The Orphan Witch

by Paige Crutcher

  Magic.

  The woman. The island. Was it possible?

  Persephone swallowed a hiccup of … hope. She shouldn’t assume, she needed to be sure. Persephone scooped up her luggage, managing to set the small bag on top of her larger rolling suitcase and hefting the carry-on over her shoulder, and exited the boat.

  Lightning lit the sky, and Persephone felt the hum rock into her bones like she’d stuck not just her finger, but her entire arm, into an electrical socket.

  Magic.

  The gentle light of the lanterns swayed along the dock, and in the distance Persephone finally spotted the passenger. She stood a good way up from Persephone on the beach, the stranger’s hands cocked to her hips, her eyes stark and clear—and staring straight into Persephone’s.

  The air smelled strongly of salt, of a coming rain. It tasted like spiced wine, of mysteries batted away from the surface of the island. A sharp breeze swept by, swirling the ends of the other woman’s coat.

  “This autumnal equinox sets the ticking of the clock. Beware the tidings of Wile Isle,” the passenger’s voice impossibly whispered in her ear.

  Persephone shuddered. Lightning flashed across the sky once more, skittering up from the earth where the stranger stood a hundred feet away. The other woman jumped back, her arms rose up as if in protection, and the lightning seemed to respond and shoot away from her.

  The stranger lowered her arms and her eyes, now flecked with panic and … something else, met Persephone’s once more.

  Persephone’s breath caught. The stranger swept her coat behind her, turned, and marched up the shoreline. The night welcomed the stranger, wrapping itself around her. It was a long moment before Persephone let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

  She wasn’t sure what was going on, but Persephone couldn’t wait to find Hyacinth.

  She needed to ask her friend a hundred questions. She also knew she shouldn’t get too far ahead of herself. The trouble with being on her own for so long was that Persephone had perfected the art of fantasizing. She was an expert at being in her head, skating just this side of reality. It was how she had survived her childhood. It made the traumatic bearable, but it also set her up for failure. She knew that. So Persephone forced herself to stay present. To not get ahead of herself. She would simply put one foot in front of the other.

  She turned in the direction of town, and the moon’s light shone brighter, illuming the way. Lanterns bordered the path leading from the dock, and the road curved as Persephone hurried along its side. To her left were thick bushes and to her right were mossy trees, the shades of green a quilt blanketing Persephone on either side of the narrow road. She gave room for any being that might come her way, but none did. The stroll turned into a climb, and once more her spine tingled. Persephone set down her luggage, held up her hands in wonder and turned in a slow circle.

  She’d never been anywhere that felt like this.

  Persephone looked over her shoulder; certain there was a town just over the path, but there was only the moon and the road and her shadow. To the right she saw two houses. One stood tall and was set off from the beach; the other looked as though it had been exhaled from the hill, half of it hidden. She studied the beach house and the small fire smoldering at the edge of it.

  The smell of salt tickled her nose, chased by the sweet crisp ripening of the surrounding foliage. Her feet itched and an urge to turn, to dive into the greenery, pressed in against the sides of the path and crashed over her.

  A second cobblestone path she’d overlooked stretched out to the right. Music. Laughter. The smell of roses out of bloom. She thought she saw a ripe apple tree. Between the pull of the moon and seduction of the woods, between magic and mayhem, Persephone was tempted to cut through the undergrowth. To let go, to just follow the narrow path and see where it took her. She stumbled after her own feet, taking two steps toward the inviting sound, compelled forward.

  A bright light flashed down on her from up the other way, pausing her descent into the dark. A voice, soft and commanding, spoke. “Persephone May.”

  Persephone pivoted and looked into the shadows. Her pulse skittered and she peered up, seeking a voice to match the face.

  A woman stepped out from behind her own curtain of darkness onto the path. Tall like an oak tree, and sturdy like a Renaissance sculpture, the woman cascaded forward, her long arms swaying as her hips swished closer toward Persephone. Her voice was older than her face, which couldn’t be more than fifty. She took the last step to Persephone and as she did, goose bumps broke out along Persephone’s arms.

