a witch never gets caught

A [TABITHA TEIVEL] has arrived in Albion. While they may seem [FAMILIAR], they are connected to the [NORTHWOOD] [TEIVEL’S]. Their passport was stamped at Falls’ Inn and shows that they are [32], [5’6], with [RED HAIR] and [GREEN EYES]. Mrs. Kuiper at the Inn said that they seemed [ADAPTABLE] AND [METICULOUS], though they were seen [BEING DECIETFUL] as they departed St. Catharine’s Depot. Be wary, and report any sightings to Madame Lange’s Tea Room. 

Wanted Connections and Plots -- Tasks 

starter for @tabithateivel

The longer he could spend in the town proper, away from the Nest, the better.

The bitter cold of late December didn’t quite lend itself to wandering around out in the snow-blanketed valley, on the icy streets, where windows glowing gold beckoned him to come inside, warm himself and take a gander. Bert had to be realistic, though, for once. His pockets were light, as usual, with maybe a couple pennies jingling eagerly, and jury was still out on whether he should rely on coasting on the neighborly kindness of the good folks of Albion.

And then, finally, by the end of his stroll, when his toes were already about to freeze and the embers in his pipe were almost out, Bert got a glimpse of a familiar sight. Just slightly covered in silver sparkling snow, the sign for the Green Valley Public Library. Bertʼs face cracked into a smile. The whole homecoming, even in the dead of winter, had been drenched with cozy childhood memories, sweetened and softened with the years, of a young Finch running around town as if he had fire in the soles of his feet. Taking refuge from a blizzard in library books. Furnishing his imagination with stories of explorers, wanderers, globe-trotters, brave souls who made the whole world their home. Bound to nowhere. 

Bert emptied his pipe, shook the cold off his shoulders, and walked into the library.

If the small, animated bell wasn’t enough to announce those entering the library from the snow covered streets, the calico cat precariously perched on a statue bust meowed loudly to alert her owner of the man currently dusting off his icy shoulders.

Tabitha was hunched over the main circulation desk with her grimoire and another unmarked leatherbound book that seemed to be pocket size. She was transcribing from one to the other, carefully dotting an I and crossing a T until finally glancing up. “Welcome in,” It was a generic greeting, and it was only when the faintest recognition of the man’s face registered that Tabitha looked back at him again blinking.

She slowly closed the books she was handling, folding her hands on the circulation desk. “Well now, you’re not a strange face.” She wracked her brain, trying to recall the man’s name as Andromeda slinked from her rest on the statue and settled on top of the set aside tomes.

Ruthie chortled, but said nothing. It was strange to hear Tabitha talk about ingredients and their affectations. A rise of bile – territorial – caught in her throat. She swallowed it back with another juniper sip. Ruthie didn’t bake, anymore. It didn’t work in the same way, anymore.

“Ned’s got friends,” Ruthie murmured. “Adam Howell’s wife died winter last.” A brow cocked, her chin lifted. She leaned in, conspiratorially. “He’s got a cottage up in Poe’s.”

She sat back with a creak in her chair, her legs kicking beneath the table – to the air, not to her companion.

“Say – you and Jimmie are getting close.” Ruthie raised her brows. “He’s something to look at, hm?”

“Ah yes, allow me to bewitch the grieving widow.” Tabitha grinned before giving a slight shrug. “Sure. We all deserve a good time now and then.” That was if Adam Howell even agreed to such a thing. She didn’t know the family too well, though rumor had it they wore their hearts on their sleeves. There could be hope for her yet.

“And real estate to boot. You really do keep your eyes peeled.” She whistled, waggling her brows playfully at Ruthie before her friend’s comment caught her off guard. Tabitha’s breath caught in her throat, and she coughed a laugh. “Uh, yeah. He’s got a nice face, though I wouldn’t let him know it, on account of his head growing three sizes too big for his neck. But more importantly, we’re in laws-”

Tabitha raised her hands in defense, “I know it’s a small town, but there’s got to be a bit more room in the pot for someone new. What sort of apothecary…market dynasty would that produce?” She scoffed another laugh. Pesky brother in-law (and business partner) was good enough for her as far as Jimmie Leong went.

