Edie in Between

by Laura Sibson

  “Talk about dramatic monologues,” I say. “All I wanted to say is that I need to harvest some bark from the oak tree. But—you’ll visit me?”

  “Yes, dork!” She wiggles her hands at me. “Go harvest bark.”

  Rhia gets out and joins me. “Are you sure about this?” she asks.

  “Yeah, we need this bark.”

  Rhia crosses her hands over her chest. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  I kneel at the base of the tree. “Will you do this with me?” I ask, to avoid her bigger question.

  Rhia kneels next to me. Spontaneously, I catch hold of her hand in mine. The feel of her fingers entwined in mine, her palm against mine, grounds me the same way as Mom’s words: What can you see? What can you hear? What can you smell? What can you touch? We each place our free hand on the bark of the tree. Together we say the words of request and gratitude. The words carry a heavy weight this time—beyond this simple action. This time after I take the bark, I don’t have one of GG’s salves to place on the wound I’ve created. So, I simply whisper my thanks and we both get up. The wind whips leaves from trees and sends small branches flying.

  “We’re doing this, then,” Rhia says.

  I face her, hair blowing across my face. “I don’t have a choice. You know that.”

  “Sorry. I guess reality is setting in. It’s just—” Rhia shakes her head.

  “What are you trying to say?” I ask, stepping closer.

  “You’ve said all along that when we finish this”—Rhia gestures down the drive—“that life could go back to how it was.” Rhia looks away and then back again. “What if I don’t want to go back to how I was, sitting behind a counter?” She clears her throat. “Not seeing you every day.”

  I feel a warm glow extend from my chest outward. It’s not magic. It’s hope. The headlights of Tess’s Jeep give off a feeble light illuminating one side of Rhia as she stands before me. When this summer started, I saw my life and the people in it in simple, one-sided terms. But I’ve learned that we can have many sides. We can be more than one thing. I step closer. I place my palms on Rhia’s cheeks and look into her eyes.

  “Everything has changed. I have changed. I don’t want to be how I was before either—fearful of my magic, hiding the real me.” I drop my hands to her shoulders. “But we can talk about what comes next after we kick this spirit’s ass.”

  “If we make it out,” Rhia says, sighing.

  I give her shoulders a squeeze. “We will. You told Tess it will be okay. It will be.”

  She reaches up and catches my hand in hers. She squeezes and nods at me.

  “Ready?” I say.

  “Ready,” Rhia says.

  At that moment a crack of lightning spears down, hitting the massive oak. The noise is like nothing I’ve heard before. The great tree screams as it splits and falls, only barely missing us, and landing across the entrance to the driveway.

  “Not an omen. Not an omen. Not an omen,” Tess says as we pull all of our supplies from the Jeep and start to walk down the drive.

  The growth that had nearly obscured this path weeks ago now hangs brown and dead. When we make it to the property, the vines covering the cabin have blackened. The mushrooms that had bloomed on the front steps are rotting and oozing. The moss on the roof has also shrunk and shriveled.

  We turn our attention to the workshop, which has become a monstrous thing. Whatever we unbound has fully taken over the space. Blackened exterior walls pulse and ooze rhythmically. The windows rattle like sick lungs. The door creaks open and a gust of dank air spews out.

  “Let’s get started,” I say.

  Rhia creates a circle of salt on the ground. Using supplies that we grabbed from Cosmic Flow, I pour GG’s ingredients into the bowl. There is angelica root and rose oil and a bit of quartz. The soil that GG provided, as well as several strands of her hair. I add the oak bark and some of my own hair. We light incense and smudge it around us and over the bowl.

  I open the box and sprinkle some of my grandfather’s ashes in. I take off my necklace, unscrew the cap of the acorn, and drip the last of my mother’s blood over the items. Then, with care, I lay the silver acorn on top of everything else.

  Elements of me, my mother, my grandmother, and my grandfather rest together in this bowl. I’m overcome with the enormity of the moment.

  Pulling in a steadying breath, I remind myself that I can do this because I did it already. But at the beech I didn’t need to be precise like I do here. “Here goes nothing.” I give Tess and Rhia a wobbly smile and they nod at me to go ahead. At the flick my fingers, sparks appear. I breathe in. And out. I focus the sparks into a small ball of light and heat and send it into the bowl. The contents ignite in a bright and sudden blast of fire.

  We grab hands and begin to chant. “With the power of three, we beseech thee.”

  The words feel stilted in my mouth, like I’m repeating someone else’s lines. When we finish, nothing happens. The trees bend and sway at alarming angles. I’m not convinced that this circle of protection will helps us if one of them falls like the oak just did. We try again.

  “With the power of three, we beseech thee.”

  And again. “With the power of three, we beseech thee.”

  I drop the girls’ hands and hiss out my frustration. If I’m going to embrace who I am, what I am, I should do it on my terms. I can’t pretend that I’m a typical human because I’m not. And I can’t pretend to be like GG or Rhia either. I need to be me, wholly and completely me. And in this moment, that means not saying some old-fashioned words that don’t feel right. I grab my friends’ hands again. Rhia and Tess continue the chant while I speak from the heart.