  “You are Persephone May.”

  “Yes,” she said to the statement that should have been a question. “And you are?”

  The woman twitched her nose. “I am Moira, keeper of Ever House.” Moira nodded up toward the house tucked into the hill.

  “Ah, of course!” Persephone said, and tried to brush the fly-away hairs from her face. “You’re Hyacinth’s sister. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Is it? Well then.” Moira looked up at the moon. “Hyacinth invited you.”

  Her tone was flat, with a slight bite to it. Was she angry?

  Moira’s eyes met Persephone’s then. Stared directly into them.

  Persephone blinked, prepared to look away, but Moira only tilted her head. Persephone took a deep breath. Counted down the seconds.

  Nothing happened.

  Persephone bit her lower lip as a rush of relief and wonder nearly knocked her off her feet. She had to force herself to keep from laughing out loud. Moira was staring at her. Meeting her eyes without so much as a hint of fear or craze.

  “I’ve heard wonderful things about your island,” Persephone said, struggling to keep a goofy smile from breaking out across her face. “It was so kind of Hyacinth to invite me. I’m so happy to be here.”

  Which was true. While Persephone was out of her element in navigating the particulars of a friendship, Hyacinth was her first friend. She was also, she suspected, if the power on the island was any indication, something more. Except Hyacinth had never struck Persephone as someone who didn’t fit into her own world, unlike Persephone who didn’t fit anywhere. And if the ability to hold eye contact was any indication—Moira was something more, too.

  “My sister is many things,” Moira said, turning and beckoning Persephone to follow. “I don’t know that the first of them would be kind, but then a rose smells sweet to the bees and sorrowful to those leaving them for the dead.”

  Persephone studied her back in surprise. What an odd thing to say.

  Moira turned to look back at her. “Why are you here?” She hooked a brow, and words loosened on Persephone’s tongue.

  “It seemed like the ideal time for a visit.” Oh, this woman definitely had power. A thrill shivered up Persephone’s spine. Moira was also clearly irritated at Persephone’s presence, and that had her tampering her enthusiasm. “Hyacinth did ask me to come.”

  Now that Persephone was here, and after what happened with the stranger at the dock, she was eager to pose questions that Hyacinth, and perhaps Moira, could answer.

  “My sister does a lot of things. She has grown fond of making decisions on her own, it appears.”

  Persephone bit the inside of her lip, for what could she say to that? The road curved, sharper this time, and the climb increased. They didn’t speak as they embarked up the last hill, then up a steeper set of wide stones set deep into the earth. The house came into view and Persephone hesitated, but only for a moment.

  Hyacinth had asked her to come, and this island was different from any place Persephone had ever been, as different as she was even. The island felt alive, and while it all seemed somewhat improbable, it was no more impossible than the other incredulous events of Persephone’s life. Maybe this time, the impossible would finally work in her favor.

  Persephone nodded to herself at her own resolution. Then she set her shoulders back and soaked up the view: the wide porch and hammock,
the way potted plants were tucked along the final set of stairs, and faded rugs were thrown haphazardly across the planks. A stack of books rested on a cheery side table beside a rocking chair, and a mug of tea that smelled strongly of cinnamon was cooling next to a pair of jade reading glasses. Persephone sighed in relief. It was exactly as Hyacinth had described it.

  A small white cat unfurled itself from beneath the rocker, and rushed out to greet the returning mistress and her guest. Its whole body shook with verve and joy, and Moira laughed. Persephone startled. Moira’s was a laugh made deep in the belly, and it loosened the focus on her face. Moira’s features watered, then softened as though someone had taken a severely colored cubism painting and transformed it into one of pastel watercolor. It was like seeing two sides of a coin at once.

  “Hello, Opal,” Moira said, addressing the cat. “I wasn’t gone that long, now was I?” She picked up the tea, drank deeply, nodded. “See there, it’s still warm, as I said it would be. I was back in plenty of time.” She studied Persephone over the rim of her mug. “She worries, our Opal does, and the equinox is a special night for us all.” Opal meowed loudly, as if in on the conversation. “Worry didn’t use to be her nature, but seasons change and so do temperaments when the right pressure is released, or applied.” She cast a meaningful look at Persephone, who offered her best—albeit slightly confused—smile.

