Charlock stepped forward until she reached the leader of the pack, distinguishable by its single blinking baby eye. Charlock picked it up and it fitted in her palm. She stroked its head and scratched its chin, and despite itself, it began to purr.
“Go back to the East,” Charlock said. “And leave my daughter be.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Poppy only felt the magnitude of what had happened when Ember hugged her. Her mind and her muscles had been wound so tight for so long now she felt she might snap. But in her friend’s embrace, finally she could soften.
“You’re safe,” whispered Ember. “We’re both safe now.”
The wounded were being treated, and Raven was not the only sister to be lost that day. Yet still the coven, fired up by their victory, wanted to celebrate.
“All in good time,” Charlock said, her face and demeanor having returned to their inscrutable placidity.
The color was restored to Ember’s cheeks and her hand felt warm in Poppy’s as she led her to the camp’s table. They sat there for a while, sipping broth from large spoons.
“Already they’re looking at me differently,” Ember said quietly from behind her hand so only Poppy could hear. “I’ve heard them whispering.”
Never before had a chaff been allowed within the coven’s circle, and Poppy could tell the witches were wary about Ember’s presence. They didn’t dare speak of it, though, not to Charlock and least of all to her. So Ember stayed another week to ensure her full recovery, sleeping in the caravan in which she had spent her life so far, but this time with Poppy lying next to her.
The winter days were short, night creeping into the afternoons, curling around the camp and coaxing the coven to their caravans. More time was spent in bed than out, more sleeping than arising, and so the time passed quickly, too quickly for Poppy’s liking, until it was already Ember’s last night. That evening neither girl could sleep. Instead, they talked long into the darkness, speaking of what had happened but also of what might come.
“Never in all my dreams did I think you would be here with me,” Ember said softly. “I’m so glad we had these days together.”
“Do you want to stay?” asked Poppy, suddenly hopeful, then wondering how she might make that happen.
“I can’t.”
Ember sounded so rigid that Poppy felt the rasp of rejection. “You don’t want to,” she argued in response.
“I can’t,” Ember said again, this time more gently.
Charlock entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. They heard her undressing and slipping under the covers, neither of them shutting their eyes, both waiting for her to fall asleep. Poppy could see their breath lift like smoke on the cold night air, but the blankets were thick above and beneath her body, keeping her warm, the material scratching slightly at her skin. No light came in through the little window. There was no need for curtains; it was pitch black outside and Poppy’s eyes had to work more keenly than ever before. Occasionally the clouds would allow the moon to show itself and then she could see the little caravan with its wooden floor and painted door, the family of copper pans hanging from the ceiling, the sheepskins strewn across the chairs. But when the moon disappeared again, they were plunged back into darkness and Poppy was reminded of the poem she’d learned at school of the moon “wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth.” Like me, she thought, and then Ember whispered, “You could come with me?” and Poppy recognized the wishing in her voice.
“I don’t think I belong out there,” Poppy whispered back, glancing to the other bed to check that Charlock’s eyes were closed.
“And you do here?” Ember blurted, her voice rising so Poppy had to put a finger to her lips to hush her. Ember tried to speak more quietly but she couldn’t keep the fervor from her words. “You don’t know what it’s like inside this place,” she stated.
“I know,” Poppy soothed. “Truth is, I don’t know where I belong.”
Ember reached out and clutched Poppy’s hand. “They’ll make you queen.”
Poppy felt herself freeze, then made herself relax and thaw. “The prophecy,” she said with a small smile. “Did you ever think it could just have been a bunch of meddling women long ago who wanted to cause some trouble, make themselves feel important?”
Ember’s forehead furrowed as she tried to fathom that. “It’s come true, though, hasn’t it? I heard what you did on the battlefield. You have the greatest power of all of them.”
“It was the most alive I’ve ever felt, apart from . . . ” Poppy fell silent.
