by S A McClure
Iris snorted.
“You can’t be serious. The Inkwells? That’s the best name you could come up with?”
“Well, I wasn’t the one who named them.” Grandmother sniffed. She rapped her knuckles on the spinning wheel as she stared down at Iris. “And they’re no laughing matter, girl. Look at your sister and that wolf, for proof that the Inkwells are dangerous.”
“It’s still a silly name,” Emmaleigh rasped.
Iris gasped in surprise. She stared down at her sister, who was covered in oily liquid and sweat.
The wolf stood over Emmaleigh and Iris could have sworn she saw the relief in his posture. She narrowed her eyes at him. There was something strange about him, even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“It’s unfortunate that you didn’t lose your insolence in this attack, Emma,” Grandmother said. Her skin was particularly ashen after the use of her magic and the wrinkles around her eyes were even more prominent than they had been before.
“Yes, well, what can I say? I was born this way.”
Grandmother proceeded to crack her knuckles before holding her hands out before her. Her entire body shook as her hands began to glow a molten gold. Her eyes turned scarlet rimmed in the same gold as her hands. The oily blood coating the cottage floor bubbled and evaporated.
Iris had only seen Grandmother exert this much energy once before. She had used the very dregs of her magic to heal one of the younger witches in her Coven from a curse a previous lover had placed on her. It had taken days for Grandmother to regain her strength following that particular incident. Iris gulped and nearly choked on her own saliva as the old witch collapsed to the floor as the last remnants of the creature’s oily blood disappeared.
“Grandmother!” she shouted.
She leapt to her feet. Her knees shook as ran towards Grandmother. Iris fell to the floor with a loud thud. She skidded across the wood, leaving scratches and scuffs on her shins. She let out a low moan as her head erupted in a burst of pain.
“What are you doing to me?” she whispered. “Stop it!” she screamed, frantically trying to ease the pain in her head.
Silence. She clutched her hands to her ears. She couldn’t stop herself from crying. Tears poured down her cheeks. She tasted the salt as they touched her lips. The pounding in her head continued. It was as if she were in a river, underwater, with the current rushing past her. All she could hear was the deafening sound of water pressing at her ears.
A warm hand cupped her shoulder. She shivered as the hand gripped her, turning her around. Emmaleigh’s face came into focus. She could see her lips moving but could hear nothing but the sound of the rush of water. Their faces were so close that Iris could feel the puff of her breath on her cheeks.
Emmaleigh wiped away the tears from her cheeks. Her fingers were rough and calloused from the countless hours of practicing with her bow. Still, it was the sweetest touch Iris thought she had ever felt.
“Are you ok?” Emmaleigh asked.
The words hit Iris like a boulder rolling down a hill. Cringing, she pulled her hands away from her ears and saw small specks of blood on her hands. Her ears rang. Her body shook. And then, Iris vomited down the front of her sister’s tunic.
“Get it together, girl,” Grandmother muttered as she stooped to wipe the remnants of vomit from Iris’s hair. Her features were less wrinkled than they had been before.
“You took too much,” Iris hissed in reply. Her bones ached.
“Did I now?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it? You know the bargain we struck, girl. There’s no sense in whining about it now.”
“I couldn’t hear!”
Grandmother chortled. “These things are never permanent, you stupid girl. I just needed to borrow some of your vitality to heal myself.”
“You what?” Emmaleigh asked, eyes wide as she stared at Grandmother.
“I gave it to her freely, Emma,” Iris croaked. Her head still ached. As gently as she could, she massaged her temple. Sometimes, it helped to relieve the nausea caused by the siphoning of her energy.
“Iris,” Emmaleigh began.
She shook her head and held a finger to her lips. Her hands trembled as she stared her sister in the eyes. She knew what she must look like. Her face would be pale and splotchy, with dark bags under her eyes. Sometimes, even her hair would appear thinner and more brittle. It was never the same, but this time felt different than all the times before.
“Bah!” Grandmother barked. “You’re fine. Never better.”
