Daughter of Chaos

by Sarah Rees Brennan

  I missed him so much.

  “Come now, cousin,” murmured Ambrose. “Don’t be sad.”

  He climbed onto my bed like a cat, headbutted me in the stomach, and then put his head in my lap. Salem meowed, outraged at this usurping of his place, and sprang from his seat by the window onto the pillow by my head. I was suddenly surrounded by loving company, my familiar and my cousin tumbled on my hawthorn-flower bedspread. I scritched Salem between the ears, ruffled my fingers through Ambrose’s densely curly hair, and smiled down at him. He grinned at me, upside down and bright.

  “Maybe this information will cheer you up. There was a boy at the door for you earlier.”

  I sat bolt upright. “Harvey?”

  “Sorry, Sabrina sweet. Nick Scratch.”

  Even the sound of his name was like a slight, pleasant electric shock.

  Ambrose waggled his eyebrows. “Not so bad to think of him coming calling?”

  I hit Ambrose’s shoulder. “Why didn’t he come in?”

  “Auntie Hilda wouldn’t let him in,” said Ambrose. “Thinks he’s mad, and bad, and she doesn’t want to know. Don’t blame me, Sabrina. I was occupied with Luke—I didn’t know our auntie was turning away prime specimens.”

  I tucked my bunny-slippered feet under me and pulled thoughtfully on one of Ambrose’s ears.

  “Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. Like we said before, he’s not serious, so I’m not interested.”

  Ambrose lifted himself up, curling his arm around one knee and leaning back against the wrought-iron footboard. He was always in motion, my cousin. Nobody could pin him down.

  “Maybe he’s more serious than we figured.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Ambrose made a noncommittal sound. “Maybe I made the wrong call. Rakes can reform. They do in Auntie Hilda’s romance novels all the time. Maybe the guy’s looking for a connection.”

  “Maybe he’s looking to hook up with everyone in school.”

  “Can’t he have both?” Ambrose laughed while I belabored him with my fists. “Cousin. I’m just saying. You’re worth being serious about. Maybe he is. Maybe you should give it a try.”

  I looked out the window, the woods black behind the gauzy white of my curtains.

  “Of course, I was also thinking I’d been too hard on our little Harvey,” declared Ambrose, who was considerably shorter than Harvey. “He’s going through some rough stuff.”

  I frowned. “So you’re saying I should give Nick a shot, but then again make it work with Harvey?”

  “Can’t you have both?” asked Ambrose, laughing as I picked up my pillows and began throwing them at him.

  He defended himself, deflecting the pillows with little spells so they struck me from the side when I was unsuspecting. Salem gave a low, eerie growl because we were both vexing him. We left Salem’s pillow alone.

  “You never know,” said Ambrose. “Maybe they’d get along.”

  I scoffed. “Oh, sure.” Then I hesitated. “I do miss Harvey. Every minute. But I don’t want to mess up his life again. He couldn’t bear it. He insisted that he’d be the one to—to put down what was left of Tommy. I hate that he had to do that because of me. I only wanted to bring Tommy back to him.”

  Ambrose seemed unusually solemn. Which, for Ambrose, meant that his wild wicked smile flickered.

  “I know you did, cousin. If it was me, in Tommy’s place—if it was you, in Harvey’s—”

  He’d never talked like this, comparing us to mortals. It was almost encouraging that he could empathize with Harvey to that extent, but the idea of losing him was too horrible. Ambrose was like a hummingbird, never resting anywhere long, but I reached out across a space of moonlit blanket and grabbed hold of my cousin.

  “Don’t,” I said into his shirt. “Don’t even say it.”

  “This scenario does posit me being a miner,” Ambrose murmured, back to joking around. “Wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those hats.”

  I laughed, muffled into the silk. Ambrose brushed a kiss against my hair, pulled back gently, and produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

  “Cheer up, now,” he said. “Nick left a note. Auntie Hilda threw it away, but she unwisely didn’t burn it and even more unwisely told me, so I rescued it for you. Sweetly trusting soul, Auntie H.”

  He placed the note in my hands. It was folded parchment, with flowing black script across it. I’d heard there was a way for witches and warlocks to write notes to each other that would show up on their own skin, but paper seemed more sensible. I was using my skin for other things.

