Threadneedle

by Cari Thomas

  Anna was too shocked to reply. She’d suspected they might be witches, but the most powerful … No wonder the Binders were losing their minds.

  ‘I thought only six women were found,’ said Miranda.

  ‘Well, the seventh noose was empty so we’re hoping one escaped,’ said Rowan.

  ‘Escaped? I thought they committed suicide?’

  ‘Goddess, no!’ Rowan cried and then lowered her voice. ‘Mum says they would never. No. Something killed them. She’s been kind of jittery since it all happened.’

  ‘What?’ said Anna. ‘What killed them?’

  Effie leant in. ‘No one knows, but it had to have been something even more powerful.’ She looked delighted by the thought. ‘Selene won’t tell me anything either. She doesn’t seem worried, says the Seven will be back.’

  ‘They’ll return?’ Anna asked, feeling marginally reassured.

  ‘Yeah, they can’t technically be killed. Too powerful for death. I’d kill to meet them, to cast with them. Imagine what they could teach us of the magical world!’

  ‘What about that mark on their necks – the seven circles?’

  ‘That’s a curse mark.’ Rowan shuddered. ‘The Seven protect all witches from harm so they bear the mark as a symbol of protection, to deflect the evil back at itself. Curses are the darkest form of magic, after all.’

  ‘A curse mark,’ Anna repeated. Is that the symbol Aunt had sewn into her back? Why? To protect against curses too? She could hardly ask Aunt without raising her suspicions.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it all,’ said Attis to Anna quickly. ‘Shit happens in the magical world. It gets cleared up.’

  But she wasn’t listening. ‘They referred to it as the Eye?’

  Rowan nodded. ‘That’s one of the old names for it. Looks like one, doesn’t it? I remember coming across the symbol in a book when I was young and couldn’t sleep for a week. There’s something about it that gets under the skin …’

  Miranda groaned. ‘This all sounds dangerous. I miss being a cowan.’

  Effie threw an arm around her with a laugh. ‘Didn’t I just tell you? The only dangerous thing around here – is us.’

  After years of grudging acceptance, Anna realized with surprise that she had started not to dread school. It had been several weeks since they had started hanging out as a coven and things hadn’t been easy – she was still lying to Aunt, exams were around the corner, and people had started to talk. Little of it was pleasant.

  The Whore. The Virgin. The Beast. The Nobody.

  They were the names going around, in snide whispers, no doubt given life by Darcey. But for the first time Anna had other people to be excluded with. She’d walk to class with Rowan, getting daily updates, hearing about her latest crush from band practice (referred to in code as trumpet-boy), or she’d study with Manda (who’d finally submitted to her nickname), or they’d all meet for lunch and swap stories and make fun of Olivia’s latest fashion post or Darcey’s pathetic attempts to seduce Attis, talk about the things they’d do once they were free of this school. They were slowly and tentatively unfolding themselves to one another.

  Aside from Effie’s occasional cantrips there hadn’t been any magic so Anna was somewhere between excited and terrified when she opened her locker that morning and discovered an apple. When the afternoon’s lessons were over she crept through the quiet corridors down to the sewing room.

  Rowan rounded on Anna as she entered. ‘The Unfathomable Five or Coven of the Daughters of Avalon or Bitches Gon’ Be Witches?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need a coven name. Which do you think?’

  ‘You said them so fast they all sort of melded into one.’

  ‘We don’t need a name,’ Manda interrupted. ‘It’s not a thing.’

  ‘The Wayward Sisters?’ Rowan added. ‘We need to keep snowballing, Anna?’

  ‘Er – snow – sewing … the sisters of … order of the long … I like bitches being witches.’

  Effie threw the door open, making them all jump.

  ‘You have to stop doing that,’ Rowan cried.

  Effie had changed into a tight black top, tucked into black belted jeans. She’d cut a fringe into her hair and dotted gold make-up beneath the shadows of her eyes. Anna reflected how she never quite looked the same; it was like watching rippling water.

  ‘We’re leaving,’ she said. ‘We need to be outside. We need to connect with something greater.’

  ‘The Great Connectors?’ suggested Rowan.