She spit in her hands and held them out to the sisters. Iris hesitated to take the old witch’s hand. The last time she’d accepted that hand, she’d bargained away a portion of her life energy. She wasn’t sure she was prepared to do anything more than that.
The wolf swiveled his head between the three of them, clearly listening to their conversation. Iris wasn’t sure how much the wolf understood, but she suspected it was enough.
Emmaleigh absently petted the wolf, whose tongue wagged at each touch. It was strange behavior indeed.
“Come on, girls. We haven’t got all day. We need to figure out who sent that Inkwell here to kill me.”
“What?” Iris asked in surprise. As the most powerful witch living in Dramadoon, only a fool would challenge her.
“Yes,” Grandmother said as she rolled up her sleeves. “I know, it’s simply awful, isn’t it?”
Iris raised her eyebrows at her sister, who, in turn, stuck her tongue out at her. It was just like Emma to not take things seriously.
Iris rolled her eyes at her sister before turning back to Grnadmother and asking, “Where do we begin?”
Chapter Seven
Emmaleigh
There was positively nothing Emmaleigh hated more than cleaning. The dust. The dead bugs tucked away in corners. The sticky drops that absolutely refused to budge, even after she’d spent what seemed liked an eternity scrubbing at each one.
This is the first task Grandmother Rel could think of? she thought as she dunked her hands into the grimy soap bucket. Cleaning?
“I can hear you,” the old hag croaked as she dropped a foul smelling beetle into the potion she was brewing over the fire.
“I didn’t say anything,” Emma snapped, though her cheeks burned.
“With an expression like yours, words aren’t necessary,” Grandmother Rel retorted.
Emma sighed. Maybe she should have let the Inkwell kill her after all. It would certainly be better than this.
The wolf whined as he stared at her from his place by the fire. Despite Grandmother Rel jabbering at him, the wolf had paid her no heed and had merely walked over to the fire, chased his tail for one spin, and then settled down in a position facing Emmleigh.
Even when she turned away from him, she could feel his hazel eyes upon her. It sent shivers down her spine and made her wish—not for the first time—that she could talk to animals.
“I’ll have none of that,” Grandmother Rel hissed in the wolf’s direction. “I know you belong to Balkeen. Do not try to deny it. I can smell his magic upon you.”
Emmaleigh twirled around in time to see the wolf bare its teeth at Grandmother Rel.
“I’ll send you out in the cold, I will,” Grandmother Rel snapped. “Don’t think for a second that, because of who you are, I’ll go easy on you.”
“Who is he?” Emmaleigh asked before she could stop herself.
She clapped her hand over her mouth, which was a mistake, considering she still had the dirty, sudsy rag in her hand. She had never tasted anything so repugnant as the water that seeped into her mouth at that moment. She gagged and then slumped to the floor.
“You really are the most dramatic person I think I’ve ever met,” Grandmother Rel snipped.
“Who is he?” Iris asked, her birdlike voice like a song to Emmaleigh’s ears.
She did love her sister fiercely and for this very reason. When push came to shove, Ir
is was always there. In a word, Emma would always describe her sister as dependable.
Grandmother Rel waved a hand dismissively. “That is none of your concern, girl.”
She handed Iris a phial of bubbling purple liquid. Well, at least, that was the closest word Emma could think of to describe the contents in the phial. It was a thick, coagulated mixture that reminded Emma of curdled milk that had been sitting in the sun for too long.
Her sister’s eyes watered from what Emmaleigh could only assume was the stench of the potion. Although she sometimes envied her sister’s ability to create potions and hold favor with the hag, now was not one of those times.
“You think that,” she said, pointing at the phial Iris was holding, “will help determine who sent the Inkwell to kill us?” Emma barked out a cold laugh. “And I thought I was the dimwitted one in the room.”
Grandmother Rel’s face slowly turned deep crimson red.
