The Witch Haven

by Sasha Peyton Smith

  But there’s melancholy even in that. I’m terrified to face who I am without my sadness. What is left of me without it?

  We ride the Witching Waves twice more, and after we get funnel cakes piled high with whipped cream and strawberries. Then Finn pushes me into something called Shoot the Chutes, which involves riding a small boat down a slide into a pool of water.

  I laugh even when the wool of my skirt ends up soaked through. Finn’s hand-knit sweater hangs damp and heavy off his shoulders.

  “Any regrets, D’Arcy?” I laugh.

  “Oh, a million. But regrets about tonight? None at all.”

  I blush, but I tell myself it’s simply a survival mechanism, blood rushing in to fight the chill of my damp clothes.

  Time moves faster outside of Haxahaven, and I’m surprised when the clock tower chimes nine.

  “I need to be back by ten,” I say to Finn.

  “All right, Cinderella. A spun sugar for the road?”

  “How could I refuse?”

  Picking at an enormous cloud of the treat, we make our way to the Model T, parked a ways off the pier.

  “Thank you for tonight,” I say to break up the hollow sound of our feet against the boardwalk.

  The lights of Luna Park glint off the navy blue ocean, which hits the shore with a soft hush, back and forth, like a lullaby. Above us, the starless sky is dark and quiet. If I listen carefully, I can still hear swooping screams, but in this moment, it is easy to imagine Finn and I are the only two people on earth.

  “Well, I had some things to make up for, didn’t I? Also I just wanted to spend some time with you. Not Haxahaven Frances, just regular Frances. I think sometimes you forget you’re only seventeen.”

  “I feel a hundred and fifty. And also maybe five. An elderly toddler. The world’s oldest idiot. I know too much and nothing at all.”

  He doesn’t laugh at my joke but tilts his head to the side and looks at me. Quietly he whispers, “You’re allowed to just be yourself sometimes.”

  His gaze is so intense. I break it like a coward and shake the thoughts girls aren’t allowed to have out of my head. “It would be easier if I knew who ‘myself’ was supposed to be.”

  Finn stops on the moonlit boardwalk, we’re far away from Luna Park now. Only the faintest jangle of music is still audible now.

  Finn sits down, right there on the weatherworn dock, dangles his feet over the side, and pats the space next to him.

  He places his hands in his lap and looks at me expectantly. “Well then let’s get acquainted with her.”

  I sit down next to him, close enough we’re nearly touching, unsure of what he means.

  “What do you like to do for fun?” he asks.

  I look at him, laughing. “What?”

  He stares back. I want to touch him so badly, or maybe I just want him to want to touch me. We’ve never been alone together for so long in real life before. He’s so much more vivid here than in the dream space. He’s solid and alive.

  His voice goes quieter. “It’s a simple question.”

  I blink a few times, an attempt to come back to myself. I have a conversation to focus on; I can’t lose myself in staring at the veins of his hands. “It’s just, I don’t have much time.”

  He raises a finger, correcting me. “Ah, but I didn’t ask you how much time you have for fun. I asked what you like to do for fun.”

  I laugh. “Fair enough. Embroider and read… and sleep.”

  He’s staring at me properly now. “What do you like to read?”

  “In school I liked the Brontes. I admired their flair for the dramatic. Digging up your childhood sweetheart’s bones because you miss them takes commitment.”

  At this he snickers. “Sounds like something I’ll have to read.”

  “What about you? Do you have a favorite book?”

  He shakes his curly head. “No, this is about you, not me. What’s your favorite color?”

  This answer comes more easily. “Lilac.”

  He drums his fingers against the dock. “Why?”

  “It was the color of the only dress my mother ever sewed me. She made it for Easter when I was seven. I thought it was the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

  “Summer or winter?”

  “Those two specific weeks each fall when the weather is cool enough you don’t sweat, but not so cool you need a coat.”

  “Diamonds or rubies?”

