Daughter of Chaos

by Sarah Rees Brennan

  “I do not think that’s the problem!”

  The words burst from Harvey without his permission, but with extreme conviction. He saw Nick smirk.

  “See. I knew it. Tell me what I should do.”

  “Witches must do things really differently from mortals,” Harvey said, still shaken. “Maybe you’re flirting with Sabrina in a witch way, but—but Sabrina went to school with mortals. She’s used to being friends with mortals.”

  Nick caught on fast. “And dating mortals.”

  “Dating me,” said Harvey. “Yeah.”

  The words were heavy as stones in his mouth. Harvey used to dream they would be together always.

  Now always was over.

  For Sabrina, there was bound to be someone else.

  That didn’t mean Harvey had to be involved. He looked at his own hand, fingers curled tight around the edge of the door. He could close the door and pretend none of this was happening.

  Nick reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

  “Listen,” Nick said in his oddly low voice. “I know you hate witches for killing that boy, your brother. But I didn’t have anything to do with it. And you and Sabrina, you love each other, the way mortals do. Right? I’m worth keeping. I’m smart, I’m strong, and I’ll do anything she asks. Having me by her side will help her. Give me a chance.”

  Harvey almost didn’t hear him over the roaring in his ears. Witches killed that boy. Your brother.

  Oh, he’d known magic was evil. He’d always sensed something strange lurking beneath the surface of Greendale. He’d seen what he now knew was a demon in the mines, long ago.

  Harvey had spent years trying to make sense of what he’d seen, trying to turn horror into art. Then horror came to his home and took his brother. He was so scared of magic, and Sabrina was living in a world of magic now.

  He was terrified of what might happen to her there.

  He wanted to hide from magic forever, but he couldn’t let anyone else he loved get hurt.

  Nick was one of the witches, and kind of a jackass, but he’d come to their house to protect Harvey and his father. From what Harvey gathered, when the evil ghosts came, the other witches had holed up somewhere safe. Nick had put himself in real danger to do as Sabrina asked.

  There was a chance Nick might be a good guy. Harvey was certain there must be a lot of magic boys at Sabrina’s other school who liked Sabrina. They might not be good guys. Harvey didn’t know what was happening at that Academy, and he couldn’t be there to support Sabrina. Nick could.

  Harvey hated the idea of Sabrina with someone else. The mere thought made his stomach tip and roll as if he were on the sea in a storm, made him actually want to throw up.

  But he hated the thought of her alone and in danger even more. If there was any way for him to help Sabrina, he wanted to do whatever he could.

  He hesitated. “Do you really like Sabrina?”

  Nick said: “Yes.”

  “I’m not promising anything. And I don’t want you making fun of me with any more weird jokes. But I guess I could teach you about the mortal way to court someone. If you want to learn.” The words almost stuck in his throat, but he forced them out. “Sabrina deserves to be treated right.”

  Harvey was a pretty quiet guy, always afraid he’d say something dumb and be embarrassed, or say something mean and be ashamed, but Nick wanted Harvey to tell him what to do.

  “I’m a quick study,” Nick said, moving to come inside.

  Harvey rolled his eyes. “Could the first thing you study be boundaries?”

  Nick appeared genuinely bewildered. “What about boundaries?”

  “Well,” said Harvey, “it would be nice if you had some. You do realize you keep trying to barge into my house without an invitation.”

  This seemed to startle Nick. The wind howled, as though outraged a witch might be denied entry into a mortal’s home.

  “If a witch didn’t want someone to come in, they’d lay protection spells on their threshold.”

  “Okay,” said Harvey. “But I can’t do that. What would you say to a witch with, uh, protection spells on their threshold?”

  “I’d ask if I was welcome,” Nick answered slowly. “If I was, the witch would say, ‘Come in out of the cold.’ ”

  There was a long pause. Harvey made a gesture for Nick to continue.

  Nick hesitated, his brows pulling together for a dark moment. Harvey got the impression witches didn’t get told what to do by mortals often. It was possible Nick might storm off.

  Instead, Nick began to smile. He tapped his knuckles lightly against the open door.

