The Hungry Ghosts

by Miguel Flores

  Milly ran into the witch’s arms and hugged her. She knew it didn’t matter, that it was too late, but she didn’t want to let go. It was the most she could do to thank her. To say how sorry she was.

  Unseen by Milly, the witch’s eyes finally closed. Elsewhere in the forest, a single bamboo bud sprouted from the earth. The forest mourned their mother and the witch who had once guarded her heart.*

  THE THIRD HIATUS

  an orphan is nothing without her dreams

  For her entire life, Cilla had hoped she was different. She couldn’t explain why and she didn’t know how, but she knew she was. Somehow. She knew because she remembered things the others didn’t. She remembered names of people she never knew, faces of people she’d never met. Sometimes she remembered words from a different language, words that sounded like things a witch might say. She used to think Milly remembered too, like when Milly talked to the house, or when Milly saw the ghosts, or when Milly looked at Junebug.

  Eventually she realized Milly was lying.

  She didn’t know why Milly insisted on lying. She always knew Milly was a witch. Things listened to Milly. They never did when Cilla talked, no matter how hard she tried.

  Cilla was always told she shouldn’t want to be a witch, but what else could she be? What else would she want to be? Milly was a witch, and she was Cilla’s favorite person. Most of the time, anyway.

  When she found the book, Cilla thought it was her moment. And she thought that again when she ran away. And again when she met Edaline.

  But magicks just wouldn’t listen to Cilla. No matter what she said or how hard she tried.

  So Cilla started lying too.

  She met a cat and pretended she understood him. She looked out the window and pretended she saw ghosts. She lied so much that she even started to convince herself. Maybe that’s why she’d been able to convince Lilith.

  It was just enough of a lie to get what she wanted. What she thought she wanted.

  Unfortunately, even dreams, no matter how good, can get twisted if they are built on a lie. Cilla didn’t know how else to dream.

  But she was determined to learn.

  When the witch came for her the second time, she knew the witch really meant to take Milly. That somehow, for some reason, the witch meant to use Milly. Maybe even hurt her.

  So she lied again.

  This time, though, she didn’t lie for herself. She had lied for Milly. And in a funny way, that was the most witch-like thing she had ever done.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  the making of a witch

  Milly, Jasper, Horace, and Ash stood at the edge of the forest. This time on the side of the trees. This time looking into the city-state of Nignip, not out. This time not with fear of the unknown in their eyes, but fear of the known.

  Hightop.

  She knew now not to trust him. When she’d heard Edaline talk about him, she had told herself he would never be their best chance. But right now, he was the only one.

  Their most immediate problem was Milly’s hand. It hadn’t stopped glowing all day. At first it didn’t seem intrusive; it had been nothing more than a faint dim light outlining the mark of a moon. But as time went on, it grew brighter and brighter. Now it was about as bright as a star on a cloudless night.

  Milly tried everything she could do to hide it. She balled her hand as tight as she could, but light seeped out the cracks. She found a rag to tie around the mark, but the light broke through the fabric. Nothing she did made it go away. There was no helping or hiding it. She had the markings of a witch.

  Horace told her it looked fine. Ash pretended not to notice. Jasper said it’d get them all killed.

  But here they were now, moments away from Nignip, and it hadn’t stopped. Why hadn’t it been glowing when she needed it to—and now that she wanted to hide it, why was it glowing as bright as a new fire? Why did her own body betray her?

  Milly breathed in and looked at her friends. “You don’t have to come with me,” she said for the dozenth time.

  “But we are,” Horace said, speaking for the whole of them.

  Jasper looked determined, and Ash rustled with something that sounded like anger.

  “Okay, but you don’t have to.”

  “We want to.”

  “But—”

  “Milly,” Jasper said, “if you really don’t want us to come, just say it.”

  Milly didn’t say anything. In truth, she was relieved to not have to face Nignip alone.

  The party shuffled into the city looking very odd. At the front, a lanky half-giant with a shovel and a black cat upon his shoulder.* Just behind, a little girl with light bursting out of her hand and a wild broombranch without any discernible rider to keep it on track.

  As they passed through the city streets, Milly became more aware of people staring. Until those stares became whispers, and those whispers became loud enough to hear.

  “Is that a . . . ?”

  “Can’t be. They’s dead, aren’t they?”

  “Is she from the woods?”

  “But she’s so young!”

  “Who cares how young it is. It’s a—you know.”

  It didn’t take long until many of them made no attempts to hide what they were saying. The more they talked, the louder they got. The bolder they grew.

  And the more annoyed Milly became.

  “I thought their ‘kind’ were outlawed.”

  “Someone should alert the High Council.”

  “Or Hightop.”

  “Is she the reason the shadows ate my radishes?”

  “Is that an untamed broomstick?”

  Milly had just about had it. She wanted to talk back at them. She wanted to say, Yeah? So what? I talk to magicks and have a mark on my palm. I’m friends with a talking cat, and I decided not to tame a broombranch. Why does any of that make me dangerous to you? Why are you so scared? Why won’t you just say it already? Say it! Call me a—

  “WITCH!”