  I pause to think. “Garnet.”

  “That’s against the rules.” He grins.

  “I wasn’t aware there were rules to what I’m allowed to like.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. I’d like to keep touching him, but I pull away.

  He chews on his lip, pausing before his next question. “One place in New York you’d really like to see?”

  “I’ve always wanted to buy a dress at a department store on Fifth Avenue.” I can picture a store all lit up, with lush cream carpets. I’d walk in wearing a wide-brimmed hat festooned with feathers, and no one would think I didn’t belong.

  His hand inches closer to mine but doesn’t close the gap. “One place in the world you’d really like to see?”

  This one is harder. I rack my brain, and sigh. “I’ve never imagined a life in which I’d ever leave New York.”

  Finally, Finn leans over and rests his head on my shoulder. I go perfectly still, terrified to do something that might make him move. I like it so much, the warmth of his skull right next to mine.

  “I’d like to show you Ireland.”

  “I’d like that too.”

  * * *

  All the drive back to Haxahaven the game continues, with us shouting over the din of the engine.

  “Favorite flower?”

  “Hydrangeas.”

  “Best thing you’ve ever eaten?”

  “The sticky buns at Haxahaven.”

  “The worst?”

  “William once tricked me into eating a spoonful of congealed gravy. It was even worse than you’re imagining.”

  Finn laughs and slaps a hand on the steering wheel. “Classic.”

  He pauses, opens his mouth, and closes it. “Worst fear?” he asks after a moment.

  My stomach sinks. I wish I had an easy answer, like spiders or heights. Even being afraid of never finding William’s killer would be an easier answer than the truth. I could lie, but I don’t want to lie to Finn. He wouldn’t lie to me.

  “Never having a family again,” I finally say.

  The silence between us is stretched thin.

  The car slows as we approach the oak-lined lane leading up to Haxahaven. “You’ll have a family again, I promise.”

  “What about you? What’s your worst fear?”

  He thinks for a moment before saying, “Being nothing, being forgotten. Living in a basement working for men like Boss Olan forever.”

  “Never doing anything to make the world a better place,” I say under my breath.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Finn parks outside the gate and walks with me across the expanse of the Haxahaven lawn. It’s properly cold now, and my still-damp wool skirt isn’t helping matters. I should be shivering, but Finn so close to me has set off what feels like a full-body blush.

  “Can I ask you a question?” It’s been weighing on me all night. “Why do you work for the Sons? After what happened in the basement of the Commodore Club, I don’t understand why you or my brother would want to be members of something so… ugly.”

  “In the Sons’ defense, you caught them on a particularly ugly night. The Cath Draíochta is an old tradition meant to awaken magic in some of the younger members. It rarely works, so in the modern age it’s become more of an annual party. Nothing worse than anything you’d see in any other gentleman’s club in the city. No one’s died for at least twenty-five years.”

  “You’re defending them?” I pick up my steps. Finn quickens his pace to match mine.

  “No, no! The Sons can be brutish, but they also meet immigrant ships at the
docks to pass out food and information about jobs. They welcome in men of all kinds, and work to give them access to a better life. They’re too obsessed with tradition and politics, but their intentions are mostly good. I’d run things differently in a million ways, but they aren’t evil.”

  His response paints a different picture of the Sons from the one I first imagined. It’s easier to imagine William belonging to an organization like that. It’s certainly more than the witches do. “How would you run things differently?” I raise my brows.

  “Let in women, for one. Any who wish to join, not just you. Boss thinks he’s doing you some kind of favor. He’s too thickheaded to see you’d be doing him one. You’re better than every last one of those lads. I hope one day you’ll come prove it to them.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Finn casts a sidelong glance at me and smiles. “I’m used to believing in impossible things, Frances. Remember, I once dreamed of you.”

  As we near the back door he stops. “What you said earlier about not knowing who you are…,” he murmurs. “You might not see it, but I do. You’re fierce and kind. You’re loyal and brave. You love deeply, and that terrifies you. And you have no idea how beautiful you look when you’re casting.”

