The Hawkweed Prophecy

by Irena Brignull

  A baby died in its sleep—Ada Swift had cursed it. A farmer’s barn burned down—it was Bathsheba Flynn’s revenge for being scorned by him. The village beauty fitted and foamed at the mouth—the envious Morwenna Dickinson had put a spell on her. They were the boogeywomen. Every town must have one to make some sense of their woes.

  There was one, a girl named Margaret Bryant, who was suspected of witchcraft on account of her eyes. One blue, one green. The left eye had two pupils. Poppy’s eyes read about Margaret’s eyes. Her brain slowed and dulled so the words became just meaningless shapes on the page. Then she read about the cats who came from villages far and wide to live with Margaret Bryant. The “Cat Caller” the people had christened her.

  On cue, Minx appeared at Poppy’s window and gave a loud meow, rubbing her body against the glass. In that instant Poppy knew. It was like a dousing with cold water that woke her without warning from a sleepwalk. Suddenly her brain whirred into action and she saw her whole life afresh. It flickered across her mind like a reel of old film, a silent movie without words or colors, the images stark without any special effects. The cats . . . the spiders . . . the sixth sense . . . the weather . . . the accidents . . . the expulsions . . . her mother . . .

  Her mad, mistaken mother! She had known. She had tried to tell her, but Poppy hadn’t listened. Nobody had.

  Poppy opened the window and Minx leapt inside and onto the bed. The cat waited for Poppy to get back under the covers and then stepped back and forth over her stomach before settling on it. Poppy stroked Minx’s head, then lifted the book and read over and over again about poor Margaret Bryant who drowned for the sake of her eyes . . . the very same eyes that Poppy saw in the mirror each day. Poppy felt the words crystallize in her mind.

  She recognized Margaret Bryant. She recognized all these women, with their old-fashioned names and cats and grisly ends.

  These women were her sisters.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After school Poppy found Leo. She had guarded her news within her all day long, but she wanted so badly to release it. For years she’d existed in a blur of confusion and doubt, but now she had clarity. At last her life made sense. She felt like a whole new person and longed to introduce herself.

  Poppy knew where to find Leo, just as she’d known where to find Ember that day in the woods. He looked shocked to see her, but she took his hand and looked into his eyes and this time he didn’t retreat. He didn’t look away and she saw everything. The childhood beatings, the violence that caused the scars, the tears sobbed in secret at his mother’s death, the final fight—one against three, the slash of the knife and the blood, so much blood, the running away and the never coming back; those first few nights on the streets, feeling hunted, cold, scared; the brawls, the danger, the survival. Poppy’s heart contracted in her chest as she realized where Leo lived. She felt an acute pain deep inside of her at all he’d suffered and she cried out. Tears pricked in her eyes and emotion clogged in her throat so she couldn’t speak.

  Leo squeezed her hand. “Poppy?” he said in a voice that was strained and anxious.

  “I messed up yesterday,” she managed. “I shouldn’t have left you.” Then she let go of his hand. “I don’t want to have stuff that I don’t talk to you about,” she said shyly. “I want you to know everything.”

  Without any more delay, she led him to the dell, walking quickly so as not to keep Ember waiting once more. Leo followed her without asking where or why, just traveling alongside her, helping her over stiles and through hedgerows, holding back the brambles from her face. As they went, Poppy’s thoughts ripped through her mind. How would Leo and Ember react to what she had to tell them? Ember, she hoped, would understand. Witches were all too familiar to her. But what would Leo make of it? “I am a witch.” Even to Poppy’s ears, it sounded laughable. Leo might not even believe her. And if he did, he might not want to. He might think she was crazy or evil.

  He might run for his life.

  And then he took her hand, and Poppy felt like she could breathe again. As the panic eased, she focused on the warmth in her palm that seemed to spread up her arm and to her heart. Shyly glancing up at him, she saw him smile at her.

