“Could we start an LGBT support group?” Roz had asked at one conference. “To let Susie know we’re supportive no matter what.”
Sabrina wrinkled her nose in thought. “But is there anybody out at Baxter High? We don’t want Susie to feel singled out before Susie’s ready to tell us anything. Statistically, some of the other students must be gay.”
There was Carl, but Carl most definitely was not out. His eyes wandered in the locker rooms. Mostly he looked at Billy, but a few times he’d glanced at Harvey. Once Harvey accidentally caught Carl’s eye, watching Harvey while he took his shirt off. Carl went white as ice and froze. He’d looked so scared. Harvey didn’t like to see anyone afraid. Harvey told him quietly that it was fine, and Carl called him a freak and stormed off.
Carl wouldn’t be joining a support group anytime soon.
Since Harvey wasn’t a total jerk, he couldn’t mention this, so he’d sunk with silent awkwardness into his chair while Roz and Sabrina discussed the matter, and decided they should wait until Susie was ready to tell them.
He’d figured it didn’t matter, since Susie was his friend regardless, but suddenly he realized what Susie had to say mattered a lot. He might get something wrong and hurt Susie—all because Susie was right and he was a dumbass.
“Have you … uh, talked to Roz about this?” he asked now, praying Susie had.
Whether it was that Susie wanted to be called “they” or that Susie wanted to be a guy or however it worked, Roz would know. Roz would explain it to him, so he wouldn’t mess this up.
“Not yet. You’re my best friend,” said Susie.
The hard knot of misery and loneliness in his chest eased. Everything inside him went soft at the realization that perhaps he had been chosen, after all.
“I will tell Roz,” continued Susie with gathering determination. “And Sabrina. And my dad.”
“Susie!” Harvey exclaimed. “Will you be safe?”
Susie stared. Sometimes the others did that, when Harvey seemed too afraid of parents and what they might do.
“Yeah,” Susie muttered at last. “Don’t worry. My dad would never hurt me. I’m scared he won’t understand. I don’t know if I understand completely myself.”
Susie was trembling. It was unbearable that Susie, fierce courageous Susie, might be afraid the way Carl was afraid. It was unbearable that Susie might be afraid in any way at all.
“I’m glad you told me,” murmured Harvey. “I don’t really … know what to say.”
Susie sniffed. “I’m still working it out too.”
Harvey walked over to where Susie sat, and then knelt on the floor. He took Susie’s hands and looked up into Susie’s small valiant face, framed with the gold of winter sunlight streaming in through the many-colored diamond panes. He thought he might know how to draw Susie now.
“When you do work it out, tell me. I’m sorry you can’t count on me to get it right away,” he said. “But you can count on me to love you.”
Susie nodded jerkily. Harvey reached out, folding Susie’s fragile body against his own in a careful hug. Susie’s hands closed on the back of his shirt, and he ducked his head down onto Susie’s shoulder, blotting out tears against the material of Susie’s shirt, soft worn flannel just like his.
Soon Susie would tell Roz, and then Roz would explain what to do. For now, this felt like he hadn’t messed up too much. For now, this was enough.
When Susie leaned back, Harvey rubbed his eyes surreptitiously with the edge of his sleeve.
“Are you crying?” Susie asked suspiciously. “Harv! You’re such a girl.”
Harvey shrugged. “Makes one of us.”
And Susie laughed. Hearing Susie laugh was the first time in a long time that Harvey felt things might be okay.
When Susie went home to do farm chores, because Susie didn’t laze around on the holidays like the rest of them, Harvey made some coffee and brought it to his room. Nick was awake, though barely, sitting at Harvey’s desk. He didn’t look upset by nightmares from Satan, but he did look upset about mornings.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Nick said to the coffee.
“It’s not really morning anymore,” Harvey told him.
Nick didn’t appear to be listening. He was absorbed in his coffee.
Harvey was distracted with worry over something else. If Nick was awake, there was a chance he’d heard Susie’s personal business.
“Did you happen to hear anything that was going on outside?”
