The Orphan Witch

by Paige Crutcher

  The word twain, as Persephone knew it, meant two. Hyacinth could have a funny way of speaking. It was as though she was alluding to something—an inside joke Persephone wasn’t quite in on. It was strange, and it was also a good distraction.

  “I boated in with Captain Danvers and an … interesting woman,” Persephone said, finally breaking eye contact, some of her joy dissolving as she recalled the stranger. She looked up, considered how to best ask Hyacinth if the island was magic.

  Hyacinth shifted forward, her legs crossing at the ankles. “Clipped tones, gorgeous eyes, sophisticated clothes?”

  “The woman? Yes.” Persephone nodded, meeting Hyacinth’s eyes again, marveling once more at the lack of change. “That’s an acute summary. Do you know her?”

  “It’s a small island. I know everyone.”

  There was something to how Hyacinth said it. A layer of meaning behind it.

  “It’s a great place to call home,” Hyacinth said, and the smile that bloomed across her face sent a shiver of envy through Persephone.

  She tried to imagine what it would be like living on the island Hyacinth had described in her emails. In her heart of hearts, Persephone hoped it was like being cocooned on a floating Mayberry, as safe as a black-and-white sitcom with friends tucked into every corner. She took another drink of the tea. It was light and sweet. She drank again and her body grew heavy, like it was sewn into the soles of her shoes. She wanted to ask about magic, the woman from the boat, about Hyacinth and Moira, and how it could all be real. She wanted to ask her how you made a place a home.

  Persephone yawned and her thoughts went fuzzy. She tried to remember why she’d ever been nervous about coming to Wile Isle.

  “Asleep on your feet, are you?”

  “I may be more tired than I realized,” Persephone said, her shoulders relaxing. Suddenly, she was barely able to keep her eyes open.

  “A good cuppa always reveals what you need, and I’d say you need proper rest.” Hyacinth swiftly tucked her arm through Persephone’s, picked up her larger bag, and led her up the long staircase situated on the left side of the room. Persephone didn’t notice it until she was navigated toward it, and was grateful it wasn’t nearly as steep as it looked.

  There was a brush of welcome as Opal stole past them to lead the way up the stairs. When they came to the top, Hyacinth didn’t bother to turn on the light. A sliver of moonlight lit the way. In the silver glow she guided Persephone down the long hall until, with an abrupt stop, she hummed again.

  “I believe you’re to be here.” Hyacinth’s arm swung out, though Persephone could only sense her movement. “Or you could go there.”

  It was like standing back on the cobblestone road again. There was a hard line, as though wrapped around Persephone’s spine. It tugged her, hard, in each direction. She tried to take a breath, and the tug yanked again.

  Closing her eyes, because she was already standing in the near dark so what could it matter, she felt something zap her in the back of her neck. The sense of wrong steered her away from the right.

  “Left,” she answered, her voice coming out breathless. “The room to the left, please.”

  Hyacinth squeezed her arm, and for a moment the grip was a hair too tight. Just as swift, she released her.

  “As you will,” said her friend.

  Persephone acted on instinct and reached out, finding the handle immediately. When she opened the door, the light spilled out into the hallway.

  Hyacinth smiled, and Persephone’s vision fogged as she studied her. A strong and unfamiliar power pressed against her. The cat slipped past her into her room, and Persephone felt the effects of the tea try to take over. She raised her chin and pushed back. Her vision cleared. Hyacinth stood aglow, with the rest of the world behind her cast into darkness. Hyacinth’s face bloomed unexpectedly into a wide grin.

  “Well met,” said Hyacinth, stepping back into the darkness before adding, “Cousin Persephone.”

  A green antique clock on a side table ticked off the seconds like a magician showing his cards.

  One,

  two,

  three.

  The word cousin pounded in Persephone’s skull as the door clicked closed. She yanked the door back open, her eyes searching the darkness. Hyacinth was gone. In the hall, only the scent of cinnamon lingered.

  Oh yes, Hyacinth was definitely something. Persephone raised a foot to step after her into the darkened hallway, and her legs jellied into sludge.

