The Wise and the Wicked

by Rebecca Podos

Ruby had forgotten those nights until now.

  “I—I thought they were just . . . helping people.”

  “Hmm,” her mother murmurs beside her. “Ruby, you know I love your sisters. I love them for exactly who they are, and who they aren’t. Ginger is so sure of everything. Two plus two equals four, and you can’t tell her otherwise. She’s very smart, but that stubbornness makes her incurious. And Dahlia . . . she’s always been sweet, but flighty, since she was a little girl. Distracted by every passing thought or whim, like a little butterfly on the breeze, with no real purpose. I taught her the ritual the way teachers used to make us memorize a passage out of Shakespeare and recite it for the class. Do they still make you do that?” Evelina asked, but continued without an answer. “They accept the sacrifices and they say the words, but Dahlia doesn’t speak the language, in more ways than one. She only knows the smallest part of what we can do, and it’s enough for her. For so many of the women in this family. Polina could’ve helped you, if she’d dared, but not your sisters. Not even if they’d been honest with you, or if you’d told them about your Time. All they could’ve done was nudge it backward a bit. They aren’t equipped for real power. They aren’t hungry enough to learn to wield it.

  “But you, Ruby! You have that hunger. You’ve had it since you were born. The second you figured out how to crawl, you wanted to walk. I taught you to count to ten, and you wouldn’t stop asking till you could count to one hundred. I put a clock in your room when you were learning to tell time, and you climbed up your dresser, grabbed it off the wall, and took it apart to see how it worked. You always wanted to learn. If knowing your Time changed any of that . . . You might be young, but you’re strong enough to carry this knowledge. I see it in you, the way Polina saw it in me. You’re stronger than your sisters.”

  “Polina said you left us because you were scared,” Ruby protested. “She said you were running away from your fate. Or . . . that’s what Ginger said. That you were weak.”

  “They were wrong, Ruby. I left to figure out how to be strong. And I did it. I made myself strong for you, zerkal’tse. You don’t have to believe me now. But I promise you,” she said fiercely, reaching over to clutch Ruby’s winter-numb hand in hers, “you will.”

  • Twenty-Three •

  The house on Stone Road had a tiny backyard, just a square plot bordered by a tall wooden fence, weather-grayed, half-consumed by a thick blackberry hedge that hardly ever gave fruit. When it did, the Japanese beetles and june bugs got there first. There was also a small concrete porch under an awning just deep enough to protect their shabby swing, so although Ruby sat swaddled in her hat and coat and an armful of blankets, watching the waxy light of dawn peel away the dark, at least she wasn’t sitting in snow.

  She’d been out here long enough that her nose and fingertips were strangers, numb and damp-feeling, but she’d been awake much longer than that. In fact, she’d never fallen asleep.

  Ruby had made it home just before midnight—though a curfew never had been established, midnight seemed the magical hour, and to stay with her mother beyond that was to press her luck—and she’d expected her sisters to pounce the moment her key touched the lock, demanding the details of her date. But they’d been curled up on the couch watching an old season of America’s Next Top Model, and though she knew they’d been waiting up for her, they barely stirred when she walked in. In fact, they hadn’t asked a single question, except that Ginger wondered aloud whether she was ever planning to run the salt-encrusted Malibu through a car wash, or was waiting for it to molt in the spring.

  Taking the reprieve, Ruby had collapsed onto her bed. Brain still buzzing, she’d tried listening to the latest episode of Solving for X-traordinary, in which Kerrigan Black attempted to help Katherine Harrison of Wethersfield, Connecticut, a woman accused of witchcraft, but after denying the advances of the powerful owner of the town sawmill over the course of her investigation, was (predictably) accused of witchcraft herself. Instead of the voice of Jessica Keating, the host, Ruby heard her mother’s.

  What are you willing to lose?

