“You’re the most ungrateful sacks of offal in Ellemire,” said Oleander. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be street urchins, doing parlor tricks for moldy bread.”
For once, Aster welcomed a fight. Maybe while the women were busy cursing one another, she could escape with a few dinner rolls and spend her last night in her room with Larkspur curled up and purring beside her. At that, she felt something new welling up inside her: an exhilarating sense of impending freedom. After tomorrow, she’d have a whole world through which to move as she pleased. The other stuff—meeting a boy, getting pregnant—was all now light years out of her mind.
She stood up and started fixing herself a plate to take back up to her bedroom.
Oleander stopped in the middle of her tirade and looked at her with a scowl. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Fixing a plate,” said Aster.
Oleander smiled triumphantly at the others. “See? She’s ready to eat too. Why you waste our time on such ceremonial nonsense—”
“I’m taking it upstairs to eat alone.”
Oleander’s gape of outrage almost made Aster laugh. “You’re what?” An ugly blue vein popped out in the middle of her forehead like a lightning bolt. Aster thought she could see it pulsing.
“I don’t have to sit here and listen to everyone fight on my last night here. You all can all just carry on without me.”
“Aster, honey,” began Dahlia.
Oleander stood up and grabbed Aster’s wrist from across the table. “Sit down, you prissy pink haired bitch.” Greasy spittle flew from her mouth and her eyes flared like fireflies.
Dahlia flew up out of her chair with an outstretched hand. An instant later, an explosion of green gelatin and fruit bits erupted in the middle of the table and coated Oleander’s face. All the women stopped to observe the moment in shock, none more wide-eyed than Dahlia, who was now staring at her hand as if it had sprouted an extra finger.
Oleander’s wrath would be enormous over such humiliation, but Dahlia didn’t waver. “Don’t you ever talk that way to my daughter again, or the next thing that explodes will be your head, you miserable hag.”
Larkspur hopped onto the table, upsetting Aster’s wine glass, and hissed at the goop-covered witch.
Aster glanced at Nanny Lily, who was staring into the candle flame with a sad but thoughtful expression. “I’m so sorry, Nanny.”
The old woman never took her eyes from her two daughters. “You and your familiar go on upstairs now, Aster. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
She went, but couldn’t resist one look back at Oleander. Congealed clumps of green gelatin slid from her face and hit the table with wet splats. It looked like a giant with a nasty cold had sneezed on her. “This isn’t finished, Princess,” said Oleander through gritted teeth. “You might think it is, but it isn’t. I should have drowned you the minute you popped out of your mother’s wretched womb.”
Aster fled up the stairs. As soon as she slammed her door shut, she leaned against it and began to sob.
-3-
Oleander dragged Holly out the front door and along the path to her living quarters above the barn. The useless little mutt of a sister came willingly enough, and she kept her mouth shut, which was smart of her. Rose-scented green gelatin was drying on Oleander's face and filling her nose with enough of the floral perfume to make her stomach churn, which only made her angrier. How dare that whore Dahlia use magic against her! Not in all their years, no matter how heated their arguments got, had they ever come to such blows.
Not that Oleander hadn't been tempted. Oh yes, there had been many cups of morning tea that had just escaped a drop of Oleander's finest belladonna tonic. It was as if some tattered vestige of her better half was capable enough to make a feeble plea to have mercy.
But there was none of that now, no pathetic mewling to show grace and fortitude, to spare them. She could have killed them all as they gaped at the green goo dripping off her face. Even Holly had been holding back laughter. Dahlia had seemed almost surprised by what happened, but no matter. If the bitch couldn't control herself, she should be put down like any rabid animal.
However, it wasn't mercy that had staid her hand this time. There was a much larger plan at work, one that would yield a much more satisfactory long-term result. Provided she could avoid snapping all of their pathetic necks before tomorrow.
The important thing was to make sure the insolent young bitch made it through the Door tomorrow night. Once that happened, all of Oleander’s options would spread open before her, like legs of a virgin whose pink pearl was ripe for the plucking.
