Always a Witch

by Carolyn Maccullough

  "La Spider did that?"

  Cook stares at me. "Who?"

  "Sorry, Lady Knight froze her. I didn't think she could—"

  "No." Cook shakes her head. "It was her brother. Calvin Knight." She practically spits the name out. "He did it because she told him to. He just reached up and put his hand right over her heart"—she claps her own hand to her chest—"and then she was a great big stone. And they laughed and laughed while I cried. They told me that they could have done this to me, but that Lady Knight was too fond of my lemon soufflés. Too fond of my lemon soufflés." She takes another swig from the bottle.

  I draw in a breath to fight down the nausea surging inside me. And the anger. At the Knights for doing this, at my own family, who still wouldn't care if I told them this new evidence because after all, Cook and her sister are just Talentless humans. "I'm going to fix this," I mutter. "If it's the last thing I do in this stupid century, I'll fix this."

  Cook blinks at me and I take the bottle from her outstretched fingers, take a gulp, then nearly choke. "What is this?" I gasp. The bridge of my nose feels like it's on fire.

  "Not for beginners," she says, taking the bottle back from me. "You really can help me?"

  I nod. "It might take some time, but yes."

  She gives me a bleak look. "Time is all I have left. She was my only family." She studies my face for a moment. "If you're not like them, then what are you?"

  I shrug. I have no way of answering that.

  Mr. Tynsdell hisses a last-minute bout of instructions at me as he trims candlewicks and inspects the place settings for the seventeenth time. "Remember to serve on the left and clear from the right," he says while polishing a bone-handled carving knife with a handkerchief. "After the oysters and champagne are served, then..."

  But I can barely listen to him. Instead, for probably the tenth time, I reach into my skirt pocket to check the time on the cameo watch that Jessica gave me. Seven o'clock. I have an hour and half before I have to let Gabriel in the side gate. I figure I can at least observe what the Knights are up to and maybe take this information along with the clock back to my family. Then they'll have to believe me.

  Smoothing his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, Mr. Tynsdell gives me one last glance, and then says in his heavy voice, "I will make the announcement now." He sweeps from the room, his long narrow back like an exclamation point, and not for the first time do I wonder what keeps him here.

  Candlesticks and white linen, crystal goblets and golden plates, all begin to blur before my eyes and for one second I wonder if I can claim that I caught Rosie's fainting disease. Then the door opens, and in this setting, once again, I am struck at how different a family dinner this is.

  My family would be piling through the door, pushing and shoving, shouting good-naturedly, with Uncle Morris probably popping in and out of view, stepping on people's toes and apologizing before disappearing again. I could envision Aunt Beatrice darting around looking for an unattended wineglass, while Uncle Chester would be "accidentally" breaking something, much to my mother's annoyance, just so he could "fix" it. My father would be discussing his latest experiment with pea shoot grafting with anyone unlucky enough to be listening. James would be entwined around Rowena, his anchor, and last of all, my grandmother would be surveying everyone and everything so calmly, maybe closing one eye in her trademark wink.

  Tomorrow night is Samhain, and I try not to think about how my family would be celebrating it. Then I give up and think about it anyway. Everyone would be gathered around the altar in the backyard and later there would be dancing around the bonfire. There will be other festivals, I remind myself fiercely, swallowing hard against the pain in my throat. Gabriel will be able to find them again, he will.

  Then I stop thinking about Samhain and my family as La Spider enters the room, leading the procession of Knights. She is escorted by a tall man with a thin mustache that looks sharp enough to cut. His dark eyes flick over me as if I'm part of the wall, and I wonder if this is Calvin knight. Three more couples file in after them, the women all dressed in silk and taffeta and the men in dark suits with long waistcoats. Then a teenage boy and girl pass me, already looking bored, escorting an elderly woman between them. And finally, Jessica arrives, led in by Liam. Her round face is even paler than usual and her arm looks like it's been bolted to her brother's. Liam doesn't even acknowledge me. I assume he must have been with his mother when Mr. Tynsdell informed them that Rosie would not be assisting him that evening.