  She’d ripped out her headphones and tried to sleep. But every time she lay back, she imagined herself falling. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw Mrs. Mahalel’s, two blue icicles that made her cold to her core. She knew she should have told her mother about the Mahalels. It was just that everything had happened so quickly. There was so much information to process. And even alone with her thoughts in her own bedroom, she still couldn’t figure out what there actually was to tell. That Mrs. Mahalel had come to town looking for them seemed certain, especially now that Ruby understood there was truth to the old stories, after all—more than she’d ever guessed. They still had secrets worth coveting. Ruby, of anybody, knew how far people would go for more time, more life. But how had Mrs. Mahalel found out about them, and what did she plan to do about it?

  Somehow, Ruby didn’t picture Dov’s mother as a paying client, come to beg her sisters for their services.

  And there was Dov. How much did he know? Where did he fit into the story? Against her will, she felt the lightning strike of whatever “Spark” Mrs. Mahalel had been talking about as she lay in the dark, and the fire in Dov’s hands licking up her twisted leg, and remembered his lips, the way they’d parted to let her in.

  She gave up on sleep completely when the sky lightened at last, settling on the creaking porch swing under her blanket pile. And that was where her sisters discovered her. Letting the back door bang shut behind them, they wedged themselves onto the swing on either side of her. Ruby found it difficult to look at them, so she stared into the all-but-dead blackberry hedge.

  “We want the truth and the whole truth,” Ginger commanded.

  Her stomach tightened, but eased when Dahlia clapped her hands eagerly and chimed, “Yes, come on, tell us how it went with your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Ruby said.

  “Your inamorato, then,” said Ginger.

  “My what?”

  “Your lover. Jeez, haven’t you taken three years of Italian?”

  “Oh gross. They didn’t teach us that.” She assumed they hadn’t, anyway—Italian was a final-period class, and Ruby’s attendance, therefore, erratic.

  “Anyway,” Dahlia said, “we feel, as your big sisters, that there’s certain . . . wisdom we should be sharing with you.”

  “Uh-huh,” she muttered, apprehensive.

  “Wisdom about, you know, what takes place in a boy’s bedroom, boyfriend or no—”

  “Nooooo,” Ruby moaned, dropping her face into her gloves. “Can you just . . . not do that?”

  Beside her, she felt Dahlia stiffen, though she spoke gently. “If you’d rather talk about this stuff with Mom, it would be okay. We’d get it.”

  Ruby jerked herself upright. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because she’s your mother, Ruby. What she did to us . . . to the family . . . it’s hard to forgive. Maybe impossible. But if you want her in your life—”

  “How could you be okay with that, when she ruined your life?”

  “Did she?” Dahlia tilted her head to the side and stared dreamily into the backyard, as if considering this. “It doesn’t feel ruined.”

  “If she hadn’t left, you could have graduated instead of raising us,” Ruby insisted, unsure whether she was arguing with Dahlia, or herself.

  “Ruby, I made my own choice,” she said calmly.

  And Ruby realized, for perhaps the first time, that it was true. Yes, their mother had relinquished custody of Ruby and Ginger before fleeing, but that didn’t mean Dahlia had to take it up. Evelina hadn’t even asked it of Dahlia in her letter. She could have let them live with Polina, where they’d have their own bathrooms, and a big-if-overgrown backyard, reliable electricity, and no wasp infestations. Dahlia could be somebody else, somewhere else, doing whatever twenty-seven-year-olds did. Having coffee with her coworkers in their fancy break room, or raising a daughter of her own, or getting sl
oppy drunk and stoned and having wild sex every night, just because she could; because there was no Ruby there needing help with homework she hadn’t intended to do anyway.

  Dahlia would be free, and the three of them would be a very different family right now.

  She turned to Ginger, who didn’t look so Zen as Dahlia. “Do you want Mom back?”

  Her middle sister set her jaw so tightly, Ruby could almost hear molars grinding, small bones grating. “I’m too old to want a Mom again. I think she missed her window. But you could still have one, if you wanted. You’re still young.” For once, she didn’t sound condescending about Ruby’s age.

  She sounded jealous.

  “We’re only saying it’s up to you,” Dahlia took over. “That we wouldn’t judge you. But if you did want to talk to us about last night—”

  “OH MY GOD, we didn’t do anything.” Nothing approaching sex, anyhow, though if Dov hadn’t pulled away when he did . . .

  “Well, what happened, then?”

