“Where is the Rift?” Milly asked.
The wizard stared at her. “You really don’t know?”
Milly looked back at Horace, whose face was ashen.
“It was practically in your own backyard. It’s over the edge of the cliffs, past West Ernost. Where the war ended. It’s—”
“Home.”
Hightop rolled his eyes. “Anything else you’d like to know, or can we head back now? I’m itching to get this awful business over with.”
Milly shook her head.
“Let’s get to it then.” Hightop turned toward the steps, then stopped. “You know, you never told me you were a witch. Can’t say I’m not a little hurt. I thought we were friends.” He laughed and continued down. “Oh well. I suppose now that you can be a witch in public, there won’t be any more reason to hide, will there?”
Milly and Horace shared a worried glance, then followed the wizard back down the stairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
everything has a price
The council room was crammed full of noise and people when they returned. Milly couldn’t help but glance down at her hand a third time. She felt it burning beneath the glove. What was happening to her? It felt like her own body didn’t know if she was a witch or not. Like there were two Millys inside of her, wrestling for control. The one that wanted to be a witch, that wanted to be kind and powerful at once, that wanted to befriend and defend magicks to her last breath.
And the other. The one who would do anything to save her sister, even if it meant taming a wind. Even if it meant hurting someone. The side that wanted to be powerful without consequence.
The only thing that the two had in common was this: they were tired of asking for permission.
So when Milly walked back into the room, she was already ready to leave. Regardless of what the council’s decision was.
As before, all members of the council sat to the left and right of Mulligan. Hightop calmly walked over to his seat and winked at Milly from where he was. While the gnomes and humans around him argued violently with the others across the aisle, he appeared to be calm. Frighteningly so.
Milly stood next to Horace, pressed against the back wall by the crowd of people. There was nowhere to sit with how many bodies now filled the chamber. They were mostly gnomes and humans from other parts of the castle, but Milly also recognized citizens of Nignip pushing in from the outside of the room. A familiar giant stood just outside the door poking her head in. Her loud voice boomed through the room. “Wurches gooooood!”
Horace’s face cracked into a wide smile, and he echoed his mother.
For a brief moment, Milly felt the pain in her hand subside. She looked around the room to see if she could also spot Jasper when she felt a fuzzy head bump into the back of her knee.
She looked down. “Oh, good; you’re here!”
“Yeah, I had to sneak back in after they chased me out of one of their libraries.”
“I’m glad to see you,” she admitted.
Jasper blinked. “Yeah, you too. Did you find anything useful?”
“We found this.”
“A picture? Anything else?”
“We need to go back to St. George’s. Hightop said the witch was bringing Cilla back there.”
“What? Why?”
“She thinks she can use Cilla to get rid of the shadows. She wants to . . . sacrifice her.”
After several more moments of the crowd shouting and arguing, Mulligan finally stood up and looked out over the room without a word. Little by little, the chamber quieted until there was a strange, deathly quiet.
Mulligan sat back down and nodded his head at Venykk. “Starting with the oldest member, announce your vote. Yea to reinstate witches in this hallowed chamber. Nay to exile them from the traditions officially.”
Venykk stood up and, with a very still voice, spoke. “Yea.”
“Nay!” Piddippin said quickly after.
“Nay,” said the next.
“Nay,” said yet another.
“Yea.”
They went on like this until there were eight yeas and eight nays, with only Hightop’s vote left.
Everyone held their collective breath.
Hightop stood from his chair and smiled at the room. “For many years, I have strived to be on the right side of history, and I hope to continue that tradition today.” He looked directly at Milly. “If they ever screw up, I’ll be the first to admit my mistakes. But for now, celebrate, little witch. Return home. I vote yea!”
It must have been quite shocking, for it wasn’t until one person broke the silence with a cheer that the chamber erupted into noise again.
Piddippin cursed at Hightop. “You traitor! You’ve handed the vote to them!”
A couple gnomes tried to shout their objections over the growing crescendo, and Mulligan shouted from his chair, “WITCHES LEGAL NINE YEAS TO EIGHT NAYS,” but it didn’t matter. The chamber erupted in pandemonium. Several angry gnomes reached for Hightop, but a large crowd had already stampeded to him, some cheering, others cursing.
“We need to get out of here,” Milly said to her friends.
“Agreed,” Jasper said.
“Okay,” Horace said. He picked up Milly and Jasper and tried to wade toward the door.
“SHE’S ONE OF THEM! A WITCH!” Someone shouted, and several eyes turned from Hightop onto Milly.
The already crowded room got more packed as people pushed in from the outside. Mulligan attempted to silence the chambers, but no amount of sternness could quiet the pressing mob. Horace tried to push through to the door, but not even the half-giant could force his way through the crowd.
“Let her down!”
“Give us the witch!”
Milly tried to glance back to see what was happening in the room. It looked like Hightop had somehow managed to slip away while the rest of the High Council did their best to keep people from stomping on their desks.
Suddenly, Milly felt Horace’s body jolt away, and she realized that the half-giant was being lifted up and over the crowd. Into the arms of Horace’s mother.