“Not much,” Nick muttered sleepily. “Just you proclaiming your love for yet another person. You love everybody.”
“I love five people.”
Nick’s eyes widened over the rim of his cup. “Oh Satan, that is so many people.”
Harvey had been thinking of five as a pathetically small number. It was all in how you looked at it.
“What time did you say it was?” Nick asked, voice sharp. “I have to leave immediately.”
He was suddenly a whirlwind of panic, seizing books and black jeans and drinking his coffee the whole time. Harvey was impressed he didn’t spill the coffee and wondered if Nick was using magic.
Nick pointed at Harvey with the hand not holding the coffee cup. “Don’t leave the house. That’s an order, mortal.”
“That’s funny,” said Harvey. “I don’t take orders from you.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I,” Harvey told him.
Nick seemed amused. “Satan keep you.”
“I’d rather Satan lose me.”
Nick grinned a Cheshire-cat grin as he teleported away.
“Uh,” Harvey called after him. “You stole my shirt?”
There was only silence in his home and melting snow outside. Harvey went to get his jacket. Nick Scratch couldn’t tell him what to do.
Prudence arrived early at the darkened classroom where she was supposed to meet Nick and Sabrina. She glared around at the stuffed owls and maps of the underworld. She was not in a good mood.
She was no longer dazed or distracted by Zelda Spellman and hope for the future. She wanted to hunt down the mortals who’d dared touch her, and she wanted to know what the heaven kind of mess Sabrina had gotten them into this time.
She sat at a desk, studying her face in a compact mirror shaped like a black swan. Her face was flawless as usual, but it didn’t cheer her.
This was not the time for Plutonius Pan to approach.
“Hi, Prudence, I was thinking …”
“Doubtful,” muttered Prudence.
“I was hoping you’d put in a good word for me.”
“Neither of my sisters would ever waste a moment’s time on you,” Prudence told him briskly.
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of your sisters,” Plutonius said. “No offense, but they are orphans. Hardly the infernal connections I’m searching for.”
Prudence lowered her compact very slowly.
“And of course I’d never look so high as you!” Plutonius said hastily, as though any flattery would work on Prudence after he’d insulted her sisters. “You’re the daughter of the High Priest, and everyone’s sure you’ll be acknowledged soon! But I do think I have a chance with Sabrina Spellman.”
Prudence scoffed.
“She’s the daughter of the former High Priest and a Spellman, I know that,” Plutonius continued, blinking his pale-fringed eyes. “But she’s—well, you know, Sabrina has many disadvantages. There’s the unfortunate matter of being half mortal.”
As Plutonius spoke, the door opened gradually behind him. Prudence watched as Nick slipped silently into the room and observed his face as Nick heard what Plutonius was saying. She grew amused.
“Poor Sabrina,” Prudence cooed.
Encouraged, Plutonius nodded. “If you look at it another way, I’d be doing her a favor. Sabrina doesn’t really have the full figure a warlock looks for in a witch. And she’s wayward, and not in the excellent wanton way. Needs a firm hand.”
It would be hilarious to
see Sabrina dispose of Plutonius, but Prudence didn’t think Sabrina would get the chance. There were cities burning in Nick’s eyes.
“And do you think that hand will be yours?” Prudence asked sweetly. “Are you not aware that Nick’s interested?”
“Nick Scratch?” Plutonius Pan’s voice was awed. “What, you mean seriously interested? He could do better.”
Prudence controlled her urge to laugh.
“I’d say he seems serious, yes.”
“Wow,” breathed Plutonius Pan. “Of course it would be an honor and a privilege to share with Nick—”
At this point, Nick grabbed Plutonius by the back of his collar, shook him like a rat, and threw him to the ground. A period of intense spell-casting and high-pitched screaming commenced. Prudence hummed cheerfully to herself.
Increasingly violent magic raged through the room, purple lightning reflecting against the darkened windows. There was a pool of blood on the floor.
Prudence grew bored and stepped outside. Several minutes later, Nick followed her. He was yawning.
