The Witch Haven

by Sasha Peyton Smith

  I steel myself. One final performance for the night. It’s best if Boss Olan thinks I’m a sweet girl, one without plans of my own, so I smile and bow my head in gratitude. “I only wish to be of service. We can work out particulars in the morning.”

  “Of course, of course!” He slaps his hands down on his desk like he can think of nothing more wonderful.

  I have no intention of helping him remake the kind of world he desires. Away from Haxahaven at last, I will learn what I can. I will get justice. And then I will leave. I ignore the nagging fearful thing in the back of my brain that says it might not be that easy.

  “Mr. D’Arcy, the poor lady looks exhausted. Won’t you get her to a guest suite so she can get some rest. We have so much work to do, we need you in tip-top shape.”

  “Oh, I’d hate to be a nuisance,” I say as sweetly as I can muster.

  “Nonsense! Be a good girl!” Boss Olan exclaims.

  The wink he exchanges with Finn as we exit the study is so like Mr. Hues’s that for a moment I’m filled with rage.

  We’re at the door when he stops Finn. “Mr. D’Arcy, you didn’t happen to see the commissioner downstairs did you? He hasn’t made his report to me, that old drunk.”

  “No, sir, haven’t seen him.” There is no hesitation in Finn’s voice.

  Boss nods and returns to his papers. We shut the heavy door behind us with a thud.

  Finn takes me to a guest room one floor up. Covered in burgundy velvets and rich mahogany, it looks like someone took Boss Olan’s wardrobe and turned it into a bedroom.

  It’s past two a.m. now. My eyes are heavy with sleep. I run my thumb over the smooth brass of the watch. “Tomorrow?” I ask Finn. “We’ll do the spell tomorrow?”

  “If that’s what you want, love.”

  We hover awkwardly in the doorway. “I’ll bring you some clothes in the morning. We’ll make a plan then.”

  I curse under my breath.

  A look of concern crosses his face. “What is it?”

  “I don’t think I can get out of this dress by myself. Lena helped me get into it.” God, I miss her so much already. I tug the clasps at the neck. “I could rip it, probably.”

  “Stop, stop.” Finn steps inside and closes the door behind him. “I’ll help, of course I’ll help.”

  “You don’t have to—” I protest, but he’s already behind me.

  “I know my way around a row of buttons and a corset. I’ll make quick work of it.”

  The thought of him being with another girl, unbuttoning someone else’s dress makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t like the idea of him touching anyone who isn’t me.

  He starts between my shoulder blades. His cool fingers are agonizingly slow as he undoes the buttons one by one. I’m covered in goose bumps at a single brush of his fingertip. I pray he doesn’t notice.

  When he’s done, I slip the heavy dress off my shoulders. It falls to the floor with a slump much too loud for this quiet room.

  “Well done.” My voice is too high. “Corset next. Start with the laces at the base of my spine.”

  He laughs. “Like I said, I’ve done this before.”

  “I’m trying to forget.” It’s meant to be a joke, but it comes out strained.

  I can’t see him, but I know he’s smirking. “Are you jealous?”

  He tugs on the strings with a deep exhale. That makes one of us. I can’t breathe at all.

  Slowly, so slowly he undoes the laces. Each brush of his knuckles against my vertebrae feels like something I need to ask forgiveness for.

  “All done.” His voice is rough.

  I tug at the corset, and it drops to the floor with the dress, leaving me in nothing but my chemise.

  I turn to face him. He’s so close, I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

  He does not step away; we do not break eye contact as I run my fingers through my already undone hair, searching for any loose pins.

  Silence. More terrible, sinful silence. It echoes in my ears, and for a moment the only thing I feel is a painful stab of loneliness.

  His gaze flickers from my eyes to my lips and back again. He leans in a fraction of an inch.

  He lifts a hand and thumbs at the thin fabric at my hip. “Frances,” he sighs.

  I want to say his name back. I want to lean in, close the distance between us; I want to want this.

