Chapter 2: The Kindest Soul in Foster

No one knows who started the rumor: Foster Zoe isn’t a witch—she’s the kindest soul you’ll ever meet. Folks on the brink of death always find a way to survive at her hands.

I watched the bustling crowd in Foster, lost in thought. I used to love the quiet here—now, every laugh feels like an echo of what I’ve lost.

People filled the sidewalks, kids racing past on battered bikes, an old Labrador loping behind, and somewhere in the distance, the hum of a tractor or maybe a rusty pickup rumbling over a pothole. It felt like the county fair had come early this year—way too lively for my taste.

Is it that people these days aren’t afraid of monsters anymore?

I chewed the end of a wild grass stem, the kind that always stuck between your teeth after a summer hayride. I wanted Big Ben to go and scare this crowd a little. I’m not used to this much noise.

I turned my head—only to see Big Ben, rear in the air, huffing and puffing as he dug up my daylilies. His big, shaggy tail swayed back and forth.

Was he plowing the yard?

I stormed over, fuming.

“You know, for a legendary unicorn, you’ve got the work ethic of a bored golden retriever.”

“You’re a unicorn, not a cow.”

“How can you be plowing the yard?”

I waved my arms, boots kicking up a swirl of dust on the dry patch where the daylilies used to be. Big Ben just flicked an ear and kept going, about as stubborn as an old mule from a Midwestern fable.