by Julie Abe
I couldn’t cast a spell to shield Auteri like Mother or the other witches and wizards. But if I managed to strengthen enough buildings and get my waterproofing potion just right, I could help them all, even after I left.
I had to perfect my potion.
That night, though I was bone-weary, I mixed concoction after concoction. Time kept ticking in my hourglass, sand gathering in the bottom star and filling each curved glass point.
I knew I was missing something. I stared at the lumpy sock and candle stub.
The magic leached from me and into the frying pan, as I mumbled, half-asleep, “Stay dry and warm, let it stay together and stay… and stay…” The potion exploded, spraying black, sulfurous slime all over my face and hair.
“No!” I jumped up with a cry, and Ember tumbled off my lap with a shriek. My hair stuck to his fur. I carefully peeled the slime off and he shook his coat, looking at me indignantly.
“Curses! I’m sorry, Ember.” I grabbed an empty vial from the table and shoved in my concoction. “If this potion is the exact opposite—sticky rather than water-repellant—maybe…”
Time for an experiment. I peeled another blob off my hair and onto the edge of a book cover that Ember had sheared off.
I aligned the cover onto the spine and pushed down. The blob stuck, but the cover flopped around.
I poured three drops of water onto the slime, and it fizzled and turned stone-gray.
When I turned the cover, it finally stayed on the book spine. This potion was definitely not what I’d been trying to make, but it made an amazing glue. Ember sniffed the book, his shiny black nose wriggling with interest.
“Don’t you dare try to chew it off again, troublemaker.” I shoved the tome and sticky potion on the highest kitchen shelf—far, far away from my mischievous flamefox.
CHAPTER 21
A WHISPER OF WARMTH
Despite being midsummer, the clouds gathered thicker than usual, hiding the sun. Down at the docks, a family hurriedly carted rolling trunks from an inn to their waiting automobile. The father grumbled, “I thought Auteri was supposta be nice this time o’ year! For all that I’ve heard, it’s as gloomy as an autumn day.”
His son, a few years older than me, shuddered. “But I want to stay for the festival.”
The father squared his shoulders. “It’ll be better to go home, away from the coast. I’ve got a feeling in my bones this quiet won’t last for long. Festival or not, a storm’s going to hit. I’ll bet all my gold on it.”
I stopped and stared out at the sky. A storm—like the Culling? No, it couldn’t be the Culling. It was at least five moons too soon.
Along the docks, half-finished stands lined the street. Workers buzzed to and fro, carrying crates like the ones that made up my counter, and hammering in posts to hold signs.
By the water, a few of the workers had gathered for swigs of tea before finishing up a stand. One of them, with her hands wrapped around her tin canteen, scrutinized the red sky. She sipped at her hot tea, the steam curling mysteriously around her face as if she was a scrying witch. “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.”
A strong gust blew in from the sea, and I shivered.
The worker next to her chugged down his tea. “Too early. I’ll eat my hat if it’s the Culling. We haven’t heard anything from our region’s Advisor, and the Council would’ve announced something. It’s just a spot of summer rain.”
That had to be all. But if it wasn’t… The Council’s scryers could only see the pattern hours before because each attempt got blocked—by something, or someone. I shuddered. And now they’d lost Kaya, their best scryer.
But I was sure that Mother or the Council would notify me as soon as they heard—though I hoped I’d be home and licensed as a Novice Witch by then.
I greeted Davy’s father—even if he didn’t respond—and made my way to my shop.
I was about to pick up the festival scroll from under my counter when a window swung open at the orphanage and a girl shouted, “Sky’s red! Toldja so!”
“Fine, fine, you’re right,” her friend grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“It better not ruin the festival. I wanna see all the stands.”
“But it’s not like we have even a bronze coin to spare anyway.”
They sighed together, heads propped up on their hands as they stared at the fiery clouds.
Instead of my scroll, my fingers curled around the paper toys in my pocket. I wanted to do something nice for them. I wanted to charm Charlotte’s art into toys that the other kids in town would be jealous of.
