Another witch, Maddie thought.
She didn’t look at all like Maeve. An expression of quiet compassion lay across her face as she examined the boy. His right leg was missing below the knee, wrapped tightly in linen bandages stained green with blood. Two older faeries, a man and a woman, stood anxiously beside him.
“What happened?” the prince whispered to the nurse.
The nurse answered in a low voice. “He was caught in an Erlkin snare. By the time he was rescued, the poison had already traveled up his leg. He’s been recovery from the amputation for five days. This is the second procedure.”
The nurse returned to her mistress while Finn and Maddie retreated to the edge of the room. She whispered a few words to the witch, who glanced up at Maddie briefly before returning to her work. The nurse bent down and lifted a long, wooden case from under the table.
Maddie tugged at Finn’s shirt. “What are they doing?”
He gave her a little smile. “Magic, of course.”
The witch took up a small glass vial of cloudy green liquid. Removing the stopper, she consumed the potion in a single gulp, shutting her eyes as the magic invaded her veins and covered her face in a black web. When she spoke, her voice emerged in a hollow echo.
“The leg, please.”
The nurse opened the case and produced a milky-colored piece of wood. The bark had been removed, revealing the still-wet surface underneath, newly cut and beading with fresh sap. She handed it to her mistress and stepped around the table, gently removing the bandages from boy’s wound. Maddie’s stomach lurched at the sight of the exposed leg. Fine thread held the flesh shut, and it reminded her of the scar she’d found on her chest the day she’d arrived in the Veil.
The nurse cut away the stitches, and green blood flowed out onto the table. Maddie’s eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open, and she put a hand up to cover it.
“Watch,” Finn hissed.
The witch’s hands began to glow. A soft green light bloomed into the air, swirling gently like smoke blown by a draft under the door. It settled on the log and seeped into the wood, moving through the fibers like living water until it disappeared inside. The witch turned to the two older faeries.
“Hold his hand,” she said.
The mother closed her hand around the boy’s palm as the witch set the log down beside the stump of his leg. With one hand on his bleeding limb and the other on the cut wood, she pressed the pair together.
A rush of energy burst in the center of Maddie’s chest, spreading out to her legs and arms. She gasped as light flashed from the length of wood, weaving through the air like threads of luminescent silk. It coiled around the bleeding stump of the leg and tightened. Maddie could hear the wood flexing and bending, cracking as the magic flowed between them. The log reformed, taking on the shape of a knee… a calf … a foot, until finally the light faded. The witch took her hands away, and the boy opened his eyes. The wooden toes wiggled.
His parents burst into tears, hauling him up from the table and into their arms. The witch gave a bow and stepped away, leaving her assistant to clean up. She came towards Finn and Maddie.
“I don’t usually allow visitors,” she said as the prince bowed. She kissed his hand. “These procedures can be very personal, and the people deserve their privacy.”
Her voice had mellowed, but the dark vibration of the magic still drifted in the air.
Finn said, “Thank you for making an exception.”
The woman looked Maddie over with a discerning eye. “You are the apprentice?” she asked.
“Soon, maybe,” Maddie replied humbly.
“A human?”
Maddie nodded meekly. “Yes ma’am.”
The woman reached out, put a hand to Maddie’s chest, and shut her eyes. “I can feel your power,” she said. “I think you would do well. And the heart is a fine graft. Expertly done, though I’ve never seen the spell performed on one of your kind. There must be something very special about you.”
Maddie forced a smile. “That’s what they tell me.”
The witch opened her eyes and took her hand away. “I hope you found your visit worthwhile. Now, I have to attend to my other patients.”
Finn bowed to her again.
“Thank you,” he said.
The witch kissed his hand and left with her nurse, escorting the faerie parents and their child from the room. Finn took Maddie back out to the street and they headed for square.
“That was incredible!” Maddie said, barely able to contain her excitement.
“See?” Finn said. “It’s not all dark rooms and scary stories. That could be you someday.”
Maddie felt a tremble of excitement in her chest. She giggled as she ran in front of the prince and walked backwards. “Do you think so? I never thought about becoming a doctor.”
A broad smile brightened his face as he replied, “There’s nothing stopping you.”
Maddie danced back around beside him. “Doctor Madeline Foster,” she said, trying it on for size.
Finn put up a hand. “Madeline Foster, Practitioner.”
“Practitioner?”
“It’s the official title, unless you prefer ‘witch.’ They’re both acceptable.”
“But do you think I could really do it?”
He stuck his finger out and poked her in the middle of her forehead.
“You’ve got the head for it,” he said.
Maddie grinned and felt her cheeks tingle. She put a hand on her face to hide the blush as they emerged onto the main road. Maddie practically skipped along the street.
“What will happen to that boy?” she asked. “I mean when he grows up. Will he have to get his leg replaced?”
“No,” Finn said. “They’re joined by the spell. It’s not just a piece of wood anymore, no more than your heart is.”
Maddie bounced with anticipation. “That is so cool!” she said, stopping in the middle of the street and planting her hands on her hips to survey the market. “We should celebrate. Where’s the Triple-C?”
“You mean the cafe?”
