Cattywampus

by Ash Van Otterloo

  “Nope.” Delpha’s gruff tone had no use for manners.

  “How ’bout you, Katy?” Tyler asked.

  Katy sighed. “Just Spring Fling, I guess. We’re expectin’ a big turnout this year. Are you going?”

  Tyler repositioned his glasses. “I’m hanging out with my uncle on Sunday, so probably not.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “But I’m going ghost hunting tomorrow night! It’s gonna be a full moon.”

  Delpha rolled her eyes, and Katy suppressed a giggle. “Sounds exciting,” Katy told him. She didn’t volunteer more, guiltily wishing Tyler would go away. She needed time to wheedle magic talk from Delpha.

  Katy’s hopes vanished when her rosy-faced mama bustled out of the storage closet, breathless and carrying a basket full of blank price tags and pens. Delpha darted away and wandered toward the info booth. There, she glowered at a topographical map, as Mrs. Hearn and Katy helped the Nimbles shelve their bowls until Katy’s arms were sore and sweat slicked her forehead.

  When they’d finished, Mrs. Hearn offered Delpha and Tyler soft peppermint sticks from a jar on the glass counter. Tyler accepted several of the chalky sticks with an eager “Thank you, ma’am!” Delpha stiffened, then politely refused.

  Mrs. McGill finished scribbling her paperwork at the desk, then checked her watch and waved Delpha toward the car. Mrs. Hearn saw them all out the door before pausing to slip a small brown paper bag into the pocket of Tyler’s raincoat. “More stone root for ya, darlin’.” Tyler mumbled his thanks.

  Medicinal herbs, probably, Katybird noted idly. Mama’s stalk magic was constantly at work behind the scenes, being useful, even when the people in the Hollow didn’t know about it or appreciate it. Katy let a wistful sigh fly.

  Tyler caught Katybird staring. Or he’d been starting at her. His bright hazel eyes flicked away, then back again. He gestured to the pocket of Katybird’s white hoodie.

  “Your cell phone’s ringin’ on silent, Katybird. I can see it glowin’.” Katy looked down. Pea-green light shone through the fabric of her pocket. Her left hand thrummed with unspent power, and her right fingers began to tingle, too. She fought to control her panic.

  “Excuse me, will you?” Katybird blurted, heart fluttering. Her magic couldn’t be actin’ up again! It had only been a little over half an hour!

  A wave of dizziness hit her, and she hit the bathroom door just as her fingers began twinkling.

  TWO HOURS LATER, POISED ON A WOODED HILL near her cabin, Delpha shivered. The night air of early spring wound its tendrils around her, but she paid it no mind.

  Nothing else mattered now but this: After Delpha’s mama had left for work, Delpha had stolen the spellbook from her grandmother’s closet. Her mama would tan Delpha’s hide if she found out, which is why she wouldn’t. Sometimes rules had to be shattered—’specially when you craved control so badly, you couldn’t stand it, not for another minute. She sat alone outside, where she felt the most invincible, and prepared to cast her very first spell.

  Delpha carefully opened her favorite carving knife—the one with a handle in the shape of a howling wolf—and set about whittling the bark off a stick.

  Clip, clip, clip went the blade against wood, slicing off neat little curls of bark. Her mind spun as the wand slowly took shape beneath her careful fingers.

  Her mama had forgotten to hide the bills from Mamaw’s funeral before she’d rushed off to attend a birth earlier that evening. Mama had also forgotten to hide the electric and water bills. Delpha had thumbed through them for a half hour, flabbergasted at how bad money was. Delpha would gladly yank out her own eyeteeth with pliers if it meant never feeling that helpless ever again.

  She’d figured things were rough, of course, since they’d sold Mamaw’s precious quilts. But if there were prizes for being in the hole, she and Mama were takin’ home the blue ribbon.

  There was food in the pantry, sure. Mama, a soft-hearted midwife, often let her clients trade canned vegetables from their gardens or new tires for service. Delpha couldn’t blame her mother. Times were tough for everyone. And it was true that food and free tires were better than nothing. But you couldn’t pay for a casket and house repairs with tires, could you? And all the canned vegetables in the world couldn’t fill the loneliness that kept creeping through Delpha’s soul. With Mama working around the clock and Mamaw passed on, she found herself wishing for more company, too. It’d all be easier if her father hadn’t left … but she couldn’t even remember what he looked like.

