There atop the cassette player, was a smooth, white stone with a sparkling black vein running straight through its center. The box lid fell from his limp hand and bounced once on the table. The papers sifted down from his other hand as it went slack as well, spilling the contents of his life across the pressboard tabletop and the grungy linoleum floor. Cooper didn’t need to look at it anymore because the name that had rung a faint bell half an hour ago screamed through his head in a way that declared its ownership of him as well.
Yet there it was all the same, lying at the top of the mess—a birth certificate. Old, tattered and faded, it confirmed his fears.
Cooper Lee Landis.
Cooper realized one other thing as the sick lump formed in his throat: that he’d thrown that very same stone away eleven years ago, on the day he was adopted out of that horrible state-run home by John and Betty Chisolm. The day he went from being a throwaway second child to having a stable home and a loving family.
But there it sat, unassuming yet menacing, silent yet speaking volumes, and though it seemed silly, as he picked the stone up Cooper found he was afraid to turn around.
The Sea Witch
Kasidy Manisco
Today
The forest burned around me as I ran, my lungs aching for air. Acrid smoke clogged my throat. I coughed and wrapped a stolen scarf around my nose and mouth but didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.
When I reached the cabin I threw open the door and called out, “Morgan! Morgan, cherie, we must go!”
Morgan didn’t appear, and I began to panic. The fire drew closer. Through the windows I could see the flames licking at trees. “Morgan!” I shrieked.
I grabbed my pack and rushed to the back of the cabin, to the hiding place that I had told her to stay in until I came back. It was a small room used to store only the most precious things, or so Mama had told us before she died. Morgan, only seven, was barely small enough to fit. I threw the rug aside and opened the trapdoor, and there she was, looking up at me with terrified eyes. I’d done this. I’d put that fear into her eyes.
“Baby, it is done, we must leave,” I pleaded with her. “Come.” I held out my hand, and at first I wasn’t sure she would take it, but a small, dirt-covered hand reached out and I pulled her out of the hiding space. I hugged her, holding her close, stealing time I dared not steal. I grabbed her hand and dragged her to the back of the house. There was a single door in the cabin, but I would make another one. Fire and hatred followed us to the front door and I would not expose Morgan to such things, not if it was within my power.
I called magic to my fingertips. It coated my lips, my tongue, filled me as it would an empty cup, threatening to overflow, overwhelm. But I was Master, as my mother was Master before me. I cast my will and magic against the wall of wood and it exploded outward, creating a hole the height and width of three horses standing together. Wind blew my hair back, the wind threatened to topple the walls around us, and immeasurable joy bubbled up inside me. I laughed and marveled at the power coursing through my veins.
But Morgan was cowering behind me, away from me. I stopped laughing. Magic didn’t frighten her—we had both grown up with it, had been shaped by it all our lives, thanks to our dear mama. But Mama used it as the tool it should be. I gloried in it too much, used it for things I shouldn’t. That scared Morgan. But I couldn’t assuage her fears now. She needed that fear.
“Come, my love,” I told my little sister, grabbing her hand as tears gushed down her face. I tried to ignore them and we ran from the house, from the dangers quickly surrounding us. I was sure I seemed cold, the way Mama, in all her sternness, would never have been, not to little Morgan. But I was not Mama. I was a whole other being, perhaps not one my mother would have approved of. But I did what I did to survive, nothing less.
My true name was forgotten by the world. Now they only called me the sea witch.
***
Two days ago
A man walked into my shop, bundled against the cold. I reveled in the cold, though I wore a coat and scarf for appearances. Hard to sell merchandise if one’s customers think you a devil, though being known as a witch, especially one with hair as white as mine when I was so young, wasn’t much better. I ran Mama’s apothecary shop in her stead, and since ours was the only useful one within thirty miles, many discarded the rumors as idle fancy.
The man’s face was mostly hidden by a scarf and the hood over his head. But a customer was a customer. Their faces were irrelevant. What I noted instead were his tense shoulders and the tight grip he kept on the sword at his hip.
“How may I help you, monsieur?” I asked the man.
He eyed a bottle of liquid on a shelf behind me with suspicious eyes, which tightened just slightly. He did not like being here. Three kinds of people came into my shop—the curious, the clueless, and the desperate. This man fell into the last category.
The man walked towards me, light of foot and graceful for all his layers of clothes, and stopped at the counter, making direct eye contact with me. He lifted his chin, an arrogant slant to his head. If I were to steal and sell his clothes for money, the cloak alone could have fed an entire village. This man was no peasant worker. Our gazes caught and held, and after a moment incandescent light flashed in his eyes. It happened whenever I looked too long into someone’s eyes, though no one else could see it. I tilted my head, intrigued. He pulled down the scarf around his nose and mouth and said, “I am in need of something.”
One of my eyebrows rose. “I sell many a something here, sir. Perhaps you could be more specific.” I couldn’t help the curving of my lips. I knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, thanks to our eye contact. As I waited for him to speak, I traced the shape of an eye on my scarred wood counter. The eyes are where the knowledge is. People don’t know to protect what they seemingly guard so closely: their very souls. I could pull it out through his eyes right now if I wanted to, as long as my eyes remained connected with his. But I was curious. Not enough to make things easy for him, of course.
