Greer stood in front of the white picket fence, waiting.
"Do you think Ms. Hale is really a witch?" one of the younger children asked, looking up at her in awe.
"Nonsense," Greer scoffed, taking the kitten from him. "There's no such animal." The children of Bird Street stood in front of Ms. Hale's garden. Through the garden, mossy stones led up to the porch of the Victorian manor that had been painted green long ago. In the middle of the garden stood a plum tree older than the house…some said that it was older than the town itself. Rumors said that the plums were what made old Ms. Hale live so long, and that was why she'd chase off intruders with a broom, trying to protect the sacred fruit. This broom was also featured in the legend of Ms. Hale; as were her many black cats.
"You go," a younger child insisted, opening the gate in front of Greer. "We'll wait." Rolling her eyes, sixteen-year-old Greer Everett headed to the front door. While she was babysitting some neighborhood children, they'd found a little black kitten caught in a rat trap. Fortunately, the trap was a humane one, or it would have been a tragedy indeed. The nearest cat owner was Ms. Hale, and all her cats were black, so the kitten was surely hers.
Greer knocked tentatively on the ebony door. It swung open slowly, and there stood Esther hale, in all her glory. Her grey hair was tied up in a bun, but it was trying quite obviously to escape.
"What do you want?" she asked, glaring at the girl in front of her. Greer winced.
"We found this kitten, ma'am," Greer replied, holding up the black ball of fur. "I thought it might be yours." Immediately Ms. Hale took the kitten from her, examining it.
"Yes, that's Andromeda all right," the older woman admitted, frowning. "I've a buyer coming to see her this evening. Thank you for returning her." Ms. Hale looked down at Greer, who tried her best not to look uncomfortable. "Come in, why don't you," Ms. Hale said finally, stepping aside. "Girls shouldn't stand on doorsteps—it makes them look desperate."
"Um…thank…you?" Greer replied confusedly, stepping into the dark hallway. Ms. Hale led her to a dusty old parlor with a grand piano, and told her to wait there. Greer sat on the pale grey sofa, watching the cats. They were also watching her.
"There now," Ms. Hale remarked, setting a tea tray down on the coffee table. Greer nodded her thanks and started drinking hers. It had a rather bitter taste, like someone had knocked over several boxes of loose tea and dried herbs and had been unable to separate the mint from the thyme.
"What kind of cats do you breed, Ms. Hale?" Greer asked, looking back at the dark and foreboding animals.
"Black ones," Ms. Hale replied, rolling her eyes. "Are you blind?"
"No ma'am," Greer muttered, embarrassed.
"What was your name again?" Ms. Hale inquired, putting on a pair of cracked glasses and peering at Greer curiously.
"Greer Everett, ma'am," she answered, setting her cup down on its saucer. "I live just down the road."
"You may call me Ms. Hale. Enough with the ma'am." From within her puffy sleeves, Ms. Hale withdrew a small book. "I should think you'd make use of this, Greer. I'm long past needing it." Greer took the little leather-bound book, eyeing it warily.
"Thank you, ma'am—I mean, Ms. Everett—and I really should be taking my leave, it's almost…"
"Don't underestimate the power of the council," the old woman advised, and Greer was sure she wasn't making any sense at all. "Beware doorsteps, and do try to keep your leaves in order. They're rather hard to get organized." Assuming she was talking about the leaves of the book, Greer opened it, and one fell out. She hastily put it back in again.
"Thank you again, Ms. Hale." Greer stood, pocketing the small book. With that, Ms. Hale showed her to the door, and she went on her way.