Chapter Text
Hilda was tending to the radishes when she first suspected someone was trying to kill her.
She knelt low over the seedlings, voice soft, as she surveyed each one, "I'm so proud of each and every one of you. Hardly a drop of sunlight, and yet you've sprouted marvellously." She lifted tiny leaves with a delicate brush of her finger and nodded in certainty, "And today's the day you experience the wide open world, my loves."
Bundling the small tray of sprouts under her arm, she rose to her feet and let out a soft hum at the tension-relieving crack her knees gave at the movement. Perhaps it really was time to admit that, at 248, a knee cushion would be a worthwhile investment. She'd have Dr Cee drive her across to the garden centre in Greendale on his next day off. They could make a day of it; go to the little cafe. She loved the little cafe.
"Mmm, that'll be nice, won't it, my sunbeams?" She mused at the tray of sprouts as she drew the greenhouse door closed behind her.
It was the first mild day they'd had all year and the sun peaked out from behind the scant clouds to warm Hilda's cheeks. She was not the only Spellman to be relieved at its appearance; Marie's melodic intonations sounded from the other end of the porch and, if recent months had taught her anything, where she found Marie she was sure to find Zelda. This morning was no exception. A quick survey of the porch revealed her reclining against her favourite wicker chair, sun reflector casting a warm glow against her skin. Her feet rested upon Marie's lap as the witch dutifully read the paper aloud to her.
"Wu Zetian, seule et unique impératrice ayant régné sur l'empire du Milieu, a apporté la démonstration qu'une femme pouvait gouverner comme un homme."
Zelda's lips curved upwards as she hummed her approval, "I like her already."
Hilda shook her head softly. Zelda had cancelled her Le Monde subscription decades ago. It had fallen out of her favour at some point in the late sixties; when the paper had changed hands and she'd received a particularly curt letter informing her that they would no longer be running her articles. The subscription had been reinstated once more the same week that Marie's satin pillowcase had become a permanent fixture on Zelda's bed.
At the creak of the decking beneath her sister's feet, Zelda's eyebrow raised in annoyance. Hilda shrugged apologetically before trudging onward to the small bed of soil she'd turned the day before. Salem lay in it's centre. He batted his tail indignantly but otherwise seemed unperturbed by Hilda's presence.
"Oi."
He didn't budge. Changing tack she held her watering can aloft, it's shadow falling over the familiar. His tail quickened in its disgruntled swishing and he swiped at the can.
"Ah ah ah," Hilda scolded lightly and tipped the can ever so slightly, water sloshing towards the spout, "We've been through this; vegetable bed, not cat bed."
It was only as the first drops hit his fur that he acquiesced and left the patch, sculking off in search of a new sun spot.
She lowered herself to the ground, cross legged this time, the earth sun-warmed beneath her. No wonder Salem had liked it.
The sun was glorious against her neck, but she was thankful for the cooling breeze that tousled her hair all the same. She frowned as it brushed passed her ear, carrying with it a long forgotten melody and memories of her earliest summers in the garden.
She had been just 6 the first time her mother had asked her help collect the harvest. Her mother's stomach had swelled to larger than Hilda dared believe possible that spring and before the summer was through Edward would make his arrival.
Under her mother's direction, Hilda had diligently tended each plant, delighting each time one was deemed ripe enough to be plucked from the ground. Her favourites had been the strawberries, each plump and sweet upon the bush, and as many ended as juice around her smile as in the basket.
Zelda had watched from the porch, cigarette between her lips, the hum of a soft tune dancing on the wind to her sister's young ears. It was a one of Zelda's favourites, but with lyrics reserved only for when she drew the covers high around Hilda's ears, lulling her off to sleep with the tale of two sisters.
The song had gone unsung for decades and Hilda couldn't avoid the shiver that passed through her at hearing it again. As quickly as it had arrived however, it was but a memory once more. Straightening her back, Hilda cast a glance back towards her sister with wary eyes. For her part, Zelda showed no obvious signs of having heard the song; seemingly too entranced by Marie's reading of the paper for anything else.
Disquiet abated for the time being Hilda returned to the task at hand; carving out divots in the soft earth. She began a jaunty tune of her own, eager to distract from the one now repeating in her head. Her own song was nonsense, but it drowned out her sister's remembered cadence.
"Cauliflowers fluffy, and cabbages green, strawberries sweeter than any I've seen." She made quick work of settling each seedling in its new home, bewitching an anti-frost charm into the soil with each one.
Salem watched from his spot atop the closest grave, lounging along the length of Locasta Spellman's headstone, his gaze intent on the newly homed buds, "Perhaps we'll put a little protection spell on you as well, my sweets, just to be safe."
She reached behind her for the trowel as she spoke, hand running across only grass. The space beside the watering can lay bare. Confusion spiking, she glanced across her other shoulder, searching the floor for any sign of it. She was not nearly old enough to be misplacing things yet.
Something glinted in the corner of her vision. Hilda span sharply in it's direction, coming face to face with her trowel. It hovered ominously at eye level, tip brandished as though a weapon.
