The Orphan Witch

by Paige Crutcher

  “Walker Mayfair?” Ellison repeated.

  “Yes,” Persephone gave a short nod, wishing they would make this whole process a little easier. Hyacinth and Moira could see her for who she was, but these witches disliked her because of her power, even though they, too, carried magic. Nothing added up.

  Persephone shook off a tingle climbing its way up her calves. “I found something with the … name on it?”

  Behind Persephone the shadow that was not a shadow swept against her feet. Persephone yanked her hands from her pockets and scratched at her lower back. Ellison tracked both movements, keeping her head tilted to one side.

  “Walker Mayfair isn’t a person,” Ellison said.

  Persephone tilted her head, and reached up for her collarbone. She rubbed at the growing itch there. “You know what it is?”

  “The prophecy,” Ariel said, stepping out onto the porch holding a tumbler of clear liquid and passing a small sachet to her sister. “The prophecy of the rise of the true dark witch.”

  Thinking of the prophecy Hyacinth had told her about, that a time walker of the Mayfair line will one day have the power to unmake the world, Persephone shook her head. Her magic, the Evers’ magic, wasn’t dark.

  Was it?

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Nothing about you being here does,” Ariel said, and she showed her teeth in a grin that had Persephone’s stomach turning.

  Persephone took a step back and the shadow wrapped itself around her ankles.

  It was like stepping into a web of cling wrap. One minute Persephone was irritated, bordering on nervous about the sharp-eyed witch holding the amber liquid, and the next she couldn’t move. Persephone tried to breathe, tried to shout, tried to run, but she was rooted to the earth, frozen in her spot.

  Ellison whispered something as determination settled across her features. For Persephone, fear turned into panic, bloomed into terror at the studied expression both witches wore. Persephone tried to thrash beneath the dark air that tugged at her arms and legs. Persephone was losing control, could feel something dark inside her trying to work its way out, to take over.

  Ariel clasped one hand with her sister and raised the sachet up to the sky.

  She called a single word out into the air, “Release.”

  The sand beneath Persephone shifted, rumbling under her feet. There was a tight pull in Persephone’s midsection, and the ropes binding her loosened. She lurched forward, bending at the waist. The darkness ebbed for one blessed, glorious second, before it rushed back in faster, stronger, deeper.

  “Return,” she heard Ariel say, and a cold fear replaced the panic Persephone had been fighting.

  Ariel drew her arm back, and catapulted the sachet toward Persephone. As it neared, Persephone closed her eyes, and briefly wondered how she’d ended up here, with misfiring magic and angry witches who were going to kill her.

  Lightning crashed across the sky and splintered into the sand. Persephone’s eyes shot open and the sachet ricocheted back and landed in the water. The sea bubbled around it like a cauldron rejecting the ingredients.

  The water turned a seething red before it foamed white and settled.

  Golden light blinded Persephone, and the darkness that had been holding her released. Persephone staggered back, her arms coming up, ready to fight.

  “Stop!” Coming from nowhere and everywhere, Moira’s voice cut through the air—clear, focused, and vibrating with so much anger Persephone had to grit her teeth against the sound.

  Lightning cracked again, splintering boards, imploding the lower steps leading up to Way House.

  Moira’s voice boomed out.

  “I call to the East,

  South, West, and North,

  my intentions manifest this mighty force.”

  Wind whipped forward against the two witches standing on the porch, pushing them back onto their own ground.

  Hyacinth came around the other side of the house, striding through the storm like it wasn’t bringing torrential winds down with the angry wrath of the Goddess. Hyacinth crossed to Persephone, wrapped her arm around her, and a pressed a sachet into her pocket. A blanketing sense of calm descended over Persephone.

  “The time for you to fight is not yet born,” Hyacinth said.

  Persephone slipped an arm around Hyacinth’s waist, and leaned heavily on her friend.

  Moira emerged from the mist, and stood like a proud general facing a firing squad. Moira did not back down, not even as Ariel fought her way forward, sending sparks of green down onto the beach.

