Always a Witch

by Carolyn Maccullough

  I blink. Rowena has managed to tame my hair into a tight knot and has pinned and tucked me into my costume, mending the worst of the rips and tatters. She also made me remove the two silver studs I had in my right ear and the two pink hearts in my left. "And, here, take these," she adds, metal glinting between her fingers.

  I look down at the small hoard of dollar coins, fifty-cent pieces, and copper nickels she pressed into my hand. I can't help but smile. Uncle Chester had given us each a few of these old coins throughout the years, and we used to fight over them all the time. "I knew you stole these from me."

  "I did not," Rowena says. "You lost yours. These were from my collection. Anyway, I made sure none of them was from after 1886, so you should be safe."

  I slide the coins into the inner petticoat pocket, where they feel agreeably heavy. "I promise not to spend all of these at once," I say, because the weight of everything else I should say is pressing at my throat. And then, because there's nothing left to do, I pick up the Domani very carefully by the chain. With a deep breath, I release the catch. The locket springs open and I brush my finger against the glass face.

  Between one ticking second and the next, the clock hands freeze in place. Tiny letters begin arranging themselves into an inscription on the back of the open lid. Letters written in a language that I'll never be able to understand. "Hurry, Rowena," I whisper.

  For one horrible instant I think my sister has changed her mind when she folds her lower lip between her teeth. Then she leans forward and reads the inscription in a soft, trembling voice: "Fire in the East and Water for the South, Air for the North and Earth in the West. All of these now Blood does bind. Yet even now Time erases what Blood would buy."

  We stare at each other.

  I find my voice first. "That's not what it said—"

  "The last time," she says, finishing my thought. A cold wind curls around my ankles, pulling at my clothes, and a splinter of lightning stabs across the blue sky outside my bedroom window. All at once, dark clouds race from the west to meet the growing light in the east. Glancing down at the watch in my hand, I notice the tiny second hand is spinning wildly backwards, followed more slowly by the hour hand. I reach out, brush the air above my sister's shoulder, careful not to touch her. "Tell Gabriel ... tell him I love him. That I'm sorry," I whisper.

  Rowena frowns. "Tell him yourself, Tamsin. When you see him in three days." Then she narrows her eyes at me. "You're not—"

  But whatever else she is going to say is lost as my windows rattle violently under the sudden onslaught of the storm. The Domani is burning in my hand, but I tighten my fingers anyway, and then the ground buckles once violently and darkness presses down across my eyelids with a weight that I can't endure. I black out.

  Five

  WHEN I OPEN MY EYES it's to find that I'm sprawled under a tree, bands of sunlight criss-crossing my faded black skirt. The sky overhead is a bright aching blue, and golden-red leaves drift like snow through the air. I pull myself to a sitting position, blink, and take in two small, solemn-faced children, a boy and a girl, standing just a few feet away from me. The boy sticks his thumb in his mouth, his eyes wide and round, while the girl holds a large wooden hoop in front of them both like a shield.

  "Hello," I say, my voice cracking a little.

  They both jump, and the boy jams his thumb even farther into his mouth and starts sucking it furiously. Finally, the girl speaks. "How did you do that?" she asks, her voice wavering.

  "Do what?" I ask as I dig a pine cone out from under my knee. I don't trust my legs yet. My head's still spinning and there's a weird empty sensation in my chest as if my heart is trying to drop down into my toes. I take a deep breath. I made it. I think.

  "You appeared out of the air."

  "Oh, that." I wave one hand and the little boy ducks behind his sister. "Listen, never mind about that. Can you tell me the date, first of all?"

  The girl's mouth curves downward and her pale eyebrows scrunch together. "How can you not know?"

  "I just ... don't."

  "October twenty-eighth," the boy said. "Nanny is going to give us candy apples on Beggars' Night."

  "Beggars' Night ... oh, Samhain," I say. Three days before Samhain. Alistair must have just arrived. A stranger appeared in the dying days of the year. There's still time to stop him. There has to be.

  The boy takes a half step out from behind his sister's skirts, and after pulling his thumb out of his mouth he says, "Are you one of them? The ones who walk on Beggars' Night?" He is eyeing me hopefully. "Can you do magic?"

