The Witch Haven

by Sasha Peyton Smith

  Fear rolls through me. “Are you threatening them?”

  Just then the sound of a walking stick thumping down the stairs makes us both pause.

  In a dressing gown and gold-threaded slippers is Boss Olan, who doesn’t look at all baffled by the scene before him.

  “Hello, Ana,” he greets her.

  “I’m fetching my pupil. We’ll be gone soon,” she replies.

  Though Boss Olan towers over her in stature, Mrs. Vykotsky’s presence still looms large over all of us. I suspect the whole city block just shivered at the ice in her voice.

  “The young Miss Hallowell has made her choice. And you know the rules, Ana,” Boss Olan says.

  “As do you, George.” They’re on a first-name basis with each other—it surprises me. I feel like an interloper witnessing their conversation. I wonder if I could sneak away, back to the basement.

  “Then you know you can’t step foot in this building, not after Billy.”

  “And, as per our mutual agreement after the McKinney boy incident, you know you can’t harm any of my pupils.”

  Billy? Her pupils?

  Boss Olan stays on the stairs, looming over Mrs. Vykotsky. “Miss Hallowell came to us on her own volition. Seems she’s not impressed with the operation you have going on in the outer boroughs.”

  Mrs. Vykotsky proves impossible to talk down to. She somehow manages to speak to Boss Olan as if he were an ordinary man with no magic, no threats ready to be carried out. “Miss Hallowell is confused. She doesn’t understand what it is you do.”

  I can’t stand them speaking in code about things I don’t understand. I gather my courage and interrupt them. “What is it that you do?”

  Mrs. Vykotsky answers before Boss Olan can. “They’ll destroy the world if you let them, Frances. Did you know they own twentyseven factories in the city? Did you know they staff them with children? They control most of the judges in the city and half of the city council. The Sons of Saint Druon would do anything to remain in control. They worship nothing except money and their own reflections.”

  “What is it they say about glass houses, Ana?” Boss Olan replies. “Does the young Miss Hallowell know what you’ve done?”

  I’m standing between Mrs. Vykotsky in the foyer and Boss Olan on the landing. I wish I could ask them to sit down and discuss magic and my future and our differences over a cup of tea, but something about their posture tells me that isn’t going to happen.

  I hesitate to ask the question, afraid of the answer. But I have to know. “What have you done?”

  Her voice goes a little quieter, her posture slumped, just barely, like the memory is heavy to carry. “Nothing that wasn’t merited, and it was a very long time ago.”

  Boss Olan stomps—it makes me jump. “She killed poor Billy McKinney and dumped his body in the East River.”

  Dumped his body in the East River.

  Everything is happening so fast, I file the information away for later. I can’t keep up with the conversation happening in front of me.

  “After you and Billy burned my sister’s coven to the ground with her inside!” Mrs. Vykotsky shouts with a pain that reaches to the very depths of her being.

  I’m reminded of my second day at Haxahaven; it feels so long ago. I sat in the low chair across from Mrs. Vykotsky’s desk, and she told me of a coven burned to the ground with salt and gunpowder, all thirteen witches still inside. She said the fire was why she kept us out of Manhattan; it was why we couldn’t develop our magic into anything of significance.

  Boss Olan slams his walking stick down on the stairs in anger. “And did torturing Billy and ruining my knee make you feel any better about your big sister being dead?” Boss Olan shouts at her with a cruel laugh.

  Of all the questions I have about the conversation, I am only able to vocalize the most trivial; 1845 was so long ago. “How old were you when you killed him?” I ask Mrs. Vykotsky.

  She regains her composure and clasps her hands together. It’s all so polite. “They killed my elder sister when she was seventeen and I was five. I waited until I was seventeen to get my revenge. I made sure Billy knew I was coming.”

  Her reply sends a chill down my spine. “Why’d they kill her?” I ask. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

  This time it’s Boss Olan who answers. “Because they were harming our business ventures and putting all of us at risk.”

  Here it is, six decades of bitterness and rivalry leaking like a chemical spill all over the fine carpets of the Commodore Club.

