“The root thread, of course. It ties you to this new belief you’re forming that they are stronger than you. You need to pluck out the feeling of fear from your encounter with them, and cast it aside.”
“How do you pluck out a feeling?” Persephone asked. After all, emotions weren’t feathers on a chicken.
Hyacinth dimpled a grin at her. “You rewind and review the emotion of the memory. It’s like EMDR for witches.”
Persephone had no idea what EMDR was. “Does it hurt?”
Hyacinth shook her head. “No, it’s actually pretty peaceful. You close your eyes, root into the earth, and tug out the root. It can be a bit complex, the first attempt. I can assist you in the journey, though it’s a pretty intimate spell to work that way. I’ll be inside your memory, which can be unsettling.”
Persephone scratched at her elbow. The idea of someone inside her memories left her itchy all over. And yet.
“I think I’d like you to help me,” she said, summoning her courage. For all of her life, Persephone had been on her own, and she’d made a mess of things more often than not. She did not want to screw this up.
Hyacinth gave her an encouraging smile. “You can think of me as a road map to guide you, so you don’t accidentally rewind the wrong memory.”
Persephone raised her brows. “You mean so I don’t accidentally replay one of the endless nights of Larkin and Deandra arguing over the merits of organic whole fat creamer versus natural almond milk while Larkin rubs up against Deandra’s apron like she’s a cat and Deandra dumps coffee grounds in his latte?”
Hyacinth let out a low laugh. “Yes, well, nobody needs that argument on repeat.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small leather pouch. Waving Persephone closer, she opened the pouch and tilted it to its side. A group of lavender nestles tumbled out into her palm. “These are from our garden. One of the reasons we tend it so carefully is to help influence its growth. I sing lullabies to the roses, read poetry to the sunflowers, and tell stories to the lavender. This lavender knows memory, understands the importance of it. It will hold tight to yours, and—when you’re ready—it will blow the intensity of the too strong memory away.”
Persephone cupped her hand and accepted the nestles. Their sweet fragrance perfumed her fingertips, and a bit of the fear she’d been carrying since facing the Way sisters dissipated as she inhaled the calming scent.
“Take my hand,” Hyacinth instructed, and Persephone grasped it with her free one.
“Close your eyes and inhale deeply. Focus on the scent of lavender. Breathe it in as your heels press into the earth, as the wind brushes against your cheeks. Think of a memory as a page in the book of time. It’s one page in a billion, and lucky for you it’s bookmarked with your thumbprint. Only you can recall it.”
Persephone took a deep breath in, held it, and pressed her feet more firmly down into the ground. The wind tickled her neck as it shifted a few loose strands of her hair. She thought of the moment she’d looked into Ariel’s eyes and the scene went from feeling soft and pliable in her mind to hard, tangible, real. Her knees shook, her feet wobbled, and the wind grew cold against her skin.
She bit back a ragged breath as adrenaline spiked in the pit of her stomach, and Hyacinth squeezed her hand.
“It’s not real,” Persephone said, her voice high and a little breathless.
“No,” Hyacinth said, her voice quiet but strong. “It’s not real. It’s done and gone. It can’t hurt you.”
Persephone let the memory play out in her mind, telling herself it was over, it had no power. As she did, her breath evened out and the tremor in her knees subsided. She let the memory wind its way up and down throughout her mind, finding it was like rereading a scene in a story. The more she reviewed it, telling herself it couldn’t hurt her, the easier it was to see details she’d missed the first or second time around.
How Ariel’s face had flashed with confusion before it shifted into anger, how Ellison’s fingernails were painted a cyan blue Persephone had never seen before, and how the two sisters had looked so different and yet like they very much were a pair. How the cobblestone path had glittered and the clouds shifted from black to gray to white while the three of them had stood facing off. The more she saw, the less she feared, the less power she allowed the memory to have over her.