  My breath catches in my throat. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, committing the words to memory. I never want to forget how this swell in my chest feels. When I flicker my eyes open, Finn is standing close to me, an intense look of longing on his beautiful face. His curls fall across his furrowed brow. His chest rises and falls too fast for how still we’re standing. He leans forward a fraction of an inch.

  “Frances.” He says my name like a prayer, a sacred thing just for him.

  I can’t stop myself—I lean forward too. I’m glad you found me, I want to say, but I can’t bear to shatter this moment with words.

  He’s so close, I can feel the heat of his breath.

  Suddenly a flash of light makes me jump, awakens me from my trance. The kitchen door is open, spilling candlelight out onto the lawn.

  “Frances honey, is that you?” Florence whispers from where she stands silhouetted against the doorframe.

  I close my eyes, sigh. If only she’d opened the door two minutes later. “Yes, Florence, it’s me.”

  Finn steps back and presses his lips together, then huffs out a laugh. “The coven calls.” His voice is low. He walks me to the door and leaves me with a simple “Good night, Frances” and a brush of his fingers on my waist so light, it might be accidental.

  “Ma’am.” He nods to Florence. She stares him down as she shuts the door.

  Alone in the kitchen now, she hands me a steaming cup of tea. “Be careful with that boy.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about with him.”

  “There’s always something to worry about with boys who look like that.”

  We’re silent for a long moment. I sit down at the table. She stays standing, looking down at me with maternal concern.

  “Why are you helping us?” I ask her.

  “If I could stop you, I would, but I remember what it’s like to be young. And if I can’t help you make better decisions, I’ll do my best to reduce the damage of the bad ones.”

  “How do you know this is a bad decision?” It comes out more defiant than I mean it to.

  She shakes her head like there’s so much I don’t understand. “Just a feeling.”

  * * *

  Lena is waiting up for me in our room. “You’re later than you said you’d be,” she whispers.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I was worried.”

  I sigh and sink down onto the bed. The drive and the Witching Waves and Finn’s mouth so close to mine have left me rattled.

  “Ruby threatened to tell. Maxine had to give her a necklace to buy her silence.”

  “Well I can’t pay her back for that, if that’s what she wants.”

  “You know that wasn’t what I meant.” Lena rolls over to face away from me.

  “No, no. I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t.”

  There’s a long stretch of silence; then Lena whispers again. “Did you find anything else? Was it the mirror for the spell?”

  A wave of embarrassment hits me square in the chest. I put my friends in danger tonight because I believed I was doing something worthwhile. Instead I ate spun sugar on a boardwalk and careened down a waterslide, but still I can’t bring myself to regret it.

  “No,” I whisper. “It didn’t pan out.”

  “You’ll have better luck next time.”

  “I hope so.”

  The room is so still, I think Lena must have drifted off to sleep, but her voice cuts through the darkness once more.

  “Frances?” she whispers.

  “Yes, Lena?”

  “Are you being careful?”

  “Of course,” I lie.

  “All right.”

  “Why do you ask?” I whisper.

  She sighs, then rolls over again. “I suppose… they teach the clairvoyants to suppress their visions, so it could just be that, but…” A soft tapping of rain starts at the window. “But I don’t see your future anymore.”

  “My future?” The fizzy warmth I felt just minutes ago is replaced with dread.

  “I don’t usually see much. I used to see glimpses of us at dinner a few weeks from now, or us playing cards or talking in Maxine’s room. Nothing remarkable. But lately, there’s been nothing. Like… a blank space where you used to be.”

  I pull my quilt up to my chin to combat the chill that rolls through me. “Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing at all,” she confirms. “It probably doesn’t mean anything. I just thought I’d mention it.”

