The Orphan Witch

by Paige Crutcher

  Amara reached a hand out and gave Ariel’s arm a soft squeeze. Ariel bowed her head for a moment, and when she raised her chin again her eyes flashed bright.

  “So are they all trapped in her, in Persephone? The dead lost and bound to that place?”

  Amara shook her head. “No, not all, and not trapped. The locket is portal magic, it’s one way in and out. It’s a certain kind of freedom.”

  Ariel gave a nod of understanding. “And the price that you want to pretend you don’t know about for breaking this curse?”

  “There is always a price, Ariel Way. You of all people know that now.”

  * * *

  AT MIDNIGHT THE four witches set the body of Deandra Bishop to rest. Prayers and song were called and sung. Persephone’s tears fell into the ocean, one more loss added to her roster of many.

  They did not have to set flames to the raft or wait for a storm to break it asunder. The witches clasped hands, and called to the four quarters.

  “We call upon the guardians of the East, South, West, and North

  and the elements of Air, Fire, Water, and Earth.

  We ask for strength and protection, peace and guidance.

  We ask you seek Deandra Bishop’s spirit,

  So she may rest, and lead her home.

  As we will it, so mote it be.”

  The raft tipped up and back, and out to sea. There it sank slowly into the welcoming waters. Down went the little boat, down went the body of the girl who would never reach her potential.

  The four women turned to walk back up the beach to the house, and Moira Ever appeared on the edge of the ocean.

  Moira walked slowly toward them, her coat billowing out behind her. Her face was drawn, as though she had aged years instead of minutes.

  When Moira reached the others, she paused to rest her gaze upon Amara.

  “Hello, daughter,” Amara said, her expression calm.

  “Amara Mayfair. I should have known,” Moira replied. “I need your help.”

  Sixteen

  DORIAN WAS IN THE dark. He knew it was the dark because he could not see even a millimeter into space. He knew he was alive, or as alive as he’d been for the past two hundred years, because he could hear himself think.

  Hello?

  He said the word again and again, listening to his inner voice greet him. It was, to put it mildly, a surreal feeling to be a consciousness without a body.

  Dorian had read numerous books on dying, for the Library for the Lost had a nearly endless supply on books of almost every subject. He recalled a chapter where people discussed experiencing weightlessness. He did not think that was right, though, because to feel yourself float, or to feel as though you were weightless, implied you had a body to lose its connection to gravity.

  He simply existed. And also … he did not.

  Dorian’s mind grew hazy, thought slowed and slipped. He forced himself to think, to remember. Where was he? Ah, yes.

  Fucking Hyacinth.

  It said rather a lot about the Mayfair and Ever witches that he had been the guardian over the Library for the Lost for two centuries and he had not been foiled once, not until this generation of Wile Isle witches came into his world.

  He was irritated, but not completely lost to anger. Without Hyacinth tricking him, she would never have brought Persephone to the island. If Persephone had never come to Wile, she would never have come into her powers and come to find him. Finding Persephone was the one thing that made his unendurable time as guardian more worthwhile. Or had.

  Still.

  Love was not something Dorian knew in his mortal life. It was a surprise to him to discover it might be the most potent and powerful treasure he’d ever overlooked. Now he was lost to Persephone, and lost to time, and there was nothing to be done for it.

  Dorian thought of the books in the library, the catalogue of content he memorized every few years. The library brought in new information like a stream brings in water. It was constantly being refreshed, as knowledge and story were lost every day, every hour.

  Lost.

  Like him, like the library.

  Could it be that simple?

  If Dorian was truly lost, then surely the library would find him. He only had to wait. A little longer.

  His mind shuttered, the edges growing fuzzy once more.

  There was something he needed to know. Something to hold on to.

  If only Dorian could remember.

  * * *

  MOIRA EVER WAS quick to fill the others in on her sister’s disappearance, as well as the darkness she’d called to the garden at Ever House. Persephone felt a jolt of fear comingle with her anger. Hyacinth had put a spell on Dorian, and now she wouldn’t be able to confront her, find out why, and force her to fix it.