  “I don’t know. It was . . . nice. He made us a fire pit. We held gloves.”

  Dahlia swooned, tilting sideways on the bench to toss her arms around Ruby. She let the hug happen.

  She should tell her sisters everything—that in defiance of their elders and the most basic Chernyavsky laws, she and Cece had been on a mission to alter their Times (of course, Dahlia and Ginger would put a stop to it, once they knew) and that she had gone to their mother (though Ruby didn’t quite know how to explain how she could trust the woman who’d abandoned them, if, in fact, she truly did) and absolutely, about the Mahalels.

  But her sisters had lied to her, first, pretending that they were simple, humble women helping other women, hiding from Ruby the scraps of power they possessed.

  They aren’t equipped for real power, her mother had said.

  That, Ruby believed. Certainly not her sisters, committed to their lives in Nowhere, Maine, with their terrible jobs and terrible boyfriends, because they believed they were safe as long as they were small, as if submission had ever really protected women. Not Vera or the aunts, who’d fled after the Reading, scared even to consider what Polina’s outliving her Time had meant. None of them trusted Ruby with what was hers by birth, by right: the whole truth of who they were, and who they might be again.

  Only the mother who barely knew her believed she was strong enough.

  When Dahlia pulled back, her eyes glittered. “Let’s spend the day together, just us three. We even got you a present.” She looked to Ginger.

  Ginger hoisted a plastic shopping bag Ruby hadn’t noticed, and three small boxes tumbled out into her lap. Ruby leaned in to examine them: boxes of semipermanent hair color in three shades. One a bright penny copper, one a vivid candy-apple red, and one a velvety deep hue called Midnight Ruby.

  “See?” Dahlia smiled, pleased with herself. “It’s fate.”

  Guilt and anger still clawed for purchase inside of her, but in the end, she was too exhausted to sustain either. Instead, she let herself be led to the bathroom.

  By the time they were done, the sink and tub were splashed with what looked like blood—human this time—in varying stages, from freshly spilled and bright to old-crime-scene dark. Because Ruby’s box was made for brunettes, bleach hadn’t been necessary, so they were examining their dyed and blow-dried hair in the steamed mirror before most of Saltville had finished its Sunday brunch.

  Dahlia squeezed her hand and kissed her red-streaked cheek, lips smacking sloppily. “It’s perfect. You’re one of us, now.”

  If only Dahlia really meant that. If only she and Ginger would trust Ruby with what she was trying to accomplish . . . but they wouldn’t. It was Ruby’s future at stake—Ruby’s and Cece’s both—and since she couldn’t wrest the truth from her own family . . .

  Well, there was always her enemies.

  • Twenty-Four •

  She stood outside of Dov’s bedroom door at noon on Monday, but didn’t knock, afraid of what she’d find inside; though she’d forbidden herself from doing so, she pictured him on his deathbed. Piles of quilts, handkerchiefs spotted with lung’s blood, black-veiled women sitting vigil.

  Maybe not the last. She knew he was home alone.

  Dov hadn’t been at school, but Talia was. While Cece had gasped over her hair, Talia had ignored Ruby altogether. And that was fine, because it gave Ruby the chance to study Talia, striving to notice what she never had before. Like that she spoke with her hands, the silver charm bracelet on her slim olive wrist flashing in the cafeteria lights, as did a tiny diamond nose stud. And she talked a lot. About a show both she and Cece watched, and a book they were both reading outside of class, and all of the clubs she was trying to persuade Cece to join. She had a louder laugh than Ruby remembered. Not the worst, just high and echoing, like a cymbal beat.

  Ruby found herself strangely relieved—if his sister could laugh so easily, Dov must not be too sick or hurt—then fought to pay closer attention. She tried to determine whether Talia was acting differently, more guarded, whether her smile was forced, her movements performative.

  But it was impossible to guess what Talia knew.

  That is, until Ruby left the caf at the end of the period, and an arm hooked roughly through hers from behind, marching her backward through the crowd and shoving her, stumbling, into the girls’ locker room. The air inside was thick with shower steam and the smell of makeup and sweat, but it was empty between classes.

