"Come on," calls Alma, impatiently bouncing about at the bottom of the staircase. She's clutching an orange fabric bag in one hand and a broom in the other. It's a ratty old thing, all bent bristles and marred wood. Many a broken vial has been swept up with it and the ashes from many fires has left it stained.
Upstairs, something hits the ground. It sounds heavy. She can hear Darius mutter angrily under his breath. "Just a minute," he says, louder. "I'm almost ready."
Alma sighs, rolls his eyes. "You should have been ready an hour ago! Come on, Darius! If we don't leave now, we aren't going to have any time to trick or treat before the party!"
More muttering. Another loud slam. Footsteps - and then Darius was standing at the top of the stairs, in all of his green clad glory. The elf warrior costume is well made, with gold thread accents and dark brown trousers. Alma would love to know were it came from, but her brother is suspiciously tight lipped on the matter. There's a makeshift quiver strapped to his back, ready to be filled up with candy.
"Okay," he says, grinning. "Let's go!"
The two are halfway out the front door when someone calls their name. A glance behind shows that Hannah Greene is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms folded over her chest and mouth twisted into a frown. She's not wearing a costume; just a simple Halloween shirt and some jeans, the heavy turquoise necklace seeming out of place. "Keep track of the time," says Hannah, firmly. "I want you back here by eleven. Understand?"
Darius bites back an argument. The party doesn't start until ten. To him, leaving only an hour after getting there seems worse than not going at all. And it makes him angry, like so many things do lately. Does she really not trust them enough to stay out late? Haven't they proven enough to her already?
Beside him, Alma nods and wishes their mentor a good evening. Then she grabs Darius by the hand and hauls him out the door. "Let's just go," says Alma, as she rushes down the winding path. "I saw the Riddles buying extra large chocolate bars yesterday! I want to make sure we get there before they're all out!"
The sun is only just starting to set. It stains the sky with shades of red and orange, pink and purple, like someone has taken a paint brush to it. Hannah's house is relatively undecorated - there's a jack o' lantern sitting at the end of the driveway and a wreath of jasmine, coltsfoot, and orange ribbon hangs on the front door, but that's it. It's one of the only buildings in all of Haven that isn't decked out in lights and fake skeletons.
Hannah doesn't celebrate Halloween.
But Alma does, and she's excited to go out on the town. Grabbing her brothers hand, Alma leads him down the familiar path into Haven. It isn't long before Handy Andy's comes into view. The old hardware store has been wrapped up tight with white cloth, and the windows have been darkened, and the front door sits open. There's a single red light shining out. From the costume that adorns the roof-kept rag doll, Alma assumes that the building is meant to look like a mummy. It's a good attempt, she thinks, even if it's a little odd.
"That's weird," says Darius. "The Wilson's are weird."
Alma snorts. "Like we have any room to talk?"
Darius shrugs but doesn't have anything to counter that with. He trots up the steps and into the store, calling out his arrival as he goes. "Trick or treat," echoes Alma, scampering after him.
The inside of the hardware is dark. A few night lights have been pushed into the wall and there's a strong of orange fairy lights laying on the ground, leading up to the front counter. Terry Wilson is standing there, leaning against it and looking as bored as always. His bushy blond hair has been slicked back with what no doubt amounts to at least three containers of hair gel and he has a black and red cape tied around his shoulders. When he looks up, Alma can see thick lines drawn around his eyes with dark liner. It looks odd, considering he's still wearing a tee shirt and jeans.
"Candy, right?" Terry pushes a bowl across the top of the counter. It's filled with off brand mini chocolate bars. "Help yourself."
Darius does exactly that, grabbing a large handful and dropping it into his quiver. "You here all night?"
A nod. Terry pushes the bowl closer to Alma. "When aren't I?"
The answer is never. Alma gives him a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry."
Terry's parents are nice enough, but they're both a little bit strange. He's very seldom allowed to go out and do anything. Every day, he's behind the counter and every night he's behind the counter and, sometimes, Alma wonders if he hates them for it. She thinks that she might, if her life was so strictly molded by her parents.
"It's whatever," answers Terry. He takes a piece of chocolate for himself, dropping the wrapper on the floor and popping it into his mouth. "Not like I had plans or anything."
"Yeah, well." Darius grabs a few more pieces of candy before glancing at his sister. "We should get going. But - have fun in here, I guess?"
Terry snorts. He mutters something under his breath, too, but it's not loud enough for anyone to hear. "Yeah. Sure."
"I'll see you at school tomorrow," says Alma, but then Darius has a hand on her arm and is dragging her back outside. "That was rude,"she scolds. "We could have stayed for a bit!"
"Candy," insists Darius. "Let go, Allie! Come on!"
And then he's off like a shot, racing over the rapidly darkening streets. Alma takes off after him.
Holidays are pretty big deals in Haven and Halloween is no exception. Most of the store and houses have been trussed up, with lights and decorations and fake ghosts that hang from trees. Compared to a few of the other kids they pass, Alma almost feels like her outfit is under done. It's just a simple black dress and a white apron, the sort that people wore during the Salem Witch Trials. She has a twine wrapped crystal hanging around her neck; it's been blessed to help ensure that she never loses her way. It's not the fanciest witch costume out there, but she really likes it.
