Ivory Apples

by Lisa Goldstein

  The witches dragged them to an open space in the forest. A huge iron cauldron stood there, filled with water. Fire blazed up beneath it, and as I watched the water began to boil.

  Philip and Jane were gone now, returned to whatever dreamland they had come from. My sisters were still screaming, the sound echoing throughout the warehouse. The witches bent and lifted them like sticks, then tossed them into the cauldron.

  Get out! Piper said again.

  No, I said. I have to rescue them.

  Go! It isn’t real.

  Are you sure?

  You can’t rescue them. Just go, before it’s too late.

  He was right, I couldn’t do anything. I tried to wrench my gaze away from the cauldron, but once again I was caught, unable to move.

  With my last strength, I let go of Piper. He rose within me and took control, then tried to force me to move. I stumbled back a few steps. He grew stronger, and we continued to back away.

  “Help us!” Beatriz called. “It’s getting hotter!”

  Hurry! Piper said.

  I wanted to look at them, but Piper made me stagger toward the window. I heard footsteps, heightened thuds as if a giant was walking behind me, and I ran faster. I made it to the window and got my head and torso through it.

  Hands clutched my ankles. I kicked out and the hands slid to my shoes.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ms. Burden said behind me, sounding satisfied. “You’ll be back.”

  I twisted out of my shoes and dropped to the ground below.

  I spent the drive back to Maeve’s trying to convince myself that none of it had been real. I hadn’t seen my sisters, they hadn’t nearly been cooked to death in a pot by witches. It was all a play, scripted by Ms. Burden. And, if Craig was right, acted out by the muses under her control.

  I couldn’t stop shaking, though. What if I was wrong, what if Ms. Burden was holding my sisters prisoner, waiting for me to come rescue them? I should assume the worst, I knew—that was always the best way to deal with her.

  I remembered Ned, how he’d searched me out and given me Ms. Burden’s address, and I realized that that had been part of her plan. She had created the trap, and I had walked into it with no more thought than a bird hopping into a cage.

  I started imagining all the things she could do now, the new and clever punishments she could devise. Even the good moments she allowed my sisters would become a kind of torture; they would relax, would start to think themselves free, and then be brought face to face with the next horror. How many times had Ms. Burden made them dance between those two poles?

  And what about the nightmare she had created? At first glance it was too ridiculous to take seriously; that cauldron, for example, had come out of a cartoon or a comic book. I had met a woman on the streets who claimed to be a witch, and I would swear to it that she had never boiled anyone in a pot.

  Yes, I thought, but you saw the cartoon as a child and it went deep, and your sisters did too. Still, I couldn’t help but think, once again, what a poor imagination Ms. Burden had, how much it relied on shopworn clichés.

  And I would have been trapped there with them if not for Piper. I would have kept walking toward the fantasies Ms. Burden had conjured for me, and then, when it was too late, I would have boiled in that cauldron along with my sisters.

  The thought terrified me so much my hands shook, and I veered into the opposite lane. I might have done anything to get out, given up any secret with barely a qualm.

  When I got home I told Maeve about what I’d seen, and I emailed Craig. Craig agreed with me that Ms. Burden’s muses must have created those scenes, though, like me, he didn’t know whether my sisters had been real or illusion. But neither he nor Maeve had any ideas for me—and that too was part of Ms. Burden’s plan, I knew, that I should feel this powerless, this anguished at being unable to do anything.

  Several weeks passed, but they seemed like years, centuries. I thought of my sisters at every waking moment, and they came into my dreams as well. Amaranth had looked so unhappy, so bitter—what was this ordeal doing to her? Or to Semiramis, who’d seemed so terrified?

  I thought about calling the police, but I didn’t want to risk anyone else getting caught in her web. And if the police did rescue my sisters they’d almost certainly involve Child Protection Services, and we’d all be placed in different homes. Still, I kept the thought at the back of my mind, as a last resort.