  But they wouldn't have mentioned something so unimportant to Jessica, because her eyes pass over me, stop, and flicker back. An expression crosses her face briefly before her features resume their normal neutral mask, and so I'm left to puzzle over Jessica's look. A brief flash of what? Hope? But I don't have much time to think about it anyway, as Mr. Tynsdell's now signaling me.

  When everyone is seated, he begins to pour the champagne. I cross to the side table with two plates at a time and begin placing the raw oysters, still quivering slightly in their half shells, in front of each person. I serve Lady knight first and then all the women, as he's instructed me, before the men. when everyone is served, I retreat to the sideboard as expected, fold my hands behind my back, and wait.

  La Spider holds her glass aloft. "Welcome, dearest family," she says. "It's a pleasure to be gathered here with you all tonight."

  Candlelight shimmers and sprays across the crystal as twelve answering glasses are raised. Mr. Tynsdell twitches toward the champagne bottle as if already planning refills, and then the clink of forks and knives and conversation fill the room. The dumbwaiter rumbles and dishes appear, and my job is to unload them as fast and as silently as possible so Mr. Tynsdell can carry them off to the diners.

  As the third course, what looks like tiny chickens in some sort of creamy-looking sauce, is cleared away, my heart begins to slow down to a normal rate. So far, the talk has been ... ordinary. Ordinary nineteenth-century gossip. Politics, the state of the theater, and how dull the latest offering was at the Promenade. Delmonicos's new location and what it means for the rest of the city. The French singer, Marie Caitlin Amore, who was wearing almost nothing onstage and who apparently has a very rich politician in her pocket.

  Tiny silver dishes of lemon ice garnished with curls of lemon peel appear in the dumbwaiter. I'm lifting them two at a time to the sideboard when La Spider raises her glass again and the room stills. All turn expectantly toward her. Except for Jessica, who stares down at her lap. For most of the evening she's pushed her knife and fork across the plate and eaten only air. Now La Spider says, "We've called you here tonight to witness something very special. As you know, my son, Liam, has long been striving to discover ways to deepen our Talents."

  An excited murmur breaks across the table like a wave, and La Spider pauses gracefully, inclines her head toward Liam. My hands tremble as I stack the last of the filigreed salvers into the dumbwaiter. The plates sink out of view as either Dawn or Lily pulls the cord two flights below. Mr. Tynsdell appears at my side like a wisp of smoke to hand me a tray of silverware.

  "Have you, Liam? Have you done it?" asks the man who escorted La Spider into the room. He leans across the table, his fingers toying with a silver serving spoon, bending and unbending the metal as if it's rubber.

  La Spider flashes this man a look, as if annoyed by the interruption, but then she pauses and nods at her son.

  "Well," Liam says, leaning back in his chair, "perhaps it's time for a little demonstration. Mother? what do you say?"

  "Perhaps you're right," La Spider murmurs. Obviously, this has all been rehearsed between them.

  Liam snaps his fingers, then looks at Mr. Tynsdell, who nods expressionlessly and leaves the room. The room swells with anticipation and I allow myself to scan each Knight family member's face. Eagerness, greed, anticipation dominate everyone's expression. Except for Jessica's. She presses her lips together in a bloodless white line.

  All too soon, Mr. Tynsdell returns,
followed by a small boy. I scan his face as he passes me, but it's not the same boy that I freed from here just last night. It's another child. Another, more unfortunate child. This one has at least the sense to be afraid, although who knows what they told him. His eyes are round and he stares at all of the faces that are turned so eagerly toward him. He is dressed in threadbare brown trousers and a shirt that's clearly too big for him. As the boy pushes his hair out of his eyes, his soiled gray sleeve falls back, revealing a bulky white bandage wrapped around one wrist.

  "Come here, child," Liam says in a kind avuncular tone.

  Run, I want to scream. Instead, I lock the scream inside my throat and try to keep my face blank. The child pauses, one foot digging into the thick golden carpet, and then he moves forward, his eyes fixed on Liam's face. Leaning back in his chair, Liam produces a small bottle from his coat pocket and pours half of it into his wineglass. He pours the remaining half into another glass and hands that one to the child. After dipping one hand in his pocket, he pulls out a small blue bottle and shakes it over his own glass until a few drops fall into the wine.