  A murky memory rippled through Delpha’s thoughts. Looking down, the wolf-handled knife wasn’t in her hands right then, but in her hands long ago. Sinewy, warm arms inside a denim jacket wrapped around Delpha’s shoulders, and Delpha leaned back against a humming chest. Her father smelled like pine sap and coffee and chewing gum. His voice was deep and happy, and the tickling rumble of it made a giggle rise in Delpha’s throat. She dragged the knife too hard over a knot in the wood. “Easy now,” the deep voice instructed, guiding Delpha’s tiny hands as she carved. “Always focus, and always cut away from your body. Elsewise, you’re liable t’ lose a knuckle. Lookythere! You’re a natural!” Delpha’s face beamed with pride.

  “No!” Delpha spat into the still night air. The word echoed in the ravine below, doubling the self-admonishment. Delpha blinked hard. She hadn’t indulged that particular fantasy since she was six years old and soft and didn’t yet understand how the world worked. Some people didn’t stay. And when they left, you just made do with what you had. Her face grew hot. “There ain’t no point in wishing after a stranger,” she muttered. She’d have to help herself.

  Delpha eyed the hickory wand with a critical eye. Satisfied with the result, she ran the freshly hewn flesh of the hickory grain across her lips. Smooth as silk. She spun it in her fingers, then nodded.

  It was her first wand.

  She’d use magic to find a way to pay the bills. Since Mama had strictly forbidden conjure, Delpha would figure it out without help. She pocketed her knife and gave a dark chuckle. Her father had left the knife behind the day he’d abandoned them, and it gave her spiteful satisfaction to use it for wand-making. She’d use the wand to prove she and Mama didn’t need him, or anyone. Besides, the knife’s handle had the inlay of a wolf—her favorite animal.

  Delpha cracked her knuckles. Time to become a witch. “Here goes nothin’.” She settled cross-legged on some pine needles, opening the book to a yellowed page with the title “Wytch Wake.” She raised her wand, then cleared her throat and chanted:

  “Awake the powers dark and deep

  That here betwixt these bosoms sleep.”

  Delpha blushed at the word “bosoms” and self-consciously secured the top button of her flannel shirt, then found her place again.

  “Let young’un join the ring of grannies,

  To kick my foes right in their fannies.”

  Pursing her lips, Delpha threw a handful of feathers in the air, then spat into a circle drawn in the loamy forest floor. Her watchful eyes narrowed, muscles tense, but the end of her wand stayed dull as dirt.

  Delpha waited a few moments, just in case the magic needed to brew for a bit. After all, it didn’t need to be impressive. It only needed to work.

  When nearly an hour had passed and her toes had gone numb, Delpha snapped the book shut in frustration and rubbed her aching forehead. The book didn’t say what was supposed to happen when a young witch “awakened.” Still, Delpha had expected a surge of power, or a blast of light, or some piddly something to indicate she’d succeeded. Anything but nothing.

  She’d done the “Wytch Wake” spell exactly how the book had said. She’d collected the feathers from a chicken, a crow, and a dove.

  The only other variable was her wand. It looked fine as far as Delpha could tell, but then again, she’d never seen the real McCoy, now had she? Not with Mama’s contempt for all things magical. Frowning, Delpha pocketed her wand, slid the book into her leather satchel, and picked her way home th
rough the dark woods, refusing to flinch at the occasional call of an owl or coyote.

  Once home, Delpha scurried through the overgrown grass toward a small building at the back of her yard. The old shed had been an outhouse, once upon a time, but it hadn’t been used like that in decades. Delpha and her mother had nailed new boards over the hole in the bottom and reshingled it, so it made a dry spot to store firewood in winter.

  Just for giggles, Delpha waved her wand at the door, half hoping she could make it swing open. It didn’t. Sighing, she grabbed the knotted rope that served as a handle and eased the door open. Leaning inside, Delpha slid the book atop the remainder of the winter’s logs, then laid the wand beside it. “They’ll be safe in here,” she whispered to herself, then shut the shed door. She’d try the spell again in the morning.

  Patting her hair smooth, Delpha tromped into the house looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. This wasn’t necessary, though, because her mother was still out. The house was cold and empty. Delpha brushed her teeth above the leaking sink. She told herself good night and, pressing her head to her pillow, drifted into a restless sleep.