  Moira crossed to her sister and took her hand. She spared the briefest glance at Persephone before she raised her chin up another notch and spoke. Moira’s voice boomed into the distance even as lighting split the sky and the winds wrapped around the house and beach like a desperate tornado seeking a way in.

  “I call to the Guardians of the Island

  Today is not the day

  Protect what has gone astray

  Return the power to us now

  Release the bond and break the bow

  Three unto three

  As we will, so mote it be.”

  Light flashed so bright Persephone let out a small scream. Hyacinth’s grip on her tightened, and in the next instance the wind died down to a cool breeze.

  Ellison and Ariel were gone from the porch; a deep crack splintered their staircase dividing what was one into two.

  Hyacinth let out a low, gleeful chuckle, flashing a delighted grin before Moira cleared her throat. Hyacinth looked over, saw the state of Persephone, and blanched.

  “Apologies, cousin. It’s been some time since we’ve faced the Ways, and I hate to admit how much I’d been spoiling to see that fight. Let’s get you home.”

  Moira’s face was drawn and pale, but she wrapped an arm around the other side of Persephone, and with the support of the two witches, Persephone walked away from the yellow house. The water beside them crept further inland, trying to reach their feet as they went, the current urgent in its message.

  Persephone paid it no mind. Persephone was looking back, up into the attic, into the dark and furious eyes of Ellison Way.

  HYACINTH EVER’S JOURNAL

  Two weeks after the summer solstice, ten years ago

  Ariel believes all magic is magic. She said this to me while we were at the beach, watching the first July arrivals from off island boat in. She’s been building a cuckoo clock for the Arch, one that could hold sands of time if we were brave enough to collect them. I told her that kind of magic isn’t regular.

  “Sure it is. It’s magic for memories, dreams, and moments.” Then she laughed. “You can fill it with whatever you want, since you spend all your time there.”

  I spend so much time beyond the Arch because I’m practicing. Her magic isn’t my magic. I don’t know how she makes the impossible possible. I’ve told Moira that Ariel might be the witch to break the curse, but Moira only shook her head.

  “She can pull space to her, but she can’t walk through it. It’s manipulation, not mastery.”

  Moira’s big on mastery. Boring on it. She spends all day working on her recipes and practicing Tai Chi, while I sit in the garden watching things grow.

  So we sat on the beach, Ariel ignoring my latest rant on the hinterland and the curse and how I wish we could break it, and we watched the waves nip at the edge of the shore. If we did break the curse, we’d have more magic, and more company to keep all year-round. If we broke it, maybe our mothers could return and the island would finally be a home.

  “Who is that?” Ariel asked, finally looking up.

  A girl had stepped off the boat. She had light hair, full lips, and walked like she was on a runway. Swish, swish went her hips.

  “Tourist?” I said, watching her continue down the dock, and onto the path.

  “It’s the girl,” Ariel said, breathing the word in a way I’d never heard before. She pulled the corn husk doll from her bag, and passed it over.


  I looked down, and startled in surprise. The little doll I’d made Ariel, with its dandelion curls, looked remarkably like the girl stepping off the boat.

  “Ari,” I said, my stomach flipping once. “Did you do something to this doll?”

  She smiled at me, and pulled her bag over her neck. “You can keep her. I have the real thing now.”

  Then Ariel danced over the sand and onto the path, her shoulders squared, her eyes flashing.

  I was left holding the doll, forgotten on the beach, once more all alone.

  Six

  ONCE PERSEPHONE AND THE Evers were off the beach and back on the cobblestone path, Hyacinth and Moira gently released her. Persephone found she could stand on her own, and did so, brushing the hair from her face and turning to them in gratitude.

  “Thank you for showing up when you did.” Persephone gave her head a shake. “I don’t understand what happened.”

  “Back at the house,” Hyacinth said, giving Persephone’s hand a gentle squeeze before casting a glance over her shoulder. “We’ll talk where it’s safe.”