She squeezed him tight and said something to him in a language that sounded like thirty-two rocks tossed in a giant hamster ball.
Horace responded in the same language, using a much longer string of words than Milly had ever heard him say before. Then he pointed down at something, toward the stables where the broomsticks were kept.
His mother nodded, locked eyes with Milly, and smiled. Then the giant turned and, with Horace on her shoulders, and Milly and Jasper on his, they stepped over the people scurrying up the stairs. They had no competition whatsoever for the giant steps, which made their getaway all the quicker. Milly laughed at the faces below her. Though she’d never noticed it, an invisible weight seemed to have lifted from her chest.
A witch. She could actually choose to be a witch now! Of course it made sense. Of course this was the thing she’d once wanted to be, the dream hiding deep inside her that she’d ignored and forced out for so long.
But . . . the weight wasn’t completely gone. Being a witch didn’t mean people would stop treating her differently. It didn’t mean her sister wasn’t still in trouble because Milly had kept being too scared to tell the truth.
She needed to go home. She needed to find Lilith and stop whatever she was planning to do. She had to make sure Cilla was . . .
Horace’s mother stopped next to the broom stable and lifted Horace off her shoulders, who then lifted Milly off his shoulders, who held Jasper in her arms. When her feet hit the ground, Milly turned toward Horace’s mother.
“Thank you,” she said. “I remember you from before. When the gnomes . . .” Milly gulped. “Anyway, thank you.”
The giant nodded her head, then looked expectantly at Horace. She said something in rock tongue.
His mother shook her head firmly.
Horace rubbed the back of his head. “You run,” he said. “We stay. Mother say not safe.”
Milly looked back and saw that the crowd was finally working their way down the stairs. They’d only made it halfway. “But I don’t want to leave you here.”
“We leave Nignip. After you run.”
“Milly,” Jasper said. “We shouldn’t argue with a giant.”
Milly’s chin quivered. “Thank you, Horace, for everything.”
“When find, tell Cilla hello?”
“Of course. You two stay safe, okay?”
“Okay.”
Milly turned toward the stable, where she saw Ash pulling against a silver thread. The broomsticks around Ash just sat against the ground. They’d all learned to stop trying to escape a long time ago.
Milly ran to Ash and tried to undo the rope, but when she undid the knot, it just twisted itself back into shape. Horace’s mother saw it, too, and Milly saw the giant’s neck tense.
“I’ve been trying to get out ever since they took you,” Ash said. “But these blasted gnomish magicks just won’t. Let. Go.”
Jasper sniffed the rope and hissed. “Domination magicks,” he said. “Not unlike the magicks you used on . . .”
“You?” Milly finished the cat’s sentence so he wouldn’t have to.
“Yeah,” he said.
“How can we undo it?”
“Can’t,” he said. “Not unless you’re willing to pay its price. Gnomes don’t look very kindly on promise-breakers.”*
Milly ripped the gloves off her hands. The light from her palm flickered with her own uncertainty but dimmed into a calm silver as she put her hands on the rope. A bitter scent hit her nostrils. She remembered the flutterwishes. She knew she could break this. “Do you think they’ll try to make witches illegal again if we start breaking rules?”
Jasper laughed. “Probably.”
She narrowed her eyes.
And snapped the rope.
The knot instantly fell limp to the ground as Milly felt her arms burn with the sensation of an invisible cord wrapping itself around her wrists. The feeling didn’t last long, however, since it was meant to tame broomsticks and not little girls.
Just as before with the flutterwishes, the rope faded away into the white fire of her hands and Ash flew free.
The other broomsticks appeared to notice. Some of them cowered back while others poked up their trimmed yellow-leafed ends.
Milly looked over at them. “Do you want to be free, too?”
They didn’t answer for a moment. Not until the nearest poked out and bristled its yellow leaves. “Free us, witch.”
Milly lifted her hands and closed her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said, “but I can try.”
A loud, violent crack erupted, and she snapped her eyes open to see the entire roof of the stables torn out from its roots. But that doesn’t make sense! I didn’t . . .
No, it wasn’t her at all. She watched in awe as Horace’s mother tore the stable apart beam by beam, stone by stone. Dozens of invisible ropes lashed against her forearms and legs, making her grimace each time, but she didn’t stop. Every time a rope remade itself, she bit its fibers and spat them out. Every time a beam tried to reconstruct itself, she kicked it over and ground it to dust.
Soon, no amount of the gnomes’ clever magicks could reconstruct what wasn’t there to build.
Milly looked at the giant, whose arms were now red and whose chest was heaving. “Why did you . . .”
The giant took a deep breath and spoke in a ragged voice.
Horace interpreted it for Milly: “Mother say she hurt now. You must run. Must save sister. Must . . . hurt later.”
Milly lowered her hands and looked down at her wrist. A thin, crooked red line coiled around it, and she shivered, wondering what price she’d have to pay to break her sister’s promise.
“Uh-oh,” Jasper said.
