Sig - “Let me rest. I’ll be fine in a few days, my boy.” He said, as I closed the door behind me. Something wasn't right though. I didn't know what, but I knew there was something. In all the years I've lived in Hlofreden, Grandfather had rarely been sick. The few times he did come down with something, his concoction of liquor and tea scorched it out quicker than a horn of gunpowder could go up in flames. The stacks of discarded tea leaves drying on counter and the several empty bottles could only mean he’d been sick for nearly as long as I’d be gone. I couldn't put my finger on it, but my spine tingled, knowing it was wrong.
The chitinous sound of movement in the sleeve of my tunic sparked another thought in my mind. We knew another witch was operating in Hlofreden, and it was nearly certain they, whoever they were, had the upper hand. It was possible that they had moved against Atticus...or perhaps, once again, he put his nose where it had no right to be. I did not wish to invade the old man's privacy, but ignoring my suspicion could give way to a terrible fate for grandfather.
A few hand gestures and a muttered word confirmed my suspicion. Even through the solid door, I could see the glow of magic caused by a witch's hex.
Atticus didn't seem upset that he'd been cursed. I couldn't help but wonder if he already knew or at least suspected the cause of his illness. He mentioned that he'd taken a look in to the storage area that the Shattered Hammer Brewery used and that it could be related. Could be. If I had a gold coin every time I felt like he withheld a little then I'd be wealthier than the Hlofolk who mined out the cliffs surrounding Hlofreden.
Its nerve wracking thinking about the dangers in our own backyard. My mind is still grappling with the concept that our home may not be the sanctuary or refuge I, for the most part, assumed it was.