  ‘What’s she on about?’

  ‘A coven name,’ Anna explained.

  ‘We need one, but not that.’

  They met Attis en route, following Effie up through the twisting corridors of the school. The higher they went the smaller the corridors seemed to become, like the bronchioles of a vast and worn-out lung.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Manda apprehensively.

  ‘Up,’ said Effie.

  They wound up a narrow circular staircase, darkness closing around them until Anna could barely see anything at all. Ahead was a dead end. Attis took out his white key and fiddled with something on the ceiling – a hatch. It sprang open.

  ‘Useful key that one, isn’t it?’ Rowan whispered to Anna.

  Attis disappeared through the hole. Anna climbed up and was met with cold, biting air and a strong hand to lift her through. She came face to face with Attis and a dome of sky. After the cramped corridors the summit of the school was a different world, its roofs and turrets rising and falling, like a mountainous landscape punctuated by miniature fairy-tale castles. They were enclosed in a small area, surrounded by iron railings. Anna went to the edge, the school grounds unfolding below.

  ‘“Moonless night … starless and bible-black,”’ said Attis, appearing beside her.

  Anna looked up and saw it was true – there was no moon in the sky, nothing to soften the landscape beneath them. The darkness was complete, turning the sweeping lawns below opaque, gathering shadows in the trees, slicing the floodlit paths and lacquering the roads black.

  Rowan laughed delightedly, holding out her arms, hair half mad with wind. ‘I could fly right about now.’

  ‘Get flying over the castle walls, then,’ said Effie, nodding towards the spiked railings surrounding them, beyond which lay a larger expanse of roof. The railings weren’t particularly high or sharp, but looked as if they’d still have a go at impaling you if you were inconsiderate enough to fall on one.

  ‘I can’t climb over them!’ Manda protested. ‘I have very poor upper-arm strength. I can’t pull myself out of a swimming pool or hold shopping bags for long periods of time.’

  Effie rolled her eyes. ‘You can hold yourself up on the corner of the roof there and here’s a strapping young lad to help you.’ She presented Attis.

  ‘I weigh like two stone more than everyone here.’ Rowan stared at the railings sceptically.

  ‘Maybe we should be called the Coven of the Cowardly Chickenshits?’ said Effie as Attis swung himself over the railings with an impossible ease.

  ‘I like the alliteration, but I’m not quite sure it has the right tone …’ said Rowan.

  ‘Come on! Anna, give me a hand.’

  Anna laced her hands into Effie’s, providing foot support for Rowan to pull herself up. Feet hovering on the top, she launched herself at Attis. It took him some time to extricate himself from her grip.

  Manda approached the railings with a deep reluctance. She managed to get herself onto the fence and then stood there, clinging onto the wall. ‘So I just jump?’

  ‘You just jump. I’ve got you,’ Attis replied.

  ‘Just jump?’

  ‘Jump.’

  ‘I’m going to push her in a moment,’ Effie muttered.

  With a squeak Manda dropped into his arms, legs twitching in all directions. As soon as she found her feet she bolted off into the wider expanse of the roof – a skittish deer disappearing into the darkness.

  ‘You g
o,’ said Effie. ‘I’ve done it before.’ She criss-crossed her fingers and Anna manoeuvred herself onto the fence.

  Attis put his arms up and Anna let go. They met her with solidity: a warm, firm grip around her waist. ‘You OK?’ he said, dipping his head to catch her eyes.

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ she replied, aware of his hands on her.

  ‘Hey!’ Effie shouted, already on the fence. Attis let Anna go and lent Effie his back; she jumped onto it and they were away, piggybacking across the roof. The others had gone wild on the freedom, galloping and whooping and screaming, weaving in and out of the darkness.

  ‘Over here!’ Effie shouted.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the middle!’

  Anna waded through the darkness to the centre of the roof where they had gathered. They sat quietly for a moment, catching their breaths.

  ‘A witch’s magic is more powerful at night and you won’t find a darker night than this,’ Effie announced, pausing for effect. ‘For three nights it shall be so. Yet the moon is still above: the Dark Moon. Its invisible face looks down on us now. Can you feel it?’

