“Kite was asking for you,” said Circinae, knitting something slimy into a scarf. She sighed. “Did you bring more?”
“When? Where is she?” Eli pulled out a handful of sugar cubes and placed them beside her mother.
“Good girl. How should I know? I don’t ask such rude questions. Mind your manners — you’re getting more human every day.”
“I thought that was a good thing.”
“Well, leave it in the City of Ghosts. You’re keeping company with gods now. A true assassin can body switch and mind switch. You’ve always been stubborn. Too much granite.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I expect we’re to be summoned to the Coven shortly, so I recommend you wipe the smell of human off you.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Knit, purl, knit, purl.
“Is that all, Mother?”
“No. Where are my cinnamon sticks?”
Eli took them from her pouch and set them next to the sugar cubes. Circinae set down her knitting, picked one up delicately with manicured nails, and bit into it, crunching it like a bone.
“Don’t you want to know how the mission went?” Eli asked quietly.
“You’re here, aren’t you? I assume it was a success. I didn’t raise you to be stupid enough to come home a failure.”
Eli hesitated. “Of course, Mother.”
Eli stood there a little longer, the fire crackling purple, the shadows on the walls dancing like giant puppets. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, making a few buds bloom in her chest cavity. She clenched her hands. Took a breath in. Watched her mother for a glimmer of betrayal — sometimes, if you looked carefully, you could see the true colour of intention in the movements of the people who were supposed to love you.
Eli saw nothing. She exhaled. The summons had not yet come.
Not in immediate danger of being dismembered, she went to her room.
Once safely inside, she took Clytemnestra’s gift and raised it to her mouth. Gently, she bit down, piercing a hole through the centre. Then she grabbed a piece of spiderweb from the ceiling and threaded it through the hole. She hung the fragment of china around her neck, the pendant hidden under her shirt.
A series of marks on the wall caught her attention. A perfect red circle to symbolize hawthorn berry. A few faint lines for spiderweb. A jagged line to suggest broken glass. Several other marks that meant nothing to anyone but Eli.
The recipe for herself.
Once she had thought to learn the secrets of her making. She had believed that if she knew the ingredients that made up her body, she wouldn’t need Circinae to make her strong again.
Once she had even thought that this knowledge would free her. She had been reckless, playing a foolish, dangerous game. But she had given that up. She had accepted her place in the order of things.
She stared at the parts that had gone into her making and shuddered. This is what she would become if she were to be unmade. A collection of found things. Pieces of stone and glass. Circinae had raised her on stories of failed and disobedient assassins who were turned back into parts and repurposed. Or worse — fed to the Heart of the Coven.
And now Eli had killed a human.
Blood smeared across the tile floor. The look of terror in his eyes before the knife —
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Heart thrumming, she turned away from the scribbles of a young girl. Kite had left an altar of moss and frostberries on the windowsill. Eli grinned, felt a warming in her chest, a dangerous furnace for a wooden house. She knew she should lie down on her own bed of moss and sleep. But Kite was waiting, and Eli knew where to find her. So instead she opened the window and slipped outside, feeling a different kind of thrill from the one hunting gave her.
These were the moments she lived for, morsels of stolen freedom.
Four
Eli had met Kite the first time she ran away from Circinae, back when she’d meant it when she called her “mother.” Before she had learned that it wasn’t a term of endearment: it was a title. (Eli reminded herself of that every day. She understood that creators have strings embedded in our hearts.)
She had run into the invisible maze, looking for shelter, imagining a secret hideout of other made-things, hungry and fierce and loving, who might rescue her from the witches.
She’d become lost in the Labyrinth. She was young, and young things are reckless.
“Come and play with me, little human!” A giggle from behind her. Eli spun around, but the wall was smooth.
“Over here, little girl!”
“This way!”
“No, the other way!”
Laughter dogged her steps, always coming from behind her. Eli could feel the eyes of the wall watching her, and she feared they were Circinae’s. She didn’t yet know that there were much, much worse creatures in the world than mothers.
Panicking, Eli closed her eyes. She felt the darkness of her lids like a gust of cool air. Now that her eyes were closed, she could not be deceived by the smooth, impenetrable walls, nor the curving pathways and elegant staircases that seemed to appear out of thin air to carry her in dizzying circles.
Eli pressed herself against the wall. She could feel rough patches and cracks. She followed one of the cracks, her fingernails digging into the porous surface, where moments ago it had been harder than glass.
By touch, she followed the crack for several minutes, until she realized the voice had stopped following her. As she turned a corner, she could feel that the crack was growing wider, and she could fit the tips of her fingers in it.
Soon, she could jam her hands in up to her knuckles. She felt earth and wetness. She knew, somehow, that this was leading her somewhere. Leading her out of the Labyrinth.
When the crack widened to allow her entire hand in, Eli stopped.
She felt eyes on her body again, and this time, they felt like a warning.
She’s coming, they told her.
Eli started digging frantically, ripping out pieces of the wall, pushing herself into the dark, narrow crevice.
Closer.
She will catch you.
This is her world.
