in agreement with Brook. Being afraid didn't do anything, didn't help or change anything, after all. And what she had was something special, not something that should make her afraid of others, or of herself. The nurse smiled to herself. She would become a formidable witch, she had decided, someone that would not be bossed around, not be intimidated or belittled. If she harnessed her power, she knew she would never be afraid.
Dolores grinned wide. The Twilight Cauldron –it all sounded so delightfully witchy. "Yes, yes, I'd love to." On her own, though, she would keep exploring the town, try to find the places where she might feel something magical going on. Use her intuition. "I'm free on Sunday and Tuesday afternoons."
Elspeth nodded, their smile warming a little, as they followed Dolores. The mention of the club sandwiches made their stomach growl again, louder this time, and they couldn’t help but laugh softly in agreement. “I’m sure anything at this point will be a blessing,” they said, their voice light despite their hunger.
When Dolores mentioned their stomach, Elspeth chuckled, the sound a bit self-deprecating. “A lack of nutrients, indeed,” they replied, rubbing the back of their neck as if to apologize for the noise. “I suppose it's hard to ignore that kind of announcement.”
At the mention of Mrs. Hawthorne, Elspeth’s face softened slightly because they were nearly at their life's mission, but their posture tensed just a touch... also because they were nearly at their life's mission. "Yes, Mrs. Hawthorne," they confirmed, a hint of caution in their tone. "She’s the one. The one I’m looking after." Elspeth had not yet explained the full extent of their situation, but there was no reason to get into that just yet.
Elspeth glanced around, noticing the small details of the town as they walked, their mind flickering between their surroundings and the reality of their new life in Cardinal Hill. “I... haven’t sorted accommodations yet,” they admitted, giving a little shrug. “I suppose I’ll have to find something once I’ve seen where she’s staying. I didn’t expect to be here so soon, so everything’s a bit... last minute.” They paused, looking at Dolores curiously. “Do you know of anywhere that might have a room available? I wasn't given this circumstance in any of my lessons. I am not good at improvisation." They had been raised to follow orders and mind their lessons.
The nurse kept staring at Elspeth for a moment longer, assessing her, walking a little slower, before looking away. It surprised her somewhat that Mrs Hawthorne would need a caretaker from out of town. Then again, she might know someone who could personally vouch for Elspeth. You couldn't choose someone to help you out like that without giving it much careful thought.
"Ah. She's nice... At least she's been nice enough to me." Some elder folk could be really testy, especially towards those they treated basically like servants. Not that they were the majority, at all –most were reasonably polite –but there were always these particular cases that became harder to forget.
Dolores swiveled her head towards Elspeth. "But it's so cold out here... What were you planning to do?" She quickly went over the establishments by the town's main street, trying to remember if she had ever noticed a hotel or motel or anything of the sort. There had to be one, right? "I don't... I don't remember precisely where you can find accomodations, but there must definitely be something near Cardinal Hill's main street."
Elspeth offered a faint, weary smile, clutching their suitcase a little tighter as they took in the woman’s reply. “Old Mill Diner will do fine, thank you,” they said, their accent distinct, carrying northern England proudly despite their mother trying to train them in the way that Mrs. Hawthorne would have found pleasing to the ear - Elspeth was not a rebellious individual, but they had their pride. “I am not in a position to be picky at the moment.” They glanced around the square again, the drizzle causing their hair to fall into their eyes and out of the careful bun she had kept it in. They could feel the pins working free of their hair, and she had a feeling Mrs. Hawthorne would not approve.
“Could you point me in the right direction?” Their tone was polite, a bit hesitant, not shy but stiff and proud - as though Mary Poppins had been their only role model growing up. “I’d hate to wander in circles and find myself hungrier than I already am.” Elspeth’s stomach punctuated the sentiment with an audible growl, and they winced. "That was rude."
“I’m Elspeth.” they added, extending a hand, though they were unsure if the other would take it. Though, they didn't offer their last name. “I am Mrs. Hawthorne's new caretaker. She isn't expecting me until tomorrow -” a frown and then they realized: "which means I can't go see her until tomorrow. She expects prompt but not early."
Dolores scoffed, though what she meant to do was chuckle politely. Easier said than done. "... I really recommend their club sandwiches. They used to come with fries, but it's been a while since I've had them... If they're like I remember them, they're good." That was her attempt at seeming friendly and welcoming. Dolores supposed she needed to work on that further.
