Theodosia Woods let out a long sigh as she approached the bridge. It had been a long, long time since she’d been back in Mount Grove, Pennsylvania. She wasn’t particularly thrilled to be back either, but Dosia’s aunt had called saying that she needed her help. Dosia wasn’t one to say ‘no’ to family. Her grandparents were natives to the area, the entire family having moved down from Massachusetts in the late 1600s.
At almost twenty-seven, Dosia had lived roughly half her life in Mount Grove. When her parents had died when she was just shy of six years old, her grandparents had taken her and her brother, Ambrose, in and raised them. But small-town life had never been in Dosia’s blood like it was her family’s. She’d probably gotten that from her mom, Stella, who had moved across the country to Santa Cruz, California, when she was eighteen. After marrying Calvin Woods and having kids, both were killed in an earthquake when their car had been crushed by a fallen tree.
Dosia loved her grandparents, and was eternally grateful they’d taken her and Ambrose in. Their lives would have been very different if they’d ended up in foster care. But her grandparents, her two aunts, her uncle, her brother, and her cousins all had a tendency to be a bit…eccentric. They were practicing Pagans, though only a few were Wiccan. Her Aunt Calliope was known as the town witch. Dosia was Pagan in name only and hadn’t practiced in years. In truth, the further she got from her family, the less she felt the connection to her roots.
But she couldn’t stay in Mount Grove.
Which was why it was so utterly frustrating that she was finding herself driving back into it.
Dosia was very close to her aunt, who kept her apprised of most of the goings-on in the small town. Like she wanted Dosia to feel at home when she came back. That was equally as frustrating, because no doubt Calliopehadknown she’d be returning one day. Calliope was different from the rest of their family in that she got active visions. At times they were strong, while other times they were hunches or feelings. People were always skeptical, thought what she did a parlor trick, but Dosia knew better. Calliope was the real deal. Even as a child, she knew things she shouldn’t have.
As an adult and after years of practice honing her abilities, Calliope’s predictions were scarily accurate. So when Calliope had called her up to say that she needed help and Dosia needed to return to Mount Grove? Well, Dosia knew better than to disobey.
As she approached the bridge, she took in the construction cones and slight backup as the two-lane bridge was being widened and safety measures were added. Last April, there’d been an incident and Calliope said that someone had died falling off the bridge. After that, the Groveton Foundation had put forth the money to make the old, iconic bridge safer.
Dosia’s eyebrows drew down as she also noticed the new sign. For as long as she could remember, the bridge had been simply known as The Bridge. Like The Diner in town, it was the only one. It technically had a name, but no one used it, and it was a way for locals to pick out tourists very quickly. But now?
Now there was a massive sign announcing the construction plan on the new Andrich Bridge. Dosia had no idea who ‘Andrich’ was, but she knew that hadn’t been the previous name of the bridge. Maybe it was the person who died? She hadn’t really been paying attentionwhen Calliope had told her the story, and it had been months ago anyway.
September in mountainous Pennsylvania was cold and brisk. Frost and light snow were not uncommon, though that would be picking up in the next few weeks. White caps topped the current as Dosia’s old beater crossed over the water, leading her to the main part of town.
Theonething Mount Grove had going for it was Main Street. Dosia loved the shops and the vibe of the town’s main drag. It was the epitome of Small-Town USA with its shops, the bakery, the diner, and more. The picturesque, historic buildings seemed to have a life of their own, and Dosia used to love finding all the blemishes they’d withstood over time.
It was the people she couldn’t stand. The townsfolk who had so much time on their hands that all they seemed to do wastalk, and certainly about things that were none of their business. The people who thought that there was something wrong with her or her brother or her family that her parents were taken from them the way they were. As iftheyhad caused a natural disaster, as if her parents haddeservedto die. The amount of crosses that had been shoved in Dosia’s face throughout her life was appalling.
Finding a parking spot was easy. Her small beater, which somehow held everything important to her, could fit anywhere.