Idiot. She was a blundering idiot for inciting Grandmother Rel’s anger. From the corner of her eye, she saw the wolf stand. It growled softly as it approached to her side. Emmaleigh reached down and petted the top of its head.
“You think that puny little wolf will protect you?” Grandmothr Rel scoffed. “What will he do when he runs out of food? Eat you, that’s what.”
The wolf huffed. Emma wrapped her fingers through his soft fur and tugged gently. He whined but sat back on his haunches. His hazel eyes followed Grandmother Rel as she moved about the room.
Emmaleigh found herself wondering what the wolf was thinking and feeling. Those eyes were so human. Too human.
“I don’t think he’d eat me,” she said at length.
Grandmother Rel glared at her, but then shrugged. Emma took that as a win.
“Drink the phial,” the old hag commanded, jabbing a finger in Emma’s direction.
Emma wrinkled her nose. Iris slipped the phial into her hand. The thick liquid barely moved, like molasses on a cold night, as she examined it in the dim light of a candle.
“What’s in it?” she asked, looking up at Grandmother.
“Things that will allow us to see what you saw when the Inkwell attacked. I need to see if the beast had any markings to indicate to whom it belonged.”
Emmaleigh sniffed at the liquid. It smelled like raw oysters and burnt cabbage. It left a tingling sensation behind her eyes that made them water. She did not want to consume it. Not in the least.
“Bottoms up, girl,” Grandmother said.
Emma narrowed her eyes at her. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”
Grandmother’s lips curled into a tight smile that revealed her pointed teeth. “If I wanted you dead, I’d find a more entertaining way than poison.”
Emma huffed loudly. She swirled the liquid again, but couldn’t tell if it moved at all.
She glanced at the wolf, who watched her every move with such intensity her breath caught in her chest. She raised an eyebrow at the beast, who only cocked his head at her and continued to stare.
Pinching her nose, Emma threw back her head and downed the foul smelling syrup. It tasted worse than it smelled, and she gagged as it sluggishly slid over her tongue. It burned as it traveled down her throat and dropped like hot lead into her gut. She slammed the empty phial onto the closest table and sank to her knees as her stomach began to cramp.
“What did you do to me?” she moaned as she wrapped her arms over her abdomen.
Her eyes watered. She struggled to breathe as fire seemed to spread through her veins. She coughed. Her shoulders shook. Her vision blurred as she crumpled to the ground and curled into a ball.
Her hearing muffled, the way it was when she dunked her head beneath the river’s surface, but she heard the old hag’s voice command Iris to restrain the wolf. Emma attempted to reach out to her sister, but her limbs were so heavy, she couldn’t be sure if they had moved at all.
Blinding light burst into life. She shuddered and distantly heard herself scream. She could barely hear anything, but she could see herself in extreme clarity. There she was, opening the door and letting the Inkwell slink into their home. Aiming her bow. Falling back in terror. Crying for help. The wolf lunging at the creature. The wolf saving her, even as she almost abandoned him to his fate. Her using fire to fight the shadow. The struggle for survival. The explosion of light and smoke and death.
She relived it all. She smelled her sweat dripping from her brow. Felt her determination to survive.
Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. She desperately wanted to swat them from her face, but she couldn’t quite seem to make her limbs respond to her call. She was paralyzed by the hag’s potion and stuck in the living nightmare of the Inkwell’s attack.
Her body froze. She felt a sharp drop in her stomach before she saw her arm fade away like embers from a fire. Her arm was there and then it wasn’t. And then her whole body followed. She felt herself being ripped apart. She screamed in agony as her consciousness split.
Dark plumes of smoke encircled her. She coughed, clutching at her throat. Images zipped through her vision. And then, as if she were hearing the pounding on the door for the first time, she relived the Inkwell’s attack once more.
Chapter Eight
Iris
Iris clutched at her sister’s hand as her body writhed in pain. She glared at Grandmother.
“What did you do to her?” she demanded as she crouched lower to the floor and wiped a stray strand of auburn hair from her sister’s brow.
“Just wait.”