  But now his sister turns her frown on him. "Don't be foolish, Collin. We wouldn't see her in the daylight if she were." Then she turns back to me. "That's what Nanny calls it," she adds suddenly. "Samhain. But Mother doesn't like—"

  "Collin. Eugenia," a female voice sputters, and then a second later, a middle-aged heavy-set woman, dressed in black with a white cap bobbing loose on her head, trundles toward us. "Where did you children get to?"

  "She fell asleep," Collin whispers to me. "She always falls asleep in the park."

  I glance at the woman's sun-scorched face while finally attempting to climb to my feet.

  "What mischief are you at?" the woman huffs as she hurries over to them. A sloshing liquid sound accompanies her movements. Abruptly, she claps one hand over her skirt pocket. The sloshing sound stops.

  "We were talking to the lady. She just appeared under the tree. Like one of your spirits that you—"

  "Hush now," the woman says, glaring at me as if I'm the one who claimed to be one of her spirits. She brushes down Collin's pants with what seems like a little too much force and then produces a smaller and more delicate white cap from her skirt pocket. "I found this on the bench, missy," she says to Eugenia, who scowls again but lets the woman settle it on her head.

  "I told Collin she's not one of your spirits," Eugenia says, her voice thickly smug. As the woman jerks the laces into place under her pointed chin, Eugenia reaches out and gives her brother a pinch on his arm. "I told him that since we could see her—"

  "Hush," the woman says again, and gives me another sidelong glance, her gaze sweeping me from head to toe. "I close my eyes for a second and the two of you run off. Talking to strangers and all. You'll both be the death of me, that's what," she mutters, giving Eugenia's laces one final tug.

  Just then a black and red carriage glides past us, the driver holding the reins tightly, staring straight ahead. The passengers, three girls around my age dressed in brilliant blues and scarlets, are giggling riotously as their glances skip over me. Even though I know it's silly, I sigh, trying not to look down at my black skirt.

  The woman straightens up, watches the carriage pass, and then takes both children by the hand and begins to lead them away.

  "Wait," I call after their retreating backs. The woman halts and turns, but just barely. "I'm looking for a family. The Greenes. Do you know them or where they live?"

  "Never heard of them," she says, and, lifting her nose in the air, she marches off. Collin gives me one forlorn glance over his shoulder, and I heartily wish I had taken the time to freeze his horrible nanny just for a minute so he could at least be satisfied. Even if that would have been an incredibly stupid idea, it still would have been fun.

  I take a deep breath and turn in a slow circle to get my bearings. I'm standing in what appears to be a park, with pathways curving left and right. Somewhere to my right, a fountain is gurgling and the shrieks of more children ring out across the grass. Trees, blazing with autumn golds and reds, surround me, and here and there through the branches I glimpse rows and rows of brick houses that look oddly familiar. It takes me a second and then I pinpoint it. Washington Square Park. I probably landed here because I had been thinking of my family's townhouse, which is—or I guess will be—on the north side of the park. I stare through the trees again, noting that there are definitely more of them than I'm used to. Turning northward, I search for where the huge stone archway should
be. Just a few months ago, Agatha and I had taken turns snapping each other's picture under it when we took a prospective NYU student tour.

  There's no archway.

  And now the ground seems to tip and spin beneath my feet, and for one second I feel a stab of fear. Maybe I'm not immune to the symptoms of Traveling after all. I put one hand out and press my palm against the rough bark of a tree to steady myself. Relax. You knew everything was going to be so different. And it's not like you haven't done this before. Then I swallow, trying not to remember that the last two times I Traveled, I had Gabriel with me and a guaranteed way of getting home. But thinking about gabriel is not an option, otherwise I really will start crying. I stare down at my other hand, which is still clutching the Domani. I hold the little locket up to my ear. Just as I thought, the clock is no longer ticking. The way home is truly going to be a mystery. I slip the locket over my neck, close the catch firmly, and, steeling myself, I step onto the nearest path, searching for a way out of the park.

