by Cari Thomas
‘They asked me to identify the body. I had to look at my sister like that.’
Anna needed her to stop. ‘I only went to a party.’
‘She met your father at a party. One chance meeting and that was it. She fell for him. I’ll never know if it was magic that supplied the poison and love that dispensed it or the other way round. It doesn’t matter. Love, magic, they feed off each other – they are both poison in the end.’
Poison! Anna clenched the cord at Aunt’s use of the word. How can she speak of poison? She wanted to scream but the walls of her room reared up in her head – she couldn’t risk being locked away again. ‘But surely not all magic is harmful? Surely there can be—’
‘All magic is harmful! All. You must listen to me.’ Aunt grabbed Anna’s chin, her green eyes trembling, urging. ‘I’m not trying to ruin your life. I’m trying to save it.’
Anna couldn’t look away from her. Aunt was so convincing; she had a way of transferring her beliefs into you until they were all you could see, the same way Effie could.
‘From what?’
‘Magic is a danger to our family!’
Aunt had always cast the net of danger wide, across all witches, but now it was around Anna like a trap: our family. ‘I thought magic was a danger to all?’
‘I—it is …’ Aunt stuttered. ‘There are dangers close and far. Especially now.’
‘What do you mean now? Is this to do with the Faceless Women? The Seven?’ Anna knew the questions were risky but she had to ask.
Aunt’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you know of the Seven?’
‘Nothing really – I overheard Effie. Just that they are some great witch grove.’
Aunt snorted. ‘The Seven. The First Sinners who brought the sins of magic upon us all. We, the Binders, don’t care that they were killed, only what their deaths mean. It is a statement. A statement of power. Whoever did it wanted to sow the seeds of fear. Was it another grove? Internal warfare? Or are our old enemies stirring? The Ones Who Know Our Secrets.’
Anna shivered though the room was not cold. ‘Aunt, surely it’s nothing that drastic, it could be any—’
‘The Hunters never forget, Anna,’ Aunt said forcibly. ‘History has shown us that they always return. When we relax, when we stop looking behind us, when we think we are finally free – that is when they strike. We do not forget. The fire never dies; beware smoke on the wind.’
‘But that was so long ago, a different time—’
‘Is it? You think people have changed so much? Fear is an instinct. It never changes. We tried to warn them all and now look what’s happening – cowans beginning to believe again.’
‘But cowans don’t see magic …’
‘Oh really,’ said Aunt, seizing her laptop. She opened it and drew up a news story from only the day before: ‘Cult being investigated for links to harmful “witchcraft” practices’.
Anna read it quickly. It seemed nothing more than a bunch of crazy people carrying out strange acts. ‘Are they witches?’ she asked.
‘Probably not, but it doesn’t matter, does it? They are linking them with witchcraft. Have you read the news recently? All doom and gloom – the economy nosediving, cutbacks, terrorist threats, climate disasters, racial tensions – but, oh, these new stories are something different. Something deliciously, horribly distracting. Whispers are spreading.’
Aunt flicked to the next tab. ‘Items of sorcery discovered in illegal immigrant hideout’.
Then another tab: ‘WATCH: Disturbing new video of Six Faceless Women’.
‘Look at the comments beneath,’ Aunt snapped.
Their faces are so creepy, definitely something not right here …
How did a bunch of women break through Big Ben’s high security?
Why are police revealing so little about the case? We’re being lied to.
Bet they’re naked under those robes.
Old Hags. Better dead than alive!
‘The hangings have opened a door and magic is starting to creep out. If cowans believe again – then they fear again.’
‘These are just rumours—’
‘It only takes a few sparks to light a fire!’ Aunt’s eyes were distant – lit with something: Terror? Thrill? It ran through Anna too and she could feel the force that had been growing within her falter. What if Aunt is right?
Aunt closed her laptop and picked up her embroidery, suddenly calm and collected. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself. Witches who flaunt their magic without shame or prudence put us all at risk. I can only imagine the sort of illusions Effie is filling your head with – boys and sex and spells and power.’