  They turned heads up to the sky, letting the silence and mystery of the night descend on them.

  ‘I can feel … a stone under my arse,’ said Rowan. Anna snorted loudly.

  Effie gave them a charged look and continued. ‘The moon is the ruler of the planetary languages. The sun knows our truths, but the moon knows our lies, or is it the other way round?’ She smiled. Their eyes shifted uneasily between each other. ‘When the world is denuded of the moon’s light, secrets must out. For all of us have a dark moon within.’

  Her make-up glimmered; the eyes above were pools of darkness and delight. She loved her games. Anna caught Attis’s eye. She couldn’t read his expression in the dark – curiosity or concern?

  ‘So, are we all prepared to share our deepest, darkest secrets?’

  Anna certainly wasn’t interesting enough to harbour any deep, dark secrets, but she’d spent her whole life keeping her thoughts hidden away, pocketing them in her nanta bag, huddling the shreds of who she was to herself. Now she was expected to reveal all in front of a group of people she barely knew. The thought made her desperately afraid. Perhaps if she exposed herself they would discover there was no one there at all. She’d disappear into the darkness of the night forever.

  Effie extracted a small silver tin from her bag. ‘Thanks for these, Rowan. I introduce the rest of you to the gwiri berry.’ She held up something that Anna couldn’t distinguish from the darkness.

  ‘No problem,’ Rowan replied. ‘They also go by the name of moon’s tears or mother’s mirror. They’re rare, very hard to grow, but of course Mum managed it. She spent five years researching them and another five trying to grow the bloody things. She got there though. It’s been flowering for the last few years and has grown to a good four feet high, only a few feet off the maximum height the shrub can reach—’

  ‘Rowan,’ said Effie.

  ‘Sorry. This is not relevant.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Manda.

  ‘A strange little plant,’ Rowan continued. ‘It grows on good soil, frequent watering and – secrets. You have to feed it to them.’

  ‘Incredible,’ said Attis, sounding genuinely fascinated.

  ‘Oh yes. Mum’s been whispering secrets to it over the years; big or small, they all help. The rest of the family have been at it too and when guests come over she asks them to contribute their secrets. Poor Uncle Archie swore blind he didn’t have any to tell but she still forced him into the garden, even though his wheelchair doesn’t work well on uneven ground.’

  ‘Secrets must have a magical energy of their own, a transference which the plant can feed off.’ Attis was talking to himself more than anyone.

  ‘Once you’ve fed it enough, the berries start to grow. Amazing things. They’re invisible in the light, but by night, if you look closely, you can see them. Especially on moonless nights like this.’

  Anna looked again at Effie’s hand. She could make them out now: a collection of small, white berries, like delicate glass beads. They were barely there at all, becoming more apparent as Effie moved her hands – revealed in motion like the surface of a dark lake.

  ‘They’re edible but most people don’t eat them because—’

  ‘When the juice melts twixt your lips, a secret from your mouth shall slip.’ Effie smiled. ‘So they say. It’s powerful magic. Apparently if you try to resist the berry and lie, it will stain your mouth.’

  ‘So? Blackberries stain your mouth,’ said Manda.

  ‘They don’t stain it temporarily. They stain it forever – all over, black tongue, black gums, black teeth. They say it isn’t the berry but the secret itself that does the staining.’

  ‘A secret stained by the Dark Moon, in fact,’ said Rowan.

  ‘What?’ said Effie, intrigued.

  ‘It’s the story behind the gwiri plant; all plants have their stories.’

  ‘I haven’t heard this one,’ said Attis. ‘Do tell.’

  ‘Well, as the tale goes – at least how my Granny Pop used to tell it – after the Great Spinner had spun the sun and moon into the sky, they lived like that, side by side both day and night. Of course, being just about the most glorious things in existence, they soon fell in love. The sun shone lovingly upon the moon and the moon glowed with his love in return. However, as the centuries rolled by, the sun came to demand too much of the moon; he shone too brightly upon her, and wanted to know all of her. He got angry, and demanded to know her secrets. As the moon, she knew it could not be, but he was being such a pain in the arse – I don’t think that was how Pop put it – that she ran away into the darkness of night and hid from him.

