The Orphan Witch

by Paige Crutcher

“You let me drain you?” Persephone said, feeling a little like a homicidal vampire. “Don’t either of you have any self-preservation?”

  “No,” Ariel called, answering for them. “I tried to argue you would take too much but no one listens to me.”

  “She wouldn’t do so on purpose,” Ellison said, wiping her brow.

  “You shouldn’t have taken off like that,” Amara said, reaching a hand out to brush Persephone’s cheek.

  “I had to. We needed the stone, and I needed to…”

  Find answers. Learn the cost of breaking the curse. Have her heart broken.

  “Yes?” Amara said.

  Persephone cleared her throat. Her family was looking at her with concern and compassion, with such unbridled loyalty. She weighed her words, chose a truth that was not the truth. “I had to save him.”

  “Save her pawn.” Ellison nodded, her smile gentle.

  “You ran off to the library without fair warning to save a man,” Ariel said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you have any self-preservation?”

  “Her mechanical man,” Ellison murmured, color seeping back into her cheeks.

  Persephone looked over at Amara, who somehow managed to look worse as the minutes ticked by. Persephone turned to Moira. “I think Hyacinth knew. She figured out she was being used, but she still knew I was the key. She tricked Dorian, but I think she had to in order for my grandmother to pass along a message through him.”

  Persephone held up the pouch clutched in her hands. She tipped it to the side, and a large hunk of obsidian tumbled out.

  “Your mechanical man saw Viola?” Moira asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  Persephone looked down at the rock. She could tell them. Everything. All that Viola said, what Dorian told her. She could tell them the cost of the curse. They loved her, she knew that. They wouldn’t want her to make this kind of sacrifice.

  Persephone looked up, and saw the trust on their faces. It was in the tilt of their heads, the intensity of their gazes, the way they held their shoulders back, waiting. Each woman stood not by her, but with her.

  Her family.

  Like the people locked away in the arch. Those women were her family, too, and Persephone could feel into the marrow of her bones if she were able to know them, she would love them as much as she loved the sisters of her heart standing before her.

  Persephone took a slow, measured breath, and lied.

  “Viola told Dorian Hyacinth was trying to help. She said it was time to break the curse.”

  “Oh, Hyacinth,” Moira said, staring at the stone.

  Persephone shifted her own shoulders back, and reached a hand out to Moira. Amara and Ellison placed their hands on Persephone once more, and Ariel gave a slow nod.

  “Then it is time. Give me the rock, cousin,” Ariel said, reaching out.

  * * *

  WHILE THE OTHER women sat on the porch, working on a spell to bind Persephone to them, and Persephone accepted the mission to end all missions, Ariel studied the obsidian hunk.

  Ariel loved puzzles. As a child she spent hours solving various riddles, studying details to re-create thousand-piece puzzles, and as an adult her favorite rainy day pastime was three fingers of scotch and a fresh game of Sudoku. This rock was no different. She angled it to the light, and noticed a seam that should not exist. Surveying the Ever porch, Ariel walked to the small chest beside Moira’s outdoor library shelf and rooted around until she found what she was after. Holding a pack of matches, Ariel walked back to the steps, scooped a handful of plotting soil, and sat down hard on the earth.

  “What are you—” Moira started, but Ariel shushed her away.

  Ariel dropped the dirt on top of the stone, lit a match, and held it underneath. She blew off the earth, turned the rock, and spit out the fire, and a loud thwack cut through the air. The stone splintered in two. The witches crept closer as Ariel turned the rock on its side, knocked against the obsidian three times, and a lone skeleton key tumbled out.

  Persephone’s mouth dropped open.

  Amara’s smile was a flicker of its usual self. “It would require great sacrifice to take this from the library.” Amara plucked out the key and studied the oval head. She looked over to Persephone. “They both, Viola and your librarian, love you a great deal.”

  Persephone swallowed hard, and looked away.

  Ariel snatched back the key.