-

Aw shucks, that was right, the Teivel matriarch had passed this year. His face automatically rearranged itself into the closest approximation of sympathy-slash-condolences, and he was still figuring out what to say (and moving his already bruised arm away, just in case) when the dame took the decision out of his hands – literally. 

“Hey!” Then, “Hey, that’s not fair, Tibsteroo! I worked for that bowl! Stirring a cauldron that big takes some real elbow grease, yeah?” 

Still, if anything, that only went to show the transient nature of things, or whatever that was, right? The lone surviving dumpling he delicately picked up, nibbled at the corner and slurped up the soup filling before swallowing it down, as if to make a point of the proper way to eat a dumpling. 

Her move towards his arm had him twitch violently, but luckily she seemed content with the sleeve rather than flesh this time. 

“Music, yeah,” he said, repositioning the hand to the crook of his arm, like she was some grand dame being escorted to a performance. 

* * * * * * 

“That one, the one with the big woolen cap. Think he just took a sip – oh. Oh yeah, he downed that one.”

He squinted out at the clearing, the snow bright even in the dark of the night, the orange-capped figure still solemnly holding up the freshly emptied cup to the skies. 

“What’ve we seen so far? We got two that didn’t seem to react at all, one that flopped around on the snow, and hey. Hey.”

Nudged the woman next to him. 

“Wanna make a bet on how this one’ll react? He’s got an Andersson look to him, so you know he’ll be a stiff sort.”

Tiberina owed him a bowl of dumplings after all, and he was here to collect.

“The whole thing!” Tabtiha scoffed, throwing her arm out as the participant with the woolen cap emptied his cup completely. She didn’t see how it would be effective in generating a message if there was nothing to respond to. Magic was a give and take after all.

She rolled her eyes as Jimmie recounted the cupbearers before. “I don’t believe the one that flopped like a fish for a minute.” Tabitha (and Jimmie for that matter) was no stranger to theatrics. It wasn’t hard to spot, even in the dark.

“What else could you possibly want from me?” She exasperated, but then quickly relented knowing that Jimmie had been looking somewhat pathetically at the bowl of dumplings she’d snagged from him just before the show. Hungry company was never good to keep. “Fine. But…I think this one-“ Tabitha pointed to the Andersson that was up for the draw, “Will get a real show stopper of a result. Something big. Loud…?”

.

If they were in a fireside tale, this would be the defining moment that had a listener sidling up to a friend for reassurance. A worried sister, a kindly offer, and the protagonist unwittingly slinking into the deep, dark woods with the spider in disguise, heading straight for its web. 

“I don’t think–” Sallie started, then faltered as she caught a flash of pink the same color as Rosie’s scarf. Her thumbnail dug into the cuticle of index finger, mouth half-open to jump back into speech while she desperately skimmed the crowd a second time. 

They were wasting time. 

It was looking back to Tabitha, trying to see past her veneer of normality that settled things. It was impossible to gauge her true intent when she was so comfortably wearing another person’s skin, and the thought of a fairy doing the same with Rosie was enough to send Sallie stumbling in the direction she last spotted her sister. 

There was a narrow set of footprints winding away from the circle and down the forest path; Sallie wasted no time adding her own, charging forward without a glance to see if Tabitha was following. It felt less like following a wolf into its den if Sallie was the one leading. 

The trees grew denser the further they tread. Skeletal birch trunks stretched heavenward, the knots in the bark blinking back like eyes. Sallie swallowed. I know these woods, Tabitha had said, all but confirming outright what Sallie had suspected– she knew them because she had been borne from them. 

Crunch went snow underfoot, quickening as Sallie picked up the pace. Crunch, crunc, crun–

“This is hers.” 

Sallied had stopped abruptly, drawn to a halt by a knitted pink scarf hanging lazily from a low hanging branch at the crux of a fork on the footpath. She tore it free, running her hands over the knit as if she could feel Rosie’s residual warmth on the yarn. Hazel eyes lifted, accusing. “Where is she?” 

As world weary as Sallie seemed, she sure did trample into the thick of the woods without so much as a glance backwards. It was perfectly foolish really, but Tabitha supposed if the roles were reversed, she would have done the same.

