In the Land of Tea and Ravens by R.K. Ryals

woman?”
    Grayson’s gaze went once more to the fields, to the healthy pastures ready for haying and the wild, overgrown ones next to them. His silence and straying attention was worse than any reply he could have given.
    “They’re all witches!” Bridget hissed.
    Freddie snorted. “This whole town’s a loony bin. It’s superstitious nonsense.”
    Surprised, Grayson glanced askance at the hired hand. “You don’t believe the stories about them?” he asked.
    Bridget threw up her hands. “Now he speaks.”
    Freddie shrugged. “My Aunt Juliet has been friends with the family for years, and those women ain’t been nothin ’ but kind to her. I spent a lot of nights at Old Ma’am’s knee. There’s no doubt there’s somethin ’ funny about ’ em , but they ain’t evil. And they make a damned fine glass o’ tea.”
    A look passed between Grayson and Freddie. Freddie was a hard young man, but while education teaches people book smarts, it is life that teaches them about human character. Life had been a harsh teacher for Freddie and Grayson in different ways.
    Bridget scowled. “It’s ’cause you haven’t been harmed by them, Freddie.”
    Freddie took a swig of his beer. “ Ain’t no point arguin ’. Man’s got nothing in a fight with you. No matter how you spin it, I’ll come out lookin ’ like a deer in headlights even if I’m right.”
    “Bless your heart,” Bridget drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
    Freddie lifted his bottle. “I rest my case.”
    A flash of color in the overgrown fields caught Grayson’s eye, and he stared, his gaze narrowed.
    “There you are,” a shrill, lilting voice called out.
    Grayson groaned. He knew this voice, too. Margaret Thames was Bridget’s closest friend and had been trying to get inside of Grayson’s pants since he’d arrived in Hiccup. Bridget had succeeded, but Margaret was nowhere near accomplishing it. For one, Bridget had been a moment of weakness. Secondly, Grayson had long since discovered he was nothing more to the women than a game. It was amazing what a tarnished reputation could do for a man. He’d been seeking solace in the country and discovered infamy instead.
    “There ain’t enough alcohol,” Freddie mumbled. “There just ain’t enough alcohol for that.”
    Grayson’s gaze remained on the pasture, frozen on a wisp of purple fabric amongst a field full of wilted corn stalks. Ravens circled.
    “All of that food and y’all are standin ’ out here!” Margaret exclaimed.
    Grayson glanced at Freddie, at the full plate he held. Inhaling, he glanced from the plate to the field and back again. “You know, I think you’re right,” he mumbled. “I am feeling a little hungry.”
    Margaret clapped. “Wonderful! I brought the squash casserole.”
    Pushing past her into the house’s crowded hallway, Grayson dodged townsfolk and conversation, using the swarm of people to conceal his intentions. He had food on a covered plate and was out the back door before anyone noticed him, his feet carrying him around the anterior of the house to the tree line. From there, he stepped into the fields, wading through waist-high grass. Bugs buzzed, a dragonfly diving at his head and then swooping away. Sweat beaded up along his brow, his breath growing deeper as he walked, navigating the pastures under a sky with too many eyes. Ravens cawed. The birds lost some of their eeriness during the day, becoming the scowling, too nosy matrons he supposed them to be.
    “I see you,” he snapped, scowling in their direction.
    Entering the overgrown cornfield, his gaze searched the array of brown and green stalks for an outrageous chunk of violet.
    In the end, it was the birds that gave her away, their circling black bodies lowering over a portion of the field closer to the Miller property.
    Stalks rustled, the driest ones cracking under his feet as he stepped over some and around others, the movement bringing Lyric Mason into view. She stood with her head