  Outside, a crimson light flashed through the moon-shaped peephole of the shed. Then, with a creak and groan, its stacked-stone foundation reshuffled itself into a set of granite legs. The shed disturbed a patch of weeds as it staggered into the woods, each clattering step threatening to send it toppling, tail over teakettle. The only living thing to witness this wonder was the bluetick hound on the porch, and he, being mostly blind, huffed a stream of air through his jowls and went back to dreaming of possums.

  IN A COZY BRICK HOUSE ACROSS HOWLER’S Hollow, Katybird Hearn locked her bedroom door, careful to keep quiet. She didn’t want to wake her family. After a few blissful hours of peace, her hands tingled with constipated magic. All the better for what I’m fixin’ to do, Katy thought. A bundle of nerves, she shoved her chittering raccoon, Podge, off her shabby chic bedspread. He landed on the carpet with a squeak.

  Katy winced as the animal’s black eyes glittered at her in reproach.

  “Sorry, Podge. Cozy down into your box with Fatso, okay? Mama’s got somethin’ to do.” Podge snatched a crust from her neglected snack plate and retreated to his place under the bed, next to an enormous dozing tabby cat who used to belong to Katy’s late cousin, Echo. Fatso was older than any feline had a right to be and twice as cranky. Podge gave a muffled chirp as the elderly animal hissed at him.

  Katybird paused beside the bed, gnawing the glitter polish from her thumbnails and convincing herself that using her own homemade spell was a good idea. The Hearn women’s magic ran in generational cycles of three: squawk, stalk, talk. This cycle had spun for a hundred generations from mother to daughter—Katybird knew because Nanny had repeated the stories since Katy was a baby. Squawkers could shape-shift into animals, like the Irish goddess Ceridwen, who could change herself into a hawk. Nanny was a squawker, taking the form of a cat at will. But not on command, no matter how much Katy and her little brother begged, insisting it was magic, not a magic trick.

  Stalk-lovers like Katy’s mama could coax any dying plant back to life and practically grow flowers from concrete, just by sweet-talking them into it. Mama made the gardens around the museum the county’s pride and joy (not that anyone else knew the secret to her green thumb).

  And talkers … well, if Katybird was one, she’d be able to speak with the spirits of the forest. To date, the only non-human Katybird could talk to was her raccoon, Podge, which didn’t count, of course. Katy and Podge had an understanding, yes, but Katy was pretty sure proper magic spirits did more than hang out under people’s beds eating stale cheese curls. Generations of links in a centuries-old chain of conjure women, and Katybird had managed to be the broken one. But maybe not, Katy thought, if I can get this spell to work.

  She lifted a spiral-bound notebook from her desk and surveyed the scribbled words with a critical eye. Katy had no idea if her spell was any good—how could she? The older Hearns weren’t big on spells, relying instead on their natural gifts. So, Katy wrote the words from intuition and what she’d seen Willow do in reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  Laying a big, frameless mirror flat on the middle of the bed, Katybird painstakingly arranged a circle of mismatched candles on the glass surface so their light would reflect upward. She’d even re-dyed her wavy hair to coordinate with their fading wax. It never hurt to be fancy. Her fingers shook, and she struggled to keep the matches lit. Closing her eyes, Katy took three slow breaths. Her hands steadied, and she lit the rest of the wicks. At last, a ring of glowing candlelight reflected from the mirror onto the water-stained ceiling, casting the shadow of her own damp strawberry-kiwi and grape Kool-Aid–streaked locks.

  Katy set her wrinkled Sunday school Bible next to the mirror, for good measure. She stole one last nervous glance at her closed bedroom door, then shut her eyes in concentration.

  “All right, magic. I’m Katybird—one of the Hearns. I’ve got every right to be recognized, don’t you think? Even if I do have one chromosome off from what you’re used to.”

  A gust of wind rattled the windows. Katybird flinched and curled into tornado-drill position. Maybe the wind hadn’t agreed with her. She wasn’t sure she believed it herself. Her eyes caught her pale reflection in the mirror. Try harder, she told herself, squaring her shoulders.

  “As mirror doubles candlelight, may my powers grow, too. Make me a real witch!”

  Her hands began to glow. Still green, not blue.