"Sure. I'm going that way anyways," she said, and made a gesture with her head to indicate the person to follow her. When their stomach grumbled she actually did let out a little chuckle, a bit amused. "It's not rude," Dolores said. "It's just your body announcing it has some sort of lack of nutrients."
The nurse stared at Elspeth's hand for a moment. She shook their hand, wondering if she was doing it the right way. She couldn't remember the last time someone offered their hand to shake. "Oh, Mrs Hawthorne... Is she the one with the glass eye?" she asked them. She knew almost all the elderly folk in the town –and when Elspeth mentioned caretaker, her mind immediately went to those she had talked to once or twice, who looked after those who eventually passed by the hospital with a relative frequency. "Do you already have a place to stay the night?"
Dolores couldn't have known how loaded her question was. The short answer to both of Dolores's questions was yes, but it was more complicated than that. "Well...yes," he answered vaguely, and then Brook elaborated, "At first it was making chores and such easier. It was nice as a 12 year old to be able to literally just wave your hand and clean your room." Brook laughed at the memory, though he knew that had been the calm before his life had become a storm. And as he thought about that, Brook frowned, darker memories coming to the surface. "Then I used it for things...I shouldn't have," he admitted solemnly. "But then I got over that, and I used my powers just twice more since then. And one of those times was in fact to heal someone." That had been on that terrible night when he was 17, when he'd saved Cole's life, but Brook was no hero since he and his alleged friends had been the reason Cole had nearly died to begin with - and they had been the reason Cole's dad had died that night. Not wanting to freak Dolores out though, Brook told her, "I've been on the straight and narrow for over 20 years now though."
"It's not like that for everyone," Brook responded, "and really I don't know if there's any magical basis for that. I just know that's how it feels for some people." It had felt that way for him too, though there were other ways Brook had felt connected to his magic, like when he spoke his mother's native tongue or when he held his grandfather's prized fountain pen. "I think that everyone has something that strengthens their connection to their inner power," Brook went on. "You just have to find yours. I can help you with that."
While Brook could understand why Dolores was so alarmed, he clarified, "I don't mean like going on national television and doing magic or like doing it in a crowd or something. And I don't mean like doing something extreme that you can't explain or hide. But I mean...if someone sees you make something disappear or change color or something, chances are they're going to rationalize it in their mind, and even if they don't, who will believe them?" Brook knew he was simplifying this a bit, so he went on, "In a town like this especially, where there are more witches than you think, I definitely don't think you need to worry, Dolores."
It was inevitable for her to wonder what 'things he shouldn't have' Brook was referring to. He looked rather glum when talking about it, so Dolores kept her mouth shut, and allowed her imagination to fill the gaps. Whatever it had happened, if it turned Brook off from using magic for quite a long time, it had to be big. Maybe someday he would tell her what it was, if he felt comfortable enough... And then, then Dolores might tell him some secrets of her own, too.
Dolores thought for a moment, where and when she felt her powers most strongly. Usually it was just a constant feeling of repressed energy, as if she was holding back a scream. She didn't feel it more or less strongly at any specific time, apart from getting a sense of relief if she used magic after a long time without doing so. Like checking they were still there, and that she hadn't imagined it. But regarding connection... No, there was nothing she could think of. Maybe it was just a matter of discovering it step by step, as she kept experimenting.
"Oh... Okay, I get it," she said, a bit embarrassed for being so paranoid. "It's just that I've always wondered how people would react, if they would be scared, or angry, or run away, or want to... I don't know. But yes, you're right. Most people would just try to find some kind of reasoning, rather than accept it's real magic." In any case, if any other witch saw her doing something with her powers, at least there was the chance they could recognize each other, and hopefully join some sort of network or coven. That was what she wanted the most, Dolores realized, and meeting Brook allowed her to take one step closer. "Do you know of any particular witches here, or of any special place witches might hang?" Even if he didn't know any, maybe he did know of somewhere they might gather.
To have his suggestion of sourdough regarded as an option felt promising; Romeo cared too much about helping others, and while Dolores was entirely capable of choosing an alternative to her usual loaf all by herself, Romeo was committed to seeing it through now - particularly as Dolores was someone who had a connection to him via their work. He wasn't going to make the biggest deal of the bread situation, however, so at Dolores' reaction, Romeo simply smiled.