  “Mom, things are pretty bad over here. I really need you right now. And bring everyone with you. Bring all the witches that have come before us and have mastered their arts. The witches who were celebrated and revered. The witches who were judged and scorned. The witches who hid among typical people and the witches who let their freak flags fly. Bring them all, Mom. We need to end this.”

  The fire leaps high before it suddenly extinguishes, leaving behind only the acorn, burnished and shining with a white gold light.

  “It worked!” I say to Rhia and Tess.

  I pick up the acorn and spoon the ashes from the ritual into the cavity, sealing it. I hold it reverently in my cupped palms.

  “Sisters, mothers, and daughters—I know who I am now. I am a Mitchell woman. I am one of you.” The golden light brightens. “I call on you now in our time of need.”

  The light shoots out from the spaces between my fingers, sending rays all around us. I am infused with love. I can’t help the smile that comes to my face. Tess and Rhia smile, too. I pull the necklace over my head and feel the blazing heat of the acorn against my chest, touching it with my fingertips.

  “As it is above, so below,” I whisper.

  Then I turn to face the workshop and whatever waits for me inside.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  EDIE

  “I’m coming in,” I say.

  The workshop is silent, as though it’s waiting. The wheezing and pulsing have quieted. Dark clouds squat overhead. I walk a few steps and stop to turn my ear toward the woods, which are also silent. The trees have stopped their frightening dance. The absence of the incessant buzz of the summer insects is chilling.

  I force myself to step closer.

  “You’ve held my family hostage long enough. You’re no longer welcome here.”

  The building remains silent.

  “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  The doorknob turns and I push my way in. The altar to my grandfather pulses like a heartbeat. The items that had been placed on it are slowly being consumed. Part of the pocketknife protrudes from a side of the table. Photos are curled and peeling. An oily substance, thick and black, sl
owly drips down the sides of the altar. Something that looks like human hair grows from one end. Something like an eye is lodged deep in the middle of the thing. One bit of bright white that might be bone protrudes from the bottom.

  I hope that’s not GG. I swallow back bile.

  I stand in the center of the room. “This is ending now,” I say. I flick my fingers to create a circle of protection made of my fire.

  The pulsing quickens and a rancid smell fills the room.

  The acorn glows.

  The pulsing becomes more rapid like a heartbeat inside my head.

  I am a quarter way around the circle and the acorn glows more brightly.

  Blackness lurches toward me from the altar. Shadows coa-lesce, forming a misshapen figure.

  I am halfway around the circle. I close my eyes. I don’t know if I’m more terrified to see or not to see.

  I feel a cold, wet grip on my ankle. I begin to shake, fear taking root in my body.

  I place one hand around the acorn, keeping it safe. With the other, I try to finish my circle.

  Another wet grip on my wrist. The cold invisible fingers invite fear to grow. I try to push through the fear, believing in my family line, believing in myself, but I’m already panting with the effort.

  Something presses on my back, pushing me down. I tighten my grip on the acorn and curve my body into a ball. I try again. I’m nearly finished. A quarter of a circle to go.

  I feel hands on either side of my face. I start to weep.

  Fingers reach around my neck. Long fingers with sharp nails. I shake my head, trying to get rid of the thing. I know I can’t let go of the acorn. The fingers travel over my ears, my eyes. They cover my nose.

  “Please, please, please,” I whimper. “Mom, please.”

  I keep the acorn tight in one palm. It’s not working. I don’t have protection. The spirit has me. Clawed hands cover my mouth. I can’t breathe. I feel as though I’ve been plunged beneath black water. I’m thrashing my legs and whipping my body, just trying to get oxygen to my lungs. I don’t let go of the acorn. I keep thrashing.

  How could I believe that a tiny silver piece of jewelry was the answer to all of this? How could I believe that I could be the answer?

  A cold explosion of white, green, and blue light blinds me.

  My body is thrown up, up, up. I gasp for air. I flick my free hand to call up the fire and I shout words. I’m not sure it rhymes, but I shout the words in desperation. And suddenly, there is an answering blast of yellows, oranges, and reds. Then everything goes dark.

  * * *

  * * *

  The world is burning. The acrid smell of smoke pulls me to consciousness. Hungry flames consume everything around me. The workshop is engulfed in a green inferno. I am in the center of it, not burning, encircled in my yellow flames. The words worked. I can breathe again.

  Flames lick up the walls of the workshop, catching on the shelves, melting plastic containers of screws and nails. Popping glass jars of nuts and bolts. The windows ripple in the heat for a moment before they explode outward in a storm of flying glass. I raise my arm to shield my eyes and turn toward the door, but it is a wall of flame as well.

  Bits of the altar crackle and crunch, bitten by flames. The blackness melts, pouring down the sides and pooling on the floor. The altar cracks down the middle and crashes to the ground. A great rustling reaches my ears through the sparking and hissing of the fire.

  A concentrated mass of oily feathers swirls before me. They whip like a tornado, rising up from the dripping liquid until a loose shape of an enormous raven begins to emerge. Taller than I am, it’s covered in feathers the deep shade of the night sky. Its great wings give way to long, sharp claws. Black eyes peer at me. The menacing beak yawns open and screeches. I want to press my hands over my ears, but I still hold the acorn protected in one hand. I’m supposed to start the incantation, but the words have left my mind.