  “You all right?” he checked. Poppy nodded. “You looked pretty worried there.”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” Poppy said, realizing that she meant it. “It’s all going to be okay.”

  No sooner had she spoken than the path ahead became thick with mud and they had to stop. Poppy took a tentative step, and her boot squelched into the dark, wet bog. She pulled it back, the sticky earth not wanting to let go of her foot.

  “I’ll carry you,” Leo told her.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “C’mon. I dare you.”

  Poppy scanned Leo’s face. His eyes seemed to be laughing at her, though his mouth was straight and serious.

  “You can’t,” she said. “I’m too heavy.”

  “Heavy! There’s nothing of you, girl.”

  “Okay. Piggyback.”

  “Seriously?!”

  “Turn around.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Poppy jumped up onto his back, clutching her arms around his neck, her legs circling his waist.

  “Okay?”

  “Yup, you?”

  “Hold tight.” Leo started to walk through the bog with long, slow strides. “Not that tight,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  Leo made a choking sound. “You’re kind of strangling me!”

  Poppy loosened her arms. “Oh God, sorry!”

  He almost slipped, and her arms and legs tightened a second. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Poppy relaxed and leaned her head on Leo’s shoulder, her mouth a moment from his neck. He nearly slipped again and she cried out and clung on. He laughed.

  “You’re doing it on purpose,” she said with mock outrage. “Let me down!”

  “Never!” His arms came back and shifted her up higher onto his back. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “No!” She spoke out loud, but inside she answered with a yes. For she did trust him. She trusted him to know her secret and still want to be with her. She trusted him to believe her and not to run away.

  Ember stopped in her tracks when she saw Poppy. She had worried all night that Poppy wouldn’t come today either, that she’d never come, that she’d never see her again. But there she was, standing in her long, familiar coat, her hands buried deep inside her pockets. Ember raised her arm and waved excitedly.

  Poppy withdrew a hand and waved back, and it was then that Ember first set eyes on him. He must have been sitting before, hidden behind the old chest of drawers, for he rose up as if from nowhere, as if by magic. Ember couldn’t move. Poppy was smiling at her. And the boy, he was looking up at her expectantly. She was supposed to be hurrying toward them, returning their smiles and greeting them. But the boy’s black eyes had her fixed and she couldn’t release herself.

  “Ember!” Poppy beckoned.

  Ember’s legs obeyed and she found herself tottering down the hill, unstable as a fawn taking its first steps.

  “Hey!” said the boy as she neared them.

  The warm, low tone of his voice, the likes of which Ember had never heard before, rippled over her like the river in summertime.

  “I’m Leo,” he said, and those words brought Ember back to life. Her lips spread into a smile and a blush tingled in her cheeks.

  She couldn’t risk looking at him directly in the eye, showing all she was feeling, so she gazed at him through her lashes and said as sweetly as she could, “I’m Ember.”

  Leo offered out his hand and she took it, memorizing the feeling for later.

  Ember heard Poppy make a sound, a muttered word or a cough, Ember couldn’t tell, but it was enough to make her turn suddenly and remember that her friend was there too. Relieved and happy and embarrassed all at once, Ember threw her arms around Poppy and held her tight.

  “I missed you,” she said. Over Poppy’s
shoulder, Ember spied the textbook under the sofa cushion and she broke off to retrieve it. “You got the book I left for you?”

  Poppy nodded. “I did. It was . . . it was perfect.”

  A silence fell over the three of them. Poppy opened her mouth to speak, but then paused as if uncertain what to say. “I wanted . . . I wanted to . . .”

  Ember glanced for a second at Leo and immediately felt her blush returning. When she looked back, she realized Poppy had stopped speaking altogether.

  “Poppy?” Leo questioned.

  Poppy swallowed as if nervous. “This is where I first met Ember,” she said quietly. “Where we hang out . . .”

  “It’s a good place,” he said.

  “Yeah, a garbage dump!” Poppy remarked.

