Hallow's Edge

Chapter 11 -Raven

Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since Lily cornered me in the library doorway with murder in her eyes. Two weeks since Noah stepped between us like it was instinct. Two weeks since the air around me felt sharp and dangerous. And somehow… things have settled. Not perfectly. Not completely. But enough.

Enough that I don’t wake up every morning wondering if I’ll still be here by nightfall. Enough that the house feels less like a stranger and more like a place that remembers me when I walk in. Enough that I’ve stopped counting the days until I turn eighteen.

I’m getting into the flow of things. School. Homework. Emily’s constant chatter. Grace’s warm hugs. Liam’s terrible dad jokes. Noah’s quiet glances that feel like they see more than I say. It’s strange. Good strange. Scary strange. But still strange.

Noah has relaxed. At first, he hovered around Drake like a guard dog who smelled a threat. But then he overheard Emily talking about Drake in the kitchen, her voice soft, hopeful, the kind of tone you use when you’re trying not to sound like you’re crushing on someone.

After that, Noah eased up. He even gave Drake a nod in the hallway yesterday. A real one. Not the “I’m watching you” kind.

I don’t tell Noah that I knew about Emily’s crush before she did. The love‑spirit voice whispered it the first time Drake smiled at her. But I’m learning to keep that part of me quiet. Hidden. Some things are easier that way.

Grace and Emily know about my lotions now. It happened accidentally. Emily walked into my room while I was mixing lavender oil and calendula in a little glass jar. She froze, sniffed the air, and said, “Why does it smell like a spa in here?” I panicked. She didn’t.

She dragged Grace upstairs, and before I could blink, I was explaining everything, how I learned to make lotions and creams from Laura, one of my favorite foster moms. How Laura was a Wiccen, gentle and earthy, always humming while she worked. How she taught me which plants soothe burns, which help with sleep, which calm anxiety.

How she gave me a book full of recipes and notes before they took me away from her. Grace listened like every word mattered. Emily asked a thousand questions. And instead of treating me like I was weird or suspicious, they treated me like I was… talented. Grace even said, “These are good enough to sell.” I laughed. She didn’t.

Now I’m helping her and Emily prepare for the farmer's market booth they run every Saturday. Grace helped me design labels, simple, pretty, with little crescent moons in the corners. Emily insisted on adding sparkles. I let her. It feels good. Strange, but good. Like I’m building something that’s mine.

Tonight, the house feels warm. Grace is in the kitchen making soup. Emily is sprawled on the living room floor painting her nails. Liam is fixing a loose cabinet hinge. Noah is upstairs, probably doing homework or pretending to. I’m at the dining table, labeling jars of lotion, lavender, chamomile, peppermint, rose. The pendant at my throat pulses softly, warm against my skin. It’s been doing that more often lately. Not enough to scare me. Just enough to remind me something inside me is shifting. Awakening. I try not to think about it too much.

Emily pops up from the floor and plops into the chair beside me. “These look amazing,” she says, picking up a jar. “People are going to love them.”

“I hope so,” I say.

“You’re going to sell out,” she insists. “Mom said your lavender one helped her sleep for the first time in a week.”

I blink. “Really?”

Emily nods. “She said it felt like someone turned down the volume in her brain.”

Warmth spreads through my chest. “That’s… good.”

“It’s more than good,” Emily says. “It’s magic.”

I freeze. She doesn’t notice. She’s already reaching for another jar. Magic. The word hangs in the air like a spark.

I swallow hard. “It’s just plants.”

Emily shrugs. “Plants can be magic too.”

Before I can respond, footsteps sound on the stairs. Noah appears, hair damp from a shower, wearing a soft gray T‑shirt that should be illegal, along with the gray sweatpants. He pauses when he sees us, eyes flicking from Emily to me to the jars on the table.

“You working on your stuff?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Grace wants to take them to the market.”

He smiles, small, warm, real. “That’s awesome.” Something tugs, gentle but insistent. I look away before I forget how to breathe. Two weeks ago, I was terrified of this place. Terrified of them. Terrified of myself. Now?

Now I’m sitting at a table labeling lotions while Emily hums beside me and Noah leans against the doorway like he belongs there. Like I belong here. It’s not perfect. It’s not certain. But it’s something. Something warm. Something real. Something I’m afraid to name.

Because naming things makes them fragile. And fragile things break. But for the first time in a long time, I’m starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, this thing won’t.