The Orphan Witch

by Paige Crutcher

  “You cannot fight the dark when you’re battling a divide,” Persephone said in a voice barely her own.

  Ellison turned back. She lit a fire with a wave of her hand, and studied her cousin. “You’re giving up.”

  Persephone did not respond.

  “Hyacinth was a wicked fool, but all is not lost,” Ellison said.

  Persephone looked down at the mechanical man and thought of Dorian. Persephone wished she had the strength to go to him.

  Ellison murmured words so low Persephone could not make them out. The room warmed, the light softened. She brought Persephone a cup of tea and set it beside her. The mug was huge, and looked like something a caffeine addict would buy in a novelty shop.

  “I don’t want to be here,” Persephone said, before she knocked the cup over. She set the automaton in the chair and looked down at the puddle spreading across the hardwood floor. “I’m sorry,” Persephone said, to Ellison, to Deandra.

  The mechanical man’s eyes opened. They whirred green and Persephone leaned closer. Space shifted around her, the man’s eyes raking over her, his face frozen with fear.

  The knowledge slammed into her like a train off its track. Something was very wrong with Dorian.

  Persephone gasped and reached a hand out, slipping from Wile Isle into the web of space.

  * * *

  THE LIBRARY WAS dark when Persephone fell into it. Its usual scent of musk and fire cinders and pine was replaced with the sickly sweet smell of pink childhood medicine that tasted of bubble gum. It was the whiff of a memory, hers or someone else’s she did not know, but it made her shudder.

  “Dorian?”

  She called for him as she walked carefully along the perimeter of the library, fighting back fear. She knew she had reached the perimeter for an invisible wall brushed her shoulder, blocking her from the books. Persephone needed light, she needed to see to find him—and yet a small part of her found the dark comforting.

  She wondered if she could hide here, swathed in it forever like a wound freshly bandaged.

  “Dorian, this isn’t funny. Where are you?” Persephone took three steps forward and stumbled over a rolled-up rug. She reached down to roll it out, and her hand closed around a broad, still shoulder.

  The remaining exhaustion fell away like a bride’s veil thrown back from her face. Persephone’s blood spiked. She held up a hand and summoned aether, threw it into the air. A thousand sparks glittered, tiny floating lights with the sparkle of stars. They illuminated the unmoving form laying before her.

  “Dorian.” Persephone bent over him, her breath coming fast, and felt for a pulse. She couldn’t be certain, for she did not know how alive or dead Dorian was to begin with, but she thought she felt his life force still inside him.

  He was frozen. Bespelled.

  “Who did this?” Persephone asked, calling out to the library.

  The voices of the Many were silent as though they were afraid of this world. She surveyed the room. It was much changed. The walls had widened and the room was now a large rectangle with walls of books stacked in rows. A cold marble floor rested beneath her feet. It looked like a library in a university might.

  Persephone stood, looked around for a blanket, and saw a throw over a leather chair next to a small pillow. She took it and covered the unmoving form of the guardian, and slid the pillow under his head. Then Persephone walked quietly into the stacks. Someone had done this. Dorian had said nothing she did could harm him within the walls of the library, and yet someone had.

  “Did you do this?” Persephone asked, her voice as low as poison. “You’re a being—did you do this to him?”

  The library chilled so fast that Persephone’s breath puffed out in a small burst from her lips. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  The library warmed again, and she walked on. Finally, after passing countless rows, Persephone stopped in the center of the last aisle. An unbearably sweet scent prickled the edge of her nose. Fruity and light—the air was perfumed with it.

  Persephone closed her eyes, and drank it in. She knew that smell, it was as familiar to her as the owner of its name.

  “Hyacinth.”

  The lights of the library flickered and Persephone held up both hands. Anger flooded her system, and she used it to push forward. Once more Persephone stepped into the veil.

  * * *

  PERSEPHONE STEPPED BEYOND the veil and found the path distorted. If space were a sphere, like the earth, it would exist in three parts on Wile Isle. The outer crust would be the island, the inner crust the library, and the core behind the veil would lead to the hinterland. Persephone could, she’d come to understand, feel the paths of each when she was in the in-between state—except this time the roads ran together. It was impossible to decipher which way to go.