  But I can’t do it. Not tonight, when my nerves feel scrubbed raw and my face is swollen from crying. It’s all too much.

  I gasp sharply and turn my head from him.

  Finn steps back—the spell between us is broken.

  Wordlessly he makes his way for the door, but I don’t want him to go.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” I don’t recognize my own voice.

  He turns to me, closes his eyes for a moment, exhales. “My bedroom is in the basement.”

  My face flushes red. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, no—” He stumbles. “If you want me to stay, I will stay.”

  “It’s just, I’ve had quite a night. This place is new. I’m—” I struggle for the right words. I’m heartbroken is the closest I come to an accurate description. Please don’t let me be alone.

  He nods. “I understand.”

  He walks over to the bed and throws a pillow on the floor. “I’ll sleep right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He’s a gentleman about it—of course he is.

  I slide into the cool covers as he rises and presses the button for the lights. There is rustling as he undresses in the dark.

  As my eyes adjust to the low light, I see him lying next to the bed on the floor in nothing but his slacks and undershirt.

  He looks up at me, eyes large and searching. “Go to sleep, love. You deserve some rest.”

  I almost invite him into bed with me. Having his warm, solid form next to mine would be such a comfort.

  But my bravery for tonight is spent. “Good night,” I whisper.

  “Good night, Frances.”

  I lie awake for a while, listening to his steady breathing. Then I doze off into oblivion. I have no dreams.

  * * *

  I sleep for what feels like a very long time. I wake up heavy limbed and confused in an unfamiliar room.

  I am greeted by a freshly bathed Finn at the end of my bed, grinning and holding a white tea gown.

  It all rushes back to me: the commissioner, Oliver, Lena, Maxine. It doesn’t feel real yet, like when you bang your elbow and it takes a minute for the pain to set in. I’m still numb and waiting.

  But Finn looks so delighted to see me, I put on a brave face. “Good morning,” I greet him.

  “It’s nearly lunchtime.” He laughs.

  “You let me sleep that long?” I’m embarrassed.

  “I wanted you to get your rest, but it’s best you eat. You’ll need your strength for tonight.”

  At the mention of tonight I’m fully awake. “We’ll do the spell?”

  Finn gives me a confident nod. “After most of the lads are asleep, there’s a room in the basement where no one will bother us.”

  I’ve worked so hard for this, I didn’t think I’d be this terrified when the moment finally came.

  He tosses the dress on the bed. “Up with you.”

  The lace is much finer than anything I’ve ever owned. “Did you commit robbery for me?”

  “I’ll never confess. Go on, get up and I’ll take you down to meet the lads.”

  He waits outside the door while I dress. The tea gown is a little too small, pinching me at the waist, but I don’t tell him so.

  The dining room at the Commodore Club is similar to the one at Haxahaven, but this one is filled with taxidermy predators and young men with pale, beady-eyed faces. They all greet Finn with whoops and hollers of “Aye! Finny boy!”

  Finn stays protectively close to me, his fingertips always a breath away from the edge of my skirt.

  They introduce themselves to me with throaty voices, without ever looki
ng me in the eye. They all seem to be named James.

  I’m grateful I don’t recognize Vlad or Bertram in their midst—the men Oliver and I were forced to fight the night of the Cath Draíochta—but my comfort is short lived.

  There’s something near feral about the boys’ interactions with each other. The way they jab their elbows into the ribs of the boys next to them, their bared teeth as they laugh at jokes made at another’s expense. It’s all so loud.

  For minutes no one pays attention to me. I sit, hands folded in my lap, feeling small and uncomfortable. Finn laughs with his friends and drops a plate of food in front of me. “Eat,” he commands with a smile.

  It’s after I’ve taken my first bite of potatoes that one of the boys finally speaks to me. “You’ve finally joined us, eh, Frances?” one of the Jameses asks with a laugh. “You’re all Finn talks about. Maybe now that you’re here, we’ll hear the end of it!”

