Hedge Witch Diaries Complete Series Boxed Set, page 2
CHAPTER TWO
The dimly lit bar smelled like suntan lotion, beer, and the best damn burgers anywhere on the lake. I wove through the crowded tables, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand as I navigated my way to a table of tourists. They were easy to spot, their sunburned faces, tank tops, flip-flops, and jovial attitude a stark contrast from the flannel and exhaustion most of the locals wore. Not to mention, I knew all the regulars. Most of them on a first-name basis. Hell, I’d even gone to school or church with some of them. Back when I still went to school and church.
“Here you go.” I placed the drinks down carefully. “Enjoy your night.” The tourists smiled back at me, their excitement palpable, only slightly dampened by the overwhelming atmosphere of the dive bar.
As I turned to leave, my ears picked up on a familiar drawl that made me wince internally. Nick and Donnie Honeycut, brothers I’d grown up with, huddled with their friend Jim Bob Anderson around a table in the far corner of the bar. I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation as I served the table next to them, their voices loud and slurred from too many beers.
“Y’all heard ‘bout them witches?” Nick asked, his voice barely above a whisper as if the very word would summon the creatures he spoke of. Donnie nodded, his face pale and serious, while Jim Bob leaned in closer, eager for more gossip.
“Yup, they moved into town not too long ago,” Donnie replied, his voice heavy with fear and suspicion. “I heard they’re settin’ up sacrifices in them woods, callin’ forth all sorts of evil spirits.”
“Damn witches,” Jim Bob spat, his ever-present anger simmering beneath the surface. “We don’t need their kind here.”
I rolled my eyes at their ignorance, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was no secret that the Honeycut brothers and Jim Bob were prone to spreading wild rumors and tales, their imagination only eclipsed by their ignorance.
“Another round?” I asked the table beside them, desperate to escape their ridiculous conversation. The patrons nodded, grateful for the distraction as well. With a forced smile, I headed back to the bar.
“Them witches are causin’ all sorts of trouble, I tell ya,” Jim Bob continued, his voice growing louder as he got more worked up. “My toilet’s been stopped up for a week now, and yesterday, my tractor broke down. I bet those damned witches cursed it!”
“Same thing happened to me, Jim Bob,” Nick chimed in. “My truck’s been actin’ up ever since they moved in. And Donnie here, he’s been complainin’ ‘bout his cow givin’ sour milk.”
“Yup,” Donnie agreed solemnly. “And I heard they came from one of them left states, you know, them liberals on the coast who tolerate this kind of malarkey. Seattle, I reckon. They must be from Seattle ‘cause all the weird shit comes from there.”
I shook my head, trying to stifle a laugh at their outrageous claims. These were the people I grew up with. They didn’t have a lot of understanding or tolerance for anyone different, which meant they didn’t like a lot of people. The kind of people whose trucks featured a display of the “stars and bars” in the back windows and chrome testicles dangling from their hitches. At least they had each other.
“Grace, can you believe these guys?” I whispered to my coworker as I leaned across the bar, nodding in their direction. “Blaming everything on witches like it’s the 1600s or something.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Ah, Briar, don’t let them get to you, honey,” Grace advised me, her fiery red hair swinging as she turned her attention back to wiping down the counter. She was a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense attitude, and I always appreciated her take on things. “They’re ignorant jackasses, and everyone knows it. You have to admit, though, this witch business raises a lot of concerns. It’s one thing to hear about witch covens springing up in the big city. It’s another thing when they’re in your hometown.”
The emergence of witches was a worldwide phenomenon. After centuries of oppression, witch trials, and burnings, it was finally time that casters could emerge from the shadows and their conclaves in the woods and share their gifts with the world. Hollywood deserved some of the credit. A combination of television shows and films featuring witches not as warped old hags in the woods who lure children into their ovens but as equally powerful and vulnerable beings who tap into the mysteries of the universe. They struggled with their love, loss, and the pressures of daily responsibility, striving to use their power for good.