  The man across the table from Liam opens his mouth, but La Spider puts her hand on his arm and he leans back. Silently, he wraps the handle of the silver spoon around and around his thumb, his eyes watchful.

  Next, Liam lifts his own glass in a mocking toast and says gently, "To your health," before draining it.

  The child stares at his wineglass as if he's never held something that fine before.

  "Come, come, drink it all up, like I told you," Liam says, and winks at the table in general. But the child still hesitates, his eyes flickering around the room.

  The elderly woman stirs and hisses, "Drink it, you little—" but one of the other women whispers something too soft for me to catch and the elderly woman subsides, her mouth bunching into a hard knot.

  "Come along," Liam says in a still-jovial tone, although now a thread of steel runs through it.

  "What about the dollar?" the child says at last, his voice rough and harder than expected. He juts his shoulders forward like a boxer.

  "You'll have your money, never fear," Liam says, and then spreads his hands wide to the table. "A little entrepreneur, we have here."

  "Indeed," La Spider murmurs, her fingers tightening on her own glass.

  Do something! I scream silently at Jessica, but she never raises her eyes from her lap.

  The boy sips at his glass. He makes a grimace and jerks his head away, but Liam says softly, "All of it. That was the deal."

  The rest of the liquid disappears down the boy's throat. He swallows, shudders, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, "My money?"

  There is a sharp swell of silence, and then almost imperceptibly the boy's hand begins to tremble. His face draws into a knot and then he opens his mouth as if he's about to be sick on the carpet.

  "Easy now," Liam murmurs, and all at once the boy's face smoothes out and he turns blank eyes on Liam, who leans back in his chair, a small smile playing around his lips.

  The silence in the room is overwhelming.

  "Boy," Liam says softly, "I want you to turn in a circle three times."

  Obediently, the child shuffles his feet until he has come about-face. He does it twice more, then stops and looks at Liam with a waiting expression. "Excellent," Liam murmurs. "And now walk over to that side of the room and keep walking until I say stop."

  The child turns again and begins heading toward the wall with precise, easy steps. As he passes me, his eyes are alert, focused, and it's clear that he has no intention of stopping. As he comes within three feet, then two feet of the wall, Liam strokes his mustache thoughtfully but remains silent. The boy's forehead makes contact with the wall with a sickening thud and as he stumbles and falls to the floor. Titters fill the room.

  "Astounding," says one of the men who followed behind La Spider and her escort. He steeples his fingers on his chin, his eyes darting between Liam and the child on the floor.

  One of the Knight teenagers pipes up. "Make him do it again."

  "No, make him take off all his clothes," the girl interjects with a giggle. She stands up and says in a pretty good imitation of La Spider's tone, "Take off your clothes."

  But the boy, still sprawled on the floor, ignores her, rubbing his forehead.

  The girl sits back down, looking crestfallen. "Why won't he do it, Cousin Liam?"

  Liam smiles at her fondly, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Because he'll listen to me only. I've mixed his blood and mine in the spell, so only I can control him."

  A soft murmur breaks out and then the Knight boy leans forward with a glinting smile. "I want one, too," he says to the woman I presume is his mother. She smiles down at him brightly and says, "Soon enough, Edmund. Uncle Liam will show us how." Then she aims an arch glance across the table. "Won't you, darling? So we can all have ... a little pet?"

  But it's La Spider who answers. "As usual you fail to grasp what's happening, Clarissa." Clarissa's face flushes and her fingers flutter up to her pearl necklace, but she remains silent. "We do not do this so we can all have little pets for our own personal amusement."

  "How long will it last?" asks the second man, the one with the golden handlebar mustache who escorted Clarissa into the room. There's something similar to La Spider in the set of his chin and the way they both turn their heads in whiplike movements.

  Liam shrugs. "Not long, but as long as it's renewed, he'll remain under my control."