Anna winced at Aunt’s words; they were uncannily accurate. She thought of Effie’s cantrip – Darcey’s heel breaking in front of a room full of people. She waited for it, waited to be told she must never speak to Effie again, to stay away from boys, that she was to be removed from school.
‘Selene tells me you like a boy called Peter.’
Anna stifled her gasp. The last name she’d expected to come out of Aunt’s mouth at that moment was Peter’s. She felt a sting of betrayal. Why did Selene tell her?
‘Oh, don’t look like that. Selene was trying to convince me that you’re just young, just having fun, that it’s all harmless enough, you want to hang out with your friends, that you like some Peter – shouldn’t Anna be allowed to date at sixteen?’ Aunt began to sew. ‘I don’t blame your father for what he did, you know. I blame her. Your mother chose it. She knew he was having an affair and she stayed with him. She was stupid and weak, but I believe you are strong, Anna. You’re like me, you see through the illusions of things, you see people for what they are. That is why I have decided to let you decide for yourself.’
The silence that followed was delicate. Anna knew if she said the wrong thing she might break it. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Whether to become a Binder or not.’
Anna could not comprehend her words. Impossible. Her whole life had been leading towards the Binders. It had never been a discussion, but an inevitability, an unbreakable knot in the thread of her life. ‘But why?’
‘Because I trust you.’ The word trust stung like an open cut. ‘I’m not going to stop you seeing Effie. I have come to an agreement with Selene. You may stay at her house on the occasional Friday, at my discretion and under Selene’s supervision.’
‘Let me stay with Effie …’ said Anna, bewildered. Now nothing made any sense.
‘I want you to know the alternative so when you join the Binders – the choice is yours and not mine.’
Anna looked into Aunt’s eyes and found them strained. It didn’t make any sense. Aunt did not offer choices. Minutes ago she’d been ranting about Hunters and chaos and danger and now she was allowing Anna to spend time with Effie of all people. Anna knew Selene was persuasive but this was too much. What did she say? Does Selene have more power over Aunt than I know?
‘I believe you will come to see the harms of magic and love for yourself and then you will understand why the Binders do what we do. In your heart you are a Binder, I know it as I know myself. There are conditions, of course. All other nights of the week you must be home by six. If you grow closer to this Peter I must know about it. You will not practise magic.’ She doesn’t know about the coven then. ‘And if you deceive me on any of these points again I will arrange your Knotting immediately and your choice will be gone. Are we clear?’
Anna was completely unclear. Was Aunt just taunting her? Was it some sort of test? Would her answer end up locking her back up in her bedroom indefinitely?
‘Yes,’ said Anna, waiting for the trap door to fall but Aunt simply nodded.
What else can I say? If Anna didn’t agree she would have no freedom at all. At least this gave her something – an opening – even if it was all a trick. It’s always a trick.
‘I hope I choose the right path.’ Anna turned away, Aunt’s vulturine look already hunting for the lies in her eyes.
<
br /> ‘You will.’
‘So – I can go back to school?’
‘After the holidays. Until then you’re grounded – no leaving the house, no seeing friends, no Effie, until you return to school. And you must still be punished for your prior actions. Here.’ Aunt reached over and picked up Anna’s embroidery. ‘Sew.’
Anna’s stomach clenched. It had all been too easy. Anna took it and pulled out the needle which she’d left in the fabric. Aunt was watching her. Anna’s mouth had gone dry. As soon as she put the needle into the material she felt the pain. She cried out and pulled down the neck of her jumper. There on the skin just above her heart was a pinprick of blood.
‘I didn’t say to stop sewing.’
‘Aunt, please.’
‘Sew or you will become a Binder tonight, no questions, no decisions, no say.’
Anna began to sew, feeling every stitch above her heart as if she were sewing directly into her skin. Stitch in. Stitch back. Stitch in. Stitch back. The pain became a constant until she could barely think straight. She regretted the image she’d chosen for the embroidery: a blood-red flower. It slowly took shape.