The toys had to be just slightly magical. Nothing that would cause trouble, but enough to make them special.
Turning the dolphin around in my hands, I pondered ways to charm the paper animals. When I’d made my way into Auteri, dolphins had danced next to the skiff. Maybe I could do that, too.
I took a huge breath. “Jump higher than a bump.” A faint blue spark quivered at the tip of my wand and floated onto the paper. The dolphin leaped up, spinning in a circle, and then landed neatly in my palm.
“Oh!” I said, stunned. “It worked!” I slid it into a glass jar and screwed the lid on tight so it wouldn’t leap away.
Then I picked up the parchment dog. It was the size of my palm, with a sharply pointed nose and curled tail. The little dog reminded me of Ember, so I whispered, “A friend by your side, no need to hide.”
It grew and grew, until it stood on the counter, as tall as Ember. To my surprise, it even wagged its tail when I petted its head. My magic was still doing more—and less—than I expected. A girl ran past my shop, calling to her friends, “I want cloudberries!” and I winced.
Trixie and Trina had yet to sign up for their festival stands, and after remembering the way the corn and cloudberries had splatted together after my misadventurous spell, I didn’t blame them for staying away.
Ember jumped onto the counter and prodded the folded dog curiously. Then he butted his head against the paper and nudged it off the counter.
I caught the toy dog before it fell onto the dirt, placed it carefully on the shelf below the counter, and scowled at Ember. “Don’t be jealous. That’s for the orphanage.”
He turned away to stretch and shake out his red-gold fur. It flickered like flames.
“How beautiful!” gasped a sailor, as Ember fluffed up his tail and preened under his compliments.
My flamefox turned smugly. See? They like me instantly, he seemed to say.
I rolled my eyes and tickled his belly. He capered out of my reach, his eyes laughing. As I stared past Mister Rydern, and out to the frothing, choppy waters, my hourglass warmed up.
I pulled it out of my blouse. About a fifth of the sand remained. I had less than one week in Auteri until I’d have to appeal to Mayor Taira for her signature on my application. As I watched, the white grains trickled away.
“Whatcha doing?” a familiar voice chirped. Davy clambered onto the bench, and I slipped my hourglass back under my shirt. He unloaded his bag, teeming with steaming-hot contomelon rolls that beckoned at me, onto my counter. The sugar-glazed crust sparkled like the sea, even in the hazy morning light. “Want breakfast, Eva?”
I bit into a roll and sighed with delight. “Contomelon rolls are the best!”
Charlotte trailed behind him, breaking off the corner of a purple honeyberry cookie and popping it into her mouth. She slipped the bag into her pouch. I waved at Charlotte, inviting her to sit.
“Have you got the scroll ready?” she asked.
I winced. Maybe Charlotte would be able to sign up the missing shopkeepers, but I’d have to tell her first. And I’d far rather fight a nightdragon than explain that I’d missed two important shops.
“Well…” I didn’t know how to break the news.
Someone plopped a waxed box on my counter, and I blinked. Familiar fluffy popcorn peeked out, the kernels coated with a pinkish glaze.
Trixie and Trina
nudged each other to talk, not quite meeting my eyes. Had I charmed them to appear?
“We’re here to sign up for our stand,” the twins said.
Charlotte stared, wide-eyed, as I hurriedly unfurled the scroll and poised my charcoal stick above the parchment. “Stand names, please?”
“Corn and Cloudberries,” they said. “One stand.”
I slid down into my seat. Charlotte took a look at my face and grabbed the charcoal out of my wobbling hand. “What’re you selling?”
“Iced corn-and-cloudberry tea,” Trina said, and then eyed the sky. “Or hot tea if it’s chilly.”
“Got it.”
“Oh,” they said, exchanging a glance. “And, ah, cloudberry popcorn.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
They grinned sheepishly in unison.
“Some days, I can’t believe we’re talking again,” Trixie replied.
“Some days, I wish we were never talking again,” Trina retorted.
They glared at each other, then let out loud, honking laughs. “Most days, we thank you, Eva.”
