Under Her Spell

by Bridget Essex

  “I’m sorry, Alice,” said Isabella, drawing the Familiar into her arms as Emily embraced the both of them, holding them close. “I didn’t realize…” She breathed out. “Well. At least we know the ice is breaking up now!”

  Despite everything, Isabella was rewarded when Emily choked out a little laugh, wiping away her own tears, sighing as she shook her head.

  “I thought witches were supposed to float,” said the Changer.

  Isabella laughed at that: wheezing a little, and then quite a lot, and so regretted the chuckle. “We don’t float,” she said, waving her hand. “That’s an old magicmaker’s tale! Witches sink.”

  “Ah. That explains everything,” said Emily, casting her gaze to the heavens and squeezing her witch again for good measure.

  “So,” said Isabella, breathing out again in a big sigh, because she quite enjoyed the activity of breathing and was simply reveling in the fact that she could still do it. “We’ll just…” Isabella glanced around, biting her lip. “We’ll wrap ourselves up in these furs and fly back to the cottage on my broom,” she said tiredly, glancing at the fire and her dress and undergarments and Emily’s blouse and pants and knickers hung up on the barren branches of the oak arching over them.

  “I’m sorry, darling—we can’t,” said Emily quietly, glancing back toward the lake, now spiderwebbed with cracks. “Your broom fell into the water. It’s lost.”

  Isabella breathed out for a very long moment, eyes closed.

  “If we were more careful,” said Alice, cocking her little cat head dryly, “we wouldn’t have this problem.”

  She was right, of course.

  But she didn’t have to be so drattedly smug about it.

  ---

  “You want to order another broom, Isabella?” Mrs. Goose settled her soft elbows along her counter top, squinting at the witch who refused to hold the dry goods store owner’s gaze, studying instead the spools of ribbon carefully arranged on pegs along the wall. Isabella had never noticed before just how many of them were gingham.

  “I had a little…accident…” said the witch softly, clearing her throat as she pushed two bronze coins over the counter top. “If you could get it rush-delivered, I’d appreciate it very, very much, Eliza.”

  Eliza Goose considered the money on the counter for a long moment, drumming her fingers along her arm before picking the two coins up and depositing them with round fingers into her apron pockets.

  Isabella’s sigh of relief was audible.

  It was only recently that Eliza had begun to accept, without argument, monetary compensation from Isabella and Emily for the goods in her shop. It was a great improvement on the large amounts of awkwardness both Emily and Isabella had been put through in the name of “makings right.”

  The Changer moved behind Isabella in the dry goods shop, placing her long fingers along the small of the witch’s back as she inspected the barrels of seeds that lined the center aisle of the shop. “Have you given any more thought to what you’d like to put in the garden?” she asked Isabella, head cocked as she gazed at the witch with a brow raised, smile bright and wide.

  Isabella bit at one of her fingernails, wandering over to the lane of seeds and gazing at the carefully penciled names and prices per bag tacked above each barrel. “I haven’t,” said Isabella truthfully. “You know, Emily, I’ve never tended a…a garden before.”

  “I promise,” said the Changer, threading her arm through the witch’s, “that it’s not so very difficult. The key is to give the plants fertilizer and water and keep the local animals—and me—from nibbling on the leaves. Easy! Anyone could do it!”

  Isabella stared at her Changer, trying to hide her smile. “Remember who you’re talking to, darling…” she whispered.

  Miss Lacey Turtle set the front door’s bell ringing as she came into the shop, shaking out the hood of her shawl before pushing it back. “It’s snowing. Again,” she said disgustedly, eyes to the heavens. “It usually lets up this close to Ostara! But no! The sky's full of fat, fluffy flakes! You’d think we should be practicing Solstice carols out there...”

  “Hello, Lacey,” said Eliza, leaning on the counter with a grin. “Are you here for your chicks?”

  “I don’t know if I want to bring them home! They might freeze,” said the woman, mouth set in a wry smile as she wandered over to Emily and Isabella. “How are the two of you this wretchedly cold morning?”

  “Good,” Isabella sighed happily, glancing up at Emily, who nodded in agreement.