“Oh Lucifer, son of the morning, it is too early for this,” he muttered.
Prudence was used to being awake until dawn with her mortal boy toys, then rising to see to the baby. Warlocks were weak.
“Did you kill him?” Prudence asked, out of mild interest.
“I did not,” said Nick, with a dark, disappointed glint in his eye. “Sabrina and the mortal wouldn’t like it.”
“How would they ever find out?”
“Honesty’s important, I hear,” said Nick.
“Reading those terrible books is giving you terrible ideas.”
Nick was still yawning. There was blood on his cuffs, which only improved his outfit. Prudence was amazed by how hideous he looked.
“You doing all right?” He squinted at her, seeming uncomfortable about asking. As he should be.
“What?” Prudence sneered. “Obviously. Ugh, are you trying to express concern for me? How disgusting. Worry about yourself, you’re the one associating with that witch-hunter. Your life’s about to be hit by a second meteor.”
This seemed to surprise and confuse Nick, as though he hadn’t noticed their lives had descended into writhing turmoil since Sabrina started at the Academy.
“How do you mean?”
“Think about it,” said Prudence. “Long-term couples usually have something in common. Sabrina and the witch-hunter are both an innocent face painted on a bag of demented snakes. Consider Sabrina. ‘What’s that, aunties? You ask only that I follow our unholy traditions? Let me defy the Dark Lord and try to bring down our whole way of life!’ The witch-hunter’s no different. ‘What’s that, Sabrina? A world of dark magic I never suspected? Guess I should shoot my zombie brother in the head!’ Ordinary boys take longer to order at a drive-in than he did to jump to that one. He is not a normal mortal.”
He camouflaged his true nature well, but she knew the strange lights in the mortal’s eyes were fiery torches. Prudence still had nightmares about seeing dark blood on her sister’s throat. She couldn’t have hurt Agatha herself.
The baby-lamb doe-eyed witch-hunter had put his brother down within minutes.
Nick said obstinately, “He told me he wants to help—”
“Protect people?” Prudence murmured. “That’s how it starts. A witch-hunter is born a sword in the hands of angels. They are holy fire, and we were made for burning. That’s what Sabrina chose. She is crazy as heaven. So is he. I was attacked because of her yesterday. I don’t need her other half anywhere near me. Once this mess is sorted out, I’ll be keeping my distance from Sabrina.”
Nick smirked. “Not me.”
You could never truly know someone. You go to school with a guy for years, then he breaks out a fetish for suicide in a hairband.
Prudence was even more revolted when she saw a tiny smile start on Nick’s lips. There was no mischief or malice in it at all.
“Is Sabrina coming down the hall behind me?” Prudence asked wearily. “Ugh. I can see you, thinking repulsive thoughts.”
“I was considering something the mortal said to me,” said Nick. “About Sabrina. I was thinking—it might be possible. It really might.”
Prudence didn’t know what he was talking about and she didn’t want to know. That was why witches lived apart from mortals. The mortals got into your head, made you weak, then burned you at the stake.
Sabrina strolled up to them, smiling and wearing a buttoned-up sweater with a pattern of daisies on it, one thousand demented snakes in a daisy-patterned bag. “Hi, guys! Prudence, I hope you’re okay.”
Prudence didn’t deign to respond. Sabrina glanced toward the door of the classroom they’d just exited.
“Also, I thought we were meeting in the room.”
Prudence noticed that Nick Scratch, for someone who was all about honesty, stepped in front of the door very fast.
“We were saying goodbye to a friend in there. Plutonius Pan. He’s transferring schools. He’s very broken up about it.”
Sabrina accepted this without question. “I don’t think I know him.”
Nick stared down into her innocently puzzled face. “You don’t? I thought you liked him.”
“Me?” Sabrina asked. “No idea who he is. Honestly? I think all the guys here and their warlock supremacy schtick are awful. The only one I like is you.”