The portrayal helped them come out of the shadows. Social media gave those who seemed to have innate powers the ability to connect with others who guided them in their strange practice. More than anything, I suspected it was a coordinated effort. The one thing I knew about witches was that they loved nature. They were concerned about the destruction of forests, endangered species, and air pollution.
Witches were involved in politics at every level. We hadn’t had our first witch president or anything, but a few states had witch governors, senators, and representatives. We didn’t have any of that going on in Missouri, so most of the locals figured the witches were a problem of the “liberal coasts.” There was a lot of backlash, of course. Folks who found it easier to discount anything they didn’t understand as “of the devil” than to ask questions and search for common ground or shared values.
Now, I suppose I grew up with conservative Midwestern values. Nothing wrong with those values. You know, family is good. Didn’t have much of that, but absence makes the heart grow fonder. But I’d always been an outsider. Misunderstood. I wasn’t a witch or anything like that. When you see things no one else can, when you hang out with more dead animals than people, I suppose it gives one a certain empathy for those others would rather discount or condemn.
Not that I was eager to meet a witch. I knew a few people who knew a few witches. Still, the news of a coven setting up shop around the Lake of the Ozarks meant it was only a matter of time. Didn’t bother me in the least. So long as they tipped well, who was I to judge a witch who might or might not make an appearance at Charlie’s Lakefront Bar and Grill?
I glanced at Grace. “I don’t get it. You think any of those backwoods hillbillies have ever even met a witch before?”
Grace chuckled. “Probably not, hon. But you know how some folks are. What you don’t understand, you fear. Never admit it, though. Admitting fear means admitting weakness. From someone whose last three husbands were all about beer and bravado, they’re terrified children at heart. When you’re afraid, it’s a lot easier to take refuge in your hole, in what’s familiar, than to try to understand different folks.”
I knew Grace was right. She was a simple lady by appearance, but she’d been through a lot of shit in her life. Having been through it myself, I knew the options. When bad things happen, you can become angry and bitter, or you can grow. Use the crap you’ve endured to learn about yourself, how the world works, and get a little wisdom. That was Grace. She was sort of who I wanted to be. Apart from being in her late forties and still working at a bar.
“Thanks, Grace.” I grabbed another tray of drinks to serve. “You always know how to put things in perspective.”
“Anytime, sweetie,” she replied, flashing me a quick grin before returning to her work.
As I wove through the tables, I couldn’t help but overhear more of the hillbillies’ ridiculous conversation. Their ignorance was almost comical.
“Hey, did you hear ‘bout that one witch who cursed Jim’s beer?” Donnie slurred, his words beginning to blend together as the alcohol took its toll. “Gave him a gut the size of a watermelon!”
“Damn witches,” Nick hiccupped loudly. “Nothin’ but trouble.”
“Y’know what I heard?” Donnie announced, leaning in closer to his companions as if sharing some top-secret information. “I heard they can make you go blind if you jerk off thinking about one.”
“Damn,” Jim Bob muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’d better stop doing that, then!”
The three men erupted into laughter, slapping each other on the back as they reveled in their ridiculousness. I rolled my eyes, trying not to let them get under my skin.
“Hey, Briar,” called Grace from behind the bar, catching my eye. “Can you bring some more ice from the back?”
“Sure thing,” I replied, glad for the distraction. As I walked away from the nonsense of the Honeycuts and Jim Bob, I couldn’t help but feel a mixture of amusement and frustration. Retrieving the ice, I allowed myself a few moments to collect my thoughts before returning to the bar.
“Thanks, Briar,” Grace told me as I dumped the ice into the cooler, the cold biting at my skin. “I figured you could use a chance to cool off.”
“It’s amazing what you can get used to when you grow up surrounded by it.”
“Still.” Grace sighed, shaking her head as she poured another round of drinks. “I wish they’d leave their superstitions at the door. It brings the whole mood down.”
“Tell me about it.” I glanced over at the Honeycut brothers and Jim Bob, who were now entertaining the idea that one of the witches had turned someone’s dog green.