No. This is our world. Her world is outside our walls. Stop, child, you’re hurting us!
This isn’t your home!
“This is my home!” Eli cried out, slamming her body into the wall. “This is my home!” She could hear the click of high heels on stone and took a run at the wall. She threw her body at the small hole she had made. “I am home!”
She passed through easily.
Behind her, the wall sealed shut, as if it had never been disturbed by the claws of a young assassin. Eli spat out a clump of dirt. It landed beside a pair of ballerina slippers.
Eli looked up to see the most beautiful child.
“Welcome home!” The child giggled. She offered a hand. “I’ve been waiting for you for ages. I eventually got tired and gave up, but here you are! Come, I’ll show you the peepholes where we can watch the witches. This is going to be so much fun. I’ve never had a pet before.”
Eli wiped her mouth and then took her hand. It was clammy and rubbery as seaweed. Lowering her head, Eli bit down hard.
The girl pulled her hand away. “Bad pet! Don’t bite me!”
“You taste like salt,” said Eli. “And I’m not a pet.”
The girl hesitated and then knelt down beside Eli.
“You tasted me. Now I will taste you. This will seal our friendship pact.”
Gracefully, she bent over Eli and bit her ear.
“You taste like life. And orange peels,” she whispered. “Your name is Eli.”
“How did you know that?”
“You told me in your blood. Can you tell mine? You have the taste.”
Eli looked into the sea-green eyes for a long moment and then felt the sound bubbling to the surface, soft on her lips.
“Kite.”
Kite exhaled. “Kite. Ye
s.” She squeezed Eli’s hand. “You have entered the Children’s Lair. Only children are welcome here. The walls and the Warlord keep us safe. You must not tell any adult about it.”
“I swear it.”
Kite smiled gaily and clapped her hands together. It sounded like a dying fish flopping uselessly on land. “Oh good. Now — let’s play.”
There was no day or night in the City of Eyes, just the pulsing dark of a sky that wavered between blackpurple and greygreen, the fierce glow of the city like a sun, and the twinkling lights of the human world somewhere overhead. Now the sky was acid green and black, sickly and spectacular. It felt like a portent, but Eli had never learned how to read signs.
Eli took the secret path to the island in the river. From there, she counted her steps — 115 north, 48 northwest — then spun around in a circle counter-clockwise four times. She plucked a hair from her head and offered it to the wind, who snatched it up immediately and devoured the dark strand. Finally, she closed her eyes and visualized Kite’s stormy eyes and bird’s nest hair. When she opened them again, Kite crouched before her, playing with a crustacean in a tide pool.
“What took you so long?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting months.”
Eli didn’t correct her.
“Got held up. Work, you know.” She slid her hands into her pockets and leaned against a tree trunk, feeling, for the first time all day, calm. Kite had that effect on everyone.
(The calm that Kite carried with her was dangerous.)
“Here, I made you a snack.” Kite blinked long feathery lashes that were like an insect’s antennae and reached out, her palms flat and facing the sky. The crustacean was petrified, an icy bit of meat that Kite had coaxed up from under the riverbed.
“You know I’m always hungry after a mission.” Eli grabbed the thing and threw it into her mouth, crunching a couple of times before she swallowed its sweet body. “Delicious.”
Kite bowed her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “Good hunting?”
“No.” Eli sighed and picked at a stray thread on her jeans.
“The ghost escaped?” Kite’s voice was like a lullaby, and suddenly all Eli wanted to do was lie down and sleep for years.
When Eli didn’t respond, Kite moved forward, soundless, and placed a gentle hand on Eli’s arm. Her skin was smooth and damp, like some kind of sea mammal.
“Eli?”
The touch and the voice made Eli’s heart slow, her breathing steady, even as she fought the urge to pull Kite into her arms and burst into tears. But no — that would be the human thing to do.
“I don’t know what went wrong,” Eli whispered. “I’m worried I’m going to get unmade.” Saying it out loud made it more real — and brought back the iron smell of human blood.
Kite’s grip tightened, and a bolt of blue lightning sparked through her eyes. “I won’t let that happen.”
Two pairs of eyes: one animal, one storm-touched. Eli pressed her forehead against Kite’s. “Circinae will kill me.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Kite. “But we can stop her.”
“What?” Eli pulled back.
Kite tried to look apologetic. Witches were notorious for not experiencing regret. “It was just something I came across in the Coven library. In the archives.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Kite drifted away from Eli and back to the tide pool. She began crooning softly, luring other creatures up from the depths.
“Come, let’s have a feast.”
Angrily, Eli walked over and stomped on the pool, sending critters scattering.
Kite sighed. “You have a human temper, Eli.”
“And you sound more like Circinae every day.”
Kite hugged herself and turned a hurt expression to Eli. “Take that back.”
“Then tell me what you found.”
“You know I can’t. That information is only for witches.”
“And I’m just a witch’s pet. Is that what you’re after, Kite? Trying to steal me from Circinae so you won’t have to build your own?”
The thought had been creeping into her mind ever since that day, almost six months ago by human time, when Kite had left her on the island. That memory poisoned their time together now, and made Eli doubt every word Kite said.