  “I’ve seen that before.” Ellison crossed to her, tapping the triangle symbol over a rectangle housing a figure eight. “In a vision I had when Persephone cast her spell. I was in a dome standing in front of a door, and the figure eight marked the door.”

  “It is the symbol for the Curse of Nightmares,” Amara said. “Three in one. Interlocked, ever locked, away in the hidden world.”

  Ariel rapped on the other side of the obsidian and a moonstone tumbled out. “We have the last stone of three.” She took the key back. “The others please?”

  Persephone pulled her two from her pocket and passed them to her cousin. Ariel hunched over, muttering to herself. “Interlocked, two full circles.” She paused. “Two full circles.” Ariel turned the key three times, and blew. “False teeth,” she said. Ariel dropped the stones inside the rock and they clicked into place.

  * * *

  “THE KEY,” PERSEPHONE said, borrowing a notebook and pen from Moira, and rubbing at the place where the Mayfair locket should have been. Persephone started to draw. “To reach beyond the veil, to break the curse … would be us coming full circle to where Amara began. When her power was stolen, the curse was cast and the world frozen.” Persephone sketched it out as she thought. “Then there’s my return home, to a place I’ve spent my whole life wishing for, and the family I’ve always wanted. It’s the interlocking, the full circles. That means something.” She looked down at her drawing.

  * * *

  “Looks like a tiny pair of spectacles,” Ellison said. “One for your mechanical man.”

  “That’s the interlocking part,” Persephone said. “There are three worlds we’re inhabiting. Wile Isle, the Library for the Lost, and the realm of the lost witches frozen beyond the veil—the hinterland. I can’t move things from the library, but maybe here … if I had enough power.” Persephone looked to Amara. “Sacrifice. Cost. I need to bring it full circle.” She looked at Amara, realized the witch knew exactly the price the curse would take to break it. “No, it was never the power of three.”

  Amara tilted her head in understanding. “No, my love. It is the power of all.”

  Moira looked at her cousin. “If we all give Persephone enough of our magic, will that mimic the binding of the original spell?”

  “If the connection holds,” Amara said.

  “Then, once I’m over,” Persephone said, her eyes on the circles. “I can pull you through.”

  “Yes, but if you fail you will be on your own on the other side,” Amara said. “You could easily be as lost as I was.”

  “To break a curse is to break the magic of the witch holding it,” Persephone said. “We use the power of all instead of the power of three. We find True, form our circle, cast her power out, save Hyacinth.” She swallowed. “It’s simple.”

  “Then once the spell is broken, you send everyone home?” Ariel asked, quirking a brow.

  “Sure. Safe and sound. Easy peasy, nice and breezy,” Persephone lied, not meeting the witches’ eyes.

  Ariel snorted.

  “Magic always exacts its price,” Amara said, her voice gentle.

  Persephone thought of Dorian trapped in the library. She thought of Deandra, of her grandmother, of Hyacinth still trying to break the curse from inside it. She looked over the faces of the women who would walk through worlds with her to save those who came before them, and Persephone forced the corners of her mouth to curve. Words have power. These words would weigh the heaviest in their promise. “I will accept the cost.”

  With the plan set, the witches made quick w
ork of forming and setting their circle. Persephone took the center with each woman stationed at a quarter.

  With their permission, Persephone siphoned their power until the paths of space were glowing around her, each a vibrant color and living vibration.

  The power she’d pulled hummed to life beneath her skin as she raised her arms. The cool air cascaded down her back, and wind rushed up, blowing her hair forward. She only had to think breeze to stir it. Persephone felt wild with power, her whole body pulsing as energy roared beneath the surface of her skin.

  When she had pulled all she needed into herself, Persephone surveyed the witches to make sure enough of their strength remained. All looked well at ease. All except Amara, from whom Persephone had taken the least.

  “I am fine,” Amara said, flashing a brief smile at Persephone. “I can’t recharge the same as you. When I’m across this land, back in the other world, I’ll be stronger.”