This one, it has meaning. There's a blood stained history sewn into the black fabric and a pain filled past staining the apron. It speaks of smoke and heat, of freezing water and aching lungs.
It's her history, and she's proud to wear it - even if only in the form of a costume.
Alma and Darius meander through town, stopping at this house and that store. There's a bucket of apples sitting at the very end of Nyota's driveway, and Alma takes one just to be polite. The best treat comes from the local grocery store, Save And Spend, where they each get a few name brand peanut butter cups.
Eventually, the sun goes down completely. The moon comes up, just a little bit shy of being full. Dark clouds billow around it. It looks like something out of a movie. The alarm on Alma's phone goes off, loud and shrill. She jumps and Darius snorts when he bites back a laugh.
"I'll leave you," she threatens, even as she drapes an arm over his shoulder.
"If you did that, who would escort you to the ball?" Darius throws an arm around her waist. They start shuffling down the street like that, heading for the Fawcet house.
"I think you need glasses, little brother. Last time I checked, I'm wearing the opposite of a ball gown."
"Meh," answers Darius, with a shrug. "Technicalities. You could just be crashing the place."
"Ah, yes. With my dashing elven escort, I've made plans to interrupt the Halloween party and turn everyone into toads. An unstoppable plan," says Alma, in as high of a voice as she can muster. She throws he head back and cackles. "It's foolproof!"
"Foolproof, foolproof," chants Darius, like a good henchman. "Foolproof! But we must be careful - the magic will vanish at eleven!"
Alma keeps laughing. "Ding dong, and the witch will be dead!"
They joke back and forth the entire way. Trista Fawcet's house is one of the nicest in town. It's one of the oldest, too. The paint might e new and the garden full of life, but there are stories implanted on the wood. Sometimes, when the sun hits it just right, Alma swears that she can see streams of light circling the building. Hannah calls them Attached Spirits; too weak to take on their own form but too strong to vanish completely.
Now, so late at night, they're hidden away. Alma wonders: are they from the house? Or do they belong to the trees that the wood came from?
"They went all out," says Darius, with an impressed whistle. He points at the fake skeleton hand protruding from the petunias. "Think the inside looks as good?"
"Doesn't it usually?" Alma untwined herself from Darius, shoves at his shoulder. "Come on, elf lord. We have a party to crash!"
They aren't actually crashing it. Everyone at school was invited to show up. Alma and Darius both have made plans with their friends, to hang out for the night and have a generally spooky time. So they split apart once they're inside, giggling and muttering to each other about tornados, bones, and real magick.
It's not hard for Alma to locate Nyota. The girl has gone larger than life, just like always. Her jeans are torn and the shirt that she's wearing is loose, pale, and stained with red coloring and specks of mud. Fake vines have been wrapped around her arms and snake out of the holes in her pants. They vanish in her hair, blooming up near the top in a barrage of vibrant, red flowers. Her makeup is ghastly, showing off veins and torn skin. It looks as though the plants have burst out of her flesh.
"My aunt is in town," says Nyota, in way of explanation. Her aunt, Hinabi, is a makeup artist for a production company out in Hollywood. She comes by once a year, usually around Halloween.
"You look awesome," says Alma, grinning. "Did you get to go out?"
Nyota pulls a face. "No. I had to stay home and hand out candy. Again."
"We can split mine." Alma holds out her bag for inspection. It's pretty full, considering that the town is a small place.
Nyota looks it over and then nods. "We could. But - I was thinking that we could do something really awesome this year. Like, a celebration."
"What are we celebrating?"
"It just feels like we need too. Like...everything is finally smoothing out."
"I can second that," laughs Alma, and she wonders how Nyota knows things like this. That this other life of Alma's, with witch craft and magick and lies, it's been so chaotic lately. So stressful. "Did you want to skip the party and go walking? Some of the house are probably still giving out candy. Terry usually has the shop open all night."
Nyota grins that smile of hers. It's the one that says: mischief will happen, I'll make sure of it. "I have something better. I thought we could hit up the water tower? It's supposed to be pretty cool at night."
The water tower sits on the opposite end of town. It's the last marker before you leave Haven going West and sort of a local land make. There are all kinds if legends surrounding it. People going missing. Strange lights appearing at midnight. Some even swear that you can hear someone crying some nights, if the weather is just right.
It's one of the few local spots that Alma has never been. Hannah's always called it off limits. No reasons, because she seldom offers those, just an order.
Like be home by eleven.
It would be eleven by the time they got to the tower, at least. And that's if they left right then, no questions asked. "I have a curfew," says Alma, frowning.
Nyota shrugs one shoulder. She's still grinning. "You always have a curfew."
That's true. It's never the same time, either. Hannah picks whatever number feels best that day. There's never any real rhyme or reason. At least, never one that's given to the two young witches. So Alma takes a deep breath and grins back at Nyota, shrugging one shoulder to say that she understands.
Nyota's face lights up. She pumps one fist in the air. "Sweet! I'm telling you, this is going to be great," insists Nyota