The ER was exhausting on a slow day, but Romeo wasn't one to complain. After all, he wasn't the one in the ER for an injury, or anything worse, he was paid to be there and he was in tip top shape. "It's not for the faint of heart, that's for sure," he chuckled as he answered, though he really wasn't joking one bit. "They want me to take Christmas off," they being his co-workers and managers, that was, people who all knew that he had family in Cardinal Hill - family that he should be spending the holidays with. "I still think that I'd be better use covering for someone else who would enjoy it more, though, like some of the people at the hospital who have kids."
"Oh, don't even get me started on all of the ice related injuries we're gonna be seeing soon," Romeo nodded his head, thinking back on his years of tending to ski injuries, ice skating falls, various seasonal impalements, as well as the occasional frostbite incidents. "Every season has its thing, though," he shrugged. At least there'd be a lower prevalence of heatstroke, although Romeo couldn't count it out all together as there were always those few people who rugged up a little too well in the face of extreme cold.
Dolores looked down. Her job could be exhausting, but she found it easy enough, so easy at times that she might even call it a bore. I have to do something, she thought, something if I want to get that degree and become a surgeon. Now she had more time, having been given a little extra free time with the arrival of more staff to take care of matters. She looked back up and glanced at Romeo, assessing him. Had she ever told him about her desire to be a surgeon? Dolores kept that mostly to herself. Though, maybe, she could tell him. What could he do about it, laugh at her? Stare at her in disbelief?
"Yes, I get that." she sighed. "Well, you probably should. Spend time with your family, celebrate, take some time for yourself, you know... They'll be able to manage without you for one night or two." Dolores knew that Romeo was a hard worker, and he deserved some time off. Even if he was right –some people might need that break more than others –that didn't mean Romeo didn't deserve it too.
"Do you do anything for the holidays, usually? Even if it's just before you get your rest." Dolores and her mother didn't do much of anything for Christmas, apart from attending midnight mass and setting the little Nativity scene that had gathered layers of irremovable dust in the attic for the rest of the year. It was a tradition, but it was also a bore. At least the rest of the town looked pretty during the holidays, with all the twinkling lights and the blanket of snow –despite all the problems the snow could bring.
✶ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ; the ceramic cup
✶ 𝐅𝐎𝐑 ; dolores @dolores-cuervo
Coffee wasn't always Naija's go to, being obsessed with tea since she was a mere child, but ever so often she allowed herself the delicious taste. She’d been walking through the streets that afternoon, reminiscing about her childhood in town and taking in the many changes over the years. At some point while walking past the shop, the smell of homemade soups and freshly brewed coffee did her in. Before she could even process her cravings, Naija found herself walking through the main doors of the business and ordering herself a lunch.
Having had a good look around, her gaze fell onto a familiar face sitting off towards the back of the store so Naija informed the worker that’s where she’d be before making way. “Dolores.” she called out with a wave while approaching the booth, “ It’s nice to see you outside of work hours.” Naija offered the young lady a smile as she leaned over to greet her with a side hug then took a seat in the open space across from her. “This seat taken?- How are you, darling?”
It wasn't that the Cardinal Hill hospital's cafeteria was bad, by any means; it was just, well, a hospital cafeteria. At the end of the day, the food was just okay. And The Ceramic Cup, on the other hand, was not too far and had much warmer, tastier options. The hospital was well staffed that day and she had been allowed some time for lunch, so Dolores made the most of it: she got comfortable (as much as she could, that is) on a table at the back, where she wouldn't be distracted, and had a good bowl of soup to enjoy while catching up on her reading.
A familiar voice made her look up from her book. It was that kind, pretty pharmacist, from which Dolores bought her mother's medicine every week or so. It was indeed strange to see her out of that usual context, and she felt a bit awkward. Regardless of the circumnstances, she did like Naija, or at least what little she knew of her. "It's nice to see you too," Dolores said with a small smile.
"No, no, it isn't..." She quickly took her coat off the chair across from her to allow Naija to sit comfortably. Dolores couldn't imagine why the pharmacist would be interested in talking to her, but she could guess that, whatever her true reasons, she did it out of sheer courtesy. "I'm doing mostly well," she said and shut her book to focus her attention entirely on Naija. "How are you?"
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