Her voice rose slightly, hoping to catch the ears of whoever might be controlling it, "Now dears, let's not do anything hasty. I'll whip up a fresh batch of tea and we can discuss this like rational people."
It had been several months since she'd ended up in the Cain pit and she was rather hoping to avoid the eventuality for a few more still. Her eyes darted frantically for any sign of an assailant but, bar her nieces vexed familiar, the lawn was quiet. That was, until the echo of her sister's song from long ago floated on the wind once more.
"Sister, sister, come down to the broom,
Oleander yolling,
We'll hear the black birds change their tune,
Down by the waters rolling."
The voice was lighter than Zelda's had been in years, ethereal almost, and originating from an unseen source. It continued and, with it, the trowel vibrated fiercely.
"Oh crumbs." Hilda rasped, the air escaping her.
Without warning, it shot forward violently, and Hilda ducked forward with such sudden vigor that was sent crashing painfully to the floor. Salem's yowl rang out as the trowel continued in its trajectory. It struck Aunt Locasta's headstone with enough force to splinter it, the two halves careening off in opposite directions.
The ghostly voice stopped. As did Marie's reading. She sat shell shocked for a beat, before shoving Zelda's feet from her lap and hurrying across the lawn.
"Ti sè!" She cried, pages of Le Monde fluttering forgotten in the wind behind her, "Se ou byen?"
Hilda was on her knees by the time she reached her, already brushing dirt from her front. A strong arm pulled her to standing and Marie, rather more forcefully, continued the job of cleaning her off as she scanned for any signs of injury.
"Just a little murder attempt," Hilda offered a meek smile, her eyes darting over Marie's shoulder to the porch; to her sister leaning heavy on the railing, "Nothing to worry about."
Rather than sharing Marie's look of concern, Zelda's frown suggested only annoyance. A flick of her wrist brought the scattered leaves of her newspaper back together, folding neatly on the seat Marie had vacated. Eyes meeting Hilda's, she pursed her lips and returned to her chair, focus intent on lighting a cigarette.
"Nothing to worry about?" Marie tilted Hilda's chin up sharply, searching for a sign that Hilda understood the severity, "Someone is trying to touye ou."
The blonde simply nodded, "And they're normally better at it."
Excusing herself from Marie's bewilderment, Hilda marched the length of the lawn stopping only when she reached the plume of smoke surrounding her sister. She rocked on the balls of her feet, a wary smile gracing her lips.
"So," Hilda began, all too cheery for the situation at hand, "Don't know if you saw, but someone's trying to kill me," She thrust her thumb in the direction of the fractured gravestone before wringing her hands together, "again."
Staring her sister down, Zelda drew deeply from her cigarette before speaking, voice nonchalant, "Yes, are you quite done with the theatrics? The paper won't read itself and Marie isn't familiar enough with your melodramatics to know when to pay them no mind."
This wasn't going the way Hilda had hoped at all. She moved the paper to the ground, earning her a warning flare of Zelda's nostrils, before perching on the edge of the chair.
"Well Zelds, I have a teensy idea of who it might have been," She paused, watching for any sign that a confession might be forthcoming. Nothing. Hilda pushed onward, "And if she'd like to explain to me what I've done this time, maybe we can move past it without any bloodshed for once."
Having checked on Salem, Marie joined them on the porch, concern still moulding her face. She stood at Hilda's side, offering a comforting squeeze of her shoulder.
"Oh? Do enlighten us." Zelda drawled, her voice devoid of any signs of interest.
Something felt wrong about saying it in front of Marie, no matter how true. Hilda did her best to remain jovial as she spoke but found herself gulping down the words regardless, "You of course, Zelda."
Marie's gasp sounded from her side. A moment passed during which nothing was said, though Zelda's eyes blazed with resentment. It was suddenly abundantly clear that Hilda's trepidation had been well deserved; her frequent resurrections hadn't featured in the couple's pillow talk.
Schooling her features, Zelda rolled her eyes and stubbed out her cigarette.
"Hilda please, if I wanted you dead you'd know about it." She stood, scooping up the paper and thrust it into Marie's chest, "Marie, I think I'd rather hear about Wu Zetian inside. There's a sudden chill in the air."
The paper was thrust into Marie's chest and she was gone before either could remark on the brilliant heat of the midmorning sun. The mortuary shook with her departing door slam.
"Well that went swimmingly." Hilda bemoaned, picking at the sleeve of her cardigan as she stood. Even a particularly potent stain banishing potion would do little to remove mud from wool that old.
"You really think your sister would try to kill you?"
"It's her favourite hobby." Hilda offered an apologetic smile for the admission. It fell quickly at the series of thuds and crashes that tracked her sister's progression from room to room.
"Let me speak with her, ti sè. At least there were no casualties." Marie gave one last squeeze of Hilda's shoulder before following the high priestess inside.
Alone on the porch, Hilda finally dared chance a glance at the crumpled sprout leaves that she had lovingly nurtured for the last two weeks. Not a single one had escaped unscathed, "Oh, I wouldn't say that."
Lawn now quiet but for the breeze through the trees, Salem returned to his spot in the vegetable bed, making three small turns before settling on what remained of Hilda's crop.