  Suddenly sleep was closing in on her. The weight drove her to lock the door and stumble to the queen bed, which she fell into, pulling a worn quilt over her body. The bed exhaled under her, hugging her in a full embrace.

  As she drifted under, Persephone could think of only one word.

  Cousin.

  HYACINTH EVER’S JOURNAL

  Spring equinox, one year and a half ago

  My bags are packed and my hopes are high. Higher than perhaps they should be. But I believe. I know that Moira would say it’s a fool’s optimism. That over the past ninety-eight years the prophecy hasn’t proven to be more than the ramblings of a traumatized old woman. But come the morning light, the spell will lift and I will have six months to find her.

  I’ve been scrolling for a long time, and tonight was the first time anything has been different. It was only a short exhale of a moment, but the obsidian I used dropped onto the map. Maybe it was that I chose to scry by the ocean or under the full moon, maybe it was the frankincense and lavender I anointed myself in—I can’t be sure. But something tonight made it happen.

  I didn’t tell Moira.

  It might be an omen, keeping this secret. But it isn’t the first and it won’t be the last.

  I have to find her.

  I think about the two sisters who caused this, how the divide between them split the world, and I know that isn’t me and it isn’t Moira. I am doing this for my sister. For myself. For us all.

  The prophecy promised: a time walker of the Mayfair line will one day have the power to unmake the world. I’ve been scrying for a time walker all my life. I’ve been looking for the lost witch since Ariel told me about her ten years ago. Tonight I scryed for both and the obsidian listened.

  It’s her.

  It has to be.

  Three

  PERSEPHONE WOKE TO A face full of fur and the melodic sound of purring. Opal had curled across her neck. She shifted the feline and shook her head, the last dregs of sleep fading away. She’d been so tired the night before. Not at first, but after she’d drunk the tea. The tea. She ran a hand over her face. Had Hyacinth drugged her?

  Surely not. And yet …

  Persephone threw off the covers. She was quick to brush her teeth in the small but efficient bathroom with a claw tub and pedestal sink at the end of the hall as she prepared to confront her host.

  She tried to mentally turn over what to say as she dressed in the smartest (and only) color she’d brought—gray—and left her auburn hair down. She decided to be straightforward, it was always her way, and went in search of Hyacinth.

  As she approached the top of the landing a blissful scent wafted up to her: freshly baked scones and sausage frying in a pan. Persephone paused in her descent of the steep staircase as Moira’s voice reached her.

  “She doesn’t know?”

  Persephone leaned forward, her side pressing to the rail.

  “No, not yet,” Hyacinth said, her tone calmer than a yoga instructor’s.

  Moira’s voice came out clipped with anger. “She doesn’t know why you invited her and you couldn’t be bothered to tell me you’d found her?”

  Persephone’s fingers gripped the banister.

  “I wasn’t certain it was her,” Hyacinth said. “The only way to know for sure was for the island to allow her to come, and here she is.”

  Persephone thought she heard Moira growl. “You’re reactionary, Hyacinth, and this time your perilous approach to danger could have cost us everything.”


  “It won’t,” Hyacinth said. “It’s right she’s here. We need her. Everything will work out now.”

  The air warmed ten degrees, heat rising to Persephone’s cheeks. They had been looking for her? They needed her? She thought again of Hyacinth’s remark. Cousin.

  There was a lot to unpack from what the two women were saying, but one thing Persephone agreed with Hyacinth on was how right it was Persephone was here. She’d felt like she was where she was meant to be as soon as she’d stepped off the dock. But why did she feel this connection to a place she’d never heard of—and what did Hyacinth mean the island allowed her to come?

  Persephone turned and walked back down the hall to the bath, where she splashed cold water on her face. She knew that eavesdropping—or lurking as one of her former foster mothers called it—rarely amounted to clear information.

  She must demand Hyacinth tell her what was going on. It was time. Head high, Persephone walked back to the stairs and started down them.