  For the first time, she was alone with Talia Mahalel.

  Talia’s eyes narrowed to sharp amber points. “I want to know what you told Cece.”

  Ruby wasn’t planning to have this conversation today, but that was all right. She needed information, something to take back to her mother, and had her strategy prepared. And it was ironic, because just when she was starting to feel strong, she had to pretend to be weak. Small already, she shrank down into her spine as if to protect her vulnerable parts. She made herself wild-eyed, as if searching for exits, and spoke with a tremble in her voice. “Nothing! I didn’t tell her. I wouldn’t.”

  That much was true, and it twisted her heart. She’d wanted to tell Cece everything, text her their Super-Actual-Emergency Code, conference with her over fries and ice waters. Did you know that your girlfriend’s mother is in Saltville because of us, probably with nefarious intentions? Do you think Talia . . . and Dov . . . might be in on it? Might be using you . . . or us? Has Talia ever asked you strange questions—whether our people are allergic to garlic or iron, if we have any special talents, where we store our family secrets?

  That was a terrible thought, but she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a possibility, no matter how badly she wanted to. Had Talia known who she and Cece were from the beginning? Had Dov? Because that would be some coincidence, both siblings falling for the only of-age Chernyavsky progeny in Saltville.

  Ruby told herself she wasn’t keeping a secret, because she absolutely intended to tell Cece everything. She was only holding on to the truth, for a little while, to protect her. She’d always looked out for Cece—in second grade, when Austin Griggs called her fat, and Ruby beaned him from across the classroom with a hardcover copy of From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler when their teacher had stepped out. On a school field trip to Funtown Splashdown, when Aunt Annie packed Cece a bikini, but all the other girls had coordinated their one-pieces the night before, so Ruby went down Liquid Lightning with Cece in her training bra and underwear, daring the park staff to call her out with murder in her eleven-year-old eyes. And the summer when Mikki and Lili developed their own secret language and spoke it constantly just to annoy the rest of them, but Cece was crushed, close to tears at the exclusion. Until Ruby got them in trouble with their mother by daring them to smoke the cigarette they found in Aunt Irina’s purse when she knew Aunt Nelly would smell it on them. Then their sputtered protests were strictly in English.

  So she was really protecting her cousin, possibly from the Mahalels, and definitely fro
m herself. Cece wasn’t a liar like Ruby. She couldn’t keep a secret this big, and would try to stop Ruby for her own good by running to Aunt Annie to admit everything. She was loyal and sweet and good, but she wasn’t . . . brave, Ruby had almost thought, and felt sick for echoing Cece’s worst beliefs about herself.

  Steeling herself on the inside, Ruby made herself weak and fluttery on the outside. “I promise, I just . . . I don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

  Talia’s cheeks blazed. “You think I’d hurt her? What, like you hurt my brother?”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “You already did. Dov is so dumb and noble, he couldn’t just let you be in the tiniest bit of pain. He had to ruin everything and make himself sick and spill our secret, when he’s barely known you a minute. Now he’s home in bed, and you’re perfectly fucking fine.” She cast a disdaining glance at Ruby’s leg. “And my mom wouldn’t even let me stay home with him in case he needs something.”

  “She left him alone?”

  “Well, she works, Ruby,” she sneered, as if it were Ruby living the high life on Oak Lane, while Talia’s family was saving pennies and wearing hand-me-downs on Stone Road. “And if we have to move again and I have to leave my—leave Cece because of you, I swear . . . Just stay away from us, so nobody else gets hurt.” With that, she whirled and stormed from the locker room, as if Ruby had dragged her in and not the other way around.

  Had that been a threat? It was hard to tell. The conversation—if it could be called that—hadn’t been terribly illuminating. She would never get the truth from Talia, but that wasn’t the plan anyway. Luckily, there was a Mahalel who thought better of Ruby.

  Talia had been helpful in one way. Thanks to her, Ruby knew she had the opportunity to talk to Dov without the risk of running into his mother, if she left school for the Mahalels’ right now. And when she took a chance and tried to let herself in through their garage door, she was grateful Dov had told her the truth: it was always unlocked.