  “You’ve always been a liar,” Mrs. Vykotsky sneers. “You killed them to make a statement. You killed them to send us the message that you ruled this city and there was nothing we could do.”

  Killed them. I try to keep track of the body count in my head. Mrs. Vykotsky killed Billy. The Sons killed her sister and her sister’s coven.

  Then my brother. Then the handless boys on Sheepshead Bay. Then the commissioner.

  On and on for sixty-six years.

  Who else is dead because of this? How much blood has been spilled?

  “No, that was just a bonus,” Boss Olan says with a wicked grin.

  The look Mrs. Vykotsky gives him speaks of death itself.

  She marches over to me and tugs me by the arm, hard. “That’s enough ugliness. Frances, we’re going.”

  “No—” I rip my arm from her grip.

  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, dear.”

  I take a step back. “No, I won’t go with you.” My voice is steady despite the fear coursing through me like an ice-cold river.

  “Would you rather I turn you in to the authorities?” she threatens.

  I call her bluff. “Yes.”

  “And why is that?” she asks me with the indulgent patience of a school teacher.

  “Because if I’m going to be in prison, I’d rather my jailer be someone who isn’t you. That school you’re running is as good as a cell, the way you—”

  She sighs in frustration. Then from out of her pocket floats a delicate silver chain. More quickly than I can process, she uses magic to wind it around my wrists. It’s so tight, my hands go almost immediately numb.

  I struggle against it, first physically, then with the magic boiling in my chest. I lash out with power, but nothing happens—the chain does not budge.

  Boss Olan watches through narrowed eyes as I struggle.

  I try to take hold of Mrs. Vykotsky’s body with my magic, but she rips out of my control almost immediately. She makes it look so easy, like she’s just swatting a fly away.

  “Please—” I turn to Boss Olan, pleading with him. I hate asking for his help, but I’m not going back to Haxahaven with her. I won’t.

  He shrugs, like he means to see how the fight between us plays out.

  “The automobile is waiting, dear.” She gives the chain around my wrists a hard tug. I stumble forward.

  “Finn!” I scream, but I doubt he can hear me in the basement. “Finn!”

  Panic rises in my chest. I dig my heels into the wood floors.

  Like he’s bored of all this, Boss Olan says, “The girl is allowed to stay.”

  Mrs. Vykotsky barks out a laugh. “Come, Frances.” She tugs me to the door.

  “Finn!” I scream once more, head whipping around like an animal caught in a trap.

  Boss Olan waves his hands, and the lock on the front door turns with a click. “I said she’s allowed to stay.”

  It all happens so quickly. Mrs. Vykotsky flings the door open with her magic; then Boss Olan sweeps the rug out from under her feet, leaving her sputtering on the floor. He must release the chain around my wrist, because it unfurls in a blink. I shake my hands as the blood rushes back, a blessed relief.

  The coatrack flies at Boss Olan as he flings Mrs. Vykotsky against the wall; she stumbles, but does not fall. The hall table collapses at some point, though I’m not sure which one of them is responsible.

  Quicker than I can process, the room is
thrown into chaos. The front window shatters; furniture is levitated, then crashes with a bang. I duck out of the way of a ring of keys spiraling through the air. I turn to make a break for it, hoping I can use this momentary distraction to get away, but I run directly into Finn’s chest. He’s come sprinting into the room, hair flying, panting and wide-eyed.

  I shout, “You can’t let her take me, please. They’re killing Sons!”

  At this Mrs. Vykotsky and Boss Olan stop. The storm quiets, leaving rubble strewn across the formerly elegant entryway.

  “Is this true, Ana?” Boss pants.

  She sighs like I’ve inconvenienced her. “The commissioner? Helen made it clear we were defending ourselves.”

  Finn places a hand on my shoulder, but I’m so singularly focused on Mrs. Vykotsky, I barely feel it.

  The foyer chandelier shakes, the crystals clinking against each other like a swarm of cicadas as my rage becomes too big for my body to hold. And because I have nothing else to lose, I ask the question I’ve been dying to ask her. “And what about my brother? Were you all defending yourselves then, too? He had no magic! He was an ordinary person. He was a person. And you threw him in the river like trash. Why.” I beg, “Tell me why you did it.”