  She wondered if Moira meant the equinox had something to do with her. When it came to it, Persephone had never bought into the seasons affecting anything. She understood the equinox was a day of equal hours of light and dark, but since Persephone always felt a decided lack of equal, of balance, she had wondered if the seasons got it wrong.

  Persephone set down her luggage. Opal slinked to Persephone, her tail swishing as she came forward. The cat didn’t pause to brush against her or dart away; instead she leapt straight into Persephone’s arms.

  “She’s like a small lioness,” Persephone said, after inhaling her musky scent to better study the cat’s inquisitive face.

  “Opal of the Night. It’s who she is,” Moira said, taking the glasses from the table. “There’s something to the clean air and strong soil on this island. It calls to some of us. Hold these for me, would you?”

  Cradling the cat like a porcelain baby in one arm, Persephone accepted the glasses with her other hand. They were warm to the touch. A comforting wave washed over her, and she tilted her chin up, certain she felt the sun’s rays brush across her cheeks.

  Moira made a sound that was part tut and murmur. “I see.”

  Persephone blinked in surprise, reminded that she was standing in the dark of night. What had that been about? She started to ask, but Moira cut her a look that had her words shriveling on her tongue.

  “If you’ll go on in through the door there, you’ll find your room on the second floor, second door to the right,” Moira told her. “Or you may find it to the left. Both rooms are open. Take your pick, but pick it well. The light seeks on one side and the dark whispers from the other.”

  It was a riddle, a magic riddle perhaps? “I’m sure I’ll find my way,” Persephone said. She felt like Moira was grading her for a test she didn’t take, but she wouldn’t let the other woman rattle her resolve.

  From where Persephone stood on the porch, she felt a pulse, a breath, threading around her. Most of Persephone’s life had been spent running, and for the first time in her thirty-two years, she felt as though she could stop. She wanted to savor the sensation.

  Moira shrugged. “When Hyacinth offers, tell her you’ll have the lavender and sage blend. Your unbalanced root chakra is distracting me.” Then Moira dismissed her, sitting down in the rocker and hiding her face between the pages of a thick book with a navy cover.

  She walked to the door, and felt Moira’s eyes on her back as she went. Persephone looked over her shoulder at the last moment, and Moira ducked her chin. Right before she did, Persephone could have sworn the other woman was hiding a slight upturn of her lips.

  Entering Ever House, Persephone decided, was like entering a portal back in time. As she crossed the threshold she was greeted by a rush of warm air, followed by the strong scent of freshly blooming jasmine. The room on the other side of the porch was wide, with high ceilings and light champagne-colored walls. Two oval marble tables beset a couch shaped like a crescent moon. More rugs were laid here, one across another. There was a large ticking antique clock the color of midnight on the wall with the phases of the moon painted in white around its face. A series of rectangle frames full of pictures of various flora and fauna adorned the farthest wall, and when she blinked, she was sure the images transformed into faces staring back at her.

  As Persephone took a step to peer closer, Hyacinth burst through the white swinging doors on the opposite side of the room, carrying a tray with a teapot and wearing her signature grin.

  “You’re right on time,” her friend said, dark eyes sparkling. “Don’t you love when that happens? When the moments of past and future bow out to let in the present? It’s so rare since they’re always scrapping with each other like ruffian boys and girls looking to pull the first punch, or sample the best bite of pie, or just beat the other back for the thrill of getting on with it. But today, or rather now, or I suppose a moment ago, present wins.”

  As Hyacinth glided toward her, mouth running a mile a minute, Persephone felt the last dregs of worry drain away at the sight of her friend. There was warmth in the curve of Hyacinth’s lips, a twinkle in her eyes, and laughter in her voice.