  Moira led the way home, her pale face growing gray as they walked up the hill. Power crackled off her, filling the air with a sharp tang of bitterness and the bite of static electricity. Persephone wanted to ask her if she was okay, but the way Moira moved with such focus reminded Persephone of when she practiced Tai Chi, and had her biting her tongue.

  The walk was long, and the salt in the air stung Persephone’s eyes. Her body grew heavy, and the weight of her heels dug deep into the cobblestones. Persephone’s elbows ached with each swing of her arms, and her neck felt as though it had been yanked to one side and stretched too far. She tried to hold her pulsing head with one hand, but the effort was too much.

  “She needs grounding,” Moira said, wiping sweat from her brow.

  “She needs better access to her powers,” Hyacinth said.

  “The island,” Persephone murmured. “I thought it would restore me.”

  “It will,” Moira said, shooting Hyacinth a look. “But you need more than a healthy breath of fresh air. That was powerful magic you fought off. Grounding is the thing.”

  “It’s not safe here,” Hyacinth said, holding one hand out to assist Persephone, her eyes studying the hill they had yet to climb. “Just a little farther, we’re almost to our protection barrier.” Hyacinth wrapped an arm tightly around Persephone’s waist. “Lean in, cousin.”

  Persephone did so, and though each step was measured and tedious, she could bear the burden better from the support. It struck Persephone that she had never had the chance to lean on anyone before coming to Wile Isle. Persephone had missed out on occasions to allow herself such frailty, and finding it now she discovered she did not enjoy the experience in the slightest.

  When they finally reached the house, Persephone was perspiring and breathless. Hyacinth left her to sit on the stoop, saying she would be right back. Moira moved her feet and dug her toes deep into the earth, shaking off energy like a dog shakes off water, as she studied the horizon.

  Hyacinth returned with two cups of tea, gave one to each of the women and told Persephone to “down it in one good swallow.” She did, watching Moira do the same. Persephone sputtered after, while Moira didn’t bat a lash. Whatever tonic was in the tea was hidden by the strong taste of whiskey.

  “We should head for the Arch,” Hyacinth said. “We could work on binding your powers to all of us, so we can make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

  “I don’t think I have the energy for spell work,” Persephone said, not sure that she liked the idea of a binding of any kind.

  “We need to restore your strength.” Moira crossed to her, studied Persephone. “Perhaps we need the blessing tree.”

  Hyacinth helped Moira assist Persephone up before she went back inside to consult her books, while Moira led Persephone to a mossy tree that looked more gnarled than an arthritic man’s knuckles.

  “That is the blessing tree?”

  “Of a kind. You’ve heard the term tree hugger before?” Moira asked, arching her brows. “Now you’ll get to enact it.”

  “Oh goody, just what I’ve always wanted,” Persephone said on a sigh.

  Moira bit back a laugh, and helped Persephone find the base of the tree, moving the hanging limbs aside. Persephone straddled the roots with care, feeling only mostly ridiculous, and wrapped her arms around the moss. It was a bit like Persephone imagined hugging a shaggy dog would feel, only with more musk to clog her senses.

  Her toes dug into the soft earth, and Persephone gave in to the urge, and closed her eyes.

  “The trees are older than we, stronger than we, and they remember their strength easier than we ever could,” Moira said, her voice wrapping itself around Persephone. “We are of the earth. We are born from it and to it we return. Allow your spirit and body to bridge the gap. Imagine your feet sinking into outlets of energy. Now, plug in. From the top of your head down to the base of your spine, see a line of strength. Imagine white healing energy, salty and born of the land, to fill your body. Invite it inward to recharge your soul.”

  Persephone imagined a white light. She saw the crown of her head lit with it, and the light entering through a door she kept hidden beneath her hair. The warm light flooded Persephone’s system, pushing along her spine, pulsing into her feet. As it did so, a golden light filled her from her toes up to her teeth. Energy from the earth and from the air poured in until all Persephone heard was her beating heart and the echo of her exhalation.