  Persephone would have to do it all on her own.

  “Such dark magic,” Moira said, looking up into the night sky. “I can’t understand what would drive her to this. Now there’s no power of three, there’s no plan. She’s blown it all up.”

  “True has always had a deft hand at swaying those who are bending to the point where they break,” Amara said, her hands slipped into her cloak.

  “Hyacinth isn’t weak,” Ariel said, earning a grateful look from Moira.

  “She…” Persephone hesitated, but the fear and worry on Moira’s face had her speaking up. “She isn’t weak. I felt her strength the moment I met her.” She thought of her many conversations with Hyacinth, flipping through the pages of her memory. “She seemed lonely at times, perhaps.”

  “Lonely?” Moira asked.

  Persephone nodded. “It’s a feeling I knew well, and Hyacinth seemed to be waiting for someone, or something.”

  Ariel looked away, before she walked off.

  “It takes time to mend a broken heart,” Ellison said, before glancing at Moira.

  Moira paced across the sand. “I have to find her. Before it’s too late.” She took a deep breath as if to compose herself. Even so, Persephone watched the tremble pass through Moira’s hands as she clasped them together.

  “True will have planned on us coming,” Amara said, studying the clouds shifting across the navy sky. “I would gather, from the spell you’ve described Hyacinth casting, True has bound Hyacinth to her, and pulled her into the hinterland. She knew Persephone’s being here would cause enough cracks in the spell for me to be able to cross over. My sister can’t cross, even with the door cracked open, but if it’s cracked wide enough, she can bring someone magical to her—if to her is truly where they wish to go.”

  “Hyacinth is only bound to me,” Moira said, her cloak falling back to reveal the pain etched across her face, the fierce light in her eyes.

  “Damn it, Hyacinth,” Ariel said, marching back to the women. She reached down to pluck up a handful of sand and watch the grains fall unevenly. She scattered the remaining grains. “She’s bound to all of us.” Ariel dusted off her palms. “Amara is correct. The earth has marked her as here but not here.”

  “I’m going with you to stop True,” Moira said. “I can fight. I can do anything if it will bring my sister safely back.”

  Amara tilted her head, studying the four women who stood in a square, each naturally drawn to their quarter: North, South, East, and West.

  “We are family, yet,” Ariel said, taking her sister’s palm.

  Ellison nodded. “We are. I’ve always dreamed we would find a way to fulfill the prophecy and set our family free. We have to help Hyacinth.”

  Moira reached for Ellison and the two clasped hands.

  “We only have a few hours before sunrise,” Persephone said, stepping closer and placing a hand on Moira’s shoulder.

  Amara studied the grains of sand dusting across Ariel’s skirt, how they fell in a solid line. She gave a curt nod. “The way should hold.”

  Then Persephone May, Ariel and Ellison Way, Moira Ever, and Amara Mayfair locked hands over wrists under the blood moon. Pulling her hourglass locket from where she wore it
around her neck, Amara withdrew a small needle from its heart. She pricked her thumb, and asked each of the women to swear their oath in kind.

  Five thumbs, five drops of blood, each pearl of blood dropped into a chalice the size of a thimble.

  The woman took turns dipping the tip of their finger in. Each drew out a single combined drop of blood, and pressed it to their third eye, down their lips, and across the skin and bone that covered their beating hearts.

  For the first time in three generations, a new circle was formed.

  Time would tell if it would hold, or like those who had come from the land before them, if it, too, would break.

  * * *

  THE ROOM DORIAN found himself in looked like a closet that had acquired the temperament of a four-year-old, and been told it could no longer play with its favorite toy. Racks of clothing were strewn over the floor, across the bookshelves, and somehow stuffed into the ceiling vents and strung over the chandelier. To top it off, the clothing was floral and in shades of burgundy, lavender, and taupe.

  “It’s my idea of a garden party,” the melodic if not raspy voice to his left said.