  “So, farm boy,” he drawled. “Am I welcome?”

  Harvey sighed, nodded, and began to open the door all the way, before a terrible thought occurred to him.

  “Wait! One last thing.” Harvey held up a hand. “You’re not, like … actually the devil, are you?”

  Nick’s eyes went wide. “I’m very flattered you would think that.”

  “Wow, don’t be,” Harvey advised. “I just wondered, because … your name is Nick Scratch, as in ‘Old Nick’ or ‘Old Scratch,’ and those are names for Satan, aren’t they? No offense, but if you’re Satan you can’t come in.”

  There was a moment in which Nick seemed torn between amazement and anger. Then he shook his head.

  “I’m not Satan. It’s considered good luck among the old traditional witch families to have an infernally-inflected name. Don’t mortals have names associated with their saints and false gods?”

  Harvey blinked. “Totally. Mom and Dad almost named me False God Kinkle.”

  Nick laughed, which was a bit of a shock.

  “At the Academy there are two guys named Apollyon and Diabolus,” Nick offered. “We call them Polly and Bolly.”

  That surprised a laugh out of Harvey. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true, though. And there’s a guy named Plutonius Pan.” Nick stared broodingly out into the middle distance. “He’s the worst.”

  “Sure he is.” Harvey came to a decision and held the door open for Nick. “All right, Satan Junior McLucifer the Third, or whatever your name is. Come in out of the cold.”

  It was a terrible mistake. But Harvey didn’t realize that until later.

  My cousin and I sneaked past my aunts and up the stairs to Ambrose’s room. I sat cross-legged on silk cushions under the British flag he had hanging up. The skylight let the stars peep in. Ambrose paced the floor as I talked, his scarlet-embroidered black silk robe flaring as if he were a very fancy judge.

  “So hypothetically, Aunt Zelda told me to stay out of trouble and take especial care to avoid attracting any bad-luck spirits, and instead within an hour I broke glass. Like, a house’s worth of window glass. A lifetime’s supply of mirrors. Seven hundred years’ bad luck.”

  Ambrose stopped pacing. He stood staring down at me. “You broke your word … and all the glass … in under an hour.”

  “Maybe so.” I gazed up at Ambrose apprehensively. “How bad is it? Hypothetically. I already lost a school project.”

  His face stayed attentive and solemn for another handful of moments. Then his lips split into a wide, incredulous grin.

  “Cousin, you are hypothetically screwed!”

  Typically, Ambrose couldn’t stay serious for more than five minutes at a time. Usually, I didn’t mind. I could be serious enough for both of us.

  Ambrose snapped his beringed fingers and fleecy white softness appeared, curling around his hand. He made a circular motion, then deftly wove the white cloud around my middle. I squawked. He grasped my hand and pulled me to my feet, then spun me around the attic as I laughed and flailed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Wrapping you in cotton wool,” Ambrose replied. “You need it! I think you might be a bigger troublemaker than me, Sabrina. It makes me very proud.”

  He gave the cotton wool a gentle shake. I stopped giggling, looking up at his face through the haze of protective
cotton wool. Ambrose was always the one who laughed, advised me, and made everything seem all right when I got into trouble.

  Even Ambrose hadn’t laughed when I’d brought Tommy back from the dead. Even my wild wayward cousin thought I’d gone too far then.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I told him. “I couldn’t let Roz get hurt. I was only trying to do the right thing.”

  Ambrose snapped his fingers again, and the cotton wool evaporated in the air like cotton candy in a child’s mouth. I could see clearly without the cotton wool veil, and I saw my cousin’s brilliant smile dim.

  “I know,” Ambrose murmured. “You always do.” The brief tenderness passed from his face, and he tugged my hair. “Then you always land in the most spectacular messes. Well, at least you never commit the only unforgivable sin.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Being boring,” Ambrose replied.

  “Be serious!”

  Ambrose winked. “Nah.”

  “Look, I know I’ve caused our aunts a lot of trouble lately,” I said. “Aunt Zelda looked really unhappy about giving up the baby this morning. I don’t want her to worry about me.”