  “Am I the best wingman, or am I the best wingman?” asked Ambrose. He rose from the bed, tugging a piece of my hair as he did so. “Give Nick some thought, cousin. Mortals are passing sweet, but they pass, and their sweetness passes with them. I never want you hurt, and a mortal will hurt you.”

  “Even if he loves me?”

  But Harvey didn’t. Not enough.

  “Especially if he loves you,” said Ambrose. “Love hurts worse than anything. I’ll leave you to read your letter.”

  A note from Nick. I wondered what he had to say. Probably not “Do you like me? Circle yes or no.”

  I unfolded the note, and read the words struck across the page.

  Look outside your window.

  I scrambled out of bed, threw open the window, and stared down into moonlit snow and dark eyes.

  “Nick?” I said in amazement. “What are you doing out there?”

  “I need to talk with you,” Nick shouted. “It’s urgent.”

  “Then get up here!”

  I slammed the window shut and turned in a frantic circle, trying to kick off my bunny slippers before Nick could teleport into my bedroom. This left me unbalanced as I spun, came face-to-face with Nick, and almost tipped right over. He caught me, arms drawing reflexively around my waist, and studied me as though very pleased with his catch.

  “Hello there, Spellman.”

  I was leaning against his chest, which seemed like a dangerous place to be. Hastily, I set my hand against his shoulder, then stepped back with an exclamation as I felt his skin beneath the fabric.

  “You’re freezing, Nick. You should have come inside.”

  “I was trying to respect your boundaries,” Nick told me. “I have to say, I find boundaries annoying. And chilly.”

  I frowned. “I don’t want you to get sick because of me.”

  Nick smiled. “I won’t. You’re too used to mortals, Sabrina. There isn’t much that can hurt me.”

  I winced at the mention of mortals and took another step back from Nick. He leaned against the window and watched me retreat.

  “What was so urgent you couldn’t tell me tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Banishing the luck spirit didn’t end the spell corrupting the mortals,” Nick answered, his voice suddenly all business. “Prudence was attacked outside that tea shop today.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh no. How is she?”

  “She’s fine. I went to the Academy, but your aunt Zelda was there. She wouldn’t let me see Prudence. Said she was sleeping, that a pack of vicious mortals went after her.”

  Nick’s mouth twisted, eyes going even darker as they met mine. The same rage I saw in him rose in me, hot as hellfire. I was scared I might destroy my friends, but I was eager to destroy my enemies.

  “We should meet with Prudence tomorrow morning,” Nick said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it must be connected with the bad-luck spirit.”

  I nodded, trying to think. “When Prudence and I banished the spirit, she said a lot of things. My teacher Ms. Wardwell told me not to listen, but … the spirit said, ‘The witch-hunters will rise. The prince will come.’ ”

  “The witch-hunters,” Nick repeated.

  “Harvey,” I whispered. “His dad. What if his dad attacked Prudence? Harvey might not be safe in the house with him. I have to go to Harvey.”

  Harvey might be in trouble again. Because of me. My
head reeled as though I were on a carnival ride, the lights of the Ferris wheel blurring in my vision. Then came a touch that steadied me.

  Nick had my elbow cupped in his hand. He was holding on to me. “I’ll go,” he said firmly. “I can teleport.”

  I let myself relax into the warm certainty of his grasp. “Sorry for freaking out,” I whispered. “It’s just—I hurt him.”

  “You didn’t mean to.”

  I nodded, dragging in a breath. “You’re right. I’m too used to mortals. It was so easy for Tommy to slip right out of my hands. I can’t stop worrying.”

  “There’s no need,” said Nick. “I’m here now.”

  There was a loose strand of hair in my eyes, cutting a moonlit-white bar across his dark intent face. I tucked the hair behind my ear, then leaned forward on a sudden warm impulse and kissed his cheek.

  “I’m so happy you’re here, Nick.”

  When I drew back, I was surprised by the look on his face. It was a smile I hadn’t seen before.

  “I’m …” he said. “I’m happy too.”

  I smiled back at him. “Can I ask you something before you go?”