  Persephone nodded in relief, and took the key from Ariel, who begrudgingly passed it over. Then Persephone wove her fingers through the threads of space and slipped them like a crown over her head. She tied more around her torso, through her legs, under her feet, and over her chest, binding herself to the others.

  This time, Persephone did not leave her body behind.

  All of Persephone May stepped through the void, and beyond the veil.

  Seventeen

  PERSEPHONE DID NOT STEP into the veil, as she normally would, to find her path. This time, she stepped beyond it. Into where the world of witches and magic, of frozen grains of time, and dreams made of shadow, waited.

  As Persephone walked from the mist, she looked down to see the pristine cobblestone path beneath her feet once more. The world of Wile Isle was duplicated to near perfection. This time, though, Persephone recognized in the details something was off.

  The truth was there, hidden in what Amara had sung to her. Dark honeysuckle and ice apple trees. They were everywhere. The apples made of frost, their bark so sharp that when she reached a finger out, it sliced at the tip. Hidden just off the path, oak trees hung too low, their limbs mossy with fur instead of foliage.

  Blood magic. She could smell it all around her.

  The sun itself was frozen on pause, white stratus clouds framing it in the sky. Persephone looked over her shoulder, and saw the moon sitting in juxtaposition to the sun. The two sides of time faced off, and it was impossible to tell who would win.

  Persephone needed to call the others through, and she couldn’t waste a moment. Couldn’t give herself the opportunity to second-guess her choice. She cast her circle with the small vial of salt she had in her bag, completing it with a personal item from each of the witches. Ellison’s scarf, Ariel’s hat pin, Amara’s locket, and Moira’s ring. She placed each item at a corner, sat in the middle, and reached across space.

  The vibration started in the tip of Persephone’s pointer finger. It ran along her palm, under her elbow, and up to her shoulder. From there, a shock of pain ricocheted across her chest bone, down into her pelvis.

  This was wrong. There should be no discomfort, there should only be a knowing.

  The pain grew and Persephone curled in on herself, reaching for help and finding air.

  “You cannot take without giving.”

  The voice of the Many siphoned into one. A lone voice, insistent in her mind.

  “Give?” Persephone asked it back, her breath heaving in her chest. “I have nothing left to give.”

  “If you do not balance the scales, the same will happen to them that happened to the guardian.”

  “What do you mean?” Persephone fought to sit up. “What happened to Dorian?”

  “Before. When you tried to take him without the balance. It split him apart.”

  The world reeled around Persephone, spinning as she lost control. Magic always came with a price. Of course it did. Why hadn’t Dorian told her sooner what she’d done?

  She thought of what Amara had said, about love. Love. It has a funny habit of messing everything up. Persephone knew that now.

  She needed to pay the balance to pull her cousins across. But how? She’d given up the locket, given up her lone talisman to the library in proof of sacrifice. She tried to draw another breath. The library had wanted power.

  What about this world—what did this world want?

  More, what was it afraid of?

  There was only one way to find out. She’d have to do whatever it took to keep going.

  Persephone let go of the sole thread of space she kept wrapped around her finger tethering her across worlds. The pain fell away. So did her connection—the binding spell was broken. The way back to Wile Isle was gone.

  She gasped as breath flooded back into her. Wiping her brow, she blew the line of salt free, and gathered the items, putting them back in her bag.

  “How do I balance the scales?” Persephone asked, rubbing her side and looking up at the distance between the moon and the sky.

  “You cannot take without giving.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “You’re as helpful as a fortune cookie.”

  Persephone could have sworn she heard the voice laugh before it faded away. For now, Persephone would have to continue on alone, because the sun wasn’t the only thing watching her. She could feel eyes in the mist, surveying her as she headed for town. True would know Persephone was here. Persephone was almost out of time.

  When Persephone had first traveled beyond the veil by accident, she had landed in the center of town. She went there now, looking for the bakery in hopes that if she retraced her steps, the Goddess would help her find her way to Hyacinth.