  “The aunts love worrying about us,” said Ambrose. “It’s their hobby. Cheer up, Sabrina mine. Forgetting your school project might be a tragedy to you, but when I was at Hell Harrow, hellhounds ate my homework every day for a year. It’s not a disaster. Bad-luck spirits are generally minor imps, easy to banish and not worth fretting about.”

  I collapsed back on the cushions, feeling much more cheerful. “So I shouldn’t tell Aunt Zelda and Aunt Hilda.”

  Ambrose circled the heap of cushions.

  “Why worry them with a little thing like this? That would be unkind. And we’re a kind, considerate niece and nephew. No, but keep an eye out for any signs of bad luck that seem excessive happening to you or anyone close to you. When bad luck spreads, that’s when it gets really ugly. If you did attract a bad-luck spirit, we’ll find out its name and banish it. Luck’s mainly in your head, anyway. The worst disasters come when you let magic mess with your mind, so stay positive and guard yourself with good-luck charms, like a rabbit’s foot. Simple.”

  I thought of the necklace I still wore. Not a rabbit’s foot. Harvey’d given me the necklace for my sixteenth birthday and told me he loved me for the first time. I’d told him I loved him back and believed this love would be forever.

  That was October, and now we were in cold December. Forever hadn’t lasted.

  “Cousin?” Ambrose regarded me with a raised eyebrow. “Is this meltdown entirely about hypothetical bad-luck spirits?”

  I sighed. “Maybe not. Coffee with Roz didn’t go smoothly, and—I miss Harvey all the time.”

  Ambrose threw himself down on the cushions, drawing his leg up to his chest and flinging his arm around my shoulders. “May I offer you some romantic advice? The best way to get over one man is to climb onto another.”

  There was a pause.

  “Thanks,” I said dryly. “That’s very romantic.”

  Ambrose made a sweeping gesture. “I try. And I think it’s worth considering. What about the sexy one, from that time in my room?”

  “From that terrible sexy party you had in your room that I walked in on?” I gave Ambrose a look indicating he should be ashamed.

  Ambrose, born shameless, beamed and pointed at me. “Exactly.”

  “Next time could you hang up a sign on your door?” I asked. “A sign that says SEXY PARTY IN PROGRESS, so people know not to come in.”

  “Seems against the spirit of free love, which means all are welcome,” said Ambrose. “Anyway, what about that one?”

  “The sexy one?” I asked. “Do you mean Prudence? I got the vibe you thought she was the sexy one.”

  “I did and she is,” said Ambrose. “And if you think you can handle Prudence, cousin, I urge you to go ahead.”

  I laughed and shook my head.

  “I meant the boy,” said Ambrose. “Nick, right? Nick Claw, Nick Scratch, Nick Sex Kitten, whatever his name is. You know the one. Sultry and Spanish around the edges. Don’t you like the look of him? He likes you. I remember he offered to go to your room for some alone time.”

  “How will I ever be able to handle all this romance?”

  I didn’t say no. I saw Ambrose noticing. I’d never actually said no to Nick when he made his outrageous suggestions.

  “Try him out,” suggested Ambrose. “As I recall, he’s got moves.”

  “You’d know better than I would!”

  “Find out for yourself,” Ambrose urged. “Forget about Harvey. He threw your Yule present in your face! Throw the whole man away. Let Nick Whatever bang the color back into your hair.”

  I’d once believed Ambrose was unusually free-spirited, but it turned out most witches were that way. It took some getting used to.

  “Nick’s my friend,” I said. “But I don’t think he’s the commitment type.”

  Prudence had said as much about Nick, more than once. Prudence would know.

  Ambrose blinked. “Who’s talking about commitment? Whoa, no, no, not that one. There’s boyfriend material, and there’s sexy party fabric. Nick’s the second.”

  I shrugged. “Then I’m not interested. No judgment, I love you! It’s just not my thing.”

  Ambrose mirrored the shrug. “Then don’t do it. I only want you to be happy.” He hesitated. “But if you’re looking for love among witches, you might be looking a long time. We’re not built for that.”