Oleander stormed into the barn, startling a few moos out of the dairy cows that had been casually chewing grass. She dragged Holly up the stairs to the loft.
“You're hurting my arm, Oly.”
Oleander rolled her eyes and yanked harder. Her heart warmed at the sound of the wretch's moaning. “Shut your trap. You don't know what real hurt is, but I'll be happy to show you if you keep dawdling.” They reached the top of the stairs, and Oleander flung her burden toward the battered armchair in the corner. “Sit. And don't you even think of moving. As you can see, I've some cleaning up to do.”
She stalked over to the wash basin in the corner of the room and began splashing water on her face. The gelatin came off easily enough, but the cloying rose perfume remained. She gritted her teeth against it and set about making some coffee. They would both need it tonight, but Holly especially. There was work to be done. When Oleander brought her a mug of the strong brew, Holly took it and wrinkled her nose. “What’s this for?”
“To help you sober up.”
“What for?”
“Because I need to dig into your brain. You have some information I want, and I intend to get it.”
Fear flickered in Holly’s dark eyes. It warmed Oleander more than any hearth possibly could. “W-what kind of information, Oly?”
“That’s of no concern to you. You don’t know you know it. Now drink your coffee.”
Holly took a timid sip of her drink and grimaced. “How do you know I don’t know?”
Oleander sighed and stilled her fists at her sides so that they wouldn’t fly out and begin punching the stupid waif. “Just shut up and drink!”
The younger sister shrank back against her chair and said no more as she gulped down the hot drink, and this was a good thing. Oleander got up and began preparing her instruments. It wouldn’t take much. Just a simple procedure really, and she’d practiced it on several pigs, all of whom were still enjoying their daily slop down below. Well, all but one. Oleander had dug a little too deeply on that one, but at least they’d had good pork to eat for two weeks afterward.
Oleander looked over her shoulder at Holly, who had just set the mug down on the table beside her. It sounded empty. “All finished?”
Holly nodded. Her eyes looked a little less cloudy. This was good. Holly’s brain would never be right again, but it might do well enough for Oleander’s purposes now. She picked up her tray of instruments and bottles and placed them on the table next to Holly’s empty cup. Holly looked at them and then up at Oleander with a mask of panic on her face. “What are those things for?”
Oleander picked up the long, silver needle with the pointed end. It was quite thin and hollow through the center, and had taken her some time to procure from Dennigan Hambry, the local blacksmith. He wasn’t used to doing such delicate craft work, but he owed it to Oleander to get it right. She had cured him of a quite embarrassing venereal disease from fraternizing in the village brothels behind his wife’s back, and he wasn’t interested in the possibility of it coming back.
“I told you I needed something from your memory, dear sister. This is how I plan to get it.”
“But… but I don’t understand.” Holly had begun to quiver inside her too-baggy dress, but she made no move to escape. She knew better.
Oleander straddled her sister’s legs and leaned forward, pointing the tip of the
needle toward Holly’s eye. “Now it isn’t going to hurt… much. I’ve laced your coffee with a tincture of mandrake. And you won’t feel any pain once the needle passes through into your brain. I just need a tiny sample. Now hold still.”
Holly shrank back against the chair to avoid Oleander’s grip, but it was useless “I don’t want it. Don’t do this, Oly! I can remember whatever you need me to remember!”
Oleander brayed harsh laughter in her sister’s face. “You’ve rendered your brain useless with so much weed, you can’t even remember to wipe your own arse half the time. I’ll be lucky if I extract something more useful than oatmeal. Now be quiet and let me do this. If you move or fuss, it will only be worse for you.”
Holly whimpered for a moment and then stilled herself. Oleander placed her hand on the woman’s forehead, which was still smooth and free of blemishes, for she had been too feeble to mother a child of her own. Just as Oleander was about to pierce the delicate flesh in the corner of her sister’s eye, Holly screamed out. “No!”