Finally, Persephone’s legs grew heavy in contentment. She held the memory close, and cupped the hand holding the lavender nestles. She opened her palm and let the nestles go, relieving herself of the fear she’d wrung out, but keeping the memory intact.
Persephone turned her face to the sun, and shifted her chin in the direction of Hyacinth. She could feel her cousin there, just beyond her mental border.
Persephone tried to open her eyes, but the sound of Hyacinth’s panting, struggled breath, froze her in place.
She searched beyond her memories to the present moment. A light green mist shrouded the door in her mind to where Hyacinth was.
Something was wrong. She could feel the anguish lurking. Persephone reached out and pushed through the boundary. It wasn’t difficult, the barricade may as well have been made of cotton candy for how pliable it was to move through.
Hyacinth’s hand went rigid in Persephone’s, and Persephone gasped at the bone-chilling cold that rocked through her. Persephone cupped her hand again, and tugged. Hyacinth’s memory revealed itself.
Hyacinth was younger than today, her hair shorter, her skirt longer, her hands moving a mile a minute. She stood in the center of town, whispering into the ear of a girl with thick black eyebrows. The girl’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. She kept looking off to the side, and then back to Hyacinth again. The girl nodded once, twice, and Hyacinth stepped back with a wink.
Then the girl turned as though called, and Hyacinth quickly walked away, hiding behind the market. Ariel came striding into town, her hair pageboy short, her face round and vibrant. She grinned at the girl, her whole face lighting up before she looked over and saw Hyacinth. Her expression twisted into irritation and then something closer to rage.
“No!”
Hyacinth twisted her hand from Persephone’s in a furious tug, and Persephone stumbled a step back.
Her eyes flew open and she stared at her cousin, who was breathing hard and shaking.
“What?” Persephone asked, as Hyacinth looked at her curled hand.
The memory. Persephone had been holding Hyacinth’s memory. Oh no.
“I’m sorry,” Persephone said, “I thought you were under some sort of attack. You were frozen, and I was only trying to help—”
Hyacinth wrapped her arms around her waist, her face pale and determined. “What did you see?”
Persephone swallowed. “You and a girl. It looked like you were a bit younger than now, but it didn’t seem…” She was going to say special, but then realized the right adjective should have been scary. It was the purpose of the lavender, and the spell. To pull a memory and release it.
Why would Hyacinth want to be rid of that memory?
Hyacinth ran a hand over her face for a moment, patting her lips. “It was nothing. But you can’t do that, Persephone.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d be able to cross into my memories. I should have realized.”
“I’m truly sorry, I didn’t mean to violate your privacy. I was worried, and thought to help.”
Hyacinth stared out into the pristine world beyond. The wind moved around them, but Persephone couldn’t feel it. The blades of grass sat unchanged, untouched by their feet or the weather. The world wasn’t real, but their magic was. Her cousin gave a shudder, before dragging her gaze back to Persephone.
Hyacinth nodded, and failed at a smile. “I understand. In the moment, it just—surprised me. You have a habit of doing that.”
Hyacinth went to the edge of the meadow, and a small stream appeared. She pulled what Persephone thought of as a singing bowl from the stream and sprinkled a handful of seeds from her pocket into it. The
n Hyacinth closed her eyes, ran a hand over the brim, and said, “Awaken.”
Nothing happened.
Hyacinth’s mouth pulled into an irritated slash. “Awaken,” she said again, her tone firm.
There was a simmer of smoke, but nothing more.
Persephone watched as her friend and cousin took three deep breaths. Hyacinth bit her lip and raised her hand, and this time the word rolled out of her on a near yell. “Awaken!”
The bowl filled with smoke, and Hyacinth’s smile lit across her face. “One last step and the ritual is complete.”
Persephone gave a quick nod, still searching Hyacinth’s face for the fear her cousin had directed at her when she’d accidentally seen her memory. Not finding a trace of it, Persephone stepped closer.
“See the path, and repeat after me,” Hyacinth said, giving Persephone the smallest of smiles.
“Return to the source of your power,
for under darkness I will not cower.