  Half a heartbeat later, a prism of smoke and shadow erupted from the mirror and tore through the room, knocking Katybird back on her throw pillows with a squeak. The candles toppled, and hot wax spattered Katy’s foot in angry red droplets. Deep, guttural groans crescendoed, then filled the room so loudly, the shelf of knickknacks on the wall shook. Terrible silhouettes crouched and leaped, springing from wall to wall like enormous frenzied crickets in a fishing bait box. Under the bed, Podge growled a low warning and Fatso scrabbled around in a panic.

  Katy crouched, heart racing, in the center of the mayhem. She tried to make sense of it. Were these forest spirits? The Hearn magic cycle wheeled through her mind: walk, stalk, talk. I should say something to them, she thought. What, exactly? She’d wanted results, but now she realized she was in miles over her head.

  Katy sprang to her knees. “There ain’t no call for that!” she ordered in a tone braver than she felt. “I’m on your side, can’t you see?”

  The shadows paused, considering her. Katy took advantage of the hesitation and planted her hands on her hips. She was meant to command them, so she took a desperate stab at it. “Like I said, we’re on the same side, y’all and me. I’d love to learn all your names”—she managed a weak smile—“and I look forward to a long and, er, productive relationship!”

  Instead of responding, all the shadows rushed at the bedroom window, exploding through the glass and shattering the mirror before vanishing into the darkness. Glittering shards rained outward, then … nothing. The forest spirits had gone. In shock, Katy stared at the droplets of candle wax hardening on her bedspread. No more spell. And no more window, either, Katy thought, groaning.

  A muted hiss came from under the bed. Katy peered beneath the dust ruffle at Fatso and Podge. Other than prickly, on-end fur, the old cat looked unharmed. But Podge’s bandit face was twitchy and hesitant, his body crouched. He looked wild and so unlike her Podge that, for a moment, she feared she’d lost his trust. What if Podge bolted out the broken window, too, never to be seen again? But then he rushed into her open hands, warm and trembling. “Mama’s got you. I got you,” she soothed. Katy pulled his shaking body to her chest, breathing in the comforting, dank scent of his coat as her tears landed in his fur.

  There was a soft knock on her door, and then a drowsy voice called out, “Katybird LeAnn Hearn, I know it’s not lights-out yet, but you best keep that racket down.”

  Katy’s eyes flew wide. Scanning the broken m
irror and smoldering wicks, she prayed her Mama wouldn’t smell the smoke. Katy was lucky she hadn’t set the house on fire. “Yes, ma’am. G’night!” Mama’s footsteps shuffled away. Katy winced and grabbed a roll of colored duct tape and some poster board to cover her empty window frame. Her folks would not be happy about the broken window. Katy would have to think of an excuse for it tomorrow.

  Worse than that, though, she’d failed again. The forest spirits had shown up, but they’d taken one look at Katy and decided she was too much of a dud to bother with. The word “imposter” seemed to stalk Katy, hanging over her life like a disappointing gray banner.

  Her hands lit up with unspendable magic. Again. Katy flopped backward onto the mattress hard enough to shove the breath from her lungs, furious at herself. Swallowing tears, she tucked her knees to her chest and sucked back noiseless sobs late into the night.

  DELPHA WOKE AND BOUNDED TO THE WINDOW, eager to catch the first glimpse of the newborn sunrise as it inched over the mountains. She shivered, and a huge smile swept across her face—the kind she only wore when she was alone. The beauty of the morning wound straight around her soul like tender sweet pea vines around a garden pole, filling her with courage. She twisted her thick hair back into a tight braid, slipped her knife into her pocket, and stretched her body straight. Time to fix a big cup of coffee, grab the spellbook, and get to work.

  But first, the bathroom. Walking the narrow hallway, Delpha deflated as she realized she’d forgotten to swing by the hardware store the day before. The danged toilet still needed a new fill valve. And handle. She’d meant to fix it before Mama realized it was busted—last thing Mama needed was another thing on her to-do list.

  Delpha was the only kid in the sixth grade who could change a fuse or fix a clogged pipe. When she was eight, kids had teased her after she’d bragged she’d mowed the lawn. That’s what dads are for, they laughed, and Delpha’s teacher had offered to have someone come out and do it as charity. Delpha’s ears had burned, and she wasn’t able to work out why no one was impressed with her accomplishment. Ever since, Delpha quietly checked out fix-it books from the library and kept her mouth shut.