"The babe of the power..."
Two weeks later, on Halloween, Sarah breaks her own rules. She wears a black dress and a raven mask to work that day, plays with the small children in their brightly colored costumes. The day goes by without incident, the sky bright blue and the autumn colors vibrant in contrast. Sandra and Michael mention the party at Prescott Manor only once and her expression is enough to quiet them on the subject for good. By the time they close up the library, she's ready to pour a tall glass of wine and hand out candy to the neighborhood kids in her sweats.
"I can't believe you turned that invitation down," Michael says, shaking his head as he locks the front door.
"You could always go in my place," Sarah says, smiling. Michael's expression immediately brightens. "Since I know you fished that damn invitation out of the trash, you ridiculous man."
"My big gay heart just exploded," he says, clapping his hands with joy. "Thank you, Sarah!" He kisses her cheek and rushes off into the night.
She and Sandra watch him go, both smiling and shaking their heads. "I wonder what his costume will be," Sandra says. "He saw Robin Hood recently and won't shut up about Russell Crowe's stupid face."
Sarah laughs, links her arm with her boss'. "Any plans for your evening?" she asks as they walk towards their cars.
"Joe is out trick-or-treating with the kids right now, which means I'll spend my evening reading trashy magazines and drinking wine while they get high on sugar."
"Sounds like the perfect evening."
"You know it."
They laugh, say their goodbyes, and drive off to their respective homes on opposite sides of town. As she makes her way home, Sarah watches the lights on Prescott Hill shimmer in the inky darkness, the rocky crag that sits above Fair Haven a constant sentinel watching over the village below. Prescott Manor is a sight to behold in the daylight; she imagines it's even more beautiful at night.
She parks in the driveway of her tiny bungalow on Foxglove Lane, a small neighborhood towards the southern edge of Fair Haven. The houses are older here, small and quaint and reminiscent of a different decade. A black cat sits in the front window, waiting for her. She smiles at him as she crosses the yard to the front door, ready for a quiet evening and comfortable pants.
The flutter of wings against branches catches her attention and she looks up at the giant oak in her front yard, the leaves still turning red as October says its good-byes. Sitting there, hard to miss amongst the bright color, is a white and tan barn owl. Her heart stops in her chest and she forgets to breathe as the owl blinks at her.
"No," she whispers, running for the front door. She fumbles with her keys while behind her, the branches rustle as the owl takes flight. She turns the lock but the door refuses to open. She senses, rather than sees, the presence at her back.
"Hello, Sarah."
From The Encyclopaedia of Ancient Things
Page 259:
Foxglove: The name of this bell shaped flower comes from the original term "folksglove", which Medieval gardeners may have used to refer to fairy folk. Foxglove is believed to both hurt and heal - to raise the dead and kill the living - due to its medicinal and poisonous properties. Picking the foxglove flower offends the fae and should be avoided at all costs.
Page 560:
Owl: In ancient Egyptian, Celtic, and Hindu cultures, the owl was considered a guardian of the underworld, a protector of the dead. Therefore, the owl is the ruler of the night and the seer of souls.