  Six

  I FEEL LIKE ONE OF THOSE tourists that Agatha and I always used to sidestep around back in my own New York City. The ones that walk too slowly and stop right in the middle of the sidewalk so that you almost trip over them. The ones that fling out their arms, pointing and staring and exclaiming. Okay, well, at least I'm not pointing and staring and exclaiming, but I'm pretty sure my jaw's dropped a couple of times.

  This New York is so different from my New York. For starters, I can see the sky. There are no skyscrapers, no clusters of buildings reaching for the clouds. These buildings are all a lot shorter. And there are no cars and no people on skates and no joggers. Instead there's a parade of carriages drawn by horses jolting over cracked cobblestone streets.

  Which means mud.

  A lot of mud. The hem and lower half of my once black skirt is now flecked brown, and I can't say it's adding much to my look.

  "Oysters, oysters, oysters! Get them fresh," a man shouts as he pulls a cart past me, the wheels coming dangerously close to my toes. Right after him comes a stout woman screaming, "Hot pies, hot pies! Get 'em while they're hot!" A large basket is slung over her right arm.

  My stomach rumbles loudly and I step forward, waving my hand timidly. Instantly, she swerves across the path of an oncoming carriage, causing the driver to curse and haul on the reins. "How many?"

  "One," I venture.

  "Meat or fruit?"

  "Ah ... fruit?" Probably safer.

  With a nod, she plucks a pie out of the basket. Twisting it up in brown paper, she says, "That's a nickel, love."

  I fumble through my change, noticing her eyes skip downward at the clink of coins in my skirt pocket. Finally, I pull out one of the nickels Rowena gave me and place it in her square, chapped palm. She hands me the pie and the heat of it fills my hand.

  "Please," I say as she's about to plunge off into the traffic again. "I'm looking for some people. The Greene family. Have you heard of them?"

  But she's already shaking her head. "Sorry, dearie." Her eyes skim over me once again. "New to town?"

  I nod.

  "Looking for work?"

  "Um..."

  "Where's your family? Runaway, then?"

  "Sort of," I offer at last, since it's what she's going to think anyway.

  She's already nodding. "Don't you go down to Five Points. You stay away from that crowd. You don't need to go looking for work there yet. Things aren't that bad, I hope. Too many girls end up there," she sighs, and then abruptly she wheels off into the crowd again. I break off a corner of the crust and nibble it, then suddenly begin shoving large pieces of the pie in my mouth, not caring if I burn my tongue.

  After wandering down Broadway for another hour and almost getting killed twice, once by a speeding two-seat carriage and once by what looked like a bus pulled by six horses, I find the nerve to pull open the door to what looks like a bar, called the Lion's Head. But once I'm inside, it's all I can do not to run out again.

  The room is dim, as if the sunlight gave up trying to fight its way through the streaked and grimy windows. Smoke wreathes the low, uneven ceiling, and the floor is scattered with sawdust. Although the level of noise remains the same, all at once I can feel eyes on me. Mostly men crowd the bar and fill the tables, but here and there a few women loll on stools or drape themselves over the men's arms. Someone shrieks with laughter and I jump, my feet already turned halfway to the door. Then I straighten up, biting the inside of my cheek. Nothing's going to get done, Tamsin, if you don't try.

  Channeling Rowena at her best, I walk toward the bar in what I hope looks like a calm, cool, and collected manner. I place my hands on the sticky wooden counter, widen my elbows slightly to avoid having anyone bump into me, and stare at the bartender until he slowly moves my way. Since he takes so long, I have time to notice that he's huge; his shoulders and arms look like they're carved out of rock slabs. "What'll it be?" His voice is a growl and he stares at the air over my shoulder, so I abruptly stop channeling Rowena and go for Agatha.

  I give him a perky smile and say, "I'm looking for a family called the Greenes. They live around here. Have you heard of them?"

  His gaze finally shifts to mine and then he gives one shake of his massive head. "No. Can't say I have."

  Of course he hasn't. I sigh and review my options on finding my family. Town crier? Taking out an ad in the paper? And what paper would that even be? I bite down hard on my tongue, trying to think.