She took hold of Nick’s sleeve and began to pull him down the corridor, toward the library. Nick glanced at Prudence, pointed at himself and then Sabrina, and made a victorious fist. Prudence sneered and followed.
When they reached the doors of the library, Sabrina paused and gave Nick a once-over, which would have been promising if she hadn’t seemed so perplexed.
“Nick, do you mind if I ask what you’re wearing?”
Nick looked down at the garish and abominable shirt he was wearing. His expression became one of sheer horror.
“It’s not what you think!”
Sabrina was gazing at him in fascination. “So you’re a big superhero fan?”
Nick was silent for a long moment, then claimed: “Yes. My favorite is … Captain Iron.”
“Your favorite is Captain Iron?” Sabrina repeated.
“He’s the best one.”
Prudence had no idea what Nick was talking about, but she could see Sabrina was desperately trying not to laugh.
“I can’t argue with you. I see you know too much about superheroes.”
Nick nodded with obvious relief.
Sabrina smoothed her fingers along the sleeve of Nick’s jacket. “Thanks, Nick,” she said. “For trying out mortal things. That side of my life is important to me. I really appreciate you taking an interest.”
“I am trying,” Nick admitted. He was giving Sabrina the revolting look again, intrigued and hopeful, as though she were a box full of mysterious treasure.
Sabrina frowned. “Is that blood on your sleeve?”
“We can’t talk about my clothes all day, Sabrina,” Nick said hurriedly. “We have to work out what’s going on with the mortals! If Zelda wasn’t there, Prudence could have been really hurt.”
Prudence yawned. “Mortals hurt me? Unlikely.”
“I don’t know why banishing the dark spirit didn’t work,” said Nick. “I do believe the library will help us.”
Nick pushed Sabrina inside the library. Prudence followed, and as they gathered around a low, rune-marked table, she filled Sabrina and Nick in on exactly what had happened yesterday.
“There’s an excommunicated witch I know,” said Sabrina, who hung about exclusively in low company. “She said the Dwy Ferch Geg was the handmaiden of a prince of hell.”
There was a pause. A stone gargoyle, its eyes popping out, stared at Sabrina. Prudence couldn’t blame it.
“That seems like something it would’ve been important to mention yesterday,” Prudence said in a strangled voice.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Sabrina. “We still had to fight the
dark spirit, no matter what. But perhaps if we could figure out which prince of hell, we could figure out what’s happening to the mortals.”
Nick leaned forward, face intent on the puzzle. Prudence knew that expression from when he wouldn’t shut up about riddles or history, even when the Weird Sisters threatened him. Nick was fascinated, Sabrina was on a mission, and only Prudence was concerned by the oncoming storm of disaster.
“I think the mortals who ate in the tea shop are affected,” Nick theorized. “She must’ve poisoned their minds through her food. Poisoned luck, minds, and food. Surely the prince of hell would be one of the princes associated with poison.”
“We need every book we can get on poison,” said Sabrina instantly. “And we should look into the Dwy Ferch Geg more. We need to find everything we can on poison and Welsh mythology!”
They went forth and collected all the books they could. Nick built a book tower on the table in front of him. He’d read his way through most of the library, so some of his books were already annotated. He went faster than Sabrina or Prudence could, but it was Sabrina who stopped reading first and said, in a voice laden with portent, “Oh.”
Prudence did not like the sound of that “Oh.”
“What?” she demanded. “What did you find?”
“Um … an account of a massacre,” Sabrina answered slowly.
Actually, that “Oh” had been fine. The sound of the word massacre was much worse.
Prudence laid her hands flat on the table. Stay calm, she reminded herself, and blame Sabrina Spellman for everything.
“What does it say about the massacre?” she asked evenly.
Sabrina smoothed the vellum pages of the large tome before her and began to read.
“Long ago in the old country, a prince of hell opened a door and let his handmaid through. Poison spread across the land through food that tasted sweet as lies. It is an old, old poison, the poison of hate. Hate for the witches came to those who had eaten and then to those who had not.”
Daughter of Chaos Page 20