  Nick nodded.

  “My father,” I said. “I know you’ve read all his books. What made you like them so much?”

  There was a silence as Nick considered the question. “I came to the Academy hoping to learn a secret,” he said at last.

  “What secret?”

  “How to make sense of the world.” Nick shrugged, one-shouldered, and smirked. “Simple, right? But nothing Father Blackwood taught me helped. Then I found Edward Spellman’s books. He wrote about women and mortals and the secrets of power in a way I could understand. Reading his books was like reading a language I hadn’t realized anybody but me knew. His books finally made sense of the world. So I guess he changed the world for me.”

  “Oh,” I murmured.

  Quietly, Nick said: “I think you must be a lot like him.”

  “I always hoped I was,” I whispered. “Thanks, Nick.”

  “Anything for you, babe.”

  Nick winked and teleported away. Where he’d been, there was only night waiting outside the window.

  I went and sat on my rumpled bed, crunching Nick’s note in my fist. Salem meowed and climbed into the crook of my arm. I dropped the note and hugged him.

  “Should I tear that boy Nick’s head off for you?” Salem’s goblin whisper came rustling through my mind like the wind in the woods. “I could. Easy as if he were a mouse.”

  “No,” I whispered back. “I like Nick’s head where it is.”

  “That boy is rude,” Salem continued disapprovingly. “At least the mortal has nice hands. Gentle. But then he’s a spectacular idiot who does not understand a word I say. Neither is worthy of you. Let us embrace splendid solitude and go live together in a hut in the forest.”

  I cuddled him close. “I will take these wise words under advisement.”

  He indulged me and purred like the cat he wasn’t, not really. The low rumbling hum acted on me the way stroking did on Salem, soothing and steadying. I nestled into my tumbled pillows, under my blanket, around the companion who’d chosen me and would never leave me.

  Tomorrow I’d meet Nick and Prudence and figure out what needed to be done.

  I closed my eyes. In the dark I relived the moment of terror in the moonlight, when I’d clung to my cousin at the mere idea of what had happened to Harvey happening to me.

  Everything, in that silver instant, had gone clear. There was no need for me to mope around reproaching myself any longer.

  If I’d lost Ambrose, if I’d lost Aunt Hilda or Aunt Zelda, I would’ve torn purgatory to shreds to get them back. I would have brought hell to ruin. I would have burned heaven to the ground.

  Everyone told me I’d gone too far with what I’d done to bring Tommy back, but I disagreed. I hadn’t gone far enough.

  I wasn’t like my mother; I was like my father. He wasn’t scared of power. He was High Priest. He’d changed the world of witches. I could change the world too.

  Maybe my mortal friends couldn’t help me right now. If I was more in control of my magic, if I changed the witches’ world enough so my friends would be safe there, then I could let them in.

  For now, perhaps we needed some distance. I could give them that. Especially since I’d found a friend among the witches. Nick was here now.

  I was done doubting myself. Whatever new danger threatened, I would handle it by facing it, and never, ever backing down.

  Harvey would be horrified at the idea of me in danger, but I wasn’t scared. Nothing seemed frightening compared to the idea of losing someone I loved. Whatever trouble came, I always had Spellman ground to make a stand on. If I was sorrowful or lonely, my cousin would come make me laugh, my aunt Hilda would make me a thousand treats, my aunt Zelda would hold me fiercely as I cried and never let go until I stopped. I was a Spellman witch, and I was done fearing the year to come.

  I couldn’t imagine being in Harvey’s place, couldn’t imagine being so alone. Salem purred to me, and in the attics above my cousin danced, and down the hall lined with cursed shoes, my aunts bickered. The sounds of home lulled me to sleep.

  We all need company in the dark.

  Harvey was sketching in his room when he heard the thunderous knocking. He dropped his charcoals and ran, but his dad got there first. By the time Harvey reached the front door, Nick was already tucking an empty vial into his jacket.

  “Hi, mortal,” he said. “You, go away.”

  “What are you?” his dad muttered in a dazed voice as he began to shamble away.

  Cold air blew through the open door. Harvey thought it might snow again soon. There was a tang to the freezing wind that lingered in Harvey’s mouth. Like tin. Like blood.