  Hyacinth set the tray down on the circular ottoman tucked into the crescent couch, and pulled Persephone into a hug. After crushing her for five glorious seconds, no more no less, she pulled back to study her guest. “I’m thinking ginger. A nice ginger tea, and I’m not just saying that because of your hair.”

  “Lavender and sage blend,” Persephone said, finding herself compelled to repeat Moira’s instructions. “If you have it.”

  Hyacinth’s head tilted, her eyes narrowing. She hummed a little in the back of her throat but gave a measured nod before she set to making the tea, mumbling about elderflower. The tea was loose leaf, and she built it like a jeweler stringing an emerald necklace. Inspecting the elements, sorting the order, and closing her eyes before she poured steaming water over the herbs.

  “Blessed be, little cauldron,” Hyacinth said, opening her eyes and holding it out. A smile tugged at her cheeks. “Go on then, it doesn’t have any bite. All balance, all harmony.”

  Persephone paused to put down her bag. Opal, the tiny lioness at her feet, had yet to stretch a muscle. She, too, was watching Persephone.

  “It’s fantastic to see you again,” Persephone said, with a little laugh, meaning it. She raised the teacup to her lips, still giddy with surprise that she finally found her first friend in Hyacinth. It felt right. Magical. The house, the island, Hyacinth, and even Moira—everything was familiar, clear but far apart. It was, Persephone decided, like seeing the ocean for the first time, after having only seen it in photographs and on film. Now that she had seen the view up close, she wanted to savor it. She wanted to make it last.

  “I’m grateful you’ve come,” said Hyacinth. “And on the night of the equinox, of all nights. It’s a blessing, indeed.”

  “Thank you for having me,” Persephone said, before pausing. “Though … I don’t think your sister agrees.”

  Hyacinth averted her gaze. “Moira will. She doesn’t like surprises, no matter how often I’ve tried to change her mind on the matter. But don’t worry, you are a wonderful surprise and she will settle and be pleased as petunias you’re here. I know I am.”

  Persephone sat down, unsure how to respond, wrapping her hands around her mug. Hyacinth reached over to fluff the pillow at Persephone’s back, and Persephone laughed.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Persephone said.

  Hyacinth grinned, a flash of straight, gorgeous teeth. Her joy at seeing Persephone again was a tangible thing. It spread out
into the room like perfume, tingeing the air. It wasn’t a chore to feel happy around someone who smiled like you were a diamond they found when they were panning for gold.

  Hyacinth leaned against the side of the sofa. “Did you get what you needed from your latest stint as a, what was it, coffee caretaker?”

  Persephone frowned into her mug, thinking of the professor, of Larkin and Deandra, of all that did and could have gone wrong. “I’d say it ran its course.”

  “Oh, Persephone. You shouldn’t be wasting your talents on pursuing dead ends.”

  She looked up, startled. “I guess I think of it as knocking on doors. At some point, I’ll open the right one.”

  “Consider this an unlatched window,” Hyacinth said, throwing open her arms before she sat down on the ottoman. “One I’m happy to give you a boost through.” Hyacinth held eye contact with Persephone, her lips curving up. “Was your journey overeventful?”

  Persephone counted down like she had with Moira and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  Persephone shook her head in wonder. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Your journey here. How was it?”

  Could Hyacinth really not be affected by holding eye contact? Was it the island, or something else?

  “Um,” Persephone said, unable to hide her grin, trying to stay on track. Another five seconds passed, and Hyacinth only cocked her head.

  “It’s always different, coming here,” Hyacinth said, tucking one of her curls behind her ear. “And I do mean that quite literally.”

  Persephone’s lungs expanded as she took a deep breath. Hyacinth kept holding eye contact with her. It was the longest Persephone had locked eyes with another person, and absolutely nothing was happening.

  It was almost too good to be true.

  “I’m sorry, but what?” Persephone repeated, forcing herself to focus.

  “Coming to Wile,” Hyacinth said. “You can go north or south, but never the way shall twain again, once you’ve twained it one way. I last came in from the east, by helicopter. It was like riding on the tail of a very determined but distracted dragon.”