  He looked down and realized he was wearing one of the floral-affronted frocks. Lace splayed out from the sleeves and pawed at his palms and fingers.

  “What is happening?” he asked, looking over to see an older woman with a tired smile and Persephone’s eyes.

  “What isn’t,” she said, and kicked her feet up on a squat floral ottoman. “It’s been a small forever where nothing has happened and now, here we are with the threads of space coming together through the cracks in time. It’s like chaos’s birthday party.”

  Dorian closed his eyes. His head was pounding out of his skull, the room smelled of wine and cigarettes, and Viola Mayfair was somehow talking to him.

  “You can’t be here.”

  “Honey, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

  Dorian cracked an eye open. “I guess she got your attitude.”

  “If you mean my granddaughter, I’ll take the compliment though you’d be wrong. Her pluck is her own. Hard won, too.”

  “Why am I here, Viola Mayfair?”

  “I’m not a Magic Eight Ball, Dorian Moskito. Saying my name won’t deliver a prediction, but at least you know enough not to be surprised.”

  “The library is made of surprises, which makes its surprises remarkably unshocking.”

  “Yes, well. I think there’s time enough for surprises yet.”

  Dorian looked down, and realized Viola was shaking. He met her eyes.

  “I need your help, boy, and we’re short on time so I want you to listen and listen well. When my granddaughter comes to help you, because Goddess knows help is what she’s going to try to do, you have to give her something for me, and pass along a message.”

  Dorian lifted a brow, opened his mouth to argue. Viola’s hand snaked out, and it felt like ice wrapping around his wrist. “This is not a joke, guardian. She needs you, and I need to hear you promise.”

  Dorian swallowed as some of her fear climbed onto him and skittered up his arm. “All right. I promise.”

  “Just as your library needs a guardian, so, too, does the world beyond. Wile Isle is a world within a world. It’s how the Goddess built it, and when Amara and True altered her design, the new world became part of the balance. The hinterland must exist for Wile Isle to exist, for the library to exist. If one does not, all will perish.”

  She held out a box to him. “Take this looking glass and give it to my Persephone. Give freely to her whatever she requires for help, but be certain to tell her—there is always a cost. The debt must be paid.”

  He grasped the small container, his heart plummeting to his stomach. “The cost is too great, you’re asking her—”

  A chime rung out, cutting him off, and Dorian looked over his shoulder at a new sound. A ripping, tearing, horrible sound.

  Cracks broke through, running up the seams of the walls, down into the floorboard.

  “What have you done, Viola Mayfair?”

  The witch drew herself up, her shoulders back and chin raised. “What I must to help my grandchild.” Her lip quivered and the smile she gave nearly broke his heart. “Now you do what you must, and help our girl.”

  The chimes sounded again. The room broke in two.

  Dorian watched, helpless, as Viola Mayfair was sucked from the room, before he screamed and the world once again went black.

  * * *

  THE WITCHES RETURNED to Ever House. Amara took her time as she moved, letting her fingertips graze over the handrail and her eyes savor every inch of the rooms they passed over and through. Amara had said to Persephone that Ever House had once been hers, and it was clear that no matter how long you were away from it, home truly was where your heart would linger. Persephone hoped when this was over, Amara could return to her life inside the house. That Amara might find a certain kind of peace when the end finally came.

  “The key to magic,” Amara said, “is to understand where power is housed. It’s in the heart and the mind. Two interlocking chambers divided by the body. If the mind believes, reality can bend. If the heart truly wants, then the way will appear. When the mind and heart work together, well, anything is possible.”

  Amara paused at the top of the stairs and drew the air to her. “It still smells of jasmine,” she said, a hint of wonder in her voice. “It was our favorite scent, mine and True’s.”

  “It’s always here,” said Moira. “Like nature’s spritz of perfume.”

  “My room was just down here,” Amara said, stopping outside what had been Persephone’s door. Amara pressed her palm to the frame. “It’s yours now,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Persephone. “I’m glad.”

