by Laura Sibson
I do as my mother says. I hold on, the acorn still clutched in my hand and still spilling its glorious light across our circle. GG is upright now. She moves toward the tree as though she’s pushing against a gale force wind. The spirit is now half woman, half raven. It stands on human legs, but its arms extend into vast wings. Midnight feathers flow over its human head and down its back. Below yellow eyes, its nose extends in a sharp beak.
“You’ve stolen so much from me,” GG says to the Luctus spirit. “And now it’s time that you go.”
“I was called by your mourning,” it says. “I stayed because you invited me.”
“You lied to me.”
“I gave you what I told you I would give you,” the spirit says. “You wanted to see your husband again and I granted you that.”
“All you granted me was pain and regret. You used me so that you could corrupt my magic and steal my memories.” GG’s body vibrates with anger.
“And you trapped me in this awful place.”
“I was willing to use my magic to keep you contained. Until you harmed my granddaughter. That is a line that you should not have crossed.” GG presses her palms against the tree. “Sisters, mothers, daughters, help me banish the dark.”
GG begins to speak the lullaby spell and we all join in.
“Darkness, darkness, not welcome here,
Return from whsplease be near,
Sunlight, starlight, please be near,
I call you in my name.”
The ancestors repeat the words over and over.
GG yells, “Let this oak, full of strength, envelop this spirit.”
The ancestors cry out in approval.
The Luctus spirit’s keening is so sharp and loud that it could split my eardrums. But the ancestors’ circle-chanting neutralizes the unnatural sound.
“That which has been called in mourning must now depart in the face of hope and love,” GG calls out.
The spirit’s image flickers, moving through all the masks she’s worn. My grandfather, my mother, my friends, people I don’t recognize. Wind whips through the room. Feathers fly around us. Items that hadn’t gone up in flame are tossed around. I duck away from a flying hammer. A broken chair and some planters rip through my ghostly ancestors who continue to chant. The feathers fly in a faster, more furious circle until they’re swept into the tree’s trunk like a swarm of bees into a hive. GG closes the hole with quick movements of her hands along with murmured chants.
For a moment, the spirit’s visage appears in the trunk of the tree, frozen in anguish. Then that too melts into the bark.
The flames have flickered out. The altar is ash. The black viscous liquid is gone. Only the mess remains.
“Edie, are you okay?” GG asks. Her long hair is a matted mess. Her coat is ripped in the shoulder and she has a gash on her forehead. But she still inspects me, squeezing my arms and touching my face as if to make sure that all of my parts are where they’re supposed to be.
I nod. “What about you?”
“This?” She gestures to herself. “Nothing a good salve can’t fix.”
GG turns and cups my mother’s cheeks in her palms. “I’m so sorry, my daughter. This is not the magic I taught you.”
“I know, Mama,” my mother says. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I knew or about the acorn and the magic I’d infused in it and in the journal. There was no time.”
“It pains me to know that you didn’t feel that you could trust me. But I understand why. I couldn’t banish it on my own.” GG turns to me. “But your smart daughter figured it out.”
They both smile at me.
“Not by myself,” I say.
GG nods. “We need people. When Edie said she knew the acorn was instrumental, I had an inkling of what you’d done, and I knew I needed to contribute as well.”
I hesitate before I speak again. “Mom, it turns out that sharing our magic with the people we love doesn’t need to end in pain.”
“I’m so happy your experience has been different than my own.” Mom’s eyes are full of love.
There is one question related to all of this that I haven’t been able to figure out. “When did you make the map?” I ask Mom. “I found it in your bedroom in the cabin. But you haven’t been back here for years, right?”
GG speaks up. “I made the map when I realized that the spirit had tricked me and was stealing my memories. I’d already forgotten where I’d buried Ed’s ashes by that point.”
“I found the paper when we were cleaning up to leave the cabin and move onto the boat for good,” Mom says. “I sensed powerful magic attached to it and I hid it in my room.”
“How did you know I’d find it?” I ask.
My mother shakes her head and shrugs. “I didn’t.”
I’m struck by how much of this whole experience hinged on chance. If I hadn’t moved the rock on the first day, I would not have disrupted the protections and gotten infected by the magic. But I also would not have been motivated to learn our family’s craft. I wouldn’t have gotten close to Rhia and Tess by searching for hidden items and I wouldn’t have helped my grandmother free all of us from the curse of the Luctus spirit.
GG pats my shoulder. “Fire trucks are sure to be here soon, Edie.”
I look around at what the workshop has become. “How do we explain this tree that just grew in the middle of a workshop that was on fire?”
“We don’t. People will create a story that makes sense to them,” GG says. “I’ll give you a moment.” She leaves through the burned-out doorway and I can’t help but notice a limp.
I turn to face my mother. “I need Tea and a Talk.”
There is so much to say, so much to tell her about what has happened in the year since she died suddenly. But we don’t have time to cover all those moments, the emptiness and the confusion and the wishing that she was still alive.
“It would be wonderful if we could do that, wouldn’t it?”
