The second witch came by it naturally. She learned to garden from her grandmother and learned to cast spells from the wife of her father’s uncle—her Aunt Sally.
She was also called, after a while, Aunt Sally, and later there was some confusion about whether they were the same woman. They were not even blood relatives, but the younger Sally would often look down at her own hands and know they would knot, the veins rope, the plump flesh sink in, because she had seen it happen to her father’s Aunt Sally.
The second witch lived in a trailer out at the end of Bells Bend. An old magnolia sat in the front yard and the driveway made a lazy curve from the road, back behind the trailer, and back to the road. A row of hedges ran along the driveway. They must have stood ten feet tall and they separated her ordinary work from her garden.
Her garden was enormous, full of plants that, when harvested by the light of a full moon, could heal you, and different plants that, when harvested when there was no moon, could kill you. In the middle of the garden was a large grassy circle.
She imagined that, if she had a coven, this is where they would have met to dance naked, if witches even danced naked anymore or ever.