  By the time I’ve chewed and swallowed, ready to answer his question, he’s turned away, already in another conversation with the boy next to him about something someone I don’t know did last week. By the way they slap their knees, it must have been hilarious.

  A blond levitates a piece of chicken off his plate and directly into the face of the boy next to him. Everyone at the table laughs like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen.

  “You see?” Finn leans over to me. “They’re so excited you’re here. They’ve been waiting for you.”

  It’s meant to be comforting, but it only makes me nauseous. I don’t see what Finn is seeing, and I don’t like the idea of these men thinking about me at all. I don’t want to exist in their heads in any capacity.

  I’m so anxious about finally performing the Resurrection, I barely touch my food. Finn nudges me with his elbow. “It’s going to be all right, you know.”

  “I know,” I lie.

  I think of Lena and Maxine, sitting down to lunch in the Haxahaven dining room at this very moment. Is my chair next to them empty, or have I already been replaced? Did Maxine tell Lena about my accusations? If I suspect Maxine is capable of such terrible things, why do I still miss her so much?

  After lunch I retire to my upstairs bedroom to wait and wait some more. Finn is gone for hours, while I pace laps around the plush carpet.

  I watch the sunset over the city from the window. The November sky is painted in a brilliant orange, giving way to soft pinks, fading to purple, and then finally dark blue. All the while I think of my brother. My anxiety increases with each new star that pops into the sky. We’re so close now.

  It’s only when Orion crests the horizon and I can no longer stand the sound of my own thoughts in my head that I hear a gentle knock on the door.

  “You ready?” Finn’s voice is soft.

  I reach down for his hand, and find it already at my side. I lace my fingers through his and picture my brother in a light-filled dream meadow, whole and waiting for us. “As I’ll ever be.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  In silence we cross the headquarters of the Sons of Saint Druon together. We walk through the basement where the Cath Draíochta was held, then down another flight of rough wood stairs. The stairway is ancient-looking, dug through the bedrock. It smells of iron and rain. The temperature drops by a degree each step we take into the dark.

  I clutch the mirror and the spell book to my chest; the beaded bag containing the watch and dirt from my brother’s grave dangles from my wrist. I’ve wrapped a wool blanket around my shoulders, but it doesn’t do much to stop me from shaking.

  The cellar the stairs lead to looks to be as old as the city itself.

  It’s perhaps fifteen by fifteen. Big enough that I can’t touch the opposite walls with my arms outstretched, but small enough that I feel as if I’ve been swallowed by a beast made of mud and shelves of dusty wine bottles.

  It’s dark, too; the only light is Finn’s kerosene lamp. With shaking hands, I prop the scrying mirror in the corner. It reflects the light of Finn’s lantern, twin flames dancing in the dark.

  Maybe it’s the unbearably low ceiling or the silence pressing on my ears, but I’ve never before heard my heartbeat this loudly.

  Finn lowers himself to the dirt floor and pats the space next to him. I tug the blanket tighter to stop my hands from shaking.

  “Let’s begin.” His voice is low and so much steadier than I feel.

  “All right.” It comes out as a whisper.

  “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”

  I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for what we’re about to do, but that’s not the point. “We need to know for certain who killed him. We need to stop them from killing again.” We don’t have the luxury of waiting around, not when wasted time could mean another boy’s life lost. I don’t tell him a simpler truth—that I miss my brother and am both terrified and elated at the idea of seeing him again.

  I sit down next to Finn and watch him open to the page that has consumed all my thoughts.

  The book’s ancient spine cracks, like it, too, has been waiting for this.

  The ground is hard and cold. The damp of the cellar takes root in my lungs. My heart is in my throat.

  I have the feeling I am standing on the edge of a cliff, sick with anticipation of the unknown.

  Finn places a warm hand on top of mine. I grip it like a life preserver on a vast dark ocean. What was it the old woman at the market said about anchors?

  There’s a diagram of objects drawn on the onionskin paper, sketched so lightly that I can barely make it out.