“Easy does it Milton. One wrong step can put you on a different path entirely.” She called out, eventually catching up and gazing at the brunette intensely. This was the deepest Tabitha had been in Northwood since returning,  and even the branches as dry and bare as they were seemed to be reaching out for her. Tabitha wrapped her arms around herself, watching her breath appear and dissipate quickly in front of her.

Finding the scarf felt too lucky. Any footprints, including their own as they wandered inward had already been swept away from the snow. Tabitha didn’t like being out here, not with suspicious Sallie Milton. Not when it was so eerily quiet their footsteps seemed to screamed alongside the strange otherworldly whispers and laughter only for her to hear, flittering through the dead crooked branches.

Then suddenly, there it was. The look, the accusation. Not said outright, but with enough roughness that Tabitha understood. “I didn’t do it.” She responded through clenched teeth before quickly striding forward in the direction the pink scarf had been laying. It led to a small, circular grove warmer and vibrant than any other spot of the wood thus far. Red toadstools making up two separate rings, patches of clovers, and a few snowdrop flowers could be seen peeking out from a light dusting of snow.

“She’s here.” Tabitha pursed her lips, arms still crossed as she pondered and looked deeper into the environment laid out before them. “Just out of reach.” She suddenly shot her arm up to stop Sallie if she decided to rush forward, “Don’t do anything dumb.”

-

She shooed, he skedaddled, warmed by the glow of a coconspirator convinced and a show in the offering. 

It was with one eye on the silver-screen-worthy performance that he sidled up next to the dame standing in for his far more prickly sister. 

“May-mei,” he said, pulling out his smile No. 4 (the Just For You).

The sturdy younger woman squeaked, almost dropping the ladle. “JIM-mie! You scared me!” Then, “Oh no, now I’ve lost count, there was a very particular way I was supposed to be stirring…”

“Hey. Hey, don’t be like that. How ‘bout I step in and… help, yeah?” Turning up the wattage on the smile worked; that was de-fi-nitely a blush that wasn’t just the cold or steam of the cauldrons on the dame’s face. 

In the near distance, he could see Fanny’s initial suspicious face melt into something that looked an awful lot like awkward concern. 

“Tibby-cat, you’re the real cat’s meow,” he marveled under his breath, taking over the stirring. Every so often, once May’s back was turned, he diverted a ladle or two into a spare bowl at his feet. 

The breeze blew, and Albion was a gossipy old dame at heart, ‘cause boy did private conversations travel on the wind:

“…she was welcome whenever we could have her, Tabitha, of course.” (Ha, he thought, delighted at how stiff and uncomfortable Fanny was.) “Come here, let’s get you cleaned up. It’s not good to end the year in sorrow. Why don’t you…”

His sister’s concerned gaze hardened into purpose once it settled back onto the dumpling booth, turning and abruptly shoving something that looked like a bowl at the redhead. He ducked down, careful to avoid being spotted. 

“Jim-mie?” May’s voice cut into his eavesdropping, but the breeze had died down anyway. “Are you… oh, why’s that bowl down there?”

Time for an exit. “Nerts, you’re right! I’ll just be getting this out of the way in a jiffy. Here, May, I’m on the fifth stir counterclockwise. Quick, before the pattern gets lost!”

May’s plaintive But how many more stirs in what direction floated behind but only insubstantially, like the trailing cloud of steam from his acquired bowl.

He caught up, nudging Tabitha. “Hey. I got mine, let’s get you yours, yeah? What’d you say to Fanny anyway, to get a bona-fide bowl of approval?”

If Fanny was put in an awkward spot by Tabitha’s fabricated episode of sorrow, Tabitha was feeling the effects of it tenfold. Unsure pats, a mysterious rag to wipe tears, and the biggest insult of all – an empty bowl. Even in emotional distress she still had to abide by the rules for some dinner?

She and Simon were made for each other.

Tabitha found her way back to Jimmie and scowled as the steam rose and swirled from his filled bowl. She’d created the distraction, something wasn’t adding up here. It was in the flash of an instant that Tabitha snatched the warm bowl of food from Jimmie’s hands and replaced with her own, twirling away and stabbing for one of dumplings and plopping it into her mouth (even though it burned) before he could so much as protest.

.

If it was at all possible for Sallie’s shoulders to rise higher around her ears, they managed it. Trouble was always able to find friends. Figured that Eddie and Tabitha were in step with each other. 