I nod, trying to keep the tears from flowing.
“I’m sorry that I never told you who your father was,” she says.
“I wish you had, but I sort of understand now that I read your journal. And Mom, I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?”
“That I couldn’t accept who I am.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“I thought I wanted to be normal, but it was actually fear.”
Mom wraps her arms around me. “Don’t be sorry. Just embrace who you are now.” For one moment, I am enveloped in my mother’s hug, feeling her body against mine. Her curls tickle my face and her smell is just as I remembered. Her real smell—fresh lemons and mint from the garden—not the honeysuckle that reminds me of her death. She lets go and steps back to look at me.
“I’m sorry that I can’t be here to walk your path with you. But you’re doing well on your own. I’m so proud.” She kisses my forehead and I begin to weep.
“I wish you could stay,” I say.
I’m only now learning to accept who and what I am, and Mom could teach me so much more. But I’d seen what happened when GG tried to change the natural order of things. Our magic is about balance and order, about using nature in ways that help and heal. Upsetting that balance is not what I’m meant to do. That sort of magic takes much more than it gives.
“But I know you can’t. Not in this form.”
I open my palm and the ancestors begin to disappear one by one. My mother is last. She stays, moving from solid to transparent, a moment longer than the rest.
“I will always love you,” I say to her.
“And I you,” she says.
She smiles her big smile. Then she flickers out and she’s gone. When I look at my palm, there is only ash. This tiny acorn did its monumental job. It held Mom’s blood until we needed it and it served as a vessel
to call our ancestors and to trap the Luctus spirit. But I’m sad not to have the silver acorn resting against my collarbone anymore, giving me comfort in my time of need. At the same time, I know my mother is with me. I close my palm around the ashes and leave this burned-out workshop.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
EDIE
I blink against the morning light. Were we in there all night? It felt like minutes. Tess and Rhia rush toward me. I freeze, the events of the night washing over me as adrenaline leaves my system. I tell myself that I am in the real world, but my brain is not so certain. Tess and Rhia fold me into a hug, squishing me and talking over one another. Rhia’s hair tickles my face and I breathe in deeply hers and Tess’s human girl smells.
“We’re so relieved!”
“Was it awful?”
“Are you hungry?”
“Do you need to pee?”
This last one makes me laugh out loud. If I hadn’t been certain that I was in the real world, I am now. “Just shaken up. I need to be with GG right now. Can I call you both later?”
“Of course.”
They each give me one more squeeze and let go.
GG sits on the steps of the cabin. The fungi beside her are returning to life and new vines curl around the handrail. She looks small, but still mighty, and I curl myself up beside her.
“Let me see your arm,” GG says.
I hold out my left arm and pull the collar of my shirt back for her inspection. I tilt my head at an awkward angle to try to see as well. The black web of veins that had been steadily creeping up my arm for these last weeks, that had spread across my collarbone just days ago, is receding. Even as we look, the lines have disappeared down to my biceps. She nods and makes a grunt of approval. Then she squeezes me tight to her body.
“You’ve done it, Edie. You’re going to be okay.”
I sink into the comfort of my grandmother’s body, the softness and the angles. I can’t quite believe that our ordeal is over. It’ll probably take a while before I’m certain that the infection is gone, that I won’t be pulled into a shadow world. My stomach growls, bringing me back to the simple needs of my human body.
“I’m starving,” I say. “Want to go home?”
GG leans away to gives me an odd look.
“What?” I ask.
“That is the first time that you’ve referred to the boat as home.”
I offer my hand to my grandmother. “Let’s go home, GG.”
* * *
* * *
After we’ve showered and eaten and GG has made a pot of her most refreshing tea, we both agree it’s time for a real talk. We sit at the small dinette.
“I’m still upset that you let me think that it was Mom who invoked that spirit for all this time,” I say as I stir honey into my tea.
GG sips from her cup. “I understand. It may take time for you to fully build your trust in me again.”
“Why did you do it, though?” I set my spoon on the table. “Invoke that spirit.”
GG lets out a puff of air. “After my husband died, I was so angry.”
“Angry?” This takes me by surprise.
“Yes!” She sets her teacup down. “We were supposed to grow old together. He was the love of my life and then he was stolen from me. I was so angry. I know that sounds illogical, but grief is not logical.” Her fists are balled on the table.
“I get that.” I add a drop of milk and watch it swirl through my cup like smoke.
“I couldn’t speak. Nothing but feathers and ash came from my mouth.”
“I know,” I say. “From Mom’s journal.” I reach out to place my hand on hers.
“Maura thought it was a choice. Me not speaking after Ed died. But it wasn’t. I knew your mother needed me. She’d lost her father. But my grief had a stranglehold on me. I did that spell out of desperation. I thought that living in the memories would allow me to speak again, to say Ed’s name without the bitter taste of death in my mouth. But you can’t invoke dark magic without paying a price. I’m relieved that it’s over now. I’d been working in service to that dark magic for long enough. And it never did what was promised in the first place, not really.”