Holly thrust her hands into Oleander’s gut, and Oleander fell backward, landing squarely on her rump with an audible “Oof!” Holly scrambled out of the chair and shambled toward the stairs, but even while stunned and nearly blind with fury—the nerve of the bitch!—Oleander was faster. She reached out and snagged the barest corner of Holly’s dress as she passed, but it was all that was necessary to trip her up. Holly pitched forward and landed with a thud on the splintery plank floor. Oleander leapt onto her sister’s back before the hag could attempt another escape.
Holly writhed and screamed, but years of salvia smoke had rendered her voice too hoarse to carry very far. It squeaked like a rusty hinge. Oleander grabbed a handful of Holly’s coarse hair, pulled her head back, and slammed it into the floor. Her struggles ceased almost instantly.
Oleander checked the pulse on Holly’s neck just to be sure she didn’t do more than knock the daft cunt out. “Isn’t this just a merry fuck?” she muttered under her breath as she turned Holly onto her back. The woman was already snoring. It wasn’t ideal to do this while the person was unconscious, but then Oleander realized there wasn’t much difference between when Holly was awake or asleep. This potion probably wouldn’t work worth a damn, but it would have to do. Holly was the only sister who knew many of Nanny Lily’s secrets, including how to open the wooded path to the Tree of Doors.
Lily had thought it was good insurance to share her most protected thoughts with the family moron and then access them via hypnosis later. Oleander had never been much for hypnotizing people. She lacked the patience, and frankly it didn’t involve enough manual work for her tastes. But this… this was definitely more her style.
Oleander sat on her sister’s chest and opened one of her closed eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “Just a quick swipe and out.” Not that she needed to steel herself. Her hands were as steady as ever, and even if she’d slipped a bit too much with the needle and rendered her sister into a permanent state of catatonia, the world wouldn’t really be losing all that much, now would it?
The tip of the needle slid into the corner of Holly’s eye, meeting little resistance. Holly moaned but remained asleep. Once the steel was about four inches deep and angled slightly upward, Oleander gave it a short flick back and forth before removing it. The whole procedure, from start to finish, had taken less than ten seconds. The dumb cow could have been well on her way back to her weed-filled shack in the Western Hills if she’d just cooperated. “Didn’t hurt a bit, did it Horsey?” It was an old nickname that Oleander had given her sister when they were kids, because of Holly’s naturally sad and elongated face.
Oleander got up and carried the needle gingerly over to her small brewing station, where a pre-mixed potion in a glass bottle awaited its final key ingredient. She dipped the needle into the murky green fluid and stirred vigorously, releasing the bits of brain matter from the hollow steel tube. A brief blue light flared as the ingredients came together, and that’s how Oleander knew the serum was just right.
She glanced back at her unconscious sister lying in a heap on the other side of the room and raised a sardonic toast. “What’s yours is mine, dear sister.” The potion wasn’t as vile as many of the others she had drank, but she braced herself against the countertop anyway as the liquid burned a fiery path down her throat, courtesy of the capsaicin extract mixed into it.
Stepping unceremoniously over Holly’s sleeping form, Oleander retired to the chair she’d originally cornered her sister in and closed her eyes. Hopefully, come morning, everything Nanny Lily held dear would be hers.
-4-
The evening following the disastrous going away feast, Aster placed her last stuffed rabbit on the pile of dried kindling, along with pages from her old journals, baby trinkets, and her favorite childhood quilt knitted by her mother. There must have been thousands of daytime naps with that quilt, not to mention Nanny Lily’s bedtime stories with it draped over her lap. It was worn to sheer translucence in several spots.