  The first thing she saw when she entered town was the veil breaking down. Time had been set. One hundred years given to house this land and these witches. The space created, this spelled nightmare, was running out. As it did, it would take the witches with it.

  The earth was no longer a lush and vibrant green, but a dark primeval purple. The grass flopped over on its side like a fish gasping its dying breath. No breeze stirred, and no witches walked here either. They were fully frozen, like the apple trees.Persephone paused in front of a woman wearing a timepiece, her eyes gazing beyond her to the sky.

  Unblinking, unseeing, unmoving. It was the woman from the bakery. If Persephone failed, her world would continue to decimate. The witches, all of the witches, would be lost.

  “All these souls and no place to go.”

  There was a deep sadness in the voice speaking for the Many.

  “Is this … is this how it is for you?” Persephone asked.

  “No, child. This is how it will be for us if you fail.”

  Persephone’s hand shook as she brought it to her eyes to shade against the sun.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You did not make the bargain, but you must pay the price. It is the way, and it is we who are sorry.”

  Persephone tried to draw up her resolve. She knew the souls of the witches—her ancestors—wouldn’t reach the land of the Goddess if she failed. She hadn’t considered what would happen to the Many if she did not succeed.

  You cannot take without giving.

  And she could not win without losing. So be it. Persephone took a deep breath. If she didn’t stop True, they would all be as good as ghosts.

  The chimes rang through her mind much in the way a person wakes from a dream—a slow blink, a part of her consciousness stretching, a new alertness somehow on edge.

  The bells chimed again and Persephone turned.

  Thunder rumbled overhead, the call of an invisible storm. In the distance, Persephone saw a tall spire, reminiscent of a church steeple. Lightning splintered in the sky, the air electric for a moment before the ground rumbled beneath her. Time inside this world was speeding up.

  Hyacinth screamed.

  The Many cried out in alarm.

  Persephone ran in the direction of her cousin’s voice as fast as she could, down the cobblestones through the center of town, p
ast the post office, the bakery, the houses and shops with their new stone and slate shingles. As she darted down the path, decay crept in, trailing after her.

  Ice apples curdled and fell from the tree limbs. Persephone sprinted, trying to pull space to her, finding it slipped through her fingers.

  She turned a corner, and where the mountain should rise into view, stood an oversized tent. Persephone turned a full circle. When glanced from the corner of her eye, it had the look of a circus or revival tent. Faced straight on, the tent showed what it truly was—a large tree with spires of limbs wrapped around itself. Persephone ran a hand through the air and the vibration rumbled up from the ground, weaving the truth of the vision together.

  The creation before her was a sea of branches interwoven. It was impossible to pin down where the roots began and the tips ended. Not quite oak, definitely not maple or sycamore or willow. It was a tree like nothing she’d ever seen.

  At its base a dark arch rose up, creating a vicious-looking door.

  “The Menagerie of Magic,” Persephone whispered, watching color shimmer outside of it. All the threads of space spooled here, like rainbow ice cream running down the sink to the center of the drain. It was a swirl of shades, the largest of which were shadows pooling out from the edges.

  “Space and magic do not follow rules inside.”

  “What?” Persephone asked, looking for the voice inside her head, realizing there was—of course—no one to see.

  “Inside the Menagerie of Magic, space bends, magic waits, and whole worlds can take new shapes.”

  Persephone leaned into the voice. She knew the cadence. Somehow … from somewhere else.

  “Can you say that again?”

  Silence answered her.

  Persephone reached into her pocket and pulled out the key Ariel had reconstructed. She thought of what she knew of magic. Your head and heart must agree. What you believe, you become. It sounded like a motivational saying you’d get from a calendar in a museum gift shop—and yet.

  Persephone held up the key and at her will, it changed form into a circle. A full circle. She slipped the key onto her wrist, took one step, then another. As the shadows swam along the ground toward her, Persephone focused on the key and the door. She needed to get inside—she would reach the door.