  As she’d stepped through, Persephone had been thinking of Dorian and Hyacinth and Amara. Now as Persephone studied the light around her, she cleared her mind, and focused on the island, on the cobblestone path outside Ever House, and the witch who had struck down her friend.

  Persephone’s lips tasted bitter like mustard greens as she licked them, and her hands moved deftly as she parted space. She’d make a new road, damn it.

  When Persephone stepped from the veil, she realized she was not alone.

  “Finally,” a rich, sultry voice said, just over Persephone’s shoulder.

  Persephone turned to face the voice, and blinked in surprise. A beautiful woman with striking eyebrows and inquisitive eyes smiled at her. The woman had auburn curls that cascaded down her back, and wore a gown the color of emeralds. Her hands were covered in rings featuring the phases of the moon, and around her neck she wore an hourglass locket that matched the one Persephone carried tucked under her shirt.

  “Who—?” Persephone started, before the woman reached for her. At her touch, the answer to the unspoken question crystallized in her mind.

  “Hello, daughter of my daughters,” the woman said.

  Then Amara Mayfair waved a hand over the air, parted the threads of space, and pulled Persephone in after her.

  HYACINTH EVER’S JOURNAL

  Ten years ago, August 1st

  I can’t stop dreaming about Stevie. I don’t know how it started, not really. One day I was wishing her away on every shooting star I saw, my eyes squeezed tight and teeth gnashed together. The next day, she was like an itch between my shoulder blades.

  I kept reaching to scratch it, but the itch moved.

  Up a centimeter, over a millimeter, down an inch. Until it settled in all its persistent glory smack between her eyes. I didn’t want to stop staring, or give up looking at her anymore—at least … not in my dreams.

  In my dreams, she walked onto Wile Isle wearing a crown. Her words were a lullaby she sang to scare all my nightmares away.

  Swish swish

  A siren’s wish

  I’ve come

  I’ve come

  Welcome me

  I’m home

  Fourteen

  HYACINTH EVER GASPED AWAKE, and found herself being studied like a termite who’d found its way into a newly renovated teak kitchen. Her sister’s face was drawn, and to her right Ariel Way stared down like she could pry apart all the layers of Hyacinth and happily shred each one before setting the remains on fire.

  “What did you do?” Moira asked, her hand shaking as she raised one to reach out and touch her sister on the arm, as if to reassure herself she was really there.

  “You know what she did,” Ariel said, curling her lip, something close to concern in her eyes. “Those new streaks of gray are clearer than any crystal ball. You don’t get that sort of highlighting from a salon.”

  “You walked with the dead,” Moira said, her lips thinning. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”

  Hyacinth groaned—her headache from being in between worlds for so long was no small thing. “Water, please.”

  Moira handed her a glass and Ariel pulled a vial from the basket she’d set
on the bed.

  “I’ll skip your brand of poison, thanks,” Hyacinth said, propping herself up on her elbows.

  “It’s lotus, wormwood, and a few herbs I’ve pollinated in my own garden,” Ariel said, not blinking. If anyone could give a statue a run for its money, it was Ariel Way. “If I wanted you dead, I’d stand you in front of the mirror to slit your throat so you could watch. Which, after all you’ve done, has crossed my mind.”

  Hyacinth sighed, and bit back a smile. She couldn’t help the hope that fluttered up at seeing her old friend wearing worry’s face. “Always so dramatic.”

  Ariel added a drop to the water and Moira nodded at her sister. Hyacinth drank it down, and closed her eyes as heat rushed in. Her skin tingled as the tonic worked its magic. Hyacinth’s pores opened and closed, her chakras bloomed and realigned. Five minutes later, Hyacinth’s neck and cheeks were flushed, and she felt almost back to normal. Almost. Hyacinth studied the strands of hair in the mirror, frowning at the silver streaks woven among her dark locks.