“Oh.” I could barely speak past the lump in my throat. I had never, ever imagined they’d be grateful to me. Ember jumped into my lap, warming me up. “Of course, at your service.”
“We have to go make a few more batches,” they said. “See you at the festival!”
Our wide-open jaws swung in the wind as Trixie and Trina strolled up the main street side by side, bickering as they went.
“Well,” Charlotte said quietly. “That was a surprise.”
Davy nodded. “I think you worked some real magic there.”
I shook my head in disbelief. Picking up a piece of popcorn, I chewed on it methodically. It crackled satisfyingly and then burst with flavor, as if they’d somehow bottled the softest of clouds in the sky with swirls of tangy-sweet cloudberries. Ember pawed me for a taste.
“Wow,” I whispered. Charlotte and Davy popped handfuls in their mouths and nodded in agreement. Then I glanced down, remembering my duty. “We’ve got all the sign-ups now.” I offered the scroll to Charlotte.
A thoughtful look flashed on Davy’s face as he finished chewing his mouthful. “I’ll bring it over to Kyo. I have to go meet my sailor friends soon anyway.” He snatched the scroll out of my hand and slipped away before I could protest, throwing one last wink over his shoulder at me, nodding his head toward Charlotte.
“Thank you for helping with the festival.” Charlotte slid off the crate, tugging at a strand of hair that had slipped out of her braid. She turned to go inside.
I blurted out, “Wait, I want to give you one of your animals back.”
“Animals?”
Placing the dolphin in Charlotte’s hand, I nervously fiddled with my wand as I waited for her reaction.
She stared at the folded paper, turning it from side to side. “It looks exactly the same.…”
“I charmed—”
“Oh!” she said, as the paper dolphin jumped. “How did you…?” A tiny smile tugged at her lips, and joy bubbled inside me.
“The enchantment will last until the next full moon, I think. I… I hope the kids will like it.”
From the orphanage, the door squeaked on its hinges. Charlotte looked over her shoulder and sighed. “Come over, you troublemakers.”
The door swung open and five younger kids tumbled out, two girls and three boys, all around five to seven years old. I recognized a few of them, including tousle-haired Hikaru, the one who had asked Mayor Taira for toys.
“Be careful, Charlotte!” one of the boys squeaked. I froze. Were the orphanage kids scared of my magic?
She swung her head to stare at him. “What?”
“You called her an evil witch when she got here!” one of the girls piped up. “’Cause she’s Rin and Davy’s new friend!”
Charlotte’s ears burned red. “I did not.” I stifled a laugh as her eyes shot daggers at them. “Come here. Eva’s got something special for you.”
At those words, the kids jumped down the stairs, two at a time, pushing one another. They hovered behind Charlotte, wide-eyed and staring at her palm.
The dolphin quivered and jumped in a full circle, arcing up above Charlotte’s hand. She caught it neatly.
They all gaped in awe. “It’s amazing,” one of the girls whispered reverently.
“For us?” Hikaru held his hands close to him, as if he didn’t dare reach out. “Do you charge?”
“Charge?” I spluttered. For the toys?
“Just name your price.” He folded his arms. “I’m a very wealthy man, you know.”
A pigtailed girl jabbed him with her elbow. “Wealthy with what? Stinky shirts?”
“I am too wealthy!” he insisted. “I just haven’t found my treasure yet. And my shirts smell like honeyberries, thank you very much!”
Charlotte groaned. “You’ve been listening to too many of Davy’s stories, obviously. There is no hidden treasure in the Walking Cliffs, no matter how many theories he pulls up.”
I studied the boy, with his face full of pride. Then I scanned the faces of the others. They had grown up like Charlotte and knew that nothing came free.
“Okay.” I breathed out a big, overly weary sigh, trying hard to hide my smile. “I’ve been having trouble with one of my spells.”
A boy jumped backward, ready to scuttle up the steps. “I don’t want to be turned into a frog!”