She couldn’t talk of Leo, not to Ember. How could she explain that her power was also her curse? For it meant she couldn’t love him or feel his love in return. Poppy gave a shiver as she remembered Charlock’s words about Leo’s heart and how she might have harmed it. If she’d stayed with him any longer, he would have died. The thought of this made Poppy’s face drop, and she felt Ember gripping her hand tightly in response.
“What are you going to do?” Ember asked desperately.
“I’m going to take you home,” Poppy replied, trying to find a confidence she didn’t feel.
“And then?”
“And then we’ll see.”
Poppy felt Charlock’s eyelids blink in the blackness.
The next day Poppy and Ember left for town. Charlock made Ember a bag full of her old clothes, but Ember shook her head.
“Those are Poppy’s things now,” she said softly.
Charlock gave a small nod, then turned her eyes to Poppy, fretfully searching for signs. Poppy kept her face still under her mother’s gaze. “You will come back,” Charlock announced.
It sounded like a statement, not a question, but then Charlock waited for an answer and Poppy felt her insecurity. She didn’t know what to say, so she replied with a question of her own. “Will I know it?” she asked. “When the queen dies?”
Charlock nodded. “You will feel it.” And then she said it again, this time as an order. “Come back.”
A few of the sisters gathered to see Ember leave, but most, especially the young ones, went about their business, wishing to avoid any awkward good-byes. They had wanted Charlock and Poppy to make Ember forget. For her own benefit as much as ours, they had said. But Poppy refused to let Ember go lost into the world, not knowing her past, not understanding herself. And though the witches shook their heads, they didn’t challenge her. Surprisingly, Sister Ada was among the few to see Ember off. When she approached, Ember’s eyes automatically widened anxiously. But the old witch took Ember’s chin between her bony fingers and spoke with what came close to affection.
“You take good care out there.”
“I will,” promised Ember.
The two girls stayed at John Hooper’s house for a while. There was a For Sale sign outside and he had already moved most of his belongings to Donna’s. He still looked a little sheepish when he talked about her and Logan, but knowing that Melanie had come out of the hospital and that he had both her and Poppy’s blessing had freed him to begin his life again. It suited him, this new life. He seemed relaxed, softer in the shoulders, with the weight of all his worries having lifted from them. And he smiled more, deepening the lines around his eyes and mouth but looking younger for it.
Poppy introduced Ember as her friend, and Ember’s eyes welled up and she hugged John, clasping him tight, even though she and Poppy had agreed she would try to stay calm. Neither of them could imagine telling John the truth—or him believing it. Poppy knew it would be too much for him to comprehend and he would only feel hurt and bewildered by it. For Ember’s part, she worried that John would think her crazy, just as he had her mother. The coven had taught her that most couldn’t and shouldn’t turn their minds to the irrational and extraordinary. For her, it was enough simply to spend some time with him—her father . . .
“Poppy’s told me so much about you,” she said as her hands held onto John’s back.
John gave Poppy a look of
surprise over Ember’s shoulder. “Not all bad, I hope,” he joked awkwardly.
“Oh no,” said Ember so sincerely that her eyes shone. “Only the best.”
As for Poppy, she wasn’t sure she would ever stop thinking of John as her father, especially when he was so relieved to see her and got so mad at her for worrying him like that. She explained that she’d be going to live with her mom for a while. It was as close to the truth as she could get, and he nodded, then kept on nodding while he rubbed his eye and cleared his throat.
“You’re a good daughter, Poppy,” he said, and it was her turn to hold back the tears at these words she thought she’d never hear. “I don’t like to think of your mother alone,” he added, and Poppy wished she could tell him about Ember and Melanie just to comfort him. But then he was standing up and phoning his work and her school and arranging for them to spend their last few days together.
One morning he took the girls shopping, and Ember asked to have her hair cut.
“Not too short,” she told the hairdresser firmly. “Just different.”
She sat in the chair and let her head hang back into the sink and seemed to relish the feeling of the shampoo upon her scalp and the bubbles in her hair. Then it was dried by what Ember whispered looked like a weapon that shot hot air at her head but made her hair bob and float upon her shoulders.
