House of Ivy & Sorrow

by kindle@abovethetreeline. com

  Kat and I exchange a relieved glance. What was he doing? Dancing? I try not to laugh, though the thought of Billy dancing is pretty funny. He’s seems so laid-back.

  Then, like a pro, Kat shoves Billy. “We were starting to think you were dead! Did you forget we were coming?”

  The spell wraps around his arm as it drains from her hand in swirling plumes of blue mist. He’s safe. At least safer. He shivers, but other than that I’m sure he has no idea what happened. He stares at Kat, surprised. “Sorry?”

  “Whatever.” She stalks past him and we follow.

  “Got that out of the way quick,” I whisper. “And after all that complaining.”

  She smiles. “I figured it was kind of like ripping off a fingernail.”

  I laugh, but it’s cut short when Winn’s arms come around my waist from behind. Is it wrong that I like how he grabs me without asking? It gives me permission to do the same. He plants his head on my shoulder, and I can’t move even if I wanted to. “What’re you two whispering about?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “Hence the whispering,” Kat says.

  “Anyway . . .” I pull my paper from my messenger bag and hand it to Billy. “Thanks for the help. Here we were all talking about not skipping school this week, and I missed Friday and Monday.”

  “Not a problem. It shouldn’t be too hard to get you caught up.” Billy plops down on a maroon couch in the living room, already frowning at my writing, which probably sucks. I’m not great at school in general. Maybe because I’ve always known what I’ll be doing the rest of my life, and you don’t study it in college. It’s more important for me to memorize spells and potions than long math equations.

  “Good.” Kat kneels by the coffee table and opens her giant binder. “Because if she had to study during lunch tomorrow I couldn’t prove to her that we don’t have a stalker.”

  “What?” Winn says as he pulls me into the love seat.

  I try not to smile. And she thinks she’s useless. “I swear, Kat, the day we went out to lunch there was someone with a camera across the street. No one else was by us, so what were they photographing?”

  “A car? The road? A penny left in the street?” She pauses, and then goes for her special notebook. The poetry one. I suppose that was . . . inspiring.

  “Hmm, a penny or Gwen sunbathing?” I ask.

  “I didn’t see anyone,” Billy says. “Did you, Winn?”

  He purses his lips.

  Billy’s eyes go wide. “Seriously? You saw someone?”

  I knew it, but waiting for Winn to admit it is torture. I want so badly for him to give us some kind of clue.

  “He wasn’t exactly hiding. If you looked over you would have seen him staring at Jo.” Winn tenses, and so do I. He wasn’t just holding me close that day; it was like some gut reaction to protect me.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Billy asks.

  “He . . . I don’t know. The dude was creepy. He looked right at me, and it felt like he’d have no problem stabbing me in the heart if he felt like it.”

  The hair on my neck raises. Winn doesn’t know it, but I’m pretty sure he was silenced with magic. That guy put a fear spell on him, told Winn he was dead if he pointed him out.

  “What did he look like?” Kat’s voice trembles.

  “That’s the thing.” Winn holds me tighter. “He looked totally normal—short, dark hair, tall, young—”

  “Young?” I say, disturbed by the idea.

  “Yeah,” Winn says. “But then for one second he didn’t seem right, like he was a real creep underneath.”

  There’s silence, as if we can feel the sincerity in his words and what they might mean. Normal humans may not be able to see magic, but sometimes they can feel it—like the niggling sense that something is off, though you don’t know what.

  This young guy had to be the one who took the cursed picture, but if that’s true, then he’s also not my mother’s murderer. And that means there’s more than one of these evil men after us. It could be a whole crew, for all I know.

  Billy sucks in a breath. “Maybe we should skip school tomorrow.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  TWENTY

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have to leave Winn tonight, but there is so much magic to prepare if I want to protect my friends, and “Nana expecting me home for dinner” is the easiest excuse I have. He hugs me after Kat gets out of the car. “Why do you always have to go?”

  That frown of his is so not fair. He looks like a puppy locked up in the pound, begging me to take him home. “Seriously, Winn, it’s in our best interest to keep Nana happy. What if I got grounded?”

  He sighs. “That would suck.”

  “It would.” I lean into him, soaking in the sensation before I have to get back to more witch stuff. “But we’re still going on a real date, right?”

  He hugs me tighter. “Right. And this time there will be no stalkers-turned-fathers or sicknesses to get in the way. You’re mine for a whole night.”

  My face warms. “Well, not a whole night. That would definitely get me grounded, even if we spent the whole time playing Trivial Pursuit with your parents.”

  “Yeah, uh, that is not even close to what we’ll be doing.”

  I pull back to see him better. “Wait, you already have it planned?”

  “Of course.” Winn puts on his heart-melting smile. “Do you want a preview?”

  The hairs on my neck prickle. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know where this is going, especially when his face is so close to mine. “I like previews.”

  “Good.” He leans in more, so close that I can feel his breath on my cheek. My heart pounds as I wait, and I hope kissing will be as awesome as people claim. At the last moment, Winn pulls back and holds up a piece of paper. “Because I’m really excited about this coupon—two for one at the diner!”