“Yeah,” Maddie said, scanning the signs above the crowd. She pointed. “There it is. Come on!”
She dragged him over to the crowded storefront. The smell of hot beef, cheese, and ketchup hung in the air like smoke.
Finn wrinkled his nose. “What do they sell here?” he asked.
Maddie’s stomach rumbled. “Chicago’s finest.”
Dramatis Persona
The sound of clattering trays rattled through the door, and Morrow looked up. More customers. He was in the back, updating inventory. The owner, Leoh, had absolutely no sense of organization. It was a miracle he was still in business. The only thing that kept the caravan profitable was the fact that the city of Amaranth possessed an inexhaustible craving for junk food.
Leoh popped his head through the door. “Moira? Could you take over on the counter for a minute? We’re swamped.”
“Yes, sir,” Morrow said, suppressing the urge to glance behind him at the sound of his own voice. After three weeks, the higher pitch still caught him by surprise.
The name was part of his cover identity. He’d had selected it for its leading syllable, which made it easier to connect it with his own name in his head. Morrow set down his ledger and followed Leoh out into the dining room.
A line of hungry faeries extended all the way to the door, winding around the stainless steel tables. The caravan borrowed its styling from the diners of the 1950s, complete with black and white tile, polished bar stools, and bright red cushions on the chairs. Shining taps dispensed soda in every color of the rainbow opposite roaring deep fryers full of nachos. Vats of boiling water filled the air with steam, brimming with hot dogs ready to be served.
As the salt and fat coated his tongue, Morrow suppressed a gag. He preferred his people’s native dishes of root vegetables, insects, and mushrooms, though his people seldom prepared them anymore. It was far to easy to steal from the humans.
Morrow took his place behind the register and began calling out orders. Money flew across the counter, and the bell over the door jingled as each new patron pushed through the door, until the crowd suddenly parted and the room fell silent.
“Welcome to the Triple-C,” Morrow said, on autopilot as he looked up. “What can I get”—The human girl stood across from him, reading the menu over his head—“you?”
The prince of Amaranth was right behind her. Morrow wiped his hands on his uniform and brushed his hair out of his face. There wasn’t much to go on, but he was going to have to find a way to make a lasting impression.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Two nachos, a hot dog, and a… Mountain Dew?”
She tilted her head quizzically. “How’d you know?”
“It’s a gift,” Morrow said with a grin. “I’m guessing you’re from out of town.”
The girl tapped a finger beside her round, human eyes and said, “How’d you guess?”
Morrow put the order in. “You do stand out,” he said. “But also, word gets around. I’ve never met a human before. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Triple-C. I’m Moira.” He stuck out a hand, and she shook it.
“Maddie.”
“Can I get you a table?”
Maddie glanced back at the crowd. “That would be great.”
“Hey, boss!” Morrow said, turning to Leoh. “We have some special guests.”
Leoh spun around. “Hey! It’s you!”
“Nice place!” Maddie said, waving.
“Want me to charge them?” Morrow asked.
“No way,” Leoh answered. “It’s on the house.”
Morrow grabbed their food and took them to a table, his heart thumping the whole way. “Bon appetit,” he said, laying down their trays.
Maddie breathed in over the food and shuddered as she slid into her seat. “Are these real nachos?” she asked.
“As real as nachos can be,” Morrow answered.
She grabbed a cheese-coated chip and popped it in her mouth.
“Oh. My. God,” she said, practically drooling.
Morrow grinned. “I’m glad you like them. Do you want anything for your hot dog? Ketchup?”
Maddie looked up with sudden disdain, but Morrow was ready. Hot dogs in Chicago were served in a very particular way, topped with an assortment of fresh vegetables, pickles, and celery-seasoned salt. The Triple-C served them in the same fashion, and while for some, additional toppings were a preference; for others, they were a sin against nature.
“Just like this is perfect,” she said.
“A purist, eh?”
Maddie fixed him with an assertive stare. “There is no other way to eat a hot dog.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Maddie lifted the dog and took an enormous bite. Morrow chuckled, quietly charmed by her brazen gluttony.
“It has been so long,” she said.
Morrow did his best to put on a bashful smile. “I know the feeling.”
Maddie wolfed down a second bite. “But you work here,” she said. “Don’t you eat the food?”
“It’s pretty expensive,” Morrow replied, “and I just moved into town. I’m trying to save up to get a place.”
Maddie set down her hot dog. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet someone who’s newer in town than me. Are you here for the festival?”
“Something like that. I used to live downtown. I decided to move when my parents passed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Maddie said.
“It’s alright. Now I’m just trying to get on my feet. The Triple-C looked as good a place as any to find some work.”
“Well, we’ll be sure to leave you a big tip.”
“Maddie…” the prince said.
She caught herself. “Right. I’m broke. He’ll leave you a big tip. Moira, this is Prince Finn. He’s not cultured enough to have a hot dog preference.”
“Maddie!” Finn yelped.
Morrow bowed. “Your highness.”
He took Morrow’s hand and kissed it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I assure you, my level of culture is just fine.”
“Hah!” Maddie scoffed. “He’s never even had pizza. Do you guys sell pizza?”