  Mrs. Vykotsky and I stare each other down. The snickering look on her face is an admission of guilt in itself. The chandelier shakes and shakes, the sun peeks above the buildings, throwing a single golden sunbeam into the entryway, and I wish more than I’ve ever wished anything in my entire life that Mrs. Vykotsky were dead. Not only for what I believe she did to my brother, but for all the girls at Haxahaven. Punishing them—hurting the ones they love to make a point.

  For Lena, her family. Maxine and those she cares for. Aurelia, Maria.

  My mother.

  Mrs. Vykotsky starts to say something. “Your brother was…” But her lips are barely able to form the next words.

  I wish I’d never met her. I wish Haxahaven had another headmistress. I wish my brother was still alive. I wish—

  I wish she was dead instead of him.

  I wish she was dead.

  The magic part of me snarls awake, lashing out like the crack of a whip.

  Noooo! But I can’t harness this, the wild, awful power.

  Suddenly her neck snaps sharply to the left, and she crumples like a rag doll onto the fine entryway floor.

  My chest heaves. My heart thump-thumps against my rib cage. The air becomes hard to breath.

  No! No! No!

  Finn reaches out to catch me, but I slip through his arms, collapsing to my knees.

  My ears ring; everything goes fuzzy.

  How did I let everything go so wrong again?

  Boss Olan does nothing but raise his eyebrows. The weight of his stare pushes down on me as he hovers over Finn and me. “Looks as if Haxahaven has broken our treaty yet again. Killing helpless members of the Sons.” His voice swirls in my mind. “I am sorry, Frances. Your brother was a good lad.”

  Ripples of shock and sadness burst like a rusted-out pipe. Finn cradles my head against his chest. I don’t recognize my voice as I repeat over and over again, “Did I kill her? I didn’t mean to kill her. I didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to…”

  Soon other men pour into the room, drawn by the noise of the fight that ended less than two minutes ago. How quickly I always seem to ruin things.

  Without much discussion they carry Mrs. Vykotsky’s body away. Boss Olan takes her shoulders, and one of the larger Jameses takes her feet. Almost as if this is nothing new—a dead body in the Commodore Club.

  The hem of her black dress rises as they lift her, revealing pale blue stockings.

  I can picture her putting them on this morning, not knowing it was her last. I’m struck with a wave of guilt and regret so fierce, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stand to look at myself again. She was right in the end, I realize. I refused to heed any of her lectures regarding how dangerous my uncontrolled power was, and now I’ve killed her with it.

  Every emotion I’m feeling must be splashed across my face, because Finn whispers, “You did the right thing.”

  I push him away, afraid of what I might do. I don’t trust the magic swirling inside me. “But I didn’t mean to do it,” I rasp.

  Finn isn’t afraid, though. He inches closer, cups my chin in his rough hands. “The right thing is you and me, ridding the world of anyone who has ever harmed us.” His eyes are gold and silver, the brightest green that flashes with hope. He stares at me, hard. I’m shaking so badly that Finn scoops one of my arms over his shoulders and helps me back down to his room in the basement.

  I flop onto his bed and stare at the ceiling. The place my brother spoke to me from last night looked peaceful. After all the things I’ve done, I doubt I’ll be joining him there. What would he think of me now?

  I killed her. The thought pounds in my head over and over again, like a nail hammered into my skull. There is no escaping what I’ve done. Killing Mr. Hues was different. This was, was… I don’t know.

  Finn breaks the long silence. “She won’t be coming after you now—trying to take you back to that prison of a school. Think of the grand life we’ll have now. We can do whatever we want. Go wherever we choose. No more rules to follow, or walls to keep us in.”

  I peer up at him. “You don’t think I’m irredeemable?”

  I want so badly to be saved by him, to be forgiven by anyone for what I’ve done. Tell me I’m special. Tell me I’m good.