  “Love makes even wicked winter lovely,” said Lacey, grinning, too. She ran a hand over her beautiful earth-colored face, pouting. She still looked lovely when she was less than happy, something Isabella felt she herself had never come close to accomplishing. “I remember being in love… It ended in an explosion of dramatics because he was scum, of course,” she said helpfully, flashing a bright smile. “But on the bright side, I’m no longer with him, which I thank the many goddesses for each day.”

  “Oh…” Isabella trailed off as Lacey shrugged, staring down at the row of seed barrels.

  “I guess I’ll take the chicks today, Eliza, if you have them. No sense making the little ones wait.” Lacey paced to the counter as Mrs. Goose retreated through the door to the back room.

  “How are your Ostara plans shaping up, you two?” asked Lacey, head to the side as she ran her fingers over the candy jars, taking an owl’s eye sucker (they were Isabella’s favorite candy, despite the name) out of one of the vessels and nibbling on the edge of it. “I’m looking forward to it more than I can say,” said the woman, laughing.

  “It’ll be interesting to see what sort of festivities Benevolence hosts,” said Isabella, lured over to the candy jars and digging out her own owl’s eye sucker.

  “We don’t do much,” said Lacey thoughtfully, tapping the bit of candy against her lips. “We make the trek up to Mirror Lake, pay homage to the Glossmer. Come back and have hot cider and egg-shaped cookies. It’s pretty low key, compared to the other festivals, believe it or not. But that's because the hike is so long, and—”

  Eliza pushed open the door, carrying a small wooden crate in her arms. The crate emitted a bright peeping sound, and as she set it on the counter in front of Lacey and Emily and Isabella, Isabella peered down and felt her entire heart melt, as if in a single blast of adorable-induced heat.

  “Oh, my goodness…” she breathed, picking up one of the small chicks from the crate. She cradled it to her face, pressing her nose against the soft down on the baby bird’s back. “They’re precious,” she whispered, in raptures, as Eliza and Lacey chuckled and Emily reached out, gently running a finger over the chick’s small head.

  “Lacey,” said Isabella, setting the chick back into the crate as she bit her lip. “You mentioned Mirror Lake. I…I know for certain that the ice is breaking apart on the lake, despite the cold,” she said, trailing off as she gazed at Emily, who was staring down at the floor, jaw clenched. “But what does Mirror Lake have to do with Ostara?”

  “Ah, I keep forgetting you haven’t been here always,” said Lacey with a smile. It was kind of her to say, though it was very obvious that Isabella didn’t exactly fit in. “Well, when we all gather at the lake, and look down into its waters on Ostara," Lacey told her, "we see a happy moment from the coming year reflected in the surface. You see, the Glossmer’s enchanted the lake. It’s a very old tradition; my great grandmother used to say she couldn’t remember a time when we didn’t do it. So that’s why our Ostara festivities are limited. Like I said, it takes a while to get up to Mirror Lake by foot—”

  “Yes. I found that out,” sighed Isabella softly, gazing down at the chicks that hopped about in the crate, blithely unaware of exactly how mediocre the witch staring down at them actually was, or how close her mediocreness had brought her to drowning only a short while ago. “Anyway…” She cleared her throat. “I've never heard of a Glossmer. What is it?”

  Eliza and Lacey stared at her in astonishme
nt, then looked to Emily, who was gazing at a harness on the wall, away from the two women.

  “The Glossmer is the bringer of spring,” said Eliza slowly, carefully. “He lives at the top of Glimmer Mountain in an enchanted cave.” She said it as if this was clearly obvious.

  "Oh." Isabella frowned. The short explanation left her with more questions than answers, but she nodded, peering down at the chicks again. A being who was the bringer of spring? Her eyes widened with wonder.

  Lacey cleared her throat after a moment of silence, smiled at Eliza. “The chicks look lovely. I’ll take the lot of them.”

  “They’re so sweet,” said Isabella hastily, glad for the change of subject, for a topic completely unrelated to that lake. “Are you going to name them?”

  “I always do,” said Lacey, studying the witch then. “Say…you like these little ones?”