  Persephone did not know how long she stood hugging the ancient tree. She held on until it no longer felt silly, until it felt like someone was hugging her back. When it was time to let go, a whisper of a wound Persephone carried deep in her core had grown silent.

  * * *

  BACK INSIDE EVER House, Persephone sat on one end of the moon-shaped couch. Hyacinth claimed the other end as Moira fed the crackling fire, and Opal the cat warmed a pillow on the floor. It smelled of cinder and ash, of cinnamon tea, and roasting apples cooking on the stove in a heady red wine concoction Moira had not yet perfected.

  “What happened?” Persephone asked. “On the beach, what did they do to me?”

  Hyacinth gave her head a short shake, and held up a hand. “Not yet.”

  Moira went into the kitchen and returned with a basket. In it were herbs, candles, a jar of salt, and three strands of cord. “There is still a presence, a darkness following you. Do you feel it?”

  Persephone thought back to the feeling of unrest standing on the beach, of not being able to move, of the shadow creature. She gave Moira a nod.

  “Casting a circle will shut out any disruptive influences to keep us safe,” Moira said, pulling four thick candles from the basket and setting them at different corners of the area where Persephone and Hyacinth were gathered. “This is a type of psychic protection.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Persephone said, watching.

  “Magical energy is energy in its natural habit,” Hyacinth explained. “Energy has a bad habit of bouncing around and scampering off into the universe. For some, like Moira, who are naturally gifted in their power, it’s easy to call it back. For those like me who aren’t born with the same talents, magic energy is a balance we constantly work to control. Today we’re using the circle to gather up more energy and hold on to it longer.”

  “Does the circle itself make the magic stronger?” Persephone asked, sniffing the air as Moira pulled herbs from their sachets.

  “A vast oversimplification, but yes,” Moira said. “It will keep the magic in, and any disturbances out.”

  “The rosemary, angelica, sage, cloves, and salt build protection from prying ears and eyes,” Hyacinth added, on a yawn.

  “And those bits of cord?”

  “You hold them,” Moira said with a hint of a smile, passing one to Persephone.

  Moira finished laying out her herbs. She walked the circle three times, calling on the guardians of each di
rection as she went. Hyacinth didn’t speak, but held her palms up, as though in offering.

  When the circle was sealed, Moira took a seat in the stiff-backed chair, a serene smile crossing her face. Persephone understood the smile, for as the circle was completed, the air had changed.

  They sat in comfortable silence for a stretch of time before Moira spoke.

  “That was dark magic you felt on the beach. A powerful spell of control. I didn’t think the Way witches dealt in such magic, but you must pose more of a threat to them than we surmised.”

  “What did they throw at me?”

  “A binding sachet,” Moira said. “To control you or hold you, I can’t be sure which.”

  The boundary inside the circle gave off heat, and tingles ran along the side of Persephone’s right foot and leg that were closest to the line. She tried to respond to Moira, but couldn’t. Being inside the circle was like being in a frozen glass globe, trying to see through to the world beyond it—for Persephone, everything was out of focus.

  “All is well now,” Hyacinth said.

  Hyacinth’s words were blurry, settling into Persephone’s skin like a child’s first attempts at cursive writing. It took Persephone a moment to decipher their meaning. She inhaled a steadying breath, and put both feet solidly on the ground. It helped.

  “You’re safe,” Hyacinth added.

  The truth of her cousin’s words floated down over Persephone. Safe. One moment Persephone was stuck, the next she was exhaling a long release. A euphoric kind of shield enveloped Persephone and she sighed back into the pillows.

  Persephone tilted her head. “The Way witches said something about the rise of the true witch when I spoke to them. Who did they mean?”

  Hyacinth shifted in her seat.

  “Who do you think they were referring to?” Moira asked.

  “The way they said it, it sounded like me.” Persephone rolled out her neck, savoring the motion. “But I’m barely a basic witch.” Persephone smiled at her own joke.