“Maybe I’m just a toy to you, now that you’re a full witch.”
“That’s not fair, Eli.”
“And you’re a shitty friend, Kite.”
“I’m doing the best I can.” Her voice sounded lost now, as if the sound waves were moving through water. That was how Eli knew Kite was truly hurt, and in her fury, she took pleasure in Kite’s pain.
“Well, I have more important things to do than feast and frolic today, Witch Lord,” said Eli coolly. “So if that’s all you can offer me, I’m leaving.” She turned on her heel to walk away.
“I’m not the Witch Lord yet, Eli.”
Eli paused and said quietly, “And when you are, I will lose you entirely.”
Eli hadn’t gotten farther than a dozen or so paces when Kite called her back, an inflection of fear in her voice. “Eli! Stop!”
Eli spun around, her hand already gripping her bone dagger. “What’s wrong?”
Suddenly, Kite’s magical body materialized in front of her, like mist come to life. She could move through the world like a fish cutting through the ocean. “A message. One of the animals brought it from under the riverbed.” She extended an arm, her hand clutching a thick piece of bark.
“A summons from the Coven.” Eli pushed her glasses up her nose and sighed. “They have the best timing.”
“Be careful, Eli, the Coven —”
“Thank you for the summons, messenger,” Eli said bitterly. “Now go back to your people and leave me alone.”
This time, Eli didn’t look back.
Five
Circinae was waiting, dressed in a long cloak of sewn-together leaves that were mottled brown and grey. “Why are you here? You should have gone straight to the Coven,” she told Eli angrily. “They don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Last time Eli had gone straight to the Coven, and Circinae had been furious. Then she had punished Eli by refusing to show her the secret entrance to the Coven for several hours (only a witch could come and go as they pleased).
“My apologies, Mother.” Eli took a calming breath and tried to push out the hurt and anger she felt after her reunion with Kite.
A thimbleful of guilt, acidic as bile, crept into her mouth. She spat it out. The glob of spit turned green and black, bubbled, and then was absorbed into the floor. The house thrived on powerful emotions.
“Let’s go already.” Circinae spat on Eli, her own saliva red as blood. It spattered across Eli’s face and stung, but she had learned as a child not to flinch. Magic always hurt, in one way or another. A witch’s skill was making the hurt someone else’s, but even they had limits.
A moment later, they were in front of the Coven’s main building, the white so blinding that Eli winced and squinted, wishing she hadn’t broken her sunglasses on a previous assassination — or at least had the forethought to replace them.
“Clean your face, you look disgusting.”
Eli wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. The saliva came off like flecks of rust.
Last time, Eli had stood in front of this pulsing monstrosity for hours, waiting to be let in, looking for a hidden doorway. Now, an elegant archway simply materialized in front of Circinae, and together they entered the most sacred and dangerous place in the city.
There was only one hallway. Shading her eyes, Eli followed Circinae down the hall and into a room that felt like the womb of a goddess. It was simultaneously bright and claustrophobic. It whispered of endless space and small, dirty prisons.
This effect was intentional. The architect had been the greatest witch of all time.
“You’re early,” said a voice that ech
oed against the walls. “We’ve only just sent the summons.”
Eli smiled to herself, pleased when the timelessness of the city worked in her favour.
Slowly, as her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see the outlines of the Coven’s first ring. They all wore white, creating the effect of floating heads.
Circinae knelt. Eli knelt, too.
“You bring death with you, little assassin,” said another voice. Eli couldn’t tell who was speaking — their mouths did not appear to move.
“I am death, lords.” She responded in the usual manner.
“Then rise, so we may inspect our tool.”
Eli stood, looking straight ahead. Circinae remained kneeling.
The Coven circled Eli, bits of soft fabric brushing against her skin, hands touching her hair and poking her stomach, like a doctor palpating for pain.
When the inspection was over, Circinae rose. Eli stepped back and waited for the negotiations to begin. As Circinae’s daughter and a tool rather than a person, she had no say in the matter.
“We have a new target. This one must be taken out immediately. It is our utmost priority.”
“So soon?” Circinae’s voice dripped with honey. “She has barely rested from her last assignment, which went extremely well. I had hoped to reward her.”
“She is a superior weapon,” one of them conceded. “The best daughter you’ve ever made, Circinae. But the threat is —”
“It is not for you to question the Coven,” another voice snapped, and Eli suspected they had said more than intended. “Is she ready, or does she need additional time to heal? We had thought she was a flawless design.”
How many daughters had Circinae made? And what had happened to them? Eli recalled Kite’s words and suppressed a shudder, questions she wished she had asked flooding her mind. Kite, what did you discover? And what will happen to me when you are the Witch Lord, sending girls like me to their deaths or killing us yourself? Will you even call it killing?
“Oh, she is ready, my lords,” Circinae bowed again. “You have seen yourself her fitness, her expert construction. I only wanted to ensure she is handled with the care befitting a daughter of her status.”
The Girl of Hawthorn and Glass Page 2