Chapter 2 — The White Witch of Antioch
Two days later, Lavender rode with Flint and Kadira to Antioch.
The trip was supposed to be simple: a family errand, a quick stop to pick up a handcrafted ornament from a small holiday market nearby, then back home before dark.
But Lavender knew better than to believe in “simple” anymore.
The sky over Antioch was pale and stretched wide, and the land carried old stories. There were places in California where history sat close to the surface. Antioch was one of those places.
Black Diamond Mines Regional Preserve lay just beyond the town—hills carved by coal mining and time, and a cemetery called Rose Hill where the wind moved like whispering silk.
Lavender felt it the moment she stepped out of the car.
“This place…” she whispered.
Kadira hugged her coat tighter. “It’s kind of beautiful,” she said, though her voice held caution. “But also… heavy.”
Flint squeezed Lavender’s hand. “You okay?”
Lavender nodded, but her feet were already moving, drawn toward the cemetery path like a string tied around her heart.
They walked beneath bare branches. The sunlight looked thin here, as if the sky was holding something back.
A woman stood near the edge of the graves.
She was dressed in white. Not bridal white. Not bright white. A soft, misty white, like fog when it turns to moonlight. Her hair floated as if she were underwater. Her eyes were luminous, ancient, and kind.
Lavender’s breath caught.
“The White Witch,” she whispered.
Kadira stiffened. Flint’s hand tightened around Lavender’s. “You know her?”
“I’ve seen her,” Lavender said. “In a dream.”
The White Witch turned her head and smiled as if she’d been waiting.
“Lavender Ann Landry,” she said, voice gentle as distant bells. “Child of both worlds.”
Lavender stepped forward, her heart pounding. “Why are you here?”
The White Witch’s gaze moved over all three of them, resting a moment on Kadira—like she could see the questions buried inside her.
Then she looked back at Lavender.
“Because Christmas is coming,” she said. “And so is the tide.”
“The tide?” Lavender repeated.
The wind rose. The cemetery grass shivered.
“There is a woman beneath the mountains,” the White Witch said, “who has been called siren, monster, temptation. But she is also mother, daughter, and wounded soul. On Christmas Eve, she will be given one night as human… and if she chooses right, she may keep more than a night.”
Lavender’s throat went dry. “Lady Eidothea.”
The White Witch nodded.
“But there is a cost,” the White Witch continued. “The old curse is hungry. It will try to reclaim her through fear. Through shame. Through the weakest place in the heart—where a person believes they can never be forgiven.”
Kadira frowned. “Forgiven for what?”
The White Witch’s eyes glimmered. “For surviving. For loving the wrong person. For being punished for a choice someone else regrets.”
Lavender heard Grand-mère Catherine’s voice in her head: Then we meet them with light.
Lavender lifted her chin. “What do we do?”
The White Witch stepped closer. The air smelled like rain.
“You gather your family,” she said. “You bring warmth. You bring tradition. You bring proof that love can change the ending.”
Flint swallowed. “And if we don’t?”
The White Witch’s smile faded.
“Then Christmas will still come,” she said. “But it will come with shadows.”
A gust of wind whipped through the trees. When Lavender blinked, the White Witch was gone.
Only a single white feather lay on the path where she’d stood.
Kadira bent and picked it up. Her face had turned pale.
“I don’t like this,” she whispered.
Flint pulled Lavender close. “We’ll handle it,” he said, but his voice was tight.
Lavender stared toward the hills beyond Antioch, where the land rose and folded into the distance.
Somewhere under those mountains, water waited. And something in the water was waking up.