Milly heard angry shouting and snapped her gaze back up to see the crowd running across the ground now.
One of the gnomes raised his wand at them. “That’s mine!” A vine pulled itself out of the ground and reached for one of the brooms.
Horace’s mother stepped in front of the broom and caught the vine. It tried to wrap around her fingers, but she snapped it apart with ease. It is much harder to tame a giant than it is to tame a broombranch.*
Milly turned to Horace, horribly aware of how much she’d miss her friend. “I wish we’d had more time. We barely got to know each other.”
“See you soon.” The half-giant smiled, then lifted Milly and Jasper and deposited them on top of Ash. “Take care of witch friend.”
“I’ll do my best,” Ash said, and shot off into the sky, surrounded by the other freed broombranches. They chittered and bristled and laughed among themselves as they made their escape.
But Milly couldn’t laugh. She kept her eyes on the giants the entire time, wishing she could help them, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
an east wind, who is nobody but themself
Milly, Ash, and Jasper struggled against the winds as they raced through the sky. A storm brewed above them, tossing its wild curls in their face. The other broombranches had abandoned them long ago. Wind whistled through the tangles in Milly’s hair, as if trying to pull her off. The tips of her ears burned from the cold.
“Couldn’t we have gone around?!” Jasper wailed. He was wrapped in a blanket tied to Milly’s back.
“There isn’t time!”
“This is more fun!” Ash said.
A booming echo reverberated, and Milly clutched tighter, shivering and hugging her body as close to the broom as she could.
“Just tell me when it’s over!” Jasper said.
“Aren’t you a wind?”
“A little wind! This is . . . this is not little.”
She heard a poof and felt a soft wave of dampness hit her.
The world slowed down and the broom righted itself. With her eyes squeezed shut, she felt a warmth on the side of her cheek.
Milly squinted one eye open, then both. She sat up and gasped.
Beside them was the sun, rising in the east.
It was bigger, truer than the sun she knew. Somehow, if the sun she’d known from below was the size of a copper piece, up here it filled the whole sky. This sun could not bear to share the sky with any spot of blue even if it wanted to. Despite being so close to it, she felt warm without burning. Here was the sun, unclothed in all its glory, vulnerable and unashamed.
She laughed and lifted her hands.
Loud thunder rolled through the clouds beneath them, and Milly grabbed the broom again. “What was that?” she whispered.
From the clouds emerged a large pale figure, blocking out part of the sun. Steam blew from a hole in its center, and the thunder rumbled once more. The creature disappeared back into the clouds.
Milly stretched her neck to see if she could spot another sign of the mysterious being.
A large gust of wind blew up from beside them, and the hill rose again, higher this time, a large white wall in front of Milly’s face. Before her was a large, unblinking eye the size of St. George’s. It stared at her with an intensity that made her shiver. A pillar of smoke jetted from the top of the creature’s back. Another rumbling filled the sky before the creature fell back down into the curling wisps of cloud.
Milly felt her chest tighten. “It’s a whale. A giant whale. In the sky.”
“Yes, witch.” The voice that came from beneath the white surface was very deep and terrible. “To some, I am nothing more than overcast. A cloud that brings rain to their fields. To others, I am the storm that whips across the coast. To you, little one
, I am a whale.”
She gulped. The sound of their voice left her equally in awe and in fear. The whale could have swept them out of the sky with one swish of their tail if they wanted to, but they hadn’t. Yet.
“You seem to be more than just that,” she said.
“And what do you think I am? Maybe you should ask that shivering friend on your back.” Now they turned their eye on Jasper. “Surely you remember me.”
Jasper poked his head out, shivering even more despite the warmth of the sun. “Y-you’re the . . . you’re the E-E-East—”
“Wind,” they finished, rolling up once more and blinking their heavy eye. “I, caller of little winds who have abandoned their duties catching rain from the cliffs. I, finger painter of waves and shorelines. I, who swallow anchors and spit out ships.” Their voice grew louder and darker with every word, thunder rippling through the clouds and lightning sparkling in between the cracks.
Even Ash shivered at the sound.
“But,” the whale continued, “it does not matter what I am. The real mystery is, what are you?”
“I’m a girl,” Milly said, warily.
“No.” The wind grew loud, then soft. “I mean what are you? Some call themselves kings, others call themselves knights. A few,”—they paused—“even like pretending to be gods.”
Jasper shrunk deeper into his blanket.
“I suppose,” Milly started, “I might be a witch.”
“Suppose? Might?”
“Maybe I’m a mother. Or a sister. Or a thief or a troublemaker or—”
“No,” the wind said. Their voice thundered. “I did not ask what others call you! I did not ask what others have decided you are. What do you call yourself? Tell me. What are you?”
“I don’t know!” Milly shouted. Then, quietly, she swallowed. “I . . . I don’t know.”
The wind slowed until it was no more than a slow breeze against her knuckles. “Good. An honest answer.”
Milly shivered. The rain against her skin felt ice cold.
“And you, little wind. I see you have taken quickly to your name.”
The Hungry Ghosts Page 18