  “I can’t undo what you have done,” Ariel said, studying her hair. “But maybe the silver will keep the negativity you breed to a minimum.”

  “I’m not a damn house spirit,” Hyacinth snapped.

  “No, you’re a devil.”

  “Enough.” Moira pressed a hand to her forehead.

  “Not even,” Ariel said, crossing to Hyacinth. “She needs to explain herself, starting with teaming up with that evil witch, and her fake Persephone attacks on Ellison and me, and ending with wherever in Hades she’s just traveled.”

  “Hades isn’t far off,” Hyacinth said, rolling out her shoulders.

  “Then you should have stayed where you belong.”

  Hyacinth avoided meeting Ariel’s eyes, as the blow landed. She cleared her throat and reminded herself to put one foot after the other. What other choice did she have at this point?

  “It was bad enough when you were children that you barked and spit at each other, but I thought we’d lost you, Hyacinth,” Moira said, rubbing a temple as she turned to Ariel. “I thank you for your assistance, but you may go now. I need to speak with my sister.”

  Ariel snorted. “Fuck that.”

  At Moira’s narrowed expression, Ariel smiled. “As I said, I’m not going anywhere until she tells us what the hell she was doing. You had Amara in your home, she nearly killed Persephone.”

  “I would never hurt Persephone,” Hyacinth said, her eyes flashing. “The castings were supposed to be harmless. Do you really think this little of me?”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Ariel,” Moira warned.

  Hyacinth shook her head, reached a hand for the edge of the bed.

  “What?” Ariel asked, leaning close enough that Hyacinth could smell the mint of her breath. “That demented witch you conjured clearly wanted to do Persephone, and us, damage.”

  “She wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone,” Hyacinth said, rubbing her forehead. “It got out of hand.”

  “Oh, a possessed witch did something evil? Surprise, surprise.”

  Hyacinth ignored Ariel’s accusations, turning to rummage through her closet. It was easier when she didn’t have to look upon her old friend’s face. She chose a lilac gown to change into, tucked her curls on top of her head, and hissed when Ariel used her powers to tug on the strands of silver hair.

  Hyacinth ran her fingers over her face. She pulled on her dress and looked back at Ariel. “Without a key, there is no world. Without a lock, there is no key. When the key turns, we will all be free,” she said, words she and Ariel had written ten years before when looking to bend magic.

  “You lost your key when you brought Amara over,” Ariel said.

  “You know nothing,” Hyacinth said with a small sigh. “Same as you ever were.”

  “Oh I know plenty. I know who you are and what you’ve done.” Ariel took a step forward, her fingers curling into claws. “Try me, witch.”

  “Get over yourself.” Hyacinth glared at Ariel. She tried to swallow, failed. She needed out of the room, out of the house. She needed, most of all, Ariel out of her way. “Stevie certainly did.” Ariel’s nostrils flared and Hyacinth blew out a breath. “You think you’re such a victim, Ari. All the bad things happen to you. Nothing’s ever on you. You couldn’t get the girl, weren’t able to keep her, and it’s all my fault. Bullshit. I may not have your magic, but I didn’t need it to show her who the better woman was.”

  The mirror on the wall trembled as Ariel’s copper eyes turned black.

  “That’s enough,” Moira said, clapping her hands together like an irritated schoolteacher and looking like she wanted to strangle them both. “Hyacinth, tell us where you were, and please explain that you’re not working with Amara. Goddess help us.”

  “I would never work with that witch,” Hyacinth said, before turning around. This, at least, was true.

  “We saw her,” Ariel said.

  “You saw someone, I never said it was Amara.” Hyacinth said, and held up a hand. “I was beyond this land, tying up a loose end. Now, I’ve a garden to tend to and a recipe for a particularly tricky spell to perfect.”

  “Hyacinth—” Moira tried to interject, but her sister waved her off.

  She offered Moira an apologetic look. “I am sorry I gave you a fright. I’m perfectly fine.” Hyacinth slipped her feet into her slippers.

  “Yeah, we’re not done, witch,” Ariel said. “Who the hell are you working with, then?”