  “I’ll fit right in, then,” he said flatly, and Poppy rolled her eyes like she was cross, but then they smiled at each other and Ember realized they’d been joking. It was as though they spoke a language she had yet to learn.

  The dell was Ember’s place, but suddenly she felt like the stranger there when it should be Leo who took that role. He seemed so comfortable, so at ease. The light dappled through the trees and a ray caught his face, illuminating him. And in the clear autumn light Ember’s mind brightened with understanding. Poppy has brought him here for me, she thought. This is why she didn’t make it yesterday. He is the reason. I told her I didn’t have a friend, and she gave me her friendship. I told her I’d never even met a boy and she brought me him—the most perfect boy I could ever have imagined. She felt a surge of love for Poppy and wished she could cry out her thanks. Instead, she stored up all her gratitude for later and stole another glance at Leo, who smiled at her, and this time, she smiled back more openly.

  “It is a good place,” she gushed. “I come here often. It’s like my home. Not where I live—I don’t mean that.” Ember felt her cheeks reddening. “Just, I feel more at home here.”

  Ember could hear herself babbling, but Leo was nodding as though he understood completely.

  “Can I show you my favorite thing?” she asked him.

  Ember didn’t wait for Leo to answer but took his arm and pulled him along. He came so easily. It felt so natural, so effortless, being with a boy, like fox cubs learning to hunt or chicks taking flight for the very first time. Pushing the nettles aside with her foot, she took him to the fireplace with the broken tiles and the cracked marble. From the hearth she lifted up the old clock with flowers engraved at the bottom, and he took it from her hands and studied it.

  “It doesn’t work,” she said apologetically.

  “I could try to get this fixed for you if you like?”

  Ember’s eyes were shining. “Would you? Really?” She felt almost breathless. She turned the clock within his hands and bent her head toward him to show the opening at the back. Trapped inside were the tiny metal wheels suspended there like fallen, silver stars.

  His long fingers reached and touched them so delicately. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  Poppy felt like she had run aground and she was sinking. Cold water was icing her from her toes upward. The chill was spreading up her legs, through her stomach, touching her heart. Soon, she thought, she would drown. She had been sailing on the wind, free and fast, until Ember had set eyes on Leo and Poppy’s hull had cracked.

  I brought him here, Poppy told herself. I did this. She thought she had brought them both together so she could tell them her news, her big, life-changing news. She had wanted to share it so much, but now the words couldn’t form in her mind, let alone come out of her mouth. For when Ember had stood there before Leo, Poppy had seen the real reason why they were here.

  It was not for her. It was for them.

  From across the dell Poppy stared at Ember and saw her afresh through Leo’s eyes. She was a girl from another time, untainted by the modern age—long, peasant skirt and rosy cheeks and hair that fell to her waist. It wasn’t just her locks that were golden; her whole being shone with hope and promise and goodness. Poppy watched as Ember smiled and brushed the hair from her face and tipped her head to look at Leo shyly through her lashes. Poppy had seen other girls do the same. She wondered how Ember knew what to do when she herself never did. And she realized then that it wasn’t copied or learned. It was ageless and instinctive.

  As she studied the two of them, their heads close together, almost touching while they examined the clock, Poppy felt a surge of anger and a cloud swept across the sky to cover the sun. She wouldn’t tell them her news. Not now, not ever. Gloom descended over the dell and Ember looked up at Poppy, trying to catch her eye, wanting to impart something.

  It’s gratitude, thought Poppy. She is thanking me, for him. Just as quickly as it arrived, the anger departed. Poppy felt limp, powerless without it. A squirrel scampered onto her back and settled on her shoulder. Poppy stood up straighter just so it could rest there.

  Later, when Leo was gathering bits and parts he could use or sell, Ember linked her arm through Poppy’s.

  “A boy!”

  “I know.”

  “A real-life boy.”

  “There are lots of them out there.”

  “Not like him.”

  Not like him, Poppy thought, watching Leo as he worked, his hands deft, the sinews in his arms straining as he took apart the machinery and broke off the pieces he needed, his face so concentrated and serious.