“Never saw a need to,” Sallie hedged. “He’s got a mouth on him that’s plenty of capable speaking for himself.”

She had become wound so tight it was only natural that she finally snapped. “Look, it’s been real–” Lovely talking to you would be a lie. She pivoted. “It’s nice of you to take the time, but I best be getting on.” 

She slapped a hand to her thigh and stood with a jerky nod across the circle. She couldn’t hide Rosie and make a polite exit, so she would just have to hope Rosie would be obliging in hurrying back home. “My sister and I were just–” 

Sallie faltered, frowning. There was an empty space between Greta and Polly. 

Hazel eyes flicked across the clearing, skimming faces in the crowd with Rosie’s nowhere to be found. 

“She’s– she’s around here somewhere.” She glanced apprehensively at Tabitha, with her big green eyes that saw more than they should. A nervous feeling crept into the belly of Sallie’s stomach. 

“Does he?” Tabitha blinked, finding that Sallie was giving her long lost cousin a bit too much credit for being outgoing; but then…her gaze dropped over the woman with quick observance and she bit the inside of her cheek. “Well, I suppose compared to the rest of you lot, he is a real city slicker.”

The comment would either grate on Sallie’s nerves or drive her away even faster, but Tabitha didn’t mind either way.

Flight. It seemed very Milton, and Tabitha bowed her head slightly, acutely aware Sallie couldn’t even bare to speak her name in acknowledgement as she fumbled a form of goodbye. Except there was no swift exit. Not without little Rosie.

Tabitha frowned and sat up in her chair looking around at the clusters of onlookers to the event. Though all that had rather seemed to fall into the background. “You know the Northwoods are tricky.” She huffed, feeling the hairs prickle at the back of her neck. “Just because snow might cover a fairy ring doesn’t mean it’s out of commission.” Tabitha mused, finally standing and arching a brow at Sallie expectantly. “She probably just ran off for a peppermint stick. But…I know these woods. As much as they’ll let me.” She waved Sallie along, “Let’s look around.”

-

“Audience? Tib-tab-toe, like I’d relegate anyone I personally invited to just the audience. Applesauce, as they’d say.”

Some intrepid soul had stepped up to try his luck, Uncle Gabe hastily setting down the decanter and patting himself down for the correct pamphlet to offer. 

“But first!” He beamed, gesturing ahead with a dramatic bow. “No guest of mine will go hungry. What’re you feeling, sweet or savory?”

* * * * * * 

Fanny was still manning the station, gimlet eyes scanning the line and ladle at the ready. Said line wound ‘round two other booths in between (the Grow Your Own Plants By Starlight! one that the Garcias were trying to get off the, heh, ground, and the Rhythmic Breathing one, which he personally thought would just make a man more hungry, this close to the cauldrons).

“New plan,” he said, tugging his other, much more delightful sister to the side and behind a set up of tiny bean sprouts under a large magnifying glass. “We gotta distract Fanny. Once she’s out, I betcha I can talk May Wong into giving us some dumplings without having to stand in line, yeah?”

He paused.

“You. You gotta distract Fanny, if I did it, boy, she’d be on me faster than guilt on a Milton.” 

Savory dumplings. Savory dumplings filled with steaming hot soup (and just maybe a bit of pork since no other Teivel’s were around?). Tabitha imagined them with her gloved fingers crossed hopefully as she followed Jimmie to the serving stall.

“Oof, hey!” She hissed, pulled out of her imaginings of late supper and instead staring strangely at some beansprouts. Tabitha’s face fell and she quipped sarcastically, “Like we’re so inconspicuous by the beanstalk wannabe.” She flicked one of the sprouts, eyes widening as Jimmie’s plan altered again. “Me? Why…”

Of course, Fanny would see right through her younger brother. It would have been the same issue flipped if Simon was in attendance instead. It was too bad. Fanny sort of liked her? Or at least, Tabitha thought she did.

“Go on, go on then.” She waved Jimmie away, sniffling, gasping, and working until crocodile tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. Tabitha meandered back over to the stall where Fanny was working diligently making sure her sister in law caught a glimpse of her before she slipped behind the table closer to where Fanny could actually hear her.