  Before Persephone could think of a reply, Amara crossed to the room where Hyacinth had lain dead only hours before and, without touching the handle, sent the door flying open. “This was True’s room.”

  The room was cast in shadows. As Amara moved into it, the shadows receded like ink pooling from a page. The room looked ordinary. In it sat a wooden bedpost framing a full bed with a navy quilt, cream pillows, antique lampshades and tables, and a wide circle rug on the floor.

  The room did not, however, feel ordinary. Dark magic left a trace. Like a sour taste lingering in one’s mouth or a film coating one’s skin, it clung.

  “Hyacinth’s been using this room,” Amara said, running a fingertip along the quilt. She crossed to the wall, and pulled from her maroon cloak a red garnet. “The Arch to Anywhere is housed here for a reason. Magic begets magic when it’s channeled properly, and if the Goddess wills it. The arch is one of the strongest conduits in this hemisphere. It was meant for greatness.” She studied the garnet and then tucked it back into her cloak. “It’s where we must go.”

  “Why the arch?” Persephone asked, as they turned and followed Amara back downstairs, through the living room into the kitchen, through the wall of clocks, to where the Arch waited.

  “We are using the arch’s magic as a portal. We draw the energy up, and channel it out. The key is to see where we aim to go. To see Hyacinth and travel to her.”

  Standing in front of the arch, the five women closed their eyes, and held their hands out, palms up. As they concentrated, the elements moved around them. Spirit flickered from Amara’s fingertips, floated up from Persephone’s palms. Water rose off Ellison’s skin, while the air shifted around Ariel and Moira.

  The stone arch shimmered, and as it did the door faded. In its place was a walkway made of light.

  Persephone imagined Hyacinth, her flowing dark hair and clever eyes. She saw her and she saw beyond the veil, into the hinterland she had traveled before. She reached, and her hand brushed into the solid wood of the arch door.

  “I don’t … I don’t understand this,” said Amara, frustration making her voice echo.

  Persephone opened her eyes and looked around. Each witch stood with one outstretched hand pressed against the door
. The door was partially opened, and beyond it was nothing more than a regular-sized pantry.

  “What in hades?” Moira said.

  “It’s … a cupboard,” Ellison said, staring blankly.

  “No,” Ariel said. “It’s nothing.”

  “The way in is shut,” Amara said, running a hand over the wood. “I don’t know how True could manage this.”

  “She didn’t,” Moira said, stepping to the side, and reaching down. She pulled up a thin chain with a dangling silver hyacinth attached to it from the floor. “This was Hyacinth’s doing.”

  Ariel swallowed. “I gave that to her for her birthday ten years ago.”

  Moira met her eyes.

  “What do we do now?” Persephone said, running a hand over her face. “Try a new variation of the power of three?”

  “It won’t be enough,” Amara said.

  “What?” Moira turned to look at her. “Why not?”

  Amara gave an elegant shrug of one shoulder. “It was never about the power of three. Hyacinth had a good idea, but it wouldn’t have worked.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Moira said, exchanging a look with Persephone. “All of this and you’re saying it was for nothing?”

  “Not nothing. It was everything. You three were just knocking on the wrong door.”

  “So what door should we knock down now?” Moira asked, waving her arms. “I’ll kick it open, just show me the way.”

  “The land beyond the veil is locked,” Amara said, her words slow, her eyes going to Persephone. “It only needs the right key.”

  “The right—oh.” Persephone gave a firm nod. “Right. You mean me.”

  “Let’s go then,” Moira said, turning.

  “No,” Amara said. “You are hearing me but you are not listening. That particular door needs a key. Only the key.”

  “Alone?” Ellison asked, her tone sharp. “That’s crazy.”

  “And what does she do by herself if she manages to get there?” Ariel asked. “Juggle? True’s more powerful on her own land, that’s what you said. Storing her magic in jugs or whatever and waiting for Persephone to arrive so she can use her for however she plans to as a conduit.”