Afterward, dressed in jeans and boots with a heel, with color in her clothes, makeup on her face, and layers in her hair, Ember looked like someone new. She walked and talked differently too. Poppy had seen her studying the other girls in town and on the television, but she still was surprised at how fast Ember took to her new part in life. Then, when they traveled on the train a few days later, Ember behaved as though she had done the journey a hundred times before.
It was Poppy who didn’t fit in, who never would.
Melanie had moved out of the hospital and into a small house in a village nearby. It had a garden in front and behind, Ember noted, and the door was purple like violets. Ember had expected to run into her mother’s arms, but when the door opened and she saw Melanie standing there, she found her legs wouldn’t move. Poppy had to shove her inside and pull her into the kitchen. Melanie seemed just as dumbstruck and would hardly look in Ember’s direction. Instead, she busied herself by making the tea, but her hand shook so much as she poured it into the china cups that Poppy took over the task, chatting all the while, trying to bridge the silence. Ember felt like weeping.
Then Melanie got out the cake she had made. Her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and her voice shaking with nerves, she presented it on a little stand. Upon it was written Ember’s name. Ember stared at the cake. It was white and pink and perfect, and when Melanie cut into it, Ember nearly cried out for the shame of spoiling it. They sat on sofas, balancing tiny plates awkwardly on their knees.
“It’s delicious,” said Poppy, urging Ember with her eyes to speak. “Don’t you think so, Ember?”
Melanie glanced up and Ember nodded, and then Melanie looked away again.
After they’d cleared the plates, Poppy suggested firmly that Melanie show Ember the house. While Poppy waited in the living room, Ember walked up the stairs, following her mother. She stared freely at Melanie’s back, observing how her hair fell on her shoulders, how her cardigan hung at her waist, how her ankles flexed on the steps and her feet fitted into her small, cream shoes.
Upstairs was a neat, blue bathroom. Next to it sat Melanie’s bedroom, yellow and white like daisies. And then they came to a second room. It was light and clean and there were books upon a shelf and a stuffed bear upon the bed.
“Do you like it?” murmured Melanie so quietly that Ember could hardly hear her.
“It’s lovely,” said Ember, and she saw the relief fill Melanie’s face, softening her lines.
“Do you think you’ll be comfortable here?” Melanie asked, and suddenly Ember couldn’t breathe. “We could change the curtains or the duvet cover. I wasn’t sure what colors you’d prefer,” Melanie added apologetically.
“It’s . . . it’s for me?” stuttered Ember. “This room . . . it’s for me?”
“If you want it?” Melanie’s voice was so tentative it almost cracked. “I mean, I want you to have it. I mean, I would very much like it if you stayed.”
The tears started to roll down Ember’s cheeks and she wiped them away with the back of her hand, feeling ashamed to be crying when she felt so very lucky. Then she saw Melanie was crying too and her arms were opening and she was stepping toward her and hugging her.
“My baby girl,” Ember heard her mother say, and she felt like she had finally reached home.
When they went back downstairs there was Leo, standing across from Poppy. His hair was growing back upon his head and his bruises were fading. He looked less scrawny than usual. Ember couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face.
“Leo,” she called out to him, and he turned and she ran and jumped into his arms. “You’re here.” Then she looked around. “You’re all here.”
It wasn’t to last long. Despite Ember and Melanie’s protestations, Poppy insisted on leaving. Ember couldn’t help but notice how quiet Leo stayed, not lending his voice to the attempted persuasions or to the emotional good-byes.
“You will come back?” Ember heard her voice echoing Charlock’s, though hers was more fraught with pleading. Then, when she caught Poppy’s second’s worth of hesitation, she begged more desperately, “Promise me!”
Poppy hugged her close and Ember recalled how guarded Poppy used to be about such displays of affection and how open she was now. As if to prove her right, Poppy went to Melanie and put her arms around her. Poppy’s eyes closed in that embrace, but Ember saw how Melanie’s hands spread across Poppy’s back and how her lips moved in words of heartfelt thanks.