A Wrinkle on a Pagehad been in her family for generations. Her Aunt Calliope had taken over the store years ago from her parents, Dosia’s grandparents. She knew that there was a therapists’ suite upstairs too, which meant patients had to walk through the bookstore to get to their appointments. When Dosia had been a kid, the space above had been storage. But as the economy turned and people started reading eBooks over physical books, sales had declined and her grandparents had sublet the second story.
Glancing in her rearview mirror before exiting the car, Dosia quickly zipped up her jacket. A figure came rushing out of the bookstore. Of course her aunt was dressed in a long hoodie with a pentagram. The wordsSalem, MA – 1694were curved under the circle andYou Missed Onewritten in big, bold letters across the middle.
Her aunt certainly had a unique way about her.
Two years younger than Dosia, Calliope had been anoopsiebaby. As Grandma Solstice put it, that’s what happened when a couple mixed wine and Beltane. Calliope was twenty-two years younger than Dosia’s mom, Stella, had been. Her brother and Dosia’s uncle, Fennel, was the oldest and nearly thirty years older than his baby sister.
It had been hilarious growing up. Their fellow classmates didn’t believe that Calliope was Dosia’s aunt, especially because she was a grade below her. Even more so, it was entertaining as adults when Dosia called Calliope ‘Auntie’ and they got to watch strangers’ faces try to figure out the math.
The two embraced in front of Dosia’s bumper. Despite that Dosia had not returned to Mount Grove for several years, Calliope came out to visit Dosia as often as she could. They also texted and talked daily. Beyond niece and aunt, they were best friends and as close as sisters.
“How was the drive?” Calliope stepped back, but kept hold of Dosia’s hands.
“Long,” Dosia sighed, exasperated. “But no traffic as you predicted. Now, want to tell me why I packed my entire life up to come back here?”
“Let’s head inside,” Calliope urged. “I think it’ll be better to show you.” She headed towards the back seat of the car. “Did she sleep the whole way?”
“Most,” Dosia confirmed, heading to the trunk for her backpack. “Car rides knock her out, you know that.” A trait Dosia was entirely jealous of. It wasnotsomething her daughter had inherited from her side of the family, she was certain.
Calliope gently worked the seatbelt off the booster seat before gently shaking her great-niece awake. “Well hello there, Boo. How’s my little pumpkin today?”
Following the wheelchair race,everyone headed into the clubhouse for Pumpkin’s Welcome Home party. To be honest,Pumpkin was impressed that the ol’ ladies had been able to hold off for an entire week. It wasn’t that theVia Daemoniawere that big into parties, anyway. At least, not like they used to. Three years ago, all of the club but Steel was single. Lucky had Scotty and Sissy, but no woman. It was hard to imagine. And a lot of changes had come with the addition of the women and explosion of club kids. Hell, Bulldog added four in one go.
The clubhouse used to be party central. While the club had always had strict rules about who could enter their property, the parties had been open to the public. People, mostly women, had come from all around to fornicate and socialize with the motorcycle club. Not so much anymore. Parties were now restricted toDemon on the Rocks, unless it was a family gathering like this. The nights of drinking until the wee-hours and then getting up for work were long gone.
Not that Pumpkin had any leg to stand on. He was single, but he’d added to the club kid population.
Staring down at his son, who was making a massive mess with a slice of watermelon, Pumpkin thought back to how his life was only a little over a year ago. He’d been at the bar every night, and there’d been women. A lot of women. SJ’s mom had been one of those frequent women.
The position of being a club Honey had been selective. At the start of the club, Steel hadn’t been particularly thrilled about the concept of hiring women to sleep with the club members. As he was the only one married, though, he didn’t want to spoil things for the others. He’d allowed the Honeys so long as they earned their keep and they were not allowed to live in the clubhouse. On paper, they were cooks and housekeepers. But everyone knew the truth. They were there to serve the club brothers.