“It’s – good.” Ruthie remembered her manners not a second too soon. “Bit high on the fir but that’s always a hit on winter. Did you try a cinnamon stick? Should’ve.”

There it was again, that prickling over her shoulders, tense and crawling. Who was she to talk? She couldn’t even make a crumb cake. Couldn’t– wouldn’t. And now Flory’s was closing, because Great Aunt Delaney had asked Ruthie if she wanted the spot, and Ruthie didn’t know how to be grateful any more than she knew how to breathe underwater.

Another pour, heavier this time. She sipped it – half of it in a gulp, in any case.

“We went dancing. He’s got good hands.”

Ruthie grinned. For a moment, she was dancing – not with Ned, but better. Slow dancing beneath the fairy lights, pine needles at her feet, her favorite plum cobbler on the rough-hewn table at her back.

She had always loved Lammas.

“Wanna go doubles next time?”

“Cinnamon huh?” Tabitha mused, a little surprised by the suggestion. Not that she had any doubt it would taste good. It was just that, well… “I wouldn’t dare add it unless I wanted every taster falling into some stupor of half madness due to love or lust. It only needs the slightest hint of intent.” It might be funny for a minute or two, but Tabitha had never seen a ‘love’ charm or incantation play out favorably.

She tried to stick to  Aunt Judith’s magic rules. Away from the heart and away from the dead. Stay settled in your head.

Ruthie at least seemed determined for distractions with no desire to share the reason why. Tabitha refilled her glass before she could even be prompted, setting the bottle down with a clink on the table. She flipped three ace of hearts cards in a row out in front them.

Cheeky buggers.

“Sure. You want to find me a date? You know between the two of us, we can dance circles around these townies.”

-

“Ow! Not the arm again!” It was second nature now to swat the hand away. He prodded the area cautiously, wincing. “The same spot, really? What happens if it bruises permanently, yeah?”

Between the leg cramps and the arm- and cheek-pinching tonight, boy, was he in for a rough morning. Sisters were cruel, cruel creatures. 

“And shh on the m-word, or I’ll bring up the other one within hearing of the aunties.” Marriage, he mouthed, jerking his head towards where a cluster of them were excitedly swapping what appeared to be celestial-themed knit patterns. “And celestial calligraphy, it’s not the writing bit that’s the challenge, it’s the interpretation. Watch.”

The Wolgemuth representative was some grand-nephew of the late Harmut’s, puffed up and peacocking in his first official coven duty as he adjusted the giggling younger dame’s head to tilt towards the night sky, followed by her grip on the long stick, one end pointing up and the other in the snow. 

“You’re supposed to write as the stars lead you, and then the panel over there consult all the charts and books to tell you what it means. Good luck getting an answer before the next lunar meeting though.”

Said panel included Auntie Sherry, who had de-fi-nitely noticed he was no longer meditating. Time to get going. 

He grabbed his sister-in-law’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, deftly whirling them both around. 

“Nah, this is the bit you’ll want to see. The Offering to the Stars, yeah?”

A few steps away was a small shrine molded out of the freshly fallen snow. Concentric circles of small porcelain cups without handles surrounded it, Uncle Gabe muttering stars-knew-what as he painstakingly filled each cup with a clear liquid. 

“You’re supposed to listen to the music of the spheres,” he made a face, as if to say, can you get a load of this? before resuming, “And drink out of whichever cup the stars direct you to before rinsing it out with snow and replacing it.”

Uncle Gabe was using a clear decanter, but where the moonlight hit it just right, he could just make out a purple tinge. 

He turned his most brilliant grin onto Tabitha (No. 5, the Award-Winner). “Whatcha say we get ourselves some dumplings and watch the show?”

“Don’t be such a baby.” Tabitha scoffed before falling more quiet at Jimmie’s suggestion. His Aunt and any others did not need ideas. She watched with more interest the Wolgemuth family member work the ritual, wishing she was just a bit closer to see what was actually being etched in the fresh fallen snow. Her face pulled into a grimace however when it was revealed some panel of elders had to confirm its meaning.

Tabitha had forgotten the number one inconvenience of covens. Following the order of things. It just took so much longer. Her breath caught in her throat as Jimmie promptly redirected them, and she got one last glimpse of Aunt Sherry, looking sterner than was probably good for anyone. “Don’t worry, I don’t tattle.” She nudged her brother-in-law, warming her hands as they stopped again to observe The Offering to the Stars.