Grace patted my back before returning to her duties, and I forced myself to concentrate on the job. A group of tourists waved me over from their table, and I plastered a smile on my face as I approached them.
“Can we get the special?” one of the men asked, his accent betraying that he was not from around here.
“Of course!” I replied. “Burger and chips?”
“Can I get the onion rings instead?” a young woman in a bikini top and shorts asked.
I nodded. “Anything to drink?”
I took the rest of their order, jotting down their choices on my notepad before deftly weaving between tables to reach the bar.
As I worked, the inane babble of the Honeycut brothers and Jim Bob became little more than white noise in the background. My hands moved with practiced ease, pouring frothy beers and mixing colorful cocktails, the clink of glass and slosh of liquid a soothing rhythm.
“Order ready for five,” one of the cooks announced from the bar. I retrieved the order, balancing a tray of steaming burgers and fries in one hand as I wove through the tables. Of course, table five was adjacent to the morons I was hoping to avoid.
“Y’know what they oughta do with these witches?” Nick Honeycut guffawed, slamming his beer mug on the table, sloshing foam over the edge. “Burn ‘em! That’ll teach ‘em!”
“Damn straight!” Donnie chimed in, grinning like a fool. Their ignorant laughter grated on me like nails on a chalkboard. My grip tightened on the tray, knuckles whitening as I forced a smile and deposited the food onto the adjacent table.
“Here you are, folks. Enjoy your meal,” I announced through gritted teeth, trying to focus on the tourists rather than the Honeycuts’ conversation.
“Thank you, darlin’,” replied a kindly older woman as she adjusted her glasses and eagerly picked up her burger. I gave her a genuine smile before turning away, my ears still tuned into the Honeycuts’ witch-burning fantasies.
“Enough, you two,” Jim Bob Anderson growled from across the table, his eyes meeting mine for a second. They were cold and calculating, sending shivers down my spine. I quickly looked away, determined to keep my cool.
“Excuse me,” I muttered as I squeezed between two tables, making my way to a nearby booth. The family seated there seemed blissfully unaware of the dark conversations happening mere feet away. The mother, a pretty blonde in her early thirties, looked up at me expectantly.
“Hi there, what can I get for y’all tonight?” I asked, pulling my notepad and pen from my apron pocket. I’d focus on their order to push back the waves of anger and disgust that threatened to crash over me.
“Can I have the chicken fingers, please?” one of the kids piped up. Innocence filled his bright blue eyes, and for a moment, I envied him. To be so oblivious to the ugliness in the world.
“Sure thing, honey,” I replied, scribbling down his order. “And for the rest of you?”
As the family placed their orders, I couldn’t help but steal glances at the Honeycuts and Jim Bob, hoping they’d move on to another topic.
I took another order from the grill and arranged the plates on a tray.
My arms ached under the weight of the tray, piled high with sizzling burgers and cheesy fries.
“Here you go.” I set the plates down at a nearby table with a relieved sigh. The tourists looked up at me, their faces sunburned from a day on the lake. They mumbled their thanks, mouths already watering at the sight of their dinner.
As I moved to leave, my ears picked up on the familiar cackle of Jim Bob’s laughter drifting across the room. Reluctantly, my eyes flicked toward their table, where the brothers huddled around him like moths drawn to a flame. Their greasy fingers clutched their frosty mugs of beer, condensation dripping onto the wooden surface.
“Ya know,” Jim Bob slurred, leaning forward conspiratorially, “Instead of burnin’ ‘em, we oughta capture one of them witches and make her do spells for us. Could be real helpful for our job!”
My stomach churned at the thought, but curiosity got the better of me. What kind of job would they even want a witch to do? Whatever they were up to, it was nothing good.
Upon seeing me looking in his direction, Jim Bob motioned me over. I drew a deep breath and approached.
“Another round?” I asked hesitantly, forcing a smile. I hoped they’d had enough, but part of me knew better than to expect decency from the likes of them.
“Damn straight!” Donnie agreed, slamming his empty bottle onto the table.
“Y’all sure you don’t want your check instead?” I suggested, trying to sound casual as I eyed the growing collection of empties.