“In the evenings,” Morrow answered.
“Man, it’s been forever since I had pizza,” said Maddie.
A server blew by with their drinks and Morrow popped open the caps. “Was it your favorite?” he asked.
Maddie nodded. “I haven’t had a good slice in forever.”
“Then you should come back.”
Maddie snatched up her soda and guzzled it down. “Maybe I will.” Then she slumped. “No. Nevermind. I’m not supposed to leave the palace.”
“But you’re here now, aren’t you?”
Maddie glanced at the prince. “Today is a special circumstance,” she said. “I don’t suppose you deliver?”
“Not normally,” Morrow said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “But for a fellow Chicagoan, I’ll see what I can do.”
He left them alone to eat, pleased to have engineered a reason to get back in touch. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
His stomach churned, and the fading daylight reminded him that it was the end of his shift, and he was nearly overdue for his next dose of Gwynedd’s potion. Throwing his apron in the laundry bin, he clocked off and returned to his apartment.
The flat lay in a cheaper area of the city, part of his cover as a poor new arrival. Morrow had the money for a better place, but the idea of getting comfortable set him on edge. While he was growing accustomed to the noise and the sunshine that saturated the faerie city, he longed to return home, though he confessed that it hardly felt like home anymore. It was merely the swamp in which he lived. Part of him couldn’t wait to take his next dose, and let Gwynedd’s essence to force his doubts away.
He had already discovered that, while they might be loud and unrefined, the faeries were not the greedy oppressors his mistress had made them out to be. He could only speculate about what drove her to hate them so much.
Reaching under the bed, he pulled out the box and picked up the next vial. The potion felt like poison in his mouth, but as it ran down his throat, its acid sting turned to a burning satisfaction that reminded him of alcohol and smoke. His misgivings slowly disbursed, and he remembered once again the lingering hatred that sat in his soul: a hatred for the faerie, for their history, for their way of life. A dark resolution to bring it all to crashing down slithered into his thoughts.
Moving to the mirror, his image ambushed him as he got undressed. It had taken some time to grow accustomed to the sight of his new form, which he found to be decidedly inconvenient in terms of both body and mind. Faerie impulses invaded his thoughts. Just the other day, he caught himself staring at one of the cook’s rear ends.
He grumbled as he shut his eyes, hoping he would dream of caves, moonlight, and the forests of the deep Veil.
Soon, hopefully, it would all be over.
Witchcraft 101
“Again,” Maeve said.
Maddie groaned and rolled over on the floor. Classes took place at night, to take advantage of the witching hour: midnight to 1am. According to Maeve, now officially Maddie’s mistress, the connections of magic were at their strongest during the transition from one day into the next. It was a kind of universal rhythm. The magic of the witching hour was surpassed only by the power that came during the transition of the year: the summer solstice, which was only a few short weeks away.
Maddie pulled herself up and went back to the table.
“Aren’t these potions supposed to come in bottles?” she asked.
Maeve loomed over her. “Bottles are for witches, not apprentices. Until you possess the skill to work your spells, there is no point to keeping them at hand.”
Maddie lifted her head up heavily and let it fall, her best impression of a nod. Her muscles throbbed and sent a flash of pain racing up her spine.
&nbs
p; “We’ve been at this for hours,” Maddie said. “What’s wrong? Why isn’t it working?”
“Did you suppose the practice would be easy?” Maeve replied. She pointed to the bowl of unguent on the table. “Again.”
Maddie picked up a wooden ladle and dipped it into the potion. She grimaced as she drank it down. The spell they were working with was meant to give her the ability to throw stones. It wasn’t nearly as awful as the potion that brought on the Earth Sight, but it still tasted like mud. She’d spent the first hour of class leaned over a mortar and pestle, grinding away at a mixture of granite, maple seeds, and blood.
Maddie’s chest lurched, and a familiar pressure built up behind her eyes as the magic took hold. Her body froze and her mind went numb as a rock.
Shit, she thought.
It was the fifth time she had paralyzed herself. Maeve waited patiently for the spell to abate before she ordered Maddie into the “apprentice’s position” on the floor. Maddie knelt down and sat on her ankles in front of her mistress.
“The problem is you,” Maeve said.
“Me?”
Maeve glided over to the table. “You are not strong enough.”
“But how can that be?” Maddie asked, twisting to face her. “Aren’t I supposed to be some kind of… I don’t know, infinite thing? Maybe I didn’t make the spell correctly.”
Maeve leaned over the bowl and sniffed. “The preparation is accurate.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
Maeve ladled out a bit of the potion and sipped. As her eyes went black, she brought up her hands and a dozen stones floated into the air. She snapped her fingers and they shot around the room like panicked sparrows.
“You are losing yourself to the magic,” she said, “because you have no sense of yourself. Until you do, the essence of nature will overpower you, just as it did when you entered the Allsight.”
“You’re saying a rock has more willpower than I do?”
“I am.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Maeve let the stones drift back to the ground, catching one out of the air as it fell. “Doesn’t it?” she asked. “This stone has been a stone since the beginning of the earth. You have not even been a woman for 20 years. Do you presume to know your existence better than the pebble understands its own?”
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