  In a five-pointed star, I lay out the items. I dump the pile of graveyard dust to the right of the mirror, the pocket watch to the left. To my direct left I place the dagger. Then, completing the pentagram, I lay the book open to my right.

  Finn’s eyes lock onto mine. “No matter what happens, Frances, I am here for you,” he says.

  I picture my brother’s face, alive and smiling. He had wrinkles in the corners of his eyes from how often they were scrunched up in laughter. He had dimples and crooked bottom teeth and my exact same nose.

  What if he doesn’t look the same? What if he looks waterlogged and dead?

  I nod. The words won’t come. I feel as if I’m about to vomit. Everything I’ve worked for is fanned out in front of me, but what is the punishment for breaking the very laws of existence? What does the world do to girls who speak to the dead? How will I move on when all this is over?

  Deep in my soul I know it doesn’t matter what the consequences are. I’d do anything for my brother, and this is the very last thing I can do for him. The final act of the love that’s eating my heart alive.

  “Let’s begin,” I say; it echoes off the walls.

  I pull the book from Finn’s lap onto my own, and I begin to read.

  I’ve read over the spell at least a dozen times, but the words are still clumsy on my tongue.

  “Tras thar an veil agus tabhair dom an méid a cailleadh ionas go faimais níos mó ama a labhairt.”

  The familiar stirring in my gut I expect when I say a magic spell doesn’t come. Instead there is only the blank, yawning emptiness of nothing.

  In the center of the room the lamp flickers, illuminating the fact that nothing has changed.

  I pause, staring at Finn and myself illuminated in the mirror, praying for something to happen. But nothing sparks, nothing changes—I’m just stuck staring at my own disappointed face.

  Panic rises in my chest. I’ve never fully stopped to consider what I’d do if the spell didn’t work. I haven’t allowed myself to consider the possibility.

  “It didn’t work.” I say it out loud more for myself than for Finn.

  “Try it again,” he urges. “Close your eyes, really focus.”

  I do as he says. With practice, the words come more easily.

  I shut my eyes so tight, I see stars. Please please please, I pray. Please let it work. Please please.

  I open my eyes. The basement is still and cold.
There is only me and Finn reflected in the mirror. He’s concerned too. I can see it in his face.

  “Why isn’t it working?” My voice breaks on the last word, and tears begin to fall hot and fast down my face. No no no. This can’t be right.

  “I don’t know.” Finn puts his arm around my shoulder, but it doesn’t give me any comfort. “Try again,” he encourages gently.

  I pull the lantern closer to the book. I study the diagram. Read every frantic note in English scrawled in the margin.

  Only effective if done soon after departure from this plane

  Best under waning moon

  Graveyard dust no more than five days old

  RISKY.

  Best in the company of others

  We’ve done everything right. Everything except for one thing.

  Only effective if done soon after departure from this plane.

  It’s the note in the margin that stands out the boldest, as if mocking me. William has been gone for months. Maybe it’s too late; maybe I’ve lost my chance.

  I say the spell faster, with more desperation than ever, but still there is nothing. Everything is hollow and quiet. It’s heartbreakingly ordinary. The mirror reflects my devastated face. I thought I was powerful; I thought I was different. But I’m just as useless as I’ve always been.

  “I don’t understand.” I’m sobbing in earnest now. I don’t know what to do. I never truly imagined we’d fail.

  The basement is silent except for my hiccuping, childish crying. I suppose it was all too good to be true, the idea that I could speak to my brother once more, that I could find meaning in his senseless death. That I could solve it and be a hero. It was a fairy tale I told myself to survive, and I’m a fool for having believed it.

  I curl into a fetal position on the hard dirt floor and let the sadness rack my body. It’s a relief, in some ways, to let the tidal wave of pain I’ve kept at bay for the last six months wash over me. He’s gone, he’s gone. He’s gone forever, to some place I’ll never reach. This was the whole point of everything. Of sneaking out of Haxahaven, of practicing in secret, of putting everyone at risk. And now I have nothing to show for it. Nothing.