  A familiar round face screamed from a side street. “I knows a witch when I sees one, or my name ain’t Ned Culligan!” The gnob stomped his foot down with a thwack.

  Horace grabbed her hand and tugged her forward. “Come. Hurry.”

  “Why?”

  “Just hurry.”

  The half-giant pulled her past the distracted onlookers as Ned continued to scream.

  “Witch!” the gnob shouted again. “They’s the reason our cities been plagued by shadow! They’s the reason the winds have abandoned us. And she’s one of them!”

  One of the passersby immediately turned on him and spat. “Shut it, Ned. You know we don’t use that word around here.”

  “But that’s what she is! A no-good witch!”

  “What’d I say?!”

  Several of the other onlookers turned on Ned with rotten vegetables and pummeled him, forcing him to backpedal into his alleyway.

  “You know I’m right!” he sneered. “You’re all just too scared to call her what she is. A wicked, no-good, cheating w—”

  A large tomato splattered against his teeth.

  “Serves him right,” Jasper said with his nose perked up in the air, staring back.

  “I kind of feel bad for him,” Milly said.

  Jasper snorted. “Why?”

  “He’s scared. They all are. And they’re not even taking it out on the right person.”

  Horace came to an abrupt halt. “Uh-oh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Stay back.”

  “Let me see!”

  The half-giant refused to move, so Milly pushed one of his big arms out of the way and peeked around him.

  A parade of gnomes marched toward them, led by the one she’d previously seen talking to Hightop. Finnegan. His garb matched the rippling blue cloaks and gold emblems of
the others except for a single red string tied around his pointed hat.

  He whipped a wand out of his sleeve and pointed it directly at the half-giant. “Who are you and where are you headed?”

  “Uh.”

  Enough hiding. Milly stepped out from behind Horace and opened her fist toward the gnome. “I’m a witch,” she said. The light flickered as her voice trembled. “I’m here to see Hightop.”

  “Oh. Ah. I see. Do you mind—um, putting that away?” The gnome immediately lowered his voice and waved his hand furiously. “We can’t have you upsetting everyone. They’re not entirely ready to welcome witches back into the world just yet.”

  As one unit, Milly and her friends said, “What?”

  “Perhaps it’s best if you follow us.” Finnegan put his wand away and pulled out a pair of blue gloves. He handed them to Milly, his brow creased with concern. “And please, for the love of Arrett, do cover that up.”

  Milly looked at the others. Horace shrugged at her, and Jasper scrunched up his nose. Ash bristled again but didn’t say anything.

  She fumbled to put the gloves on and found that the light didn’t break through whatsoever. “How does it . . . ?”

  “Come along, come along.”

  The gnomes formed a circle around them and ushered them through the streets (which honestly drew more attention than it staved off). In fact, though the people around them had grown quieter with the gnomes’ presence, Milly felt the weight of their stares all the more. For so long, she’d been used to being invisible. To that feeling of people glazing over her as if she didn’t exist. Being a witch meant people noticed her.

  She wasn’t sure she liked how it felt.

  Jasper jumped down from Horace’s shoulder and walked next to her. “You all right?” he whispered.

  “I’m not sure I like this. It makes me feel trapped.”

  “I understand how you feel.”

  Milly felt her cheeks burn. “I—I never really apologized to you, did I?”

  Jasper shrugged.

  “Do you miss being a wind?”

  Jasper’s whiskers twitched. “Don’t think it really matters what either of us wants, does it? We’re the same. Stuck. Tamed.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah,” Jasper paused. Purred. “You know, you’re not that bad, as far as humans go.”

  Milly laughed. “Thanks.”

  “I do miss being a wind, but oddly, I think I’ll miss being a cat, too. I never had this many . . . what do you call ’em?”

  “Friends?”

  “Huh. Yeah, I guess so. Weird.” He shuddered. “Let’s just get your sister home quickly, all right?”

  The gnomes escorted the party all the way to the tower, and up it and past it, toward the castle no longer hidden in the clouds but now hovering loud and bright above all of Nignip. Finnegan stopped at the door of Hightop’s domain and took a deep breath. Milly saw a tiny shadow flick out of the way of his boot and disappear into the ground.

  When she looked back up, she saw Finnegan pull on what must have been an invisible rope. A long, threaded ladder unfurled from the castle and landed without a sound at their feet. Horace poked it. The material looked like clouds braided into thick cords. When Milly touched it, the ladder felt dry. Soft. Solid.

  Finnegan climbed up the first couple rungs. “Come along, come along.”

  “Why are we going up there?” Milly asked.

  “All will be revealed when we’re away from prying ears.” He turned and glared at a young boy peeking out from one of the nearby houses.

  The boy squeaked and ran off.

  “Please, we must hurry.”

  Milly followed after him and looked down at Horace, who seemed apprehensive of the strange magicks.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s much sturdier than it looks.”

  Horace frowned. “Ground good. Sky bad.”

  “That’s rude,” Jasper said.

  One of the gnomes shoved past Horace and muttered, “Why do we even have to take this stupid giant?”