.

She didn’t believe much in sinning, not in a strict sense. The word was too small for what it was meant to mean. Right and wrong, good and bad, violation, immorality– they were all crammed into three little letters. Religion often told a good story, but it had its limitations. 

She wasn’t quite sure she’d call betting a sin, per say, more like a silly bit of foolish that no one with a cent to their name ought to be bothering with, but she wasn’t about philosophize, not with Tabitha. Be polite but nothing more was a modus operandi that served a person well. 

Except–

“Now, come on now,” Sallie said, with the same chastising tone she used in the school house whenever one of the little ones got a berry stuck up their nose, or Etta was being particularly ridiculous. Sure, Peter was just as handsome as he was three years ago, and Johnnie Feigel had a jaw sharp enough to serve as surrogate for his axe, but she wasn’t fourteen skirting the edge of a harvest dance. “This isn’t for me, I’m minding–” 

Rosie, who never knew how to hold her tongue and certainly didn’t need the attention of fae. Sallie chewed on her cheek a moment before finishing lamely: “Suppose I like the rigor of good competition.” 

“Oh, but of course it isn’t.” Tabitha pouted in a show of understanding. If there was ever a martyr of the valley, Sallie Milton was the perfect candidate. She slinked further down in her seat, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself so that it hid the bottom of her face. Her green eyes watched chunks of wood crack and fly from the dry standing tree trunks as the men swung their axes with renewed vigor.

Everything else in the woods was eerily still, how was it possible?

And then there were two glasses, poured, and two friends, seated, and it was as natural as anything except Ruthie felt distinctly unnatural, caught at ends. It wasn’t Tabitha, or gin, or even the four-room apartment. It was the valley, and the way it seemed to do naught but watch her.

“Alright then.” Ruthie gave a crooked smile, lifting her glass.

Clink.

“Huh. It’s nice.” Letting the flavors settle on her tongue for a moment, her tastebuds sparked at green herbs and citrus, the sharp spike of juniper. With a shrug, Ruthie finished the fingerful glass and tapped it back to the tabletop. Pushing the tips of her fingers, she returned it to the middle. Another?

“Who’s been keeping you company then, Tabitha?”

“Nice. But nothing special?” Tabitha asked, wondering if her enchantments had gone terribly wrong somehow. It’s not like she made a living out of infusing drinks with magic. Well…not yet anyways.

She was relieved that at least the gin was tasty enough to want more. She generously poured Ruthie another helping, smiling with a toothy grin as she did so. Tabitha still sat with her empty glass quickly shuffling a regular deck of playing cards.

“Company?” She repeated curiously, glancing up quickly to her friend on the other side of the small table. “Well…Jimmie Leong, seeing as we’re business partners and in-laws.” Suddenly the calico cat meowed loudly with a twinge of annoyance from across the room, “And Andromeda, of course.” Tabitha amended “You would be impressed Ruthie; I’ve been reintroducing myself to practically the whole town. Not much has changed.”

She let out a small sigh, “I’m more inclined to solitude though. Say, did anything ever happen between you and Ned?”

Taking her lead, Maxwell grabbed a couple of seeds for himself, ideally to give him at least a momentary excuse not to talk. His mind still whirled around like a spinning wheel, full attention focused on every move and gesture he made, as if an experiment under scrutiny.

“A dour subject for such excitement, yes.” He’d dipped his toe into the Gothic works at one point, but pulled his toe out just as quickly. Underneath the scrolling language and the stormy backdrops, it all hit a bit too close to home in a strange, uneasy way. “The Greeks and Romans had their tragedies and…we have this. I suppose.”

He cleared his throat. “That sounds about right.” Though nothing had really changed about that in the meantime. The schoolyard…had they gone to school together? It would stand to reason, the valley being so small. And he did have a habit for ignoring a great deal of the social goings on around him in his youth. Though he’d clearly made enough of an impression on her, and better she remember him for that than…anything else. He felt like such a cad.

One shoulder rose in a shrug. He hardly considered the few pictures he’d gone to see thus far the makings of a connoisseur. “It’s a place to go. Do you…prefer the front or the back?”