  I grab the coupon and hit him with it, even though we’re both laughing. “You jerk!”

  “Hey!” He scoops me up so we’re right against each other, and suddenly it’s quiet again. “I just don’t want you to feel pressured. Of course I want to kiss you, but that’s not the only reason you’re my girlfriend.”

  I suck in a breath. It’s the first time he’s said “girlfriend,” and it feels incredible. “You know you said the G word, right? Are you sure?”

  He nods, but the tiniest flicker of doubt shadows his eyes. “Unless you don’t want to be.”

  “Winn.” My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but I can’t seem to help it. “Of course I do! I’ve been dying to call you my boyfriend.”

  He’s going to kiss me. I can feel it in the air, in the way he looks at me, in the way my heart beats at my rib cage. He leans in again, and as I begin to close my eyes there’s a loud knocking on the window. We jump apart, and I whirl around, finding a disturbingly happy face. Maggie.

  I let out an irritated sigh. “Guess that’s my cue.”

  “Who’s that?” Winn asks as I grab my bag.

  “My cousin. Her school gets out a little earlier, and she’s visiting for the summer.” I open the door. “Maggie, this is Winn.”

  She swoons over him. “My, oh, my. You done good, Jojo. You done good.”

  Winn gives me this look like he’s not sure if she’s for real, and I cringe because she totally is. “See you tomorrow,” I say.

  “I’ll call you later.” He reluctantly lets go of my hand, and I force myself to get out and walk up the path with Maggie, who keeps looking back at him.

  “He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen,” she says when we get inside.

  I slide down the front door, wishing I’d had a few more minutes with him. “I know.”

  Kat appears from the living room. “Are you done sucking face?”

  “We didn’—”


  That’s when my dad decides to come down the stairs. We stand there, silent, and he stares at us. “Were you talking about me?”

  “Nope,” I say, and all three of us burst out laughing.

  He raises an eyebrow, clearly unsure of how to deal with a gaggle of teen girls. “Okay . . . well, Dorothea put me in charge of dinner, so you’re warned. I’ll have something barely edible for you in about half an hour.”

  I pull myself up from the ground. “Sounds good. We’re going up to the histories, since I can finally talk again. Whatever you do, don’t come find us when the food is ready.”

  “Why?”

  I look up at the stairs, which from this angle seem to lead to mystery. “Trust me: you don’t want to know.”

  Kat and Maggie follow me to the iron, spiral staircase that leads to the tower’s third story. The railing is cold on my hand and slightly rough. At each step, the air gets thicker; the heat seems to pool up here as if it’s attracted to the concentration of magic. It tastes earthy and powerful on my tongue.

  We stand in front of the door, which is gilded in spells. Gold-dust filigree—studded with bone carvings and preserved forget-me-nots—dedicate this place to the lives of the past and remind us that the information we’ve gathered must not be lost. In the center of the door hangs a heavy braid laced with shiny beads—a braid containing every Hemlock witch’s hair since we began.

  I remember the day Nana pulled me up the stairs to add my mother’s. We were still in mourning, and I sobbed as I watched my grandmother lace sapphire beads onto my mother’s black lock. She weaved it into the other strands, sealed it all with the purest olive oil, and then rebraided the whole thing, officially adding Mom to the long list of the dead.

  I put my hand to a sapphire bead. I haven’t been up here often since that day—only when Nana makes me try to open Mom’s history or to write in my own. I should probably read the histories more, but I trust Nana to tell me what is necessary. Besides, no one could possibly get through them all.

  “Kat, when we get inside, don’t touch anything,” I say.

  “Seriously,” Maggie whispers. “Nothing. It’s too dangerous.”

  Kat nods, her gulp audible in the ancient silence.

  I put my hand to the brass knob, and the spell calls for me to undo it. I push the required magic into the metal.

  Click.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  TWENTY-ONE

  When the door creaks open, we’re greeted by a surly boa constrictor. He coils around the nearest chair, eyeing us as if he’s famished. His tongue flickers in and out, and then his eyes glow hot purple. Kat grabs my sleeve, and I laugh.

  “Don’t worry; it’s an illusion.” I pluck a few eyelashes and flick them at the image. It vanishes in a pink smoke, leaving a pleasant scent like peaches. “Of course, it would have killed you if you didn’t know how to get rid of it.”

  “Ours is a giant boar that will gore you to death if you don’t give it enchanted mushrooms,” Maggie says.

  I groan. “I hate that thing. It’s creepy.”

  Maggie rolls her eyes. “It’s a pig.”

  “I’m beginning to understand why you didn’t take me up here when you were mute.” Kat’s hands are glued to her body, like any sudden movement will send a scythe at her head.

  “So,” Maggie says as she scans the rows of shelves, all filled with Hemlock tomes. They look intimidating even to me, hidden in the dim lighting. At least Great-Great-Grandmother Agatha took care to put them in order from oldest to newest. Having a timeline should help us find things more easily. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  “Hmm, that’s a good question.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. I always forget how intense the magic is up here, history after history enchanted with its own spells. It’s like being surrounded by thousands of math problems your brain is begging to answer, except if you get one wrong you could grow a huge wart on your face. Or get covered in frog slime. Or lose an ear. It depends on if the witch had a sense of humor or a dark side.