Oleander and Holly were nowhere to be found this morning, and the others wouldn’t tell her what had happened after dinner. She’d lain awake into the wee hours, finding it difficult to sleep even with Larkspur nestled beside her and purring. Every time she’d tried to close her eyes, the rogue thought that this was last night she’d be spending in her bed would assert itself and she’d be wide awake again. The sky was streaked pink with the coming sunrise by the time her brain finally gave up its chatter. When she finally awoke to begin pre-breakfast chores, the women insisted she take off her apron and spend the day in quiet reflection. Didn’t they understand that she needed the distraction? Even her favorite tree seemed off-limits after yesterday’s paper ripping outburst.
Her misgivings about Oleander haunted her throughout the day. At one point in the afternoon, she cornered Papa Quercus in the garden as the old man picked beans for a supper she would be a universe too far away to eat. “What happened last night after I went to bed? Papa, is Oleander up to something? Why are the others so quiet?” It was useless, of course. The old man simply looked at her, patted her face, and turned back to his harvesting.
After placing the last of her youth’s belongings on the pile, she sighed and turned to the group. “It’s all ready for the fire.” The three watched with solemn and almost distracted expressions.
“You’ve made your first of many sacrifices as a woman,” Nanny Lily said.
“Everything seems to be about sacrifice.”
“Yes.” The ancient crone regarded her with pitiless eyes and then conjured up an ember in her wrinkled palm. It cast shadows into the lines of her face, making it look like melting wax. She blew the small piece of fire into the pile of kindling. It caught quickly; Ellemire hadn’t seen any rain in over three months. It was the worst drought in Aster’s memory. As much as she wanted to doubt her role in the Great Mother prophecy, she couldn’t completely deny that the world was slowing down in some way. Drying out. She just didn’t know if she was the one to fix it.
The purple yarn of her quilt went up in a blaze, igniting everything around it. Sparks swirled up into the evening sky like tiny fireflies. “I guess it’s too late to turn back now,” Aster said. “I wouldn’t have any blankets to sleep with.” She meant it as a joke, but only the crickets answered. Even her mother, the most positive influence in her life, was as obdurate as a statue. Aster supposed this was no time for humor. Not with so much in the balance.
Did the people of Ellemire know what was happening tonight? Surely some of them must. She imagined that in a kinder place, there would have been a celebration. Perhaps even a festival to rival that of Grah, complete with costumes, confetti and fireworks, hugs and kisses and tears and endless well-wishes.
But the world was silent, the Stargazers left alone to conduct business no one wanted to acknowledge. For the first time in her life, Aster felt truly lonely.
Dahlia turned to her, and Aster saw that her eyes were shiny in the fire light. “Are y
ou ready?”
Ready? All the words from all of the lectures and lessons and fights leading up to this moment fled her mind with that question. How could she ever be ready for something like this? The two women had shared very little of their own adventures to the other side, feeling that each Stargazer had to emerge into the other world as open and pure as a newborn baby. The clothing in her bags was the only indicator of what she could truly expect, and that wasn’t very heartening.
“If I said I wasn’t ready, it wouldn’t make any difference, would it?”
“We can’t say no,” said Lily. “And we can’t make you take the steps. Let your conscience guide you.”
And the final piece slammed home. After years of manipulation, both subtle and not, and they were leaving it up to her, or at least giving her the illusion of control. But she knew better. There was no turning back now. And in her heart, she knew she needed to go. Not to save the world, but to save her sanity. She only hoped the world she would be entering would be free from the bickering, backbiting, and gossip that had come to define her life. And she longed to be away from Oleander, especially.
Taking a deep breath of clean night air, she stepped toward the path that would lead them deep into a part of the woods only the Stargazers knew, where the Tree of Doors awaited. Larkspur padded slightly ahead of her, like a guide. Lily and Dahlia moved to each side and entwined their arms around hers. No one else in Ellemire was permitted to walk this path, and the Stargazers guarded it and the surrounding area with a unique barrier spell that only Lily could undo.
As they entered the woods, the wind picked up, blowing a chill up Aster’s skirts. Dry branches and dead leaves crushing underfoot gave the impression of autumn in the height of summer.
The Stargazers Page 3