  “Will you tell me?” Ember asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  Ember giggled in a way that Poppy had never heard her do before. “Tell me what he says about me.” Poppy raised her eyebrows and Ember quickly added, “I’m a silly thing. I know.”

  Poppy wondered what a tough and flinty boy would do with a girl as soft as gossamer. Then she felt bad and said, “Of course I’ll tell you.”

  “You never mentioned him before . . .” Ember said with a hint of complaint.

  Poppy looked away from her. “I haven’t known him for long,” she explained.

  Ember must have caught the wistfulness in Poppy’s voice, for she suddenly stiffened and Poppy detected a hint of fear in her voice as she asked, “He’s not . . . he’s not your”—her voice dropping reverently—“boyfriend, is he?”

  “You are silly,” Poppy replied, and with those three small words, she gave away all hope.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The shock stabbed Sorrel like a splinter in her palm. She wasn’t sure why seeing the boy hurt so much. She had been expecting him, after all. But a boy being there, in the flesh, touching her cousin, smiling at her, laughing, holding her in his arms before they parted—this was something she could never have imagined. He was a good deal taller than Ember and the other girl. His head was shorn so he had a toughness that belied the gentleness he displayed in his gestures and his mannerisms. His skin was warm colored like honey. He was lean, though, his cheeks hollow and arms wiry. If you sliced through him, there’d be no fat on the meat, thought Sorrel.

  She had watched from the top of the dell, her eyes fixed on the boy—the way he moved, long legs climbing surely over the broken wares; the way he tilted his head before he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners; the way the hair grew sleek and smooth on his arms; the way his voice carried low and rich like the dark, damp earth deep beneath the surface. When Ember or the other girl spoke to him, he looked at them so intently as though he was truly listening, as though they were important.

  Sorrel wanted him to listen to her like that. She wanted such a smile. She wanted someone—him—to hold her arm to make sure she did not fall. No one had ever shown her such consideration, nor had she needed them to. In the coven she was able and strong. She was independent. Now she felt weak with confusion and longing. Ember was supposed to be the feeble one, but all of a sudden her cousin had something Sorrel didn’t. And Sorrel hated her for it.

  The other girl looked as Sorrel felt. Confused, hurt, angry. She hid it well, though, from both of them. Sorrel wasn’t even sure what that girl was doing there. Ha
d the boy brought her? Why? He left with her too, but the girl kept her distance, and Sorrel felt the wall she’d built around her. Ember had no such barrier. Her emotions lived on her outer edge and she offered them out for all to feel, no matter the bruises or the knocks. For those who had the sight, Ember’s new elation was like a mist rising around her, the colors of a sunrise. Sorrel possessed just enough power to behold it, but for those without, it could be sensed.

  The boy felt it for sure. Sorrel saw how he was drawn to Ember, how when she hugged him, he hugged her back, her light rubbing onto him. Yet when Ember touched the girl, the light deflected back as though she was impenetrable.

  Poppy kept a gap between herself and Leo as they walked back through the night, the trees silhouetted against the blue-black sky. She didn’t even look at Leo, not that much was visible now, only the shapes of things, not the details. The murkiness seeped inside of Poppy. She had lied to Ember, and now she would lie to Leo. Her body seemed to rebel against the notion, as she didn’t sense the broken branch and her foot tripped over it. She would have fallen to the ground but Leo caught her arm and held her up.

  As she grasped onto him, Poppy wondered if she’d get to touch him ever again. Blinded by the blackness of the night, all her other senses were on alert and she could feel Leo’s energy. She could smell him, hear him breathe, hear his heart beat. She knew he was about to speak.

  “Your friend—is that why we came up here?” he asked. He had a backpack full of stuff on his shoulder, but he held Ember’s clock in his hand.

  “I wanted you to meet her. She’s the best person I know. I . . . I would never do anything to hurt her.”