  I did nothing during those weeks, no housework, no correspondence, none of my own writing. I heated up frozen dinners instead of making my own, and Maeve and I ate them in silence. I walked through the house listlessly, turning over plans in my head, none of them with any hope of succeeding.

  Now that I’d seen that Ms. Burden controlled the muses, I was more and more certain that she had killed Philip. She had once seemed to have the perfect alibi—she hadn’t even been in the room when he’d died—but now I realized she could have given the muses their orders before we ever got there.

  And I wondered about what she had said in the warehouse, the spell she’d used to make them do her bidding. I’d heard the word “bell” when she’d spoken, or I thought I had, and I remembered that story Craig had sent me, “The Woman and the Apple.” It had contained something like a spell, the moon’s rhyme that had sent the muses into exile: Sound the tocsin, toll the bell,/ Down and down the children fell. Could those words control the muses in other ways? What would happen if I recited them back to her?

  It was a slim hope, as thin as a new moon. Still, I read and reread the story, and I memorized the poem. I looked up “tocsin”—“an alarm bell,” my dictionary said—and added it to my list of words.

  Did I have to ring an actual bell or just recite the poem? I hadn’t heard any bells in the warehouse. Probably the word “bell” was there because it echoed the “l” in “toll” and “children” and “fell” . . . and I got lost in the sounds of the rhyme and had to force myself to climb back out into the real world.

  Finally I came up with a plan, one cobbled together out of hopelessness and cunning. I remembered that Piper had been unaffected by Ms. Burden, and I thought that he might be free to act against her even if I couldn’t. (And I wondered in passing why she hadn’t been able to influence him. Was it because she hadn’t been aware of him, and hadn’t included him in her spell? Or because he wasn’t human, and so outside her influence?)

  I didn’t know if he was reliable enough to follow my directions, or even understand them. But I couldn’t come up with anything else, so it would have to do.

  I need you to do something for me, I said to him. Do you think you can be brave?

  Of course, he said.

  We’ll have to go back to the warehouse.

  Instead of an answer, he curled up tightly within me. I know you’re afraid of her, I said. I’m afraid too. But I have to rescue my sisters, and I want to make sure she can’t say anything, that she can’t speak that spell. What I want you to do is, well, I want you to Leave me.

  What? he asked, startled.

  Leave. And then go after her, knock her down, put your hand over her mouth, whatever it takes to stop her from saying anything. And if I fail, if I can’t rescue them, you keep her there. Tell her that you won’t let her go unless she does what we want.

  I’d felt his wiry strength and was certain he could overpower her. Just to make sure, though, I asked, Do you think you can do that?

  I felt him nod. I got in the car and drove up to Eugene. Neither of us said anything on the journey over. I was going over my plan, and he—well, I didn’t know what he was thinking.

  We pulled up at the back of the warehouse. The window I had climbed through was still open. Of course it was, I thought. She wouldn’t have closed it, any more than a hunter would close a bear trap.

  I walked around the warehouse, looking for other entrances. There weren’t any, though, so I came back to the open window, took a deep breath, and climbed inside.

  I set off with my back to
the wall, hoping the echoes of my footsteps would be quieter there. To my dismay they sounded out across the warehouse, and a door opened on the other side.

  Ms. Burden stepped out of a room and looked around. She hadn’t spotted me, not yet. My sisters came out behind her. She said something to them and they started across the vast floor, their footsteps pounding like a heartbeat.

  Beatriz saw me and called my name. Ms. Burden turned toward me. Our glances met and I felt a shudder, like two swords scraping against each other.

  She began to speak. I could hear a few words, and I realized that I’d been right, that she was reciting the poem from the book. I felt stronger. I could do this.

  A mist began to rise up near my sisters. Go! I said to Piper.

  Nuh-uh, he said.

  Dammit, you said you would! You have to stop her!

  No.

  You said you’d do it! You said you could be brave.