  ‘In desperation, the sun eventually located her with his light, but she was so far away now, lost in darkness. He called out to her to return but it was too late, she knew she couldn’t come back. All he could do now was shine on her from afar and while she allowed him to see her face she kept much of herself hidden and for three days of the month she hid away altogether. The Dark Moon. On those nights she wept bitterly and still does. So they say, where her tears fall to earth, the gwiri berries grow – beautiful and bright as the moon but their secrets dark as the Dark Moon itself.’

  The story settled gently into the silence, adding to the magic of the air.

  ‘A good story,’ said Attis after a moment.

  ‘I think it’s sad,’ said Manda.

  Anna thought it had been beautiful.

  ‘It’s not sad,’ Effie replied. ‘It gave us the berries and now it’s time to feast and face their consequences.’ She cackled, opening her hand to the centre. With trepidation and nervous giggles they leant forward and each took a berry. ‘Who’s going first? Entry, mentry, cutrie, corn, apple seed and apple thorn. Crossroads dirt and casket lock, seven geese flying in a flock …’ Effie pointed around the circle with each beat of the rhyme. Her finger landed on Manda.

  ‘I think that was a fix,’ Manda protested. ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘The worst thing you’ve probably ever done is return a library book late,’ Effie scoffed. ‘Now eat the berry.’

  Manda squeezed her eyes shut and placed the berry in her mouth. A few staccato chews and then the words flew out: ‘I don’t believe in God.’ She clamped her hands around her mouth, eyes wide, as if trying to force the statement back inside. It was too late. ‘That’s not even true! It can’t be a secret if it’s not true!’

  ‘Some secrets are so secret we don’t even know them ourselves,’ said Rowan gently.

  ‘But I do believe in God – maybe just not my parents’ version of him. The version I’ve been taught. But I do believe … in Him … in something.’ Her mouth gaped, searching for the words that could give her secret the shape and form she thought it ought to have. ‘Someone else please go so I’m not the only one whose life is now ruined.’

  ‘Go on then.’ Rowan popped a berry in her mouth. ‘I
shoplift,’ she announced. ‘The ridiculous thing is I don’t even steal stuff I can wear. I steal clothes that don’t fit me – little summer dresses, hot pants, crop tops I wouldn’t be seen dead in.’ She exhaled loudly with relief. ‘Wow, it feels good to get that out there. I’ve been feeling guilty about that designer jacket I stole last month. Totally too small, if anyone wants it? Also, wow, that was delicious.’

  ‘Shoplifting.’ Effie raised an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ replied Rowan. ‘Classic teenage cry for attention. I wish I had better secrets, but what you see is what you get with me.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Anna, wanting to get it over with.

  She looked at the berry in her hand – its own little dark moon in the universe of her palm. Her whole life was a secret, a hundred tiny, shattered glass secrets.

  She turned her mind blank and ate it.

  It wasn’t so much a taste as a sensation; as though the berry was drawing all of her into its depths. The juices flowed over her tongue, like water suddenly rushing from a geyser, tasting of riddles and doorways and something sweet and endless.

  ‘I can’t do magic,’ she said, although she wasn’t aware of her mouth moving at all. Her heart stopped. Did I just say that aloud?

  Of all the things, that admission hadn’t even occurred to her. She had expected to say something about her parents or her life with Aunt – they were her dark secrets. This wasn’t even a secret, it was an anti-secret, a lack, an empty hole in her life. She felt more exposed than ever. She lowered her head, thankful for the darkness.

  ‘Anna,’ said Rowan with care, ‘you’re a witch, you can do magic, you’re just learning.’

  Her kindness made it worse.

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t do magic?’ Effie’s voice was probing, a little sharp.

  ‘I struggle,’ said Anna, voice tight. ‘When I was younger, maybe … but then it seemed to fade. Aunt doesn’t let me cast often so I might just be out of practice, but when I try … nothing comes.’

  ‘Magic doesn’t just go away,’ said Rowan. ‘It’s probably just a psychological block.’