Summer Sun's Arc

Chapter 7 of 15

Summer Sun was still by the barn door when she heard the shouting. It came from across the fields, sharp and cracked, cutting through the falling snow. Angela's antennae flattened. Tracie stood up from the hay bale. Summer Sun stepped outside and saw a black shape crossing the white meadow at a run. Matilda. Her cloak dragged snow behind her. Her hat was gone. Even from far off, Summer Sun could see her hands were empty and shaking. Matilda came on fast. She screamed Summer Sun's name across the fields. She swore at the sky, at the snow, at the barn. Bees in the rafters woke and hummed. Angela pressed against Summer Sun's leg. Tracie reached for a pitchfork. Summer Sun did not move. She had made grumpy people laugh since she was twelve. She had never seen a face like the one coming at her now. Matilda's eyes were wet and wild. Her mouth pulled back from her teeth. She was thirty steps out. Twenty. Ten. Granny Weatherby stepped out of the barn. She did not raise her voice. "Matilda. Stop." Matilda stopped. Her boots skidded in the snow. She stood panting five paces from Summer Sun, arms out, fingers hooked. Granny Weatherby walked between them, slow, wool cardigan buttoned to her throat. "You come to my barn like that, you leave in a jar," she said. "You know the rule. Say your piece from where you stand." Matilda's chest heaved. She stared past Granny at Summer Sun. "The feather," she said. Flat. Short. "Give it back." Summer Sun found her voice. "No." Matilda's hands twitched. She looked at Granny. Granny looked back. Matilda took one step backward. Then another. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out. She turned and walked away across the snow, stiff, silent, empty-handed. Angela let out a breath. Tracie set down the pitchfork. Summer Sun watched the black shape shrink across the field toward the twisted bramble cottage in the far trees. Granny Weatherby did not watch. She looked at Summer Sun instead. "She'll try something small next," the old woman said. "She can't do the big spell. But a witch that angry doesn't sit still. She'll pick one of you off, if she can." Summer Sun nodded. She thought of the wild face, the shaking hands, the mouth that could not find words. She had cracked Matilda once by pointing at cold toes. That would not work today. Whatever came next, laughter was not going to be the first tool she reached for. She would need it later. She was sure of that. But not yet.