Tabitha watched Maxwell as he offered small, insignificant responses to her. She wondered how long she should let him dance around figuring out just who she was, or if he was humble enough to admit she faded into the background of memory. Tabitha wasn’t offended, in fact it was a breath of fresh air to not be recalled with an air of unease.

“The back should serve well.” She decided, moving them quickly so they were able to snatch two of the last remaining rickety, (though individual) chairs set up side by side. “Do you think this barn is full of lonely people looking for entertainment on a late Friday night? Or a bunch of eccentrics?” She smiled as a sign to not weigh the question too heavily on ones mind.

In the meantime, Tabitha had gathered a few more pumpkin seeds, nudging him when the film clicked and flickered in the projector. It prompted an anticipatory hush over the other viewers in the barn, and the redhead leaning in close whispered, “You don’t remember me, do you Max? We could have exchanged secrets under an old marked up old tree and you'd show up none the wiser." She clicked her tongue in a show of disapproval, eyes glinting with mischeif. 

What happened?

“I moved in.”

Ruthie gave her a blank look, stepping into the space. Perhaps some lettings came ready-made, but that wasn’t the Wolgemuth way.

A bottle caught her attention and raised her brows. Violet had no interest – in Tabitha, or the gin. She continued snoozing on the tufted ottoman as Ruthie made her way into the kitchen. Beneath gingerbread-style mouldings, Ruthie fished open the cabinets and extracted two glasses, passing them to Tabitha.

“Sure.” she said, with a canine grin. “As long as you test it with me.”

Quick at hand was a plate of shortbread cookies from Flory’s – not her own, though she had minded them while they baked. Ruthie pulled them forward and carried them to the table, nudging Violet off her perch. With a swish of her tail, she crossed to the windowseat on the other side of the empty room. Ruthie motioned for Tabitha to sit.

“Did yours come furnished, then?”

“Well, that’s only fair.” Tabitha nodded, taking the glasses as they were handed over to her. She balanced them on the table as she uncorked the bottle and poured out the clear liquid. At a quick glance, it didn’t seem like anything significant, but once it was sipped on hopefully Sinnerman’s Gin would make some sort of impact.

She laughed, raising the glass to prompt a toast, but not yet tilting it back. “Not entirely. But then I suppose, there is a lot less to furnish in the carriage house than this multi-room paradise.” Tabitha supposed she would feel a bit overwhelmed with so much space if it landed in her lap.

“Cheers.” Her brows raised on something like a silent dare, and Tabitha took a large sip, letting the gin heat up her belly and flood her nose with the scent of juniper and cloves. “Let me know what you think.” She urged, snatching a shortbread to hold between her teeth and nibble on while turning back to her bag and pulling out a various kinds of card decks.

.

Sallie’s hand retracted as if she put bare skin to ice. 

Tabitha Teivel was all human warmth though– in appearance at least. What lurked beneath rosy cheeks was a different question. 

Sallie crossed her arms, stuffing her mittened hands underneath her armpits. “’lo.” She allowed with a stiff nod. 

It wasn’t a neighborly response (but they weren’t, thank the stars, strictly neighbors), it wasn’t even kind of nice. Was it worse to trifle with someone touched by the fae or irk them through your own reservation? 

One thing was for sure: either approach brought on a whole lot of awkwardness. 

The natural moment to answer Tabitha’s question had come and gone, silence weighing heavy in the limited space between her and Sallie, who cleared her throat.

“No.” Too curt. “I mean, I’ve always been of the mind that betting’s for fools. Never does well to think so much of yourself that you go on believing you can cheat fate with a wager.”

It was too bad her sister had discarded her directly next to Sallie Milton. Tabitha was hoping for a more  exciting greeting for Sallie in particular. Popping out from behind a tree and screaming Boo would have satiated her, as childish as it was. Now, she looked back at the dark-haired girl with a tired, somewhat placid expression.

Sallie always acted like her milk turned sour whenever Tabitha was around, or maybe her shoes were too tight?

“Right, right! So foolish I imagine you’d classify it as a sin?” Tabitha posed the question. She rubbed her hands together to warm them and watched as Peter was led away from the trunk of the tree and the next contestant approached. “Then what would entice you and yours to come all the way out here? With no one to root for…”