  “What are those?” Kat nods at the three old desks, each with a heavy leather book on it.

  “My history, my mother’s, and Nana’s,” I say as I point to each desk. “I should probably get mine up to speed at some point. I think the last time I wrote in it was a year ago.”

  Maggie shakes her head. “Aunt Pru says it’s our duty to keep a detailed account of our lives, what we learn about magic, and the changing world. She’d have my head if I neglected mine so much.”

  I walk to my mother’s desk and read her name, neatly carved into the front. “Maybe she’d understand if Tessa were dead.”

  She bites her lip. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” I’m too focused on my mom’s history to be mad. Hers is the one we need—all the answers are probably right here between the pages. I reach my hand out. If I could open the cover . . .

  A shock of electricity shoots through my arm before I even touch it. I recoil, mad at myself for not being able to come to terms with her death like I should.

  “Maggie can’t open it?” Kat asks. It’s only then that I realize she’s beside me.

  I sigh. “No, only a Hemlock witch can—one who’s prepared to read what’s inside. After I open the books, anyone can touch them, though.”

  Maggie puts her hands on her hips, surprisingly serious for her. “So if we can’t read Carmina’s, what do we read? Where do we even start?”

  “Well, we’re looking for clues about these male magic users, how they came to be,” I say. “So that means we need to read about the times our family has been hunted and Cursed, or anything else that seems out of the ordinary for witches in general.”

  Maggie nods. “Yeah, that narrows it down. A little.”

  “We should split up,” Kat says. “Someone should start from the beginning, someone at the middle, and someone near the end.”

  “That could work, but . . .” I tap my foot. There has to be an efficient way to do this. I snap my fingers. “Okay, Kitty Kat, you start at the beginning, since you have a lot to learn anyway. Mags, you find the Salem incident—that’s when things got pretty bad for all witches in America. Maybe something will stick out. And I’ll start with Agatha, who built this house. If someone wants it, maybe she’ll have clues about who.”

  They both nod.

  “This way.” I lead them down the narrow aisle between shelves. The histories take up the entire attic. The farther we go, the more tattered the books become. We try our best to care for them, but we can’t stop time. At least I don’t think so. If we could, I bet we’d have to do something terrible like sacrifice people. No thanks.

  A few books hiss or wail as we walk by, which has Kat even more on edge. She squeaks when a ghost girl with no eyes comes oozing out of one. “What pretty eyes you have,” the girl sings to Kat. “Give them to me, and I will show you my secrets.”

  “Jo . . .” Kat backs into Maggie, who shoves her right through the ghost to me.

  “It’s okay. Witches can make ghosts. Way easy defense because they have always freaked people out.”

  Maggie smiles wickedly. “Plus it’s fun.”

  “That, too.” I reach into my satchel for the common items I grabbed. Eyes. It’s like every spell requires them.

  The ghost reaches out to Kat, brushing Kat’s bangs away with a pale, translucent hand. “I’ve never had green ones before. Perhaps they have special powers. . . .”

  “Here,” I say, holding out two pig eyes in a plastic baggy. “I think these suit you better.”

  The ghost takes them happily, and then she’s sucked back into the journal she came from. I take it from the shelf, since I had to go to the trouble of unlocking it anyway. Mary Hemlock, 1634–1698. “Hey, lucky us—she was alive during Salem!”

  “Really?” Maggie looks at it. “Shoulda guess
ed, trying to freak us out with such theatrics.”

  “She was probably the head of the house at the time, since the trials were in 1692.” I look at the book spines nearest Mary’s. “Here’s Emily Hemlock, who is probably her daughter . . . and Charlotte comes next, oh, and Teresa. Looks like Emily had a few daughters.”

  “So your family was fertile at one point.” Maggie already has Mary’s book open. She flips through the pages slowly, and I get the sense that she enjoys histories much more than I do.

  “Shut up.” Most witches struggle with infertility, having one child or two. Three is extremely lucky. Nana says that’s how it is. She tried for a decade to have Mom, and apparently Mom was with Dad for a while before . . . Okay, stopping that image now. “Just because the Crafts are having a couple fruitful generations doesn’t mean you’re immune. It happens to all families at one point or another.”

  “Do you guys always talk this openly about fertility and passing on bloodlines and other reproductive topics?” Kat asks.

  I laugh. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “It’s really important,” Maggie says. “My mom might make me wait until I’m old enough, but making babies is how we keep our magical lines going. How could we not talk about it or want it or look forward to it?”

  Kat nods slowly, seeming to mull it over. “Fair enough.”

  After I open the Salem histories for Maggie, I head for the oldest books, which Kat will have a fun time reading. They are from twelfth-century England, and pretty crazy. “I’ll dispel the first three for you. Call if you get through them all.”

  “Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “They won’t kill me after they’re unlocked, right?”

  “No.” I smile at her worried face. “Actually, I thought it’d be worse. Seems like most of them have touch spells; so as long as you don’t bump anything, you’re good. And I’m right here if you get clumsy.”

  She nods. “You already saved my life once today.”