  “Of course I do!” said Isabella, breathing out again and taking one up gently, pressing it to her nose and nuzzling it. “They’re so sweet and cute and—”

  “Qualities that you often find in children, as well as chicks.” Lacey was grinning widely, and she took a step closer to Isabella, petting the baby chick in her hands. “You see, Isabella…" Her tone was fairly wheedling. "I have a problem. Tomorrow—you know, it’s the day before Ostara. And I usually host the Ostara fable and snacktime at the Mother Temple for all of the kids, and it culminates in an egg hunt, but I am seriously in trouble this year…" She shrugged her shoulders, smiling slightly. “You see, my shipment didn’t come in. Of toys. For filling the hollow paper eggs.” She was talking very quickly, gliding over the words as if she’d spoken them dozens of times before. And soon enough, it became clear that she had.

  “So I’ll have to spend tomorrow morning, when I would be at the temple telling the kids the story, putting the toys in the eggs, and then hiding the eggs, and I can’t find anyone who isn’t busy to take over the storytelling.” She inhaled then, clasping her hands together. “Isabella, would you please tell the story to the kids while I take care of the eggs? It’s just the Ostara story—you know, super easy.”

  Isabella opened and shut her mouth while Emily took the chick that she was in danger of crushing out of her hands, returning it gently to the crate.

  “Goodness, Lacey…” Isabella began, drawing out the words as she desperately tried to come up with an excuse, any excuse. “The only problem is that… Well. I mean, I love kids. I've always wanted kids. But it makes absolutely no sense that I would want kids because I’m positively terrible with them.”

  “That can’t be true,” said Lacey, smiling indulgently. She had the most fetching of smiles, the kind of smile that could coax anyone to do anything for her, and she was turning up the charm now as high as she could. “It’s only telling them a story! The same story you’ve probably heard, what, dozens of times? You could say it in your sleep, I'd bet! I know I probably do say it in my sleep.”

  “How many children will be there?” asked Isabella, swallowing. She couldn't help remembering that time her Academy instructor had asked her to mind a class of first years for five minutes. Only five minutes. Sometimes she still had nightmares about it. Somehow, in the first thirty seconds, the kids had set the baby dragon in the cage free…

  “Fifteen kids. And they’re good as gold. I promise,” Lacey added, smile growing wider and more persuasive still. “Will you do it, then, Isabella? Please?”

  “Well, when you put it like that…” Isabella mumbled, and Lacey hugged her so tightly, she felt the breath squeeze out of her, perhaps never to return.

  “All you have to do is pick up a tray of pastries from Mr. Ox first thing tomorrow morning and take it over to the Mother Temple. Set the treats up in the solar room. Then the kids will start trickling in. When you count fifteen, begin the story, and they’ll eat the pastries, and then after the story, I should have had enough time to stuff the eggs and hide them in the sanctuary, which is where we’ll be doing the egg hunt this year, because it is so drattedly cold out. Oh, I knew I could count on you!” she squealed happily, hugging Isabella again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “Sure. Sure…” Isabella trailed off, wondering what it was, exactly, that she’d just agreed to. “Um, well… It was good seeing you, Eliza, Lacey,” she said then, and, head whirling, Isabella took Emily's arm and began to leave the shop.

  But Eliza called out after them: “Isabella, wait! Before you go, there’s something from the witch post for you.”

  Isabella’s heart skipped a beat, and she practically tripped on her dash back up to the counter. She had glanced at her post box when she and Emily had entered the dry good store, and it hadn’t seemed like anything had been in hers today. But the something wasn't in her witch post box at all, for Eliza drew up a large brown paper-wrapped package from beneath the counter, setting it in Isabella’s arms.

  “It’s from Bridey,” Isabella breathed, staring down at the looping handwriting scrawled over the package. “Oh, Emily! The baby’s probably been born!”

  “Baby, eh? See, you obviously love kids,” said Lacey with a wink.

  For not the first time (actually, perhaps the fiftieth), Isabella desperately wished she was still in possession of her broomstick as she and Emily made the long slog through the thickly falling snow in Benevolence and trekked, shivering, back to the magicmaker’s cottage.