  It’s too dangerous out there to be brave.

  Goddamn it! That’s what bravery is.

  He curled in on himself, shaking his head. I nearly fled back out the window, leaving my sisters behind for a second time. But I had one last chance, the moon’s spell.

  I spoke the words. The mist didn’t dissolve, though; instead it thickened, became a cloud, stretched itself outward. It reached my sisters and flowed over them, erased them.

  Something had gone wrong. Ms. Burden could use the poem, but for some reason I could not.

  Maybe I’d said it incorrectly. I tried again, shouting this time, but nothing happened. Should I have brought a bell after all?

  Something dry as dust brushed against my hand, and I looked down. A tendril of mist circled my arm and dragged me toward the cloud.

  I tried to jerk away, but it was too strong. At the same time, the cloud swelled outward, folding me within it. Everything blurred. Whiteness formed around me, thick as a marshmallow. I couldn’t see, couldn’t think, could barely move.

  Then the mist cleared, and I could take in my surroundings again. I was in the warehouse, but this time my sisters were standing with me. I smiled, glad to see them, glad to be out of that thick, featureless white. They didn’t smile back, though. They looked uneasy.

  I glanced around for Ms. Burden but didn’t see her anywhere. “Come on!” I said. “We can go out the window.”

  They stared at me, not moving. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Hurry!”

  I grabbed Semiramis by the arm and headed toward the window. She shrank back, shaking her head. I pulled her, harder this time, and she stumbled after me, her steps slow and reluctant. The others followed, moving at the same sluggish pace.

  I wanted to shake her. What was wrong with everyone? “Come on!” I said.

  Finally we reached the window. I tried to lift her, but she squirmed away. “Help me here!” I said to Beatriz.

  “Look,” Beatriz said, her voice flat.

  “What?” I said.

  “Look.” She pointed out of the window.

  The streets and cars and warehouses had disappeared. Instead, an expanse of dry grass stretched out to the horizon. A lion stood there, about a house’s distance from us, watching us closely. A cluster of flies buzzed around it, and a bright sun shone in the sky, turning the lion and the grass to hot gold.

  “It isn’t real,” Beatriz said dispiritedly. “None of it’s real. And she does it over and over.”

  I’d been an idiot. None of my plans had worked. As if to prove to myself how stupid I’d been, I tried reciting the spell again.

  The scene in front of me didn’t change. The grass still rolled on before us, and the lion still stood there, its tail twitching lazily at the flies. And now I noticed that everything was surrounded by a slight haze, a glimmer of white.

  “Is that a real lion?” I asked.

  Beatriz said nothing. Probably it didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter here.

  I tried to talk to my sisters some more, to ask them questions or come up with some kind of plan, but they spoke very little. I could see why, of course; there was no point in talking to someone who might turn out to be a phantom. For that matter, I had no way of knowing if they were real or not.

  After that escape attempt we mostly stayed separate, wrapped in our own thoughts. We ate and drank, and sometimes our parents ate and drank with us, and we went to our separate beds to sleep. I think the food and drink really existed, though I’m not sure about the beds.

  I went back to look at the window, but it had disappeared. The entire wall felt like rough concrete, with no break where the window might have been. I returned to it several times, running my hand over it, but there was only the wall.

  It was hard to measure time there. A day after I’d been trapped—or maybe a few days, or a week—a river of water began flowing across the floor. The river broadened out to a lake and the water rose higher and higher, reaching my knees, my waist.

  There was no time to ask my sisters what was happening, or to try to help them. The warehouse filled quickly, and I started swimming. I swam for a long time, my arms and legs growing tired, and then suddenly I felt something overhead.

  I looked up. I’d reached the ceiling, with only a thin gap of air between it and the water.

  I swam frantically, looking for a way out. Then I saw someone falling away from me through the water. Semiramis.

  I kicked down to reach her. My lungs grew desperate for air, and I surfaced again and hit my head on the ceiling. I took a deep gasping breath and dove into the water once more—and found myself flailing on the ground, my arms rising and falling.