  “What did you say?” Harvey demanded. “Nick. Did you hear him?”

  Nick sneered in his dad’s direction. “I wasn’t listening. I don’t pay much attention to mortals. Certainly not that one.”

  Harvey stepped into his father’s path. “Dad. Did you ask Nick what he was?”

  “Can’t you tell what he is?” his dad demanded. “Are you blind as well as stupid?”

  His father’s eyes focused as they fell on Harvey, narrowing with dislike.

  Harvey flinched.

  “Don’t look at him,” Nick ordered. “Go to your room and stay there.”

  “No, wait,” said Harvey, but his father was already leaving. He rounded on Nick. “Stop enchanting my dad!”

  “Seems a poor idea,” said Nick. “A pack of mortals went after Prudence earlier. Your father’s a witch-hunter. He’s a problem that needs to be managed.”

  Harvey hesitated. “Is Prudence okay?”

  “She is. Zelda Spellman’s with her.”

  That was a relief. Harvey couldn’t imagine anyone getting past Sabrina’s aunt Zelda.

  “Okay,” said Harvey. “That’s good. Back to my dad …”

  “Right. Let’s revisit the idea of killing your father,” Nick suggested.

  “Let’s not!” said Harvey. “This isn’t funny.”

  Usually there was laughter somewhere to be found in Nick’s face. Not tonight. The icy calm made him seem a sinister stranger. It made Harvey repeat to himself, with horror gathering like dark clouds, his father’s words: What are you?

  What had Harvey invited into his home?

  When Prudence threatened Harvey, he’d decided she was kidding. She wore her bravado like armor, like her winged eyeliner, that much was clear. He told himself she didn’t mean it.

  But maybe she did.

  That guy Luke wanted to hurt Harvey. Prudence said she’d kill him, and Nick hadn’t cared at all. Witches killed people. Harvey knew that.

  Every time he thought he could accept magic, he was reminded how dangerous magic could be.

  “Nick, my dad is all I have,” Harvey said desperately. “Please be joking.”

  Nick’s face was cold and strange for anot
her instant. Then he scowled. “Fine,” he snapped. “Let’s say I’m joking. You’re annoying. I want lasagna right now.”

  “It’s past midnight. I’m not making you a lasagna,” said Harvey.

  They ended up in the kitchen with Harvey pushing a plate of heated-up fajitas Nick’s way.

  Nick looked at the plate, took the purple vial out of his jeans pocket, and tapped the vial against the side of the table without unstoppering it. Then he met Harvey’s eyes and put the vial away.

  “Listen—” Harvey began, taking the chair across from him.

  “Can you please take note of what I just did!” Nick protested. “It was meaningful.”

  Harvey sighed. “Wow, I’m so touched you trust me not to poison you when I’m obviously not going to poison you.”

  Nick was somehow eating two fajitas at once. “Earlier, you were saying you punched one of those idiot mortals?”

  “Yeah,” Harvey said warily.

  He wondered whether it was Billy and his goons who’d targeted Prudence. Trying to bully Prudence seemed an obvious bad idea, but Billy was no brain trust.

  Nick made a thoughtful sound. “And that’s not like you. Have you gone to that new tea shop in town?”

  Everyone said that place was great. Harvey wasn’t sure himself. Roz had spilled tea on her éclair, so Harvey’d switched desserts with her, but the tea-soaked éclair hadn’t been good.

  “I didn’t eat much. Were you thinking of taking Sabrina there on a date?”

  Nick propped his elbow on the table as he stared through the window into the dark woods. “Probably not.”

  “She’d prefer Dr. Cerberus’s,” Harvey advised. “Her aunt Hilda works there.”

  “Hilda will poison me,” muttered Nick. “But I’ll take Sabrina to Dr. Cyborg’s if she wants.”

  Harvey scoffed. “It’s not called Dr. Cyborg’s.”

  “It’s not called Invisible Academy either.” Nick grinned. “How about I remember the important stuff, Harry?”

  Harvey rolled his eyes. “How about you listen to me for a change, Nick? It’s not only my dad talking about witches. My neighbor was too, and people at the movies. Something’s going on.”