Anna looked in the mirror before bed and saw the rose stitched into her skin, raw and red. It would heal and fade, but she would never forget the half-hour she’d spent sewing it. She thought of the pattern of circles she’d seen sewn into Aunt’s own skin – had Aunt sewn them there herself with the same spell? She thrived on punishment, both to others and herself. What did it mean?
Aunt walked in and winced at the sight of Anna’s injury. She came over and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I needed you to know your behaviour won’t be tolerated again. My father was always too soft on us and look where it got his daughters. One dead and one—’ Aunt looked at herself in the mirror and winced again. ‘I just need you to trust me.’ She placed the glass of milk down on the dressing table. ‘Now let me brush your hair.’
GRIEF
Twelve Years Old
‘She used to sneak into my room at night and we’d read fairy tales under the covers. Marie always wanted to be the prince, the princes were always wearing hats in the pictures and she loved hats. I remember a straw one that she refused to take off for a whole year. She’d go to the front door wearing it and announce she was going on adventures …’
Anna tried not to listen but it was impossible. She was hungry for information about her mother and these small details felt of huge importance. Aunt continued her torrent of gentle stories.
‘Do you ever wonder how it would have felt to have her arms around you?’
The way she said it all – so soothingly – that’s what made it hard, what hurt so much. Anna felt the tears come to her eyes as if they had always been there, waiting.
‘She loved you so much.’
Anna cried out, reaching for her eyes: her tears burned. They burned her eyes and cheeks with acid pain. She screamed again and scrabbled at her face but her cheeks felt the same as always. It was just a sensation. Just a sensation.
‘Her laughter was always sudden. I remember—’
‘Stop. Please stop.’ The burning was too much. She couldn’t bear it. She rubbed at her eyes but they only watered more.
‘Only you can stop it, Anna. Grief hurts. You must let it go.’
Anna tightened the third knot in her Knotted Cord. Aunt wiped a burning tear from her cheek and stroked her hair comfortingly.’Your mother would have sung to you like this, Anna, she loved to sing …’
Anna tightened the knot until her fingers bled and her cheeks dried and the ache inside her was a distant thing that couldn’t hurt any more.
SATIN
Lover’s Knot: To break off a romance/suppress sexual desire.
Knot Spells, The Book of the Binders
Christmas approached slowly and silently. Anna was stuck in the house without any way to speak to or see her friends. But she was out of her room and taking the tisane again, every sip of it a satisfying act of rebellion. Aunt didn’t have time to get them a tree so their only decorations were some recycled paper chains from the previous year. The front garden was of course adorned with tasteful lights for the neighbours to admire. There was a strict itinerary of chores and revision in accordance with her ongoing grounding.
As Anna worked she thought about Aunt’s offer. No matter what angle she examined it from, it didn’t feel right. She couldn’t believe that Aunt was letting her choose whether to become a Binder or not; was prepared to let her spend time with Effie. It was absurd. She couldn’t trust it. She couldn’t say no either. Perhaps she knows she can’t control me forever, she needs the choice to be mine – or the choice is an illusion like all her other tricks … Either way Anna needed to know the truth – and quickly.
Time was running out and there were so many secrets. How were her parents connected to the house? Why still live here, beneath the room in which they died? Why was magic a danger to their family? Why was her Knotting so imperative? What was she meant to sacrifice? What was in the third-floor room? Why keep it locked? Anna had started listening out every night and was surprised to find that Aunt went to the room more than she’d realized. Twice last week. Once already this week. What are you doing in there?
One day when Aunt was out Christmas shopping, Anna stole her laptop. She’d never researched her mother’s death before, had never wanted to or felt as if there was any reason to, accepting all she’d been told in good faith – but things had changed. She typed ‘Marie Everdell death’ into the browser but as her fingers hovered over the enter key, she could feel her paranoia rising. She could feel Aunt over her shoulder. She spun around but there was no one there – only the rose bush on the piano watching her with red malice.
