Chapter 5 THE COTTAGE THAT WON'T SAY HELLO

Every witch cottage is supposed to say hello.

It's the first thing they teach you at Bramble Hollow Academy, before they teach you how to not set your own hair on fire. A true witch cottage has a heart. When its witch comes home, it sighs. It warms. The door sticks a little less. The windows fog up to say welcome.

Cottage 7B has never said hello to me.

I have lived here for nineteen days. Nineteen days since Grandma Mabel left me the deed with a note that said Don't let it lean too much, love. It leans. A lot. To the left, like it's tired.

This morning I tried again.

I stood outside in my too-big coat, holding Rowan in my arms like a baby — he hates being held like a baby, but he allows it when it's cold — and I said, very clearly, "Hello, cottage."

Nothing.

The plum tree dropped a plum on my head.

"Ow!"

Rowan sneezed in my arms. Silver sparkles. No shift. See? Just a cat.

Mrs. Albie from Cottage 6 was watching over her fence. She is eighty and knits things that look like weapons. "It still not talking to you, dear?"

"No."

"Did you try feeding it?"

"I fed it oatmeal. It said meh."

She nodded sagely. "Hearthstones are gossips. If the hearth says meh, the cottage won't say hello. They're married, you know."

My hearth and my cottage are married and going through a rough patch and I am their failing marriage counselor.

I put Rowan down and pushed the door. It stuck, as usual. I have to shoulder it. On the third try it opened with a groan that sounded more like go away than hello.

Inside, it was cold. Colder than outside, which should be impossible.

"The Agency inspector comes in twenty-three days," I told the walls. "If you don't say hello by then, they will condemn you. And me. They'll put me back in the Academy dorms and turn you into storage for failed brooms."

The walls said nothing. A spider fell from the ceiling onto my head. Rowan watched it with great interest and did not help.

I sat on the floor and opened my grandmother's journal. Page 47: To wake a sleeping cottage, you must give it a memory.

What does that mean? I have no memories here. I grew up in the dorms because my parents died when my magic was too weak to save them. Grandma Mabel visited, but I was never allowed in Cottage 7B because my meh magic made the cottage sneeze. Literally. The cottage would sneeze dust when I entered.

Now I live here and it won't even sneeze. It just... ignores me.

Rowan walked over and sat directly on the journal. His tail swished over the words give it a memory.

"I can't give it a memory if it won't take one," I said.

He stared at me. Then, very deliberately, he walked to the kitchen corner — the corner that is always coldest, where the floorboard is loose — and peed.

Not peed. He marked. On the floorboard.

"ROWAN! That is NOT a memory! That is biohazard!"

He looked extremely pleased with himself.

But then something weird happened.

Where he marked, the floorboard glowed. Just for a second. Gold. Like the hearthstone did when he purred.

The cottage... shivered. I felt it. The whole left-leaning structure shivered, like a dog shaking off water.

And then, from deep inside the walls, I heard it. Not a word. A sigh. A tiny, creaky, hmm.

It wasn't hello. But it wasn't go away either.

It was ...you brought a cat?

I burst into tears. Because of course my cottage's first words in nineteen days would be judgmental about my life choices.

"Yes! I brought a cat! He's a discount familiar! His name is Rowan and he hates oatmeal and he thinks he's better than us!"

Rowan sneezed. Achoo!

And from the walls, another sigh. Warmer this time. The door that always sticks... unstuck itself a little. Just an inch.

Mrs. Albie's voice floated through the window: "Oh! Did it just say hello? I heard a creak!"

"No!" I shouted, crying and laughing at the same time, with a silver cat in my lap who was purring despite himself. "It said... it said it noticed we exist!"

Rowan butted his head against my chin. His moon collar was warm. The hearthstone across the room, which had said meh all week, flickered. It didn't say meh. It said, in tiny, smoky letters that disappeared fast:

...warm

For one second, Cottage 7B was warm.

It wasn't hello. But it was close enough to keep trying for.

And somewhere under my hand, Rowan's purr matched the cottage's shiver, like they were talking without me.

Which is ridiculous. Because he's just a cat.

Right?