  With one meaty paw, the bartender unhooks a polished glass from the rack overhead and fills it behind the bar before placing it in front of me with a surprisingly gentle motion. "Drink that. On the house," he adds as I stare up at him.

  Before I can thank him, he moves away, responding to the call of another customer down at the end of the bar.

  I take a cautious sip of my drink. Not bad. As I wipe foam from my upper lip, a small man in a bowler hat settles on the stool next to me. He is dressed in a gray suit with a curl of lace at each cuff that flutters as he waves one arm at the bartender. But the bartender resolutely ignores him, and so the man turns to me and gives a despondent sigh. "New here, are you?" he says at last, eyeing my beer wistfully.

  Am I wearing a sign on my forehead?

  "Um ... sort of, yes."

  He nods excitedly. "I can always tell. Always tell." His nose twitches as if sniffing out information, and suddenly he reminds me of a ferret. "And what brings you to the big city?"

  I take another sip of my beer while considering the wisdom of talking to strange men in bars. In another century. "I'm looking for a family."

  His eyes sharpen and then linger on my chest. Suddenly, the beer leaves an unpleasant film on my tongue.

  I'm about to find another seat when he says, "I know lots of people in this city. What's the name?"

  Turning back, I watch as two more men and a woman in a low-cut blouse and a skirt settle in noisily on his other side. One of the men knocks an elbow carelessly into the small man's arm, and he flinches but otherwise doesn't protest. "The Greenes," I say at last, noting that this man's eyes are never still. They rove constantly across the bar top, my glass of beer, my folded hands, and beyond to the door. He frowns, cocks his head a little, then shakes it. "No," he says finally. "Never heard of them. The Greenes. That's a common enough name. Your family?"

  Almost automatically, I shake my head. "No. Friends of my mother's from long ago. I thought they might be able to find me work." Shrugging, I swallow my disappointment with more beer.

  I study my glass, considering my options, when he says casually, "So you are looking for work, then? I could find you a nice position, since you're new to the city." He blinks his eyes rapidly.

  Before I can help myself, I reply, "Oh, sure—and next you'll tell me that you can sell me a piece of the Brooklyn Bridge."

  Has the Brooklyn Bridge even been built yet?

  But the man only grins at me, revealing stained teeth. "You've got spunk. I like that." He leans in closer. "A lot of
girls who just come to the city meet a bad end. But I can help you. If you need work, I know of a family that's hiring."

  "Hiring for what?" I ask, suspicion still bright in my mind. I edge away a little. The man smells like vinegar.

  "Domestic help." Then he taps the brim of his hat, regards me with wounded innocence. "Whaddya take me for?"

  I'm spared from answering because the bartender lumbers back over, still ignoring the little man, who straightens up on his stool like a child suddenly at attention.

  He pulls three foaming glasses of beer for the people who just came in, then casts me a measured sidelong glance. I nod at him and he nods back, and suddenly, I decide that he might be my new favorite person in this century.

  "I'd like a pint, Joe," the little man quavers. The bartender swings his head down and stares at him, unblinking.

  "Show me your money first."

  The man lets out a sigh but rummages through his pockets and finally extracts two dull nickels from somewhere inside his waistcoat. He puts them on the bar slowly, his fingers edging them across the scarred wood. The bartender slaps his meaty paw down on them and they vanish. "That was for last week," he says, winks at me, and lurches off.

  The man crumples on his seat. "Anyway, this job won't last long."

  "That's nice," I say absently, trying to formulate a plan. Finish my beer, start going from door to door and asking about the Greenes? Where would they have moved from in 1895? Then a horrible thought occurs to me. What if they live out of the city? Somewhere in the country? In three days I'm not going to be able to cover much ground.

  Gradually, I become aware that the man's voice is still buzzing in my ears. "Solid family. Very wealthy. Lots of girls looking for work these days would kill for this position."

  "I'm sure they would," I murmur. If Gabriel were here now he could just find my family for me. Pressing my fingers into the bar counter, I try to blot out that thought just as the man leans in and taps his nose. "My niece," he says confidingly. "She works there now. She was just telling me that they needed a new girl."