  “It’s funny you mention hell,” Hyacinth said, and dusted off her sleeve. “Poor Persephone,” she said, her eyes flashing as she stared at Ariel. The clock ticked from inside the room. From outside in the hall, Opal scratched at the door opposite the one the witches stood in.

  “The truest witch wears many faces,” Hyacinth said as she gave a slow smile. “Right now, she’s prepared for checkmate, because, dear cousin, the queen just took your pawn.”

  * * *

  AMARA MAYFAIR HELD Persephone’s wrist like you’d hold on to a baby colt as she pulled her along through the veil. There was nothing threatening in the action, or to the woman. Whoever she was, within moments Persephone knew this was not who she had faced at Ever House. Which left a very large question.

  Who was the witch who had possessed Deandra?

  Persephone could not ask the question, for speaking was not something permissible within the sands between space. Each time Persephone tried, the words puffed out in a sprinkle of white-blue light before being absorbed into the fabric of the world around them.

  Amara crossed through the threads and parted them with one foot in front of the other. She didn’t so much as follow the paths as command them. Light and aether danced around Amara as she walked.

  They stepped through and out of the veil, onto a cliff much like the one through the Arch to Anywhere in Ever House.

  Amara released Persephone and walked on, throwing her arms back and looking up at the morning sun. Dawn was breaking here, while it was night on the island.

  Persephone stepped back to study the witch, who couldn’t seem to wipe the grin from her face.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Amara asked, an odd cadence to her voice, her face basking in the rising warmth of the sun. “This day was the most glorious of all days, and by the end of it everything had fallen apart.” She turned to look at Persephone. “We are one hundred years past, because it is necessary to remember the beginning when you reach the end. I have been waiting for you, Persephone Mayfair, for a very long time.”

  “I don’t understand,” Persephone said. “If you’re Amara Mayfair…”

  “I am.”

  “Then who the hell tried to kill me?” The answer floated up like a mined speck of copper. “It was your sister, wasn’t it?”

  Amara looked out to the ocean, seemed to draw strength from it. She stood taller, her shoulders shifted down her back, the natural arch giving her the air of a queen. “That’s a layered question to answer.”

 
Amara stretched, and crossed to one of the giant boulders down from the overlook. Amara settled herself, her green gown glowing against the gray of the rock. The witch herself seemed to glow, as though she were lit up from inside.

  “There have been many times since coming to Wile Isle you have been threatened,” Amara said, offering Persephone an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid a few of those times were at my hand. The way between worlds has been breaking down, so I thought it was safe—but each time I tried to contact you, I created a chasm. It drained you. When a witch is drained, she is brought to a painful brink of death. I only meant to warn you, I never meant to channel your power. I was a fool, and I am sorry.”

  Persephone blinked, crossed her arms over her chest. “A painful brink of death?” Persephone thought about what it had felt like before, when the shadows and darkness pooled over her. “That … darkness trying to consume me wasn’t Hyacinth?”

  “No. Hyacinth made a bad bargain for a hill of beans.”

  Persephone could only blink at her. “I don’t understand.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be an attack at all,” Amara said. “Magic isn’t cooperative, and it’s especially tricky for someone like me trying to reach you across the worlds.”

  “Someone like you?”

  “Who has limited power, and whose power is so unpredictable.”

  “So the spell you cast worked and rid you of your dark magic?”

  “The spell worked,” Amara said. “Though I wish to the Goddess it hadn’t. I no longer have dark magic, and I barely have any of the light.”

  Persephone rubbed at her arms. “Where did your magic go?”

  “To my sister. At least, that which she can hold. The rest, she has stored. The Menagerie of Magic is a treasure trove of magically infused objects, and it has grown beyond measure in power.”

  “But it’s frozen, right?”

  “Yes. The menagerie is frozen.”

  “Then how are you here now?”

  And how were they … wherever they were? The air on the cliffs was warm, salty, and clean. The grass under Persephone’s feet was soft and bending. There wasn’t so much as a threatening ripple coming off the woman who should be trapped beyond the veil, but that did not mean Persephone trusted her.