  “Morning,” she said, seeing Hyacinth standing at the edge of the crescent couch, a deck of tarot cards in one hand, a blue lapis crystal the size of a small boulder in the other.

  “Isn’t it interesting how so many of our words have double meanings?” Hyacinth asked without looking up, setting the crystal down and moving the cards from one hand to the other as Persephone continued her descent and reached the first floor. “Morning. It’s a statement, a greeting, and when the letters rearrange and you add in the u, it’s a period of acknowledging great loss. When you think on it, morning isn’t a time. It’s a setting. I suppose it sounds better than ‘Hello, it’s nice to see you again in this different time period than when we last met,’ but still. Double meanings. Funny little words.”

  Persephone studied Hyacinth. Sharp slashes of cheekbones, piercing eyes, golden skin. “I suppose,” Persephone said, her fingers biting into her palms as she chose her next words. “The house smells like morning.”

  “Another way to use the word.” Hyacinth waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Moira’s secrets are in her food. They’re richly rewarding.”

  Persephone cleared her throat. “Were secrets also in the tea you served me last night?”

  Hyacinth raised a single eyebrow, holding eye contact with Persephone. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “I’m asking.”

  “Ask then.”

  “Did you put something in my tea?”

  “I put tea in your tea. Your chakras were out of alignment. The tea restored your vibrational harmony. It’s medicinal, but not in the way you’re implying.”

  “Oh.” Persephone pressed a hand to her collarbone, trying to feel if she felt more aligned, uncertain she knew precisely where her chakras should be. “I overheard your conversation with Moira this morning.”

  “Did you now?” Hyacinth sat on the couch.

  “You were looking for me?”

  “I was.”

  Persephone’s stomach flipped once at the thrill of being sought … and the accompanying thought that she was somehow being played a fool. “Why? Does it have something to do with why you called me cousin last night?”

  Hyacinth’s quiet smile didn’t waver. “It’s a good word, that.”

  “So what? It’s just a friendly term of endearment?”

  Hyacinth’s smile stretched. “Of course it is.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe what you like. Only know I try very hard not to lie. Least of all to my kind.”

  “Your kind?”

  Hyacinth didn’t respond. She turned her attention away from Persephone to the banging of cabinets and the rattling of dishes being pulled down in the kitchen. Persephone took a slow breath.

  Hyacinth clearly wanted to bait her, and as Persephone stood there waiting, being flagrantly ignored, possibly drugged, and tricked into believing they were friends so she would come to the island for who knows why, her temper sparked. Persephone grit her teeth and curled her hands into fists.

  The lights in the room flickered twice, and with the precision of an exuberant child blowing out her birthday candles, every light in the ornate overhead chandelier whooshed out.

  “Daughter of the Goddess!” Moira’s shout from the kitchen came out as a curse as a dish clattered and broke. Persephone blinked, and Hyacinth let loose a wild laugh.

  All of the lights in the house were dark.

  “We are birds of a feather. Or flowers of a similar petal,” Hyacinth reached over and gripped Persephone’s still clutched hands. “Sit down, cousin.”

  Persephone studied the chandelier in shock. She hadn’t meant to surge the electricity, her power had swelled inside her—much as it had since she’d stepped foot on the island, except now, it erupted.

  “You can’t control your magic at all, can you?” Hyacinth said, her eyes bright as she let go of Persephone. The room was awash in early morning sunshine, the natural light giving an extra glow to her skin. She shifted, reached behind the couch, and plucked a flower from nowhere.

  A hyacinth.

  Persephone’s knees knocked together once, and she promptly dropped onto the sofa. She had blown half the fuses in Ever House, and Hyacinth sat plucking flowers from the air as if it were all terrifically normal.

  Moira pushed through the swinging doors. Her jade reading glasses bounced on top of her head, and her full mouth formed a judgmental scowl.

  “Everything is not working out for the electrical,” Moira said, shooting a glare at Hyacinth before brandishing a small plate at Persephone. “It’s a full moon tonight. Eat this before you keel over or set something on fire.”

