Chapter 6: Cabin in the Woods

6: Cabin in the Woods

Anyra

I walk into the small, two-bedroom cabin with rustic window shutters spread wide to let in the spring air. Jenna pushes me through the doorway, and I am greeted with the scent of fresh cookies.

A woman in a long, orange robe with her hair done up in a colorful doo rag turns from her place at the kitchen sink and smiles at us. I stand awkwardly in the entranceway and let Jenna move around me to hug her mother.

“Mom,” Jenna says, motioning to me. “This is Anyra Alden. Anyra, this is my mom, Frida.” She turns back to Frida and asks, “Where’s dad?”

Her mom, beaming at me, making me even more uncomfortable, says, “Marcel is in the backyard gathering some ingredients from the garden.” As she speaks, her eyes never leave mine. I begin to sweat as if I’m being interrogated by her eye contact alone.

“Oh,” Jenna exclaims. “What are you making?” She looks at the oven, red hot and filled with cookie sheets.

“Something I’m sure Anyra here will appreciate.” Frida moves close to me, the kitchen counter behind her. “I have been looking forward to meeting you, my dear,” she takes my hands and folds them into hers. My pale hands jump out against her dark skin.

My eyes dart to Jenna, fearing what she may have told her mother. Jenna waves a hand at me nonchalantly. “Don’t worry. I haven’t told her anything. I don’t need to. She’s a seer.”

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. Frida pats my hands. “Surely the concept of a seer is not unfamiliar to you or hard to believe? After all, you are a shifter. Surely your world has many secrets others would be wont to know.”

Ice runs down my spine. SHE KNOWS. But how? Then I think of Jenna. I didn’t need to tell her either. It must run in the blood, I think.

“No, it’s just I find it hard to believe a family of…well…witches would be right here in Step Falls in the middle of nowhere.”

Frida chuckles lightly, her smile spread wide. “We prefer the solitude, much like you, I would imagine.”

“Right,” I say, not knowing how else to respond.

A second later, the back door in the kitchen opens, and a large man in blue overalls lumbers in, a basket of herbs in his hands. His bald head gleams in the lamplight coming from the living room to my right. He looks at me, brown eyes curious, and smiles.

“And who might this be?” he asks his wife, placing the basket of herbs on the kitchen table and moving to her side. He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and greets his daughter with a wave.

“This is Anyra. She’s a shifter, dear. Just moved into town, didn’t you?” Frida says to her husband.

His eyes grow wide with excitement. “A shifter? Here? I didn’t think we would ever find any this far north. Don’t they prefer warmer climates?”

He seems genuinely innocent, and I wonder if the gift of foresight is inherent only in his wife.

“Nonsense, dear. We just happen to live in one of the only places not marked in the States. Everywhere else, for the most part, belong to one pack or another. Remember my cousin in Boston? She deals with their pack on many occasions.”

My hands grow clammy as I hear them speak of the ‘others.’ I have never met another shifter except for my mother, and hearing about them now is a little daunting.

Frida turns back to me, “Don’t mind him. He’s human,” she says, whispering the last word.

She notices my eyebrows raised in surprise. “I know. A witch and a human isn’t common, but you can’t help it when you fall in love. That is part of the reason why we live so remotely. You won’t find many other witches here either.”

Her smile never fades as she talks. It’s kind of refreshing to be around someone who is so naturally happy. My life seems so cold and dark that half the time, I forget light exists at all.

Jenna, impatient, speaks up, “Mom, what are you making?”

“Oh! That’s right!” Frida spins around and picks up an oven mitt, opening the oven carefully. She pulls out two cookie sheets laden with large chocolate chip cookies, perfectly rounded with chocolate chips oozing from the cookies.

Steam wises in the air, the smell of the cookies wafting around the room. Immediately, my mouth begins to water.

Frida sets the cookie sheets on the stove to let them cool, then turns her attention to the herbs. She takes two stalks of green leaves and pulls them from the basket. Placing them on a cutting board, she dices the leaves into smaller portions.

Beside her, Marcel sets a pot of water to boil.

I walk over to Jenna, no longer wishing to be alone. “What are they doing?” I whisper to her.

Jenna shrugs. “I have no idea. They are obviously brewing something, but I don’t know what.”

A few minutes later, Frida places a steaming tea cup on the kitchen table and beckons me to sit. I do so, and Jenna slides in next to me.

“What is it? I ask, looking into the dark liquid.”

“It’s just something to dull your senses while transitioning toward your first shift. It’ll make being around humans easier. I know how hard it can be at times. They are SO LOUD,” she says and grins at Marcel, who chuckles to himself.

I pick up the cup and gingerly take a sip. Whatever it is, it is STRONG. I gag slightly, but, not wanting to be rude, I swallow some more and put it back down.

Already, I can feel it working. No longer do I hear the sounds outside thundering my ears, birds chirping, insects calling to each other, and footsteps from someone far away. It all dies down to near-normal volume.

“Thank you,” I tell them.

Frida smiles again, that big beautiful smile that makes me grin in response.

Witches? In New York? Crazy!