  "And will it work on one of us?" the man asks, his voice trembling a little.

  Liam's chair creaks loudly as he straightens up. He exchanges a look with his mother. "So suspicious, Calvin," La Spider says with a small smile flitting across her lips.

  I stare at the man. So that's Calvin Knight.

  "I was just about to get to that," Liam says softly.

  "Do you see, Clarissa?" La Spider chides.

  "Yes," Clarissa breathes, and then makes a preemptory movement to shush her son, who has opened his mouth again.

  "It will."

  There is a collective gasp around the table. I drop my own gaze to the floor, studying the dark inlaid squares of wood, but my head is spinning.

  "How did you learn this?" Calvin Knight asks, his eyes darting from his sister's face to Liam's. I try to figure out if it's fear or greed in his expression. "Who ... volunteered to..." His eyes fasten on Jessica now.

  Liam laughs. "Oh, no. I didn't experiment on anyone you know. We don't experiment on each other. Unless anyone would like to volunteer?" No one replies except for Clarissa, who gives a small, nervous titter. La Spider's eyes dart to her and Clarissa flushes and looks down at her fingers gripping the table, her sleeve almost dipping into her dish of melting lemon ice.

  "I would," Jessica says suddenly. Everyone's head swivels to her. I fight to keep my gaze neutral.

  "Jessica," Liam begins with a smile playing across his full lips. But the look she sends him blasts the smile from his face.

  "I would let you drain me of my blood as long as it would drain all my Talent away. But somehow I doubt that you really want the ability to heal people, Liam. That's not your specialty, is it?" Her tone is icy, mocking.

  "Oh, I don't know about that," Liam murmurs. "It could prove useful." He nods toward the child, who appears to be unconscious, on the floor. "But it's not necessary. For now," he drawls, and something about the way he says it makes me very afraid. "Just recently we had a visitor. A very special visitor. He proved to be more useful than I ever could have imagined. Allow me to introduce our next guest." He gives another nod to Mr. Tynsdell, who exits the room once again.

  Suddenly, it feels as if the walls are pressing in on me.

  As if locked in a bad dream, I watch the door swing open and Mr. Tynsdell return followed by a shuffling, stumbling figure. A bandage is wrapped around the man's head, and both of his arms are encased in gauze. He licks his lips once and scans the room, taking in all of the Knig
hts, who are staring back at him.

  I edge backwards until I bump into the wainscoting on the wall. Looking left, I calculate the distance to the still-open door. About twenty feet.

  Just when I'm weighing my odds of sprinting out of here, the man turns his face in my direction. Those blue-gray eyes burn right into me.

  "Tamsin Greene," Alistair hisses.

  Twenty

  FOR THREE HEARTBEATS the room is still and then Liam pushes back his chair and says, "Who?" just as Alistair flings his arm out toward me and screams, "That's her. She's here. I told you she's here."

  "Who is this madman?" Calvin Knight says, also coming to his feet to stand next to Liam. "And what is he talking about?"

  Behind Alistair's shoulder I see Liam stare at me and then gather himself as if he's about to spring. My skin suddenly tingles. But Liam remains solid. And very surprised.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you. That was the third time.

  La Spider flings up one hand and the door suddenly slams shut.

  So much for that exit.

  I take a step closer to the sideboard and the dumbwaiter. In my peripheral vision, the rest of the Knight family is coming to their feet, and voices begin to buzz through the room. But Alistair only has eyes for me.

  "You won't succeed, Tamsin," Alistair says, his voice hoarse. His lips are dry and cracked, and the whites of his eyes have taken on a yellow tinge. "It's too late. I've made sure of that. I've saved my family."

  I note the half-empty champagne bottle within reach and try to gauge how hard I could hit someone with it. "And look how they rewarded you!" I indicate his bandaged head and arms. "By practically killing you."

  "Apparently, you don't understand what it means to sacrifice for your family."

  "I understand—"

  "My Talent is gone." He raises pole-thin arms and shows me the fresh scabs crisscrossing his skin. "It's been bled away. But I don't mind. As long as it's helped my family to understand their true potential, their truth worth."