  Persephone glanced down, picked up the pastry from the plate, and sniffed. With Moira watching, hands fisted at her hips, Persephone took a bite. Like a tonic, the sugar and fruit of the blueberry scone knitted her resolve back together.

  “It’s a full moon nearly every night this month,” Hyacinth said, reading the confusion on Persephone’s face. “Wile makes its own rules.”

  “That’s impossible,” Persephone said.

  “Nothing’s impossible,” Moira said. “Finish your scone.”

  Dazed, Persephone took another bite. “Blueberry?” she asked, her eyes on Moira’s retreating back as the woman stomped to the kitchen.

  “For protection,” Hyacinth said.

  “I don’t understand,” Persephone said, brushing her hair from her face.

  Hyacinth scooted closer, reached over, and squeezed her shoulder ever so gently. “Anger is like kindling on a brush fire when it comes to sparking magic.”

  “You were being a jerk on purpose?”

  “I was being a trigger.”

  Persephone rubbed the space between her eyebrows. She looked at Hyacinth. “What am I?”

  “What do you think you are? You’re a witch same as me.”

  Persephone dropped her hand. She held the word in her mouth, rolled it out on her tongue. “A witch.”

  Hyacinth’s eyes twinkled.

  Persephone considered the word, applied it to herself like it was a new pair of shoes she could step into, and found it fit. “You knew, didn’t you? When we first met.”

  “About who you were, magically speaking?” Hyacinth shrugged. “I guessed. You wouldn’t look me in the eyes. Witches’ eyes hold power, and until we know how to store it we can accidentally let it seep out. It’s easy to transfer power through eye contact. Yours set off sparks.”

  “You don’t mean that literally, do you?” Persephone asked, conjuring an image of her eyes showering sparks like a comic book villain.

  “Of course not. It’s more like an electrical jolt. Here.”

  Hyacinth reached for her hand. She stared at her full-on, and something in her eyes shifted. It was as though a curtain pulled away from Hyacinth’s eyes and a flame lit inside of Persephone in response. The blow of it had her attempt to drop her friend’s hands. Hyacinth’s eyes shifted again, she released her grip, and the flame died.

&
nbsp; “But when others look at me, they…”

  “Act insane?”

  “Hurt themselves.”

  Hyacinth considered Persephone. “You think you’re the reason they do that.”

  Persephone’s brow furrowed. “How could I not be? It’s my power seeping out, right?”

  “Are you wishing these people harm when you look at them?”

  “What? No, of course not.” She rubbed her neck. “It just happens.”

  “There is dark in all of us. Witches and humans alike. What you draw forth may be their dark, but that doesn’t mean you’re dark.”

  “So how do I stop it?” Persephone asked, leaning back. “How did you learn to control it?”

  “Training.”

  “Oh.”

  “Of which you’ve had none.”

  “Clearly,” Persephone said.

  “Obviously,” Moira’s muffled voice called from what sounded like under the house, before the lights flickered back on. A door swung open and shut before the older woman stomped back through the kitchen and out into the gathering room where Hyacinth and Persephone sat. “You’re like a Roman candle on the Fourth of July in some small Yankee town.”

  “Which is where we come in,” Hyacinth said, rolling her eyes at her sister.

  “Because you need my help?” Persephone asked, thinking of their conversation she overheard.

  “That’s still debatable,” Moira said, doing an impressive job of ignoring and scolding Hyacinth all at once.

  “We can help you,” Hyacinth said. “And we do need your help. This island isn’t like other islands.” She exchanged a blink-and-you-miss-it look with Moira. “It’s cursed.”

  Persephone blinked. “Cursed.”

  “Yes.”

  “I … didn’t think curses were real.”

  “Magic is real, but curses you doubt?” Moira asked.

  Persephone shook her head. “I don’t know. Curses just seem like something else.”

  “They’re as real as magic,” Hyacinth said. “And we can train you to control yours. Magic, I mean.”

  Moira snorted. “Again, debatable.”

  “You saw what she can do,” Hyacinth snapped.