  I curl into a ball, making myself as small as possible and squish my eyes shut. I don’t know what else to do. The piercing screech stops, prompting me to open my eyes. There before me stands my mother. She smiles at me. I frown in confusion.

  “Come,” she says. “We don’t have much time.”

  I peer at her from my crouched position. “It’s not you. I fell for this before. With Rhia.”

  Shame drips over me when I recall nearly falling for the Luctus spirit’s play on my desires that night in the woods.

  “I heard your call,” my mother says. “You need to come with me.”

  I have seen my mother every day since the first time her ghost appeared almost a year ago—until she stopped showing up after the beech—but the last time I heard her voice was the day that she left for her bike ride. Hearing her now carves a new mark in my heart.

  She holds her hand out.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say, and the words are choked in tears. “Mom, I’ve missed you so much.” My sense of loss is a storm obliterating everything in its path. I forget about the incantation. I’ve missed teas and talks. I’ve missed kisses on my forehead and her palm on my cheek. I’ve missed adventures. I have missed everything. I want my mother. My hand drops from protecting the acorn. I reach out my hand.

  “Let’s get you out of here.”

  I push myself to standing.

  Her eyes plead me to come. She sounds like my mother and looks like her. Could this be the answer to my call?

  I step forward, holding my hand out.

  The acorn burns against my chest. I stop. I snatch my hand back.

  “Come! We are running out of time.”

  I look down at the circle of golden fire surrounding me.

  “If you are my mother, come into the circle. We’re protected here.”

  “I’m not coming into that circle.” She sounds angry. “We need to leave!”

  I turn my palms to face her. “I miss my mother, but you are not her!” I press both palms forward as though I’m pushing this thing out the window.

  “Truth hidden I wish to see,

  Reveal yourself now to me.”

  My not-mother flickers and seizes until it dissolves into a thousand feathers that once again swirl themselves into the raven thing.

  “You’ve been learning.” The flames die down and the room grows as cold as an underground cavern.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “And yet, you’re no matter to me.”

  “Underestimate me,” I say. “That’ll be fun.”

  “I see only one young witch before me. One is not enough. Two witches of your line isn’t even enough.” The ancient voice scrapes at the inside of my mind, taunting.

  “But my mother left something of herself behind.” I hold up the necklace. The acorn hangs from its chain, not looking very exceptional at all. And yet.

  The voice screeches and the thing that was never my mother lurches toward me as though to snatch the acorn, but she stops short of the circle. The thing is so close that I can smell its putrid breath.

  Everything in my body wants to run, but I stay in the circle.

  “Give me back my grandmother. Give us back our life.”

  “Or what, child? You are nothing. Your family is nothing. I have seen your kind come and go for thousands of years. I remain. I was here when man fought one another on battlefields and when people like you were burned. I’ll be here when you and yours are dead and buried. You are a few weak humans who play at magic. Nothing more.”

  “We. Don’t. Play.” I yank the acorn from its chain and squeeze it in my palm, encouraging it to do what an acorn is meant to do.

  “Sisters, mothers, daughters, in the name of Mitchell magic, I call on you now.”

  Golden light shines forth through my clenched hand.

  “Sisters, mothers, daughters, in the name of Mitchell magic, I call on you now.”<
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  The acorn cracks open. Roots slide down between my fingers and branches sprout upward. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. I turn to look.

  “Mom!” I say. “Is it really you?”

  “It’s me, Edie.” Her smile glows like the magic I’ve been working on all summer.

  More of our line extends outward from Mom. The roots from the acorn reach down through the burned floor seeking the soil beneath. The branches soar into the sky, decimating the roof in its path. My ancestors with hands upon shoulders ripple out before me until a circle is formed. Leaves bud and unfurl in dizzying speed until an oak tree stands in the middle of this burned-out workshop. The Luctus spirit shrinks back, squealing.

  “It worked!” I call to Mom’s ghost, who nods knowingly to me.

  A low hum starts somewhere in the circle and I take it up. All the while the tree continues to grow.

  In a rustle of feathers, the raven thing flies toward the edge of the circle only to be repelled back to the center. It shrieks, leaning away from the tree and finding itself trapped once more. It rushes to another part seeking its way out. The body of the spirit ripples and bulges. It tears open, the thousands of feathers scattering to reveal GG on the ground.

  “GG?” I call to her. I can’t tell if she’s alive. Oh gods, please.

  One of her hands moves.

  “GG!”

  Slowly she opens her eyes. Finally, she pushes up to her hands and knees. The spirit whirls around her until she’s down again.

  “Mom, we need to help her.” I start to step forward.

  “You must stay in the circle, Edie. You’re the one making this possible.” Mom gestures to the oak and light and the ancestors. “It’s your power that gives your grandmother a chance.”

  “And your acorn.”

  “Each of us was needed. Three generations. Three phases of magic. Now your grandmother needs to fight this part of the battle herself.”