As I will it, I set you free,
As I will it, so mote it be.”
Persephone spoke the words, and the remaining tension in Persephone’s neck and elbows, the weight in her joints, released from her body. Persephone summoned her own smile, and looked over only to see envy flash across Hyacinth’s face. It was gone almost as quick as it came, and Persephone’s brow furrowed.
“I wish it were that easy for me,” Hyacinth said with a shrug, seeing Persephone’s expression. “Even with the words as a guide I have trouble with that spell. But we all have our gifts.”
For the rest of the hour, Hyacinth focused on teaching Persephone protection spells relying on Persephone’s element, aether. Here, Persephone struggled. She could go through the motions of calling space, but could not truly summon her element again—no matter how hard she tried. Persephone did master how to release nervous energy by sowing it into the earth, and how to wrap a cloak of confusion around her enemies by glamouring the air that surrounded them.
They did not speak again of the memory spell or what Persephone had seen in Hyacinth’s mind.
That night, with a few new defense spells to show for her efforts along with a mammoth headache and a mountain of frustration, Persephone stood on the other side of the Arch to Anywhere, her eyes firmly on the cuckoo clock and its frozen hourglasses. She thought of the man in the library, how it had felt to be seen by him and to see him. The thrill of it. She thought of how each time she tried to tell Hyacinth or Moira about him and what he’d said, or the strange villagers preparing for the festival, the words lodged in her throat.
There were many magics on Wile, and so few Persephone understood. The clock in front of her ticked louder. There was something about the device that bothered Persephone. The way the grains of sand worked through the slender part of the glass. They didn’t move in seconds, Persephone realized. Time inside the hourglasses slowed and sped up on its own accord.
That night Persephone dreamed of the three islands, the Way witches, and a curse that kept her frozen in time. In the dream, Persephone couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, could only watch in horror as the family she never knew was killed by a mob of faceless witches.
The next morning, Persephone woke in a sweat. Her scalp itched, her chest felt tight. She took a deep breath, then another. The room was shrinking, or the air was losing its oxygen, because her lungs and vision were constricting.
Persephone thought of her struggle with aether in the training session and Hyacinth’s disappointment.
How could she help her cousins when she couldn’t help herself?
Persephone was disoriented, terrified in her state of panic. She stumbled downstairs, seeking Hyacinth or Moira, but the downstairs was empty. She tried to access the Arch in case they had gone through it, but the door wouldn’t open. She turned and hurried out the back door of the kitchen and down the side steps leading to the road. She searched the garden, porch, and the side of the house.
Her skin vibrated, a hum of adrenaline skittering inside her veins. Persephone was, once again, all alone.
The need to run, to sprint, to flee—a feeling she’d worked hard during her teenage years to overcome—overtook her. Persephone stopped thinking about the panic firing inside her, and she gave in to the raw reaction of fight or flight.
Persephone was not a runner. She preferred to take her time, to walk with measured steps and study the world around her. Because she’d had to move often, and failed for so long at connecting with other people, Persephone had developed a strong need to connect with her surroundings. Since she’d stepped foot on the island, Wile Isle had felt like home in a way nowhere else ever had. Which is why it was so terrifying that Persephone had awakened that morning and felt so unsafe.
With panic clinging to her shoulders, Persephone ran down the hill, toward town. She ran with the wind in her eyes, the breeze stealing breath she couldn’t catch, and tears she didn’t try to hold back leaking down her face. Persephone ran until the air rippled around her, the path under her feet shimmered, and she thought she would pass out. She ran until the worn cobblestones resumed a polished gleam, the aged trees along the path shrunk down to infancy, and the beach along the island’s edge transformed from a short walk to an endless one.
Persephone’s feet slowed.
Her choked pant was lost in the heady breeze … a breeze that was nothing like the one Persephone experienced when she stepped out of Ever House forty minutes earlier. Overhead the sun was shining. Persephone removed her heavy sweater, finding the temperature had warmed at least thirty degrees.