  I coughed, still feeling water in my lungs. Then I got to my knees and called out for Semiramis. She was lying near me, pale and still. I ran to her and grasped her shoulder, not sure if she was alive or dead. She rolled away from me and sobbed.

  I looked at Beatriz. “What just happened?” I asked.

  She shrugged. I twisted my hair to wring it out, but it was as dry as if it had never touched water. She’d been right—none of this was real.

  “Where’s Ms. Burden?” I asked. “Isn’t she going to come out and gloat now? Tell us she’ll stop all this if we do what she wants?”

  “Sometimes she does. Sometimes she leaves us alone.”

  “She’s having fun, I bet. She wants answers, but she likes torturing us in the meantime.”

  Beatriz shrugged again. I’d thought before that Ms. Burden enjoyed what she was doing. It would explain a lot: her ingenious punishments, the way she smiled at the wrong moments. It meant that she would probably never kill us, that she liked keeping us alive, playing with us. But it also meant that she might hold us here forever, whether we told her what she wanted or not.

  The next day I heard that familiar sad, shivery cry, coming from nowhere and echoing throughout the warehouse. I looked around, startled, but the others seemed used to it.

  The cry rose and then broke into a sob. “They’re crying,” Semiramis said.

  “Who’s crying?” I asked.

  “Those—those things she captured. They miss where they came from—they’re homesick.”

  “How do you know?”

  She drifted away without answering, and it was left to Beatriz to explain, “We don’t know, not really. But it makes sense.”

  So Ms. Burden had bound them to her, but she hadn’t expected those sounds of grief, she’d had no idea what else they might do. No wonder she’d been frightened, along with the rest of us.

  The cries would come at odd times, usually when I’d forgotten all about them. Piper hated them, and he would put his hands over his ears until they stopped. I still tried to get him to leave me, to go out into the warehouse and help us somehow. But he had grown more terrified, not less, since we’d gotten there, and he would shake his head and shiver, or promise to do it and then refuse at the last moment. I found myself wishing for a spell like Ms. Burden’s, something to force him to obey me.

  I don’t know how long I was trapped in that place
. I began to hope for something to break the monotony, and then, when Ms. Burden called up one of her illusions, to want nothing more than monotony again. Most of the time I was able to remind myself that it wasn’t real, that she wouldn’t harm us too badly. But sometimes fear overwhelmed me, and no amount of explanation would help.

  One day we heard her footsteps heading toward us, heard her speaking her spell, and we braced ourselves for whatever horror would come next. The mist rose up, and a tall dim form with a lot of ropy arms shambled toward us, dragging some of its many legs behind it. Semiramis ran to hide behind me, and Beatriz moaned softly. Amaranth just looked at it and said, “Huh.”

  It came closer. It still seemed blurred, though I could see that its head looked wrong, cratered in on one side. Something like tendrils swam around its mouth.

  “It isn’t there, Ramis,” I said. Then, as it came closer, I repeated that over and over. “It isn’t there, it isn’t there, it isn’t there.”

  Ms. Burden said something, a sound of disgust or disappointment. The creature turned and stumbled away. The mist receded, leaving only thin gauze.

  “What—what happened?” I asked.

  No one answered. It didn’t seem to matter to them. To me, though, it seemed like Ms. Burden had started something and then given up in frustration.

  I looked around and realized that I couldn’t see her anywhere. Maybe she’d finally understood that her illusions weren’t working, maybe she’d gone away to think, or to figure out something else.

  The warehouse looked brighter. The wall was broken up now, and light streamed through the window onto the floor. I went closer. My eyes watered from the sun. I squinted and made out some warehouses across the street, their windows glittering in the light.

  “Beatriz,” I said. She didn’t say anything. “Beatriz! Look at this.”

  “What? Don’t tell me you’re going to try the window again.”