Iris, though she was typically considered the more patient of the two sisters, hated being labeled as such. She really wasn’t as patient or good or kind as people made her out to be.
Light escaped from her sister’s parted lips in shades of purple. Iris leaned in close to Emma’s forehead and pressed her lips to her sister’s brow. Her skin was blazing hot.
A knot formed in Iris’s stomach as she peered down at Emma’s face. Her lips were pulled into a deep grimace, as if she were trapped in a nightmare.
“Please wake up,” Iris whispered as she stroked another stray hair from Emma’s sweaty brow. “Please.”
“Don’t be daft, girl. She can’t hear you.”
Just as Iris was opening her mouth to respond to Grandmother’s comment, a brighter, glittering purple light spilled from her sister’s lips. It expanded until it filled the space before them. The mirror image of the main cottage room formed within the smoke, like a painting.
Iris yelped and dropped Emma’s hand as she reached out and touched the smoky image. Her fingers passed through the smoke and into the cottage room beyond. A cold draft wafted across her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Jerking her hand to her chest, Iris’s jaw dropped as the cabin room swelled and enveloped them.
A loud booming filled the space. Iris felt the color drain from her face. It was beginning.
She watched as Emma’s body materialized from smoke and crept towards the door. Her lips moved, but no sound filtered through the vision. Iris clutched Emma’s hand to her lips as she watched the door burst open to a flurry of snowfall.
But then a massive, dark shape lunged through the doorway, sending Emma skidding backwards. She shot an arrow at the beast, but it passed through the creature without harm. Iris gasped as her sister crouched low. She could see the terror in her eyes.
“Come on,” she whispered. She trailed her sister’s every movement. Her heart pattered in her chest. The knot in her stomach twisted each time the beast drew closer to her sister.
She imagined she could smell the putrid scent the beast. She could almost feel its menacing touch as it attacked her sister. This was not a monster from the fae tales their parents had read to them as children. This was real. And this thing was determined to snuff out her sister’s life.
A blur of grey fur flew past the beast and the creature writhed in pain. She watched as her sister ran past the fighting animals to the secret passageway. Iris’s heart soared. She already knew
the outcome of this fight. Her sister was still breathing, as was the wolf, but to feel the heat and anxiety and flurry of movement as if she had been standing in the cabin when everything happened made it seem more real to her.
She saw her sister’s back stiffen. She could tell Emma was torn between escape, assuring the wolf’s death, and turning back to fight. Emma had always been a fighter. Even when they’d been lost in the woods and dying from the cold, her sister had fought on.
Emma’s face glistened with a sheen of sweat as she charged back into the fray. She brandished a blazing log from the fire and thrust it into the beast, which reared back in pain.
“There!” Grandmother exclaimed as she snapped her fingers and the image froze.
She hobbled over to the image of the Inkwell and traced a faint sliver of silver that shone on the beast’s underbelly. If Grandmother hadn’t pointed it out, she was certain she would have missed it.
Grandmother was muttering beneath her breath as Iris drew near.
“What is it, Grandmother? What does it mean?”
She leaned towards the faint line. Though the rest of the image was still, it pulsed with energy, as if it had magic of its own.
“I thought they were all dead,” Grandmother hissed.
“Who were dead?”
Iris furrowed her brow as she examined the pulsing silver line. It looked like a tiny river, splintering and going off in an array of directions. The pulsing silver was mesmerizing. It called to her. She leaned in closer to the line. Stretching out a finger, she began to trace it.
Grandmother swatted her on the arm before her finger made contact with the pulsating line.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Iris shivered as the warmth drained from her body. She felt as if her energy had been stripped from her.
Grandmother snapped her fingers again and the Inkwell writhed before her. The last of the battle between her sister and the beast flashed before in a flurry of images before fading back into darkness.
She exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Shaking her head, she peered down at her hands. The compulsion to the touch the silver line had been so overwhelming. Although the words were indistinct and more of a feeling than actual sound, she felt it call to her still.