If she finds out – I’ll be locked away for good.
Anna pressed enter, stomach rolling, but the search brought up no results. It had been sixteen years ago and she doubted the death had been national news, just a run-of-the-mill, if somewhat grisly, domestic. Anna tried a variety of other search terms but nothing appeared.
She eventually located a newspaper archive site. She found scans of several London and local newspapers from the week of the death and began to read through them exhaustively. Eventually she came across the headline: ‘Man strangles partner and takes own life’. Her heart stopped. The words were a bolt through her middle. She didn’t want to know any more. She had to keep reading …
In the quiet southwest London neighbourhood of Earlsfield, a woman has been found strangled to death in her own home by her partner of three years, who then stabbed himself in the heart.
Police received a distress call from Dominic Cruickshank, 28, around 11 p.m. last night, admitting that he had killed his partner Marie Everdell, 25. He claimed she had been having an affair. By the time police arrived at the scene Mr Cruickshank was already dead, having inflicted a stab wound to his own chest. The couple were found lying next to each other in their bed on the top floor of their London home in Cressey Square. Their baby of three months was in the cot beside the bed.
Metropolitan Police Inspector Ian Munro has confirmed that they are not looking for anyone in connection with the deaths. ‘This is a truly tragic incident. It’s understood the woman was violently attacked before the offender took his own life.’
Dominic Cruickshank had been a PhD student and research assistant in Psychology at the University of Edinburgh when he abruptly left his position just before completing his studies. Marie Everdell was working as an HR assistant at a local recruitment firm.
Ex-colleague Sanvi Sharma, from the University of Edinburgh, told the police she understood Mr Cruickshank had left his post to be with Ms Everdell in London. ‘I didn’t know where they were living. It was as if they had gone into hiding. He was a good man; it seems completely out of character. Dominic was no murderer.’
Neighbour Patricia Smith said: ‘We weren’t even aware that the couple had a baby. I’d never seen one leave the house. They kept themselves to themselves. It’
s a complete shock. This is a quiet, family neighbourhood. Nothing like this ever happens here.’
Anna stared at the screen until the words lost all meaning. She’d always known about her parents’ death but it had been like a story – a dark and twisted fairy tale. Reading the matter-of-fact print, the unyielding details, for the first time, it felt real.
She found the words again: Cressey Square – they had lived here, in her house. The top floor of the house – they’d died in the third-floor room. She thought she might be sick. Her mother had been strangled two floors above her. The residues of her father’s blood might remain, even now, woven into the fibres of the carpet. She leant forwards, taking deep breaths. Surely it was no coincidence that Aunt kept that room sealed off from her. But why? If she simply wanted the memories of it locked away – why go there at night?
Dominic Cruickshank. Anna had never known his full name. How had a good man turned into a murderer? There was a picture of him next to the article, more serious than the one she had of him, frowning and dark-browed, menacing even. She knew her mother’s name but she was a stranger. Who was this woman who had lived in hiding with a man who controlled her? Who’d given birth and told no one?
She found a few other articles, most of which said much the same thing, and then came across one which revealed a further detail from the case. Police had uncovered a message from a woman on Dominic’s phone: When can you come and see me? Can you get rid of HER tonight? Carmenta x. The police postulated that Marie might have seen the message and confronted Dominic who had then retaliated. They’d not been able to trace the number or determine who Carmenta was. There was no mention of the message again and the stories petered out altogether.
The case was simple: adultery, domestic violence, a crime of passion. A label that covered all sins of love, that meant they didn’t have to dig deeper; a story they could close shut. A dark and twisted fairy tale.
Anna closed the laptop and went to the piano. She sat down and started playing – a dark, stabbing tune, fingers like knives upon the keys, slicing the song into angry, staccato notes and short, sharp refrains – letting the melody bleed out. Aunt liked to take her joy from her as she played; well, she couldn’t take her anger and there was no one she hated more in this moment than Aunt.