“Maybe later, darlin’,” Nick drawled, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine. “Now be a good girl and fetch us some more beer.”
“Fine.” I made a mental note to mention their overindulgence to Charlie before it got out of hand. As I turned to leave, I felt a stinging slap on my butt. My cheeks burned with humiliation, and I knew without looking that it was Jim Bob’s doing.
“Keep up the good work, sweetheart!” he hooted as laughter rose from their table like a noxious cloud.
That was it. I’d reached my breaking point. I spun, rage crackling through my veins like wildfire. Before Jim Bob had a chance to register what was happening, I let my fury guide my hand as it connected with his face.
“Keep your hands to yourself, you piece of shit!” I snarled, my voice shaking with anger.
The entire bar went silent.
Jim Bob’s head snapped back, and he held his cheek in shock. The bar fell silent, the tension in the air palpable.
“Did ya really just…” Jim Bob began, but the raucous laughter erupting from the Honeycut brothers drowned out his words.
“Damn, Jimmy! You got your ass handed to ya by a girl!” Donnie hollered, slapping his thigh in amusement.
“Better watch out, brother,” Nick chimed in, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “She might hex you next! I bet she’s one of them!”
I clenched my fists. I’d known the brothers since I was a kid.
“That must be it!” Donnie clutched his eyes, then reached out, knocking over a glass of beer as if he was blind. “Knew I shouldn’t have stroked it to you, Briar!”
I inhaled deeply, clenched my fists, and turned around. Every eye in the place was glued to me.
Jim Bob grabbed my arm and stood from his chair, pulling me toward him.
“Get your hands off me!” I shrieked.
He wrapped his arms around me and tried to force his mouth over mine. I intercepted his bearded face with my hands, but his grip around my shoulders prevented my escape.
“Hey!” Charlie’s voice boomed over the crowd as he stepped out from behind the bar, his finger pointed in our direction. “Leave her alone! It’s time for you to go home!”
Jim Bob released me and popped his knuckles.
Charlie hurried over and placed himself between Jim Bob and me. “I said, go home, you drunk.”
“Mind your own damn business, old man!” Jim Bob spat, alcohol-laced breath wafting into the air.
“My bar. My business. Go home, or I’ll call the cops,” Charlie demanded, his tone firm and unwavering.
Then, with a loud crack, Jim Bob’s fist made contact with Charlie’s jaw. It must’ve hurt like hell, but Charlie didn’t show it. He quickly regained his footing and retaliated, his fist connecting with Jim Bob’s stomach in a satisfying thud.
“Ugh!” Jim Bob grunted, momentarily winded by the blow. But he wasn’t down for long. He lunged at Charlie, trying to tackle him to the ground, but Charlie dodged, using Jim Bob’s momentum against him and sending him crashing into a nearby booth. Thankfully, it wasn’t occupied.
In a panic, the restaurant’s patrons hurried to the door.
Jim Bob and Charlie weren’t far behind. “Let’s take this outside!” Charlie demanded.
The two men spilled into the gravel parking lot, their heavy boots crunching on the rocks beneath them. The dim glow of the streetlights cast long shadows across their faces as they circled each other like predators sizing up their prey.
“Come on, old man!” Jim Bob taunted, throwing a wild punch that Charlie barely managed to dodge. Their fists collided with harsh thuds, and grunts filled the night air. I saw the exertion in Charlie’s eyes, but he held his ground, refusing to give in to Jim Bob’s aggression.
Until the Honeycuts got involved. They stumbled out of the restaurant. Despite their intoxication, the three men had Charlie outnumbered. One by one, they took turns clocking Charlie in the face until my boss fell to his knees.
“Charlie!” I screamed, my heart racing as I searched for something—anything—to help. Desperation fueled me as I spotted a two-by-four lying next to the dumpster. I grabbed it with both hands and raced toward Jim Bob, adrenaline coursing through my veins. After raising the piece of wood high above my head, I swung it down with all my strength, striking Jim Bob square in the back.