“I’m not going to be doing any magic on you.” There was a very good chance that if I tried charming the smudges off his shirt or something like that, I’d end up turning him into a pile of dirt. I didn’t trust my magic that much. “But I will be asking for something from each of you.”
The second girl tightened her grip around her pigtailed friend’s hand, and they gawked at each other. “Will we have to sign in blood? Davy says witches use blood!”
Charlotte and I exchanged a glance, and she snorted under her breath. “I am absolutely going to tell Davy that he is forbidden to tell a single story after this.”
I leaned close. “In order to receive this charmed animal, you’ll have to give me an ingredient for one of my potions.”
They hissed. “Not my blood!” yelped one of the boys.
“No blood, I promise.” I tried to keep a straight face. Raising my eyebrows, I met their eyes in turn. “Even more important. I need warmth from you.”
“Warmth?” One of the boys narrowed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.
“I’m working on a waterproofing potion.” I spun my wand in one hand. Their eyes followed my wand with fascination. “And I need ideas of warmth, the opposite of cold water.”
The kids turned to one another. “Is this for the Culling? The witch is supposed to help us fight the Culling, right?”
“We’d be helping the town, too!” Hikaru puffed out his chest.
“But it has to be something special, not just candles or fire. It has to make you feel warm inside,” I explained.
They huddled, their heads nearly touching as they discussed my offer. Finally, they broke up and nodded solemnly.
“We’re ready,” the pigtailed girl declared. One by one, they bent over the counter, cupped their hands around their mouths, and whispered their secrets to me:
Warmth is that tickly-good feeling when Charlotte tucks us into bed.
I think of warmth when we’re sitting on the front steps together eating corn on the cob, freshly roasted in the oven.
I’m warmest when we’re all playing in the water, and then we get out to dig our feet in the hot sand.
My favorite kind of warmth is when my friend holds my hand, even if we’re just walking to school.
Finally, it was Hikaru’s turn. He inched toward me and leaned forward:
I feel warm from fires and fuzzy sweaters and fighting pirates with friends. And I feel warm when I know we’ve got a witch protecting the town.
He shuffled his feet and eyed me, strangely quiet. “Will that help the potion
?”
I nodded solemnly. “I’ll try tonight and let you know.”
“All right,” Charlotte said, “Eva’s got to work now.”
“C’mon,” one of the girls said. “Let’s go down to that boat on the beach and play pirates!”
The other kids nodded eagerly, just as the dolphin flipped again. Hikaru plucked the dolphin out of the air and pounded down the dock, roaring, “First one to the ship is the captain! The rest of you are gonna be my crew!”
“You all better share that, or none of you will be able to play with it!” Charlotte hollered after them, shaking her head.
“Oh! Charlotte, I have one more ready.” I pulled out the second paper toy.
The paper dog pranced on top of the crates, wagging its tail. Charlotte widened her eyes. “That’s clever, Eva. Can we really have it? I’ve—I’ve always wanted a dog.”
I nodded. “Keep this one. I can make more for the other kids.”
We grinned at each other.
“This is really nice of you.” Charlotte paused, and the tips of her ears burned slightly pink, as if she realized that she was actually smiling. She jolted, mumbled something about having to take care of the kids in the house, snatched up the dog, and spun on her heel to hurry back into the orphanage.
Some days—most days—I didn’t understand her. But the corners of my lips tugged up. When we did understand each other, it felt like a special kind of magic.
I tinkered with my broomstick for the rest of the day, to prepare it for flight. The bristles infused with the cloth from my parents had helped, but I needed more. But how? I scrubbed at Ember’s gnaw marks with my handkerchief as I tried to think of a fix.
When the dinner bell rang, the five kids abandoned the boat and returned to their house. They stopped at the foot of the steps, nudging one another and whispering under their breath.
I glanced at them curiously, and Ember sat up to look at them. Hikaru chewed on his lip. “Thanks, Eva. This is way better than any store-bought toy.”
“Oh.” Strange tingles ran up my skin. I smiled, tugging the rim of my hat. “Of course. After all, I’m Auteri’s witch, at your service.”