  Isabella set the package down on the table, throwing off her cloak. Alice bounded lightly up to inspect the box, whiskers twitching. “It’ll be the picture potion of the baby,” said the Familiar, grinning her little cat grin as Isabella snipped the twine with her herb-gathering blade, tearing the paper to get to the wooden box nestled within.

  “You’ll never guess what you’re helping me with tomorrow,” Isabella told her Familiar as they all stared at the box. “Children.” The Familiar turned her gaze upon the witch then, horrified.

  “I…I’d help you if you needed me,” said Emily, in the quietest voice possible. Isabella cast her a sidelong glance and chuckled a little, looping her arm about the Changer’s waist.

  “I love you too much to ask that,” she said, kissing Emily’s cheek.

  “And I do not merit such luxuries, apparently,” said Alice, her tail conveying how miffed she felt at this slight as it swung back and forth on the table, smacking against the wooden box.

  The box seemed to possess no opening, was a single block of wood, but Isabella had encountered this sort of container before, the ones used to house glass in the witch post. She leaned down and breathed “open” onto it, as Emily gathered up her discarded cloak from the floor behind her and hung it on its peg.

  The wooden box obligingly sprung open, revealing a folded letter, a small barrel of Isabella’s favorite pennbane tea (because Bridey was, as ever, loving and thoughtful), and a single stoppered flask of bright cobalt blue liquid, nestled gently on a nest of straw in the bottom of the box.

  “Alice, my cauldron!” Isabella cried, snatching up the flask as Alice glared pointedly toward the other half of the table, where Isabella’s cauldron sat, unwashed from its last use (as usual) and reeking of pixie weed.

  “Crud,” muttered the witch, staring down at its messy interior and shrugging.

  She poured the potion over the grime, practically vibrating in place with impatience. Emily hovered at her shoulder, and Alice peered into the cauldron from the other side.

  There was a flash. And then…

  “Rosie? Rosie! Say hello to auntie Isabella and auntie Emily!” came Bridey’s muffled voice from the cauldron as the beautiful, tiny baby girl gazed up at Isabella and Emily and Alice. Her eyes were startlingly blue, like Rod’s—Bridey's husband—and her skin was as warm and brown as her mother’s. She was swaddled in a quilt that Isabella had painstakingly (and painfully) sewn only the month before, sending it to Bridey as a new baby gift. Isabella warmed at how Bridey had wrapped the badly stitched red-and-pink thing around tiny Rosie’s form as the baby held out her hands to them,
bright eyes wide.

  The picture in the cauldron’s liquid disappeared a heartbeat later, too suddenly, and Isabella slumped against the table, turning and hugging Emily tightly.

  “She called us aunts,” said Isabella, breathless.

  “Who knows?” said the Changer, smiling into the curve of the witch’s neck and shoulder. “Maybe the kids tomorrow will call you Auntie Isabella, too.”

  Isabella stiffened, but Alice hadn’t quite heard, for she still grinned her cat grin, pointing her whiskers to the two of them before hopping, with a satisfied purr, into the now-empty wooden box. As all cats must.

  ---

  The ice cracked. It was sudden, that feeling of lightness; the broom skittering across the breaking ice, away from Isabella, beyond her grasp; the water reaching up greedy, freezing fingers to drag her down, down, curling her body into its depths.

  She breathed in water, the weight of it crushing her body, blurring her vision, stealing her breath.

  Isabella reached for the surface, dragging heavy limbs through the water.

  Drowning.

  Then…a movement, to her right. Slowly, painfully, Isabella turned her head. There was a great shadow there, hanging suspended in the water. Was it a snake? Was it a dragon? It was so long and large, sinuous as a serpent, taller than two Emilys standing on each other's shoulders. But Isabella couldn’t make out what it was, only its largeness, its serpentine body tangled in a restless knot.

  It sank down into the water with her.

  …needs help…

  Isabella gazed up at the hole in the ice, at the shadow there, but it wasn’t Emily's shadow. It wasn't Emily swimming down through the darkness, toward her.