Persephone turned in a circle, trying to make sense of what she saw. The island had changed again.
She thought of the librarian, and her heart sped up. “You’re in the wrong world,” he’d said.
Persephone gave her head a shake as she looked around. She turned and walked up the path that looked like it had only just been laid. She pushed through thick undergrowth, and found herself in front of a large building—the very one she had witnessed disappear a day earlier.
The Library for the Lost.
Persephone’s breath caught. She turned to look past the heavy wooden door when it swung open and a gruff voice drifted out from inside. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
Persephone jumped, and the sweater she’d loosely tied to her waist dropped to the ground. Cursing, she bent over and picked it up. When she straightened the librarian was standing in the doorway like a sexy, bad-mannered jack-in-the-box.
Persephone pushed the hair from her face and flicked him a glance. “Who are you, and why are you so rude?”
“She’s angry,” the librarian said, leaning into the frame with his folded arms across his broad chest. Persephone couldn’t help staring at the tattoo on his exposed forearm, a symbol so crudely drawn it looked as though he had done it himself after a heavy round of drinking. Her fingers itched to touch it. “You can call me Dorian, though I’d rather you didn’t call me at all, and I’m not the one who is trespassing.”
“I’m not trespassing,” Persephone said, although since she wasn’t sure where she was, and she couldn’t be certain her magic hadn’t in fact gone faulty … she might be hallucinating the whole experience. She looked over at him, and deeply hoped she wasn’t. “At least I don’t think I am.”
Persephone shook out the sweater and accidentally tossed it to the ground again, this time a few feet from where Dorian stood. He didn’t make a move to pick it up, only stood there, staring at her with those wolf eyes, unblinking.
“Rude,” she repeated, her pulse speeding up. She forced a steady hand to tuck her hair her over her shoulder.
“Rude?” he asked, with a determined lift of his chin.
“What else would you call not assisting someone in distress?”
“If the person in distress is a walker like you, I’d say it’s good old common sense.”
Then he stepped back into the library and shut the door. Persephone glared at it, considered smacking it or tur
ning on her heel and marching off. She decided if this was her hallucination, if she had indeed tipped over the point of sanity into the realm of magical madness, she might as well go all in.
Persephone scooped up the sweater and tied it into a knot around her waist, then marched forward and shoved at the door. It opened with ease. Persephone charged in, looked around the room for Dorian. She found him in front of a large fireplace she’d overlooked before. He was crouched in front of the open stone mouth, feeding large hunks of wood into it.
His whole body sighed as Persephone stepped closer to him.
“You seem to have a firm opinion of me, considering you don’t even know me,” Persephone said. It shouldn’t bother her, but there was something about how he made her feel, that desire, coupled with how much she put him out. It wasn’t her magic driving his irritation. Eye contact didn’t faze him. No, this was something else, and that was a very peculiar puzzle indeed.
“I know your kind well enough.” He prodded at the fire before shifting his weight and sitting all the way down. Crossing one arm over his bent knee, he looked up at her. Dorian met her eyes, and stared. Five, four, three, two, one. Persephone counted down. Again, and again. He raised both brows. “You’re thinking hard, aren’t you?”
“You’re staring at me.”
“You’re staring back.”
She blinked. He blinked. Persephone narrowed her gaze. He smiled.
“You’re a witch,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to hold down her excitement at the discovery.
“Not even a little,” Dorian said, his tone indicating she had implied he had crawled out of the sewer and licked her boot.
She dropped her arms to her side. “How come I can’t tell anyone about you if you’re not a witch? That’s serious power to prevent me from speaking your existence.”
“It’s none of your business speaking about me, and I’m not a witch.” He took a step back from her, the clench of his jaw telling her he was more affected than he wanted to let on. She thrilled at the realization. “I’m a librarian, of sorts. Your blood’s the one humming with the ancients.” He shifted further away from her.
The Orphan Witch Page 11