Poppy had thought about running and hiding when she sensed Leo approaching the house. She looked around for somewhere to go—out the back door if it wasn’t locked, through the window if she could heave it open, down into the cellar—but then Leo was at the door and a key was turning in the lock and he was in the hallway and walking toward her. He stopped in the doorway. She could see in his eyes he was expecting her. He had known she would be coming with Ember.
He didn’t speak, though, and neither did she. She hardly dared to look at him for fear of hurting him. Charlock’s warning blared inside her mind like a siren wailing: “you’ll kill him,” “you’ll kill him,” “you’ll kill him.” Poppy wanted to put her hands to her ears to silence it, but instead she stared at Leo’s chest, trying to peer through his skin and beneath his ribs to find his heart. As she did so, she felt it beating, fast but strong. There was no damage yet.
Faint with relief, she glanced up and saw Leo’s eyes were looking at her, as if reappraising her, trying to see her differently. Her own heart thudded against its ribbed cage even faster than his. Let me out. Set me free. Poppy lowered her eyes to Leo’s feet and noticed he had new shoes and that his trousers were clean and ironed.
“You’ve been staying here.” She spoke her thought out loud without intending to.
“Melanie’s been looking after me the last few days,” Leo replied, not realizing Poppy hadn’t meant to start a conversation.
“I’m glad,” Poppy said truthfully.
Leo walked into the living room, but perhaps he could see the panic in her eyes because he stopped on the other side of the sofa and didn’t try to come any closer. “What about you?” he asked. “Who’s looking after you?”
Poppy shrugged. Leo shut his eyes for a brief second as if struggling with his thoughts. Then he opened them and spoke with a passion that he tried to hush so only Poppy’s ears would hear it.
“I won’t stop, you know,” he said. He didn’t need to elaborate. Poppy understood completely. “I’ve tried so hard, but I’ll never stop.”
Poppy met Leo’s eyes, and in that moment, suspended in time and place where only the two of them existed—no one else�
�she allowed herself to feel how much she loved him, despite the risk it posed, despite everything. It only lasted a second, maybe two. That was all she dared. Before it could injure him any further, she blinked and lowered her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
And then the others were there and Ember was running toward Leo and holding him and talking, so much talking, and Poppy knew it was time for her to go.
He didn’t say good-bye. She didn’t want him to. She wouldn’t have been able to say the words, and she knew he felt the same. She didn’t even glance at him again, as if not wanting to dilute that last look, the one that had said everything.
So Poppy was on the road, alone again, drifting. She slept in a cheap hotel that night, using money her father had given her when she’d left. The walls were thin, the mattress too. Is this all there is? she thought. Is this my life now? And then she heard it, a meow from the rooftop. A smile spread across Poppy’s face and she ran to open the window. The cats were all there and they came in, one after the other, curling around her on the bed, enthroning her with fur.
The train was ready to depart. The seats were filling and doors slamming. Poppy was on her way back to Charlock, having stayed away far longer than she’d promised, though it was more the cats that had made her decide to return to where the witches were. She wasn’t sure how she would like her life there. It seemed more convent than coven. A life of abstinence and sacrifice, a retreat from modern life and all its comforts. And yet she was a witch. The cats last night had reminded her of that. So perhaps she should be with her own kind and learn their ways, however harsh that might be.
A whistle blew, and in that second Poppy felt the magic hit. It shuddered through her, and looking around, she saw everyone had stopped. Everything was silent. The train’s engine had died; the guard still had the whistle on his lips; a businessman stood with arms outstretched, his briefcase just balancing on the luggage rack; a woman held a coffee in front of her, about to take a sip; a dad held a baby, midbounce, on his knee. Poppy got to her feet and stared down the platform. Crowds of people looked as though they had been turned to waxwork, expressions stilled upon their faces but their eyes empty of life.
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