  Milly scowled at the gnome until he took his foot off the ladder, then climbed back down and offered a hand toward the half-giant. “Come on, friend.”

  Horace let out a very pointed grunt, closed his eyes, and grabbed her arms with one large hand.

  Milly held on with every fiber of her body.

  “Too heavy?” he asked.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Jasper clambered onto the half-giant’s back, and together they all climbed up the twisted ladder. Ash hovered just ahead of the train of gnomes following Horace, complaining the entire time about how long it was taking them.

  As they climbed, Finnegan talked to Milly between short breaths.

  “So first things first, your lot are legally permitted now. Or about to be. Probably. I’m pretty sure you’ll be, anyway. So congratulations and all that. Don’t fall from excitement.”

  Legally permitted?! Milly wanted to exclaim. But didn’t.

  “Anyways, we haven’t told the general public yet. Mostly because the vote hasn’t been officially counted. BUT it’s pretty much guaranteed. Or so I hear. Or so it was. (This last thing with the North Wind might delay proceedings a bit.) We’ve been waiting on Hightop, who keeps stalling, but we finally passed a resolution that would let us employ a loophole to get around a clause that would let us—”

  Milly shook her head at all the big words. She didn’t understand what a single one of those meant.

  Horace grunted. “They vote without him.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Finnegan stopped to look down. “Well, yes, I was just about to get around to that part, if you would have let me finish.”

  A bead of sweat was forming on Horace’s forehead. “Please don’t stop.”

  “Fine fine.” The gnome resumed climbing and talking at the same time. “As I was saying, your kind’s about to be legally permitted again. Not that you were ever outlawed, per se. Just, um, highly discouraged.”

  “How can you discourage someone from being themself?” Milly asked.

  Finnegan ignored the question. “But now the High Council is officially welcoming all living witches back. As a formal courtesy.”

  “What he’s saying is they made a mistake and feel bad but can’t say that out loud so they’re backtracking instead,” Jasper mrrowed.

  “So why am I here?” Milly asked. “I needed to see Hightop.”

  “Well, we originally set out to find the Witch of the Wasted Woods and offer—ahem—our congratulations—”

  “You mean apologies.”

  “—but when we arrived it appeared the entire place had been ripped apart by shadows. Which put quite the wrench in our plans. But now that you’re here, I’m sure everything will still go smoothly.”

  Milly couldn’t believe the words coming out of this short man’s mouth. “You don’t care about witches. You thought Edaline could help you get rid of the shadows!”

  “That’s quite the accusation.”

  “Well?”

  “Know what?” Finnegan coughed loudly. “We’re almost there. Why don’t we save our collective breath and continue this conversation at the top?”

  Milly stared at the gnome’s back as she climbed. She may have been a new witch, but she wasn’t about to let herself be some pawn in whatever game these gnomes were playing. She was here to get her sister back. Nothing less. Nothing more.

  AN INTRODUCTION TO CHAPTER TWENTY

  a tale of two witches

  Milly and Horace shared a bench that wasn’t at all big enough for the two of them. Jasper lay curled at their feet with his head buried underneath his paws, too bothered to listen to the dry bickering of politicks. Ash had been asked to wait outside with the other, albeit tam
ed, broombranches. Or, according to these gnomes, broomsticks. A civilized name for a civilized people.

  The High Council of Pointy Hats and Flying Broomsticks wasn’t completely made of gnomes. Statistically, only eighty to ninety percent of them were gnomes, which they argued made them a democracy. Similarly, not all of them were wizards. Some of them, for instance, were sorcerers. Some double-majored as summoners like Hightop, or moonlighted as a seer. And they had even hired an enchantress to be their secretary.

  It hadn’t always been this way. In fact, once upon a very recent time a witch used to head their order. A witch named Lilith.

  Yes, that Lilith.

  Let’s start before the beginning, shall we?

  Once upon a time, every magicker in Arrett was a witch. It didn’t matter if they were a boy or a girl, a giant or a gnob. If magicks talked with them and they talked back, they were called a witch. Of course, this was back when all forms of magicks operated under PPAP, the Prime Premise of Asking Permission. Wizards were not yet around to simply take things. Enchantresses had not yet learned how to bestow magicks onto things that didn’t want magicks. Summoners did not try to control beings of magicks that weren’t meant to be controlled.

  There were only witches and there were magicks, and the two got along quite well. Many years later, as people grew more comfortable with taking and magicks got more accustomed to being taken from, witches became a rarer thing to want to be. But there was still one powerful and respected witch. Her name was Lilith. Unlike Milly, Lilith always knew she was a witch and always wanted to be one. You see, she’d had the pleasure of being born into a world where being a witch was something you were still allowed to want to be. She’d never had to question if being a witch was wrong or wicked or even weird.

  All that came much later.

  One day there was a small disagreement over Arrett’s trees. The wizards and gnomes didn’t understand why only broombranches were allowed to fly, so they wanted to harvest broombranches from the forests that used to cover the coastlines of Arrett and use them as their own personal steeds.