  I pause, listening to the rain. “Are you telling me you’ve been cheating at cards this whole time?” I joke to break the tension, to help push down the fear climbing up my spine. For a second I secretly wish I was back at Luna Park, where flying felt like freedom.

  Lena huffs a laugh. “I don’t need magic to beat you. You’re a rotten card player.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” I whisper into my pillow.

  Her voice is strained. “Please be careful.”

  I cling to her words like a life preserver. It’s probably nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mid-November marks the final death of orange fall leaves, and heralds the arrival of rain that freezes into ice on the lawn.

  If I were a month, I think I’d be November, sad and cold and unremarkable, lacking the commitment required of being a fierce thing like January, like Maxine. Lena would be April, sunshine and rain, quiet and strong.

  A few days after my jaunt to Coney Island, Maxine meets me after History class and asks me to follow her to the courtyard off the dining room.

  The sky is gray and misty, but not cool enough to merit the wool Haxahaven cape, so I unbutton it and drape it over a stone bench.

  “This weather is rather melancholy,” I say.

  “It seems fitting,” she answers. “I hope you’re ready to stop moping. I’m calling in my favor.”

  Maxine knows all about my night out with Finn. She wasn’t as mad as I thought she’d be when I returned empty-handed, with nothing to report of new spells or bodies in the bay. I haven’t yet had the heart to tell her about my future disappearing from Lena’s visions. She’d either laugh it off or take it seriously, and I don’t know which would be worse, so it remains Lena’s and my secret.

  “All right, spit it out.”

  “I want to practice what you did at the Commodore Club.”

  I’m taken aback. “I expected something like doing your laundry for a week.”

  “I’m offended you think I’m that boring.”

  “You want me to launch a bottle of whiskey at you?” I try to brush her off; it’s easier than telling her I’m scared to try.

  “No, stupid. I want you to try to manipulate my body.”

  My eyes snap to hers. “I’d rather do your la
undry.” To try to control Maxine is both intimate and invasive, in a way that makes me feel slimy, and like a bad friend. But more than that, I fear the way I still crave the exhilaration of the power. Using it feels like walking on the edge of a knife. One wrong move and I might slip and become someone I no longer recognize.

  Before I can explain why it’s a bad idea, Maxine mutters a word under her breath, and a tree branch comes flying at my head. I call the power and take control of the branch, but before it hits the ground, another is flying at me, then another, then another. She’s stripping a young birch tree bare, hurling twigs and branches at me. I cannot stop them all—they scrape my exposed upper arms, and one even whips me across the face. I feel shock at first, then numb disbelief that she’s doing this. Then comes the hot poker of anger.

  “Stop!” I yell at her. I shield my face with my forearms, giving up on any attempt to use the magic to stop them.

  “You can’t stop the tree!” Maxine yells, full of glee. “You have to stop me!”

  If she means this to be another sisterly bonding activity, she’s failing. I’m not having any fun. “Christ, Maxine!” I wail. “This isn’t funny!”

  “I’m not trying to be funny,” she taunts. She enchants the gravel next, and it comes at me, hitting my ankles one after another. Each pebble leaves a stinging welt in its wake.

  “Stop!” I sweep my arm in an arc above my head. The sapling springs upright and stops moving all at once. I’m enraged at her outburst. She’s like a child, throwing a fit because I won’t play her stupid game. “Is this because you’re jealous?”

  She looks at me with disgust. “It’s because I’m bored! If I had the power you have, I’d practice every single day. I wouldn’t waste it moping.”

  Maxine doesn’t know the hours I’ve spent in the library, or all the time I’ve spent alone in my room trying to manipulate hairpins. She also doesn’t know about Boss Olan’s offer. I’m so mad, I think about accepting it, leaving just to spite her.

  “It’s not my fault you’re dissatisfied here,” I snap.

  Maxine scoffs. “We all bend over backward trying to help you, but the minute I ask you for a single thing, it’s the end of the world. You act like you’re the only person who has ever felt an emotion.”