  “I’m not looking for anything,” I told him. “But didn’t Luke say he loved you?”

  It was new, Ambrose having a boyfriend, but he deserved someone great. I didn’t know Luke well, but if he loved Ambrose, I was prepared to like him.

  Ambrose drummed his fingers against his knee, his only tell of discomfort. “I’m sure he was only trying to get out of trouble for summoning me away from my family when the ghosts came. Which he remained in trouble for. I like him, of course, but—am I really the romantic love type?”

  I leaned my cheek against his shoulder. “I think you could be any type you wanted to be.”

  “And I think you can find whatever it is you’re, ah, not looking for,” said Ambrose. “New year, new man, new luck.”

  I pulled myself together. “You’re right. I’ll chill out. I just broke some glass. I didn’t try to blow up the Vatican.”

  Ambrose grinned. “I only did that one time.”

  That settled, we went down to the kitchen for a midnight snack—midnight snacks are part of a balanced diet for witches—and passed under the lemons Aunt Hilda had already fixed in the doorway. Then I went to bed.

  My familiar was frequently gone on business of his own. Aunt Zelda said it served me right, adopting a goblin familiar from the wild woods, but I was pretty independent myself. I liked that Salem walked free and fierce down strange paths through the trees, waving his tail on his wild lone, then returned to me.

  Still, he usually went to bed when I did. Even if he was nowhere to be seen during the day, at night Salem would filter through some door or window like a thread of black smoke and settle in a warm purring heap at the foot of my bed.

  Not tonight. From the time I hopped into my bed until the sun turned the ice on the tree branches to brief gold, Salem stayed on the porch steps and sang a wailing, mournful song to the moon.

  I remembered Aunt Hilda’s advice on how to gain good luck and avoid bad. ’Ware a cat’s cry.

  A cat’s cry was an omen of trouble to come.

  I shivered under my covers as I heard him. I didn’t get much sleep. Usually when I felt unsteady, I called Harvey. It made everything better to hear his voice, warm whenever he said my name. Roz described Harvey as sad, but he always sounded happy when he was talking to me.

  Even though I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t call Harvey. He couldn’t accept me for the witch I was, and I couldn’t accept him being in danger because of magic. How much worse could my luck get?

 
Nick prowling through Harvey’s home was as unsettling as it had been the first time. Harvey didn’t have many people over to his house. He was always afraid of what his dad might do, but he was pretty sure the host was meant to make the guest comfortable. He wasn’t sure what to do when the weird magic guest was making the host super uncomfortable.

  Nick rapped on one of the windows with a professional air. “Sealing spell’s holding up.”

  Harvey shrugged uneasily, putting his hands in his pockets. “Couldn’t tell you.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” said Harvey. “Yeah.”

  “My friend suggested that I astrally project naked to Sabrina’s bedroom,” said Nick. “Is that a good idea?”

  “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life,” said Harvey flatly.

  He wasn’t sure what the words astrally project even meant. He thought he’d read them in comics before, and he figured he’d look it up later. But he was very sure about his answer.

  “Here’s the first thing you should know about mortals. From what I can see, when it comes to romance, we go a lot slower than witches.”

  Nick frowned. “Why would you take longer to do things when you don’t live as long as we do?”

  Well, there was another shock. At this point Harvey was stumbling through a landscape entirely composed of weirdness, trying to deal.

  “Maybe—maybe it’s because we know we won’t live. We want to take our time so we can make something that will last, whether that’s painting a picture, or building a castle, or falling in love.”

  That probably sounded dumb. But he didn’t know how to talk about love any other way. Nick was nodding with a scrunched-up, frowning expression of concentration that reminded Harvey of Sabrina, and the way she looked when she wanted to take notes but didn’t have a pen and paper.

  “Doing things the mortal way means going gradually,” Harvey continued, encouraged. “That’s how you get someone to believe you mean it. Do you understand?”

  Nick’s face smoothed into a smile. “I do.”

  “So absolutely no”—Harvey tried and failed to utter the words naked astral projection—“what you just said. None of that.”