He let out a breath and remained utterly still. My smile grew wider as I lowered the temperature in the room, just a little. Just enough to see his breath puff white in the air. He narrowed his eyes, as if he knew exactly what I was doing. So, not entirely clueless then. That was good.
“I need poison, Madame. Undetectable. Quick.”
“Poison I have,” I said. “But poison I will not give.”
Shocked, the man’s mouth fell open like a fish’s, his eyes widening, as if he had not expected me to be unwilling. In point of fact, I was very willing. But I wanted to see just how desperate he was to receive the poison he sought.
“S’il vous plaît, Madame,” he said, his voice shaking. “I must have it. I will give you anything.”
Perfect. I leaned forward. “Anything, Prince Christophe? Are you certain?”
The prince’s face paled, the blood draining away as if he were already dead. He visibly took a step back, and there was a slight tremble to his fingers as he touched his lips in a silent rebuke, as if his words had somehow given him away. I could not stop my grin.
“Beware of coming to a witch for help, young prince. Betrayal can come from both sides if you are not careful, especially when one is a betrayer himself.”
His mouth worked for a moment, fear spiraling in his eyes. I soaked myself in it, the way one might soak in a hot bath, one rarely had for a poor wretched soul.
“I— I—” He stuttered, stopped, began again. “I am no betrayer.”
I put on a confused expression. “Then why, young prince, are you here, buying poison from me?”
Prince Christophe’s face flushed. Then he drew himself up, jaw clenched. “I am the prince of this land. You have no right to question me. If I want poison then you will give it to me and you will ask no questions, or face the gallows.”
I chuckled. The prince m
ade a good effort, I would give him that. Christophe flinched. He might be three years older than I, but he was yet a babe in arms. He knew nothing of how to work on the darker side of things.
“Who do you want to kill, young prince?” I asked, the last coming out in a mocking way. The prince was nothing but a child. His frightened, lost expression suddenly reminded me of my sister, but I pushed that thought away, instead forcing my fingers to relax one by one, until both hands lay flat on the table. I had the heart of my mother’s destroyer in my hands. I could crush him, make the one responsible feel how I felt, how my sister felt, too afraid to leave the house. But I had a much, much better idea.
Prince Christophe seemed to see it in my face, for he backed up hurriedly, and his mouth snapped shut as if he was afraid to say anything more.
Oh no, no. This won’t do.
Christophe scrambled towards the door, not taking his eyes off me, but not entirely looking me in the eye. Smart boy. He felt for the doorknob with his hand and turned it, but the door refused to open. Even when he tried the lock, the door would not budge. He searched for another way out, but the shop had no windows and the back door was hidden behind the counter. No rescuer was coming and I watched the realization dawn on his face. I watched him the way I did when I studied the bugs in Mama’s garden. Christophe tried the door again, and, desperate, turned around and began banging on the solid wood with his fists. He opened his mouth and began to scream, only nothing came out.
I moved around the counter, the sudden movement ruffling my hair, and walked towards him, my boots clicking against the hardwood. It had been expensive to lay down these floors, but I had a business to run and it needed to look respectable. My fingers skimmed a nearby shelf as I passed it; it held jars filled with a snake’s tongue, a rabbit’s heart, a pig’s foot, and other interesting specimens. At the end of the row sat a jar filled with eyes, and I caressed it with my sharp nails, forcing myself not to rush or show my anticipation. Christophe’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Now, now,” I said to the prince. I stopped several feet away from him, my hand still touching the jar filled with eyes. The eyes to see, I thought. The eyes to know, finally, what was hidden. “No need for that. Come away from the door.” Power laced around my words, a compulsion he could not deny.
The prince turned around and walked back towards me, his face drawn and sickly, like a foolish boy ready for a harsh reprimand from a parent. He stopped in front of me, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. I walked around him, examining him to see what sort of man he was, my nose wrinkling in disgust. Christophe was the spitting image of his father, though younger and more muscular, and his hair was darker, his skin tan from the sun. The boy had clearly been working with the sailors on their ships, learning how to live and breathe on a ship, as was his birthright. Our land bordered the sea, and I could feel its call from here. I craved the sea wind, just as I craved digging my toes into the soft earth. Mere boys such as the prince could not feel it; his father did, though to a far lesser extent than I. Christophe had obviously not inherited that particular talent.
“I will tell you nothing,” the prince spat, his muscles quivering beneath his shirt he struggled so hard to move.
I smiled. “Now, we both know you will not have a choice in that.” My smile fell away, as if I had taken a mask off and thrown it to the floor. “Tell me why you need the poison.”
The prince fought, but he was no match for me. “For my father,” he said tightly.
“I am aware,” I said. “For what purpose?”