“What do you mean?” I look up at my grandmother.
“I thought that I could use magic as a way around the pain of my grief and then Ed’s ghost would appear like all our ghosts have always appeared. But when I spent time with those memories, it only made me more bitter over what I’d lost. Until you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It was a hot August day when Maura came to me. I remember that it was the first day in a long while that the sun had come out. Maura needed to tell me something important, but she was having trouble getting the words out. I was no comfort because I couldn’t speak.”
GG looks out over the water, no doubt remembering a moment from years ago.
“Then Maura said that she was pregnant and that she wanted to have the baby. My immediate response was joy, an emotion I hadn’t felt since before my husband had become so ill. Realization dawned on me. Grief is a red silk ribbon tied to love. The pain seemed insurmountable, but I would not have experienced grief if I hadn’t loved your grandfather so deeply. And that love led to your mother and to you.
“That happy news from your mother showed me that eventually love would overcome grief. For the first time since my husband had died, I spoke. I hugged her and I told her how thrilled I was and that I just knew that her father, my beloved Edward, would have been overjoyed, too. It was no accident that at that very moment your grandfather appeared. He’s been with us ever since. You see? You were the miracle that kept our Edward close.”
I frown. “But Mom didn’t want a baby. She never planned on me.”
“Not wanting and not planning are different things. Your mother may not have planned on having you when she did, but she surely wanted you.”
I put my head in my hands. “Her dad had died, and the father of her baby had rejected her. I was a reminder of the worst time in her life.”
“No, Edie. You weren’t. You were a reminder to live life. To your mother and to me.”
Chapter Forty
EDIE
“You’re sure.” Rhia says this as a fact, not a question because she’s already asked me like twenty-seven times. I’m sitting on the bench seat of the breakfast nook on the boat. Rhia has set her bag on the table and is waiting for my go-ahead.
“Why do you doubt that I’m sure?” I ask.
“Because you’re so straight-edge. And tattoos are permanent.”
“Permanent is exactly what I need,” I say. “And I’m a witch. How straight-edge can I be?”
“You’re the most straight-edge witch I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, out of two. Not exactly a large sample size.”
“And I would not describe your gran as straight-edge. Didn’t you say she danced naked under the moonlight?”
“No, I said I wondered if she did.” I laugh. “But I’m ready and I’m certain about this tattoo. I want to own the part of my body that the spirit infected. And I want something that will be with me always.”
I leave it at that. She was there; she knows what I mean.
“Okay,” Rhia says. “Are you comfortable? Because we are going to be here awhile.”
I wiggle my butt in the seat and set my arm on the table, supported by a cushion. “Yup. I’m good. We have peppermint iced tea and a bag of Gummis, what else could we need?”
Rhia smiles. “We’ll get started then.”
“And you don’t mind using my ink?” I ask.
I look at Rhia beside me, her neck bent in concentration as she sets out her supplies. We’ve come so far from the first night we met when I ran out of the barn. It hasn’t even been two full months and we’ve been through more than some people go through in years
. Rhia had caught my eye on that first night because she seemed so carefree, so fully herself, and I wanted to be near that. And I still do, but there’s so much more to Rhia, too.
Rhia shrugs. “It’s a little unusual, but if that’s what you want, that’s what I’ll do.”
I pull the ink from my bag and set it on the table next to Rhia’s supplies. She probably wouldn’t think twice about the protective charms that GG and I wove into the ink, but I wasn’t sure how she’d react to knowing that the ink was also infused with the ashes of our dead relatives.
“Is she here?” Rhia asks as she sets out her tools.
I know who she means. “She is.” Mom hovers nearby, smiling at me. I smile back. I’ll never be able to touch her or talk to her again like I was able to two nights ago when we banished the Luctus spirit. But seeing her is enough now.
Rhia takes my arm with a gentle touch. She turns it so that the pale, vulnerable part of my inner forearm faces. The black veins receded after the spirit was trapped, but the arm is still a little cold sometimes. GG says that it’ll be back to normal eventually, but I wonder.
Rhia soaks a cotton ball in alcohol and rubs the area in circular motions. I watch as she sterilizes the needle and wraps it in thread. She dips the needle into my ink.
“Ready?” Rhia asks.
“I’m ready,” I say. “And Rhee?”
She looks up, needle poised, brown eyes catching mine.
“Thank you,” I say.
She shakes her head, her curls shaking with her. “No, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trusting me.”
“I do.”
“I won’t hurt you, Edie. At least I’ll try my best not to.”
“I’ll try not to hurt you, either.”
We hold one another’s gaze, both of us recognizing that we aren’t talking about the tattoo, but something much bigger.
Rhia makes the first poke and I relax into my chair. There’s nothing that Rhia can do to me with a needle that’s worse than what I’ve been through already. We sit like that for a long time, while the boat gently rocks and the sun moves through the prisms, glancing through all the witch balls draped in the windows. The sun is starting to angle through the opposite windows by the time Rhia stands up.