  He huffs out a sad laugh. “I killed my step-da. One bullet in the skull on my way out of town. Boss helped me dump his body in a bog the same day he came for me in Ireland. I hopped on the ship for New York the next day. I’ve never once regretted it.” He reaches for my hands, clutches them so tightly, my fingers go numb. “Do you think I’m irredeemable? It’s all right when the reasons are good.”

  Of course I don’t think that. His stepfather was cruel in ways that I can’t imagine. “But that’s different, Finn.”

  Finn sighs. “I don’t think it was.”

  I shake my head, rub my temples to stop the ache pulsing behind my eyelids. What will happen to Haxahaven now that she is gone?

  I thought there would be more peace in knowing the truth of what happened to my brother. I never imagined it would involve this much blood on my hands.

  * * *

  Finn’s windowless room blocks out the light, and by the time I wake, I have no idea whether it’s night or day. All I know is that I’m alone.

  My bare feet touch the cold cement floor and I tug the too-long sleeves of Finn’s sweater over my shaking hands. My head still aches and my stomach is still in knots, but I don’t want to sleep anymore, afraid of what nightmares I might find waiting for me.

  I pick through the pile of clothing strewn across his floor until I find a pair of socks, obviously knit by Finn, and pull them on to stop my shivering.

  I trail a finger along the water-ringed wood of his desk, savoring the peek inside his life when I’m not around.

  Littered with books and papers and yarn, something on the far-left lower corner catches my eye, something I didn’t spot last night.

  Etched deep into the wood with a penknife is a word. The edges of the letters are sharp and angry, like they’ve been carved out repeatedly for a very long time. A knife digging into wood, tracing the same letters over and over again.

  A name.

  My name.

  FRANCES.

  I peer out the door. The basement is eerily still. “Finn?” I hiss down the lamp-lit hall.

  Nothing.

  I creep up the staircase. “Finn?” I call once more. The knob on the door at the top of the stairs turns easily, but the door itself won’t open. With my shoulder I shove and muscle the door until whatever is blocking it slides enough for me to shimmy out. I trip on a human leg and crash onto the floor, landing halfway on top of a very cold, very dead Boss Olan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I don’t scream out,
but I do say, “What?” very matter-of-factly, like Boss himself could answer me.

  His eagle-headed walking stick is still grasped in his right hand, and there’s a gunshot wound in the center of his forehead. He was so alive when I saw him just hours ago.

  I push up off the floor, shaking, terrified. A frightening thought creeps into my head. I did this. The witches have found out what happened to Mrs. Vykotsky, and this is their revenge. Killing the leader of the Sons. It takes everything I have to focus on finding an exit. The witches could still be in the Commodore Club, and I don’t want them to find me here. I trust Finn will come to me, as he always does. That is, if he isn’t dead too. But that possibility is too horrible to entertain.

  On quiet feet, I travel as fast as I’m able down the hallway, past silent lounges and billiards rooms.

  From upstairs, I hear muffled shouting that shifts to the dull thud of bodies slamming into one another.

  I have no time to dwell on my horror. With pure animal instinct, the only thing in my head is run, run, run.

  I make a break for the front door, but the brass handle won’t turn, like it’s locked from the outside. Knowing there is no time for creative magic, no room for error, I extend my hand and whisper, “Briseadh,” but the spell doesn’t work. The window above the door is shattered from Mrs. Vykotsky and Boss Olan’s previous fight, but it’s too high to reach.

  I curse under my breath and shatter the narrow window next to the door with the handle of the first umbrella I find. Glass rains down at my feet.

  “Frances!” Finn’s brogue calls me from the top of the stairs.

  My head snaps to him, and relief floods through me at the sight of him alive. “Finn!”

  “Frances, go back to the basement.” He’s breathless, sweaty, and covered in blood I hope isn’t his own.

  “We need to leave!” I shout.

  “I said go back to the basement!” The sound of shattering glass and more shouting draws his attention.

  “Are the witches here?” I step forward. “Maybe I can talk to them. Explain what happened to—”

  “Frances, I beg you,” Finn interrupts “Go back to the basement. I’ll come to you soon.” And with that he runs back down the hall and out of sight.