Christophe bit his tongue and blood flooded into his mouth. My skin tingled. Oh, he really should not have done that. I stepped forward and wrenched his jaw open. He tried to fight, but I rendered his body stiff and unyielding. He would not and could not move. I grabbed a bowl and dipped his chin, coaxing the blood out and into the bowl. When the bowl had filled up enough, I mentally sealed the cut on his tongue and set the bowl on the counter.
“Thank you,” I said, releasing his jaw. “That will be helpful in the future.” I would have preferred blood from the source, but blood once removed would have to be good enough. It would serve me well, whatever I decided to use it for.
“Now,” I said, crossing my arms, “answer my question.” My hair had fallen over my shoulder, and I flicked it back.
The prince hesitated. He was stubborn, just like his father. I scowled. Clearly I was not exerting enough power over this boy. I let more power into the spell, and the words came pouring out of him, his fear growing in his eyes. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he said, “To warn him. He must know of the dangers he faces.”
I cocked my head. “And what dangers does he face?”
“The land of Arupi, nearest us, they are planning war against us. They want our ships, so they can learn to make them themselves.” My eyebrows rose. Our kingdom was known best for its shipbuilding, but the ships and the navy who used them were expensive, and few had the honor of their company. No one outside the guild and the navy knew how the ships were made and many would kill for such knowledge. “I tried to convince my father to fight back,” he continued, “but he will not. I thought if I could prove there was a danger, then he would put out a call to arms. I was going to ask you for an antidote as well as a poison, to heal him from it. Only then will he understand.”
Laughter fell out of me. This was too good. The son trying to poison the father out of a misguided attempt to protect him. It sounded exactly like something the prince would do. The father’s arrogance was also typical.
I tipped my chin downward, letting my long hair fall forward to conceal my face. I had an interesting decision to make. I did not want war on my land—that was the furthest thing from my mind. But what to do?
I straightened and moved back behind the counter, searching my bottles for just the right thing. When I found it in a small, tinted bottle, I smiled and picked it up carefully. Going back to the prince, I said, “Take this and keep it safe.” The prince took the bottle automatically and placed it carefully in a small pouch at his side. “You will give this to your father tonight,” I told him. “It is slow acting. After your father ingests it, I want you to tell him that it was you. You were the one to poison him, but do not tell the reason why or who gave it to you. The king will know exactly who to go to in order to save himself.”
And when he came to me...I was not sure what I would do.
“Are we clear?” I asked the prince, sticking my finger in my mouth and pulling it out. I stepped forward and traced a symbol on his forehead with my saliva. The magic bound to the symbol—it hardened the skin, like a scar, but it would not be visible to anyone but me.
“Yes, Madame,” Christophe said.
“Good.” I leaned in so I could whisper in his ear. “Thank you, brother.”
Christophe’s eyes widened, but they were already glazing over as my magic hit him. He would remember nothing of this meeting, only the instructions I’d given him.
***
Today
I pulled Morgan along, but she grew tired after only a short time. She kept tripping and stumbling over twigs, and every time she tried to stop, I yanked her forward. We were heading through the thickest part of the forest, in a roundabout way towards the sea. The sea would protect us, a voice inside me kept telling me. The earth would not lie to me. My magic would not lie to me. The sea would be our salvation, my redemption. We just had to get to it.
Morgan said nothing through this journey, not even to complain. It made my heart ache that she could not be a child like other children, that she must be witness to such hatred and destruction. One day she would understand that I had had no choice.
It seemed as if hours passed, but suddenly we burst out of the forest and onto the beach. The slow waves crashed against the sand, uncaring and cold and perfect. The water, like all nature, was beautiful and breathtaking, and it was something I coul
d stare at all day, just breathing in the salty air and marveling at the weight of the sea against my skin, even from the beach. I breathed a sigh of relief. We had made it. We were safe.
Then I heard the heavy clomp of horses’ hooves.
***
One day ago
I received a summons early in the morning, and a carriage awaited me outside my shop. None would dare attempt to go towards the edge of the city, where my mother’s cabin sat, where my sister hid from the world, terrified of stepping outside. She had been the most affected when we were forced to watch our mother burn to death. But I was slowly working with her, when she felt up to it, trying to coax her back to the world, to life.
The carriage was hardly extravagant, much like I expected. It was shabby and falling apart. Nothing fancy for the daughter of a witch. And the king himself could hardly be seen bringing the likes of me to the castle, especially after what he had done.
I shook my head as I watched the city go by. What did the people see in him? He had been cruel to me and my sister, yet he always had a smile and a helping hand for others. Was it just witches he despised? For a time I thought he had loved my mother, and yet he abandoned her and then killed her. He showed more love for his people than his own blood. I let the curtain fall shut, suddenly tired of looking at the filthy streets. Perhaps he simply loved his reputation more. A small ache settled in my chest, over my heart.
Still, I couldn’t help rubbing my hands together in anticipation. I grabbed my kit and endured the bumpy, uncomfortable ride to the palace, passing people who didn’t once look my way. I did not expect them to. For all anyone knew, this could have been a hearse, bringing a body to its place of rest.
The Big Bad II Page 9