Escape to Witch City

by E. Latimer

  “A witch queen,” she said, though it was certainly not the horrible one depicted in her history books.

  Emma couldn’t help herself. She moved toward the statue as if pulled by some magnetic force, getting closer and closer until she was within arm’s length of the base. This was a different woman than the last statue they’d seen, younger, her hair flowing in curls around her shoulders. Emma could see the woman’s face clearly, the way she was looking down, almost as if she were staring right at Emma, a faint smile on her lips. It was so lifelike that it should have been eerie, but Emma didn’t feel scared. Instead, she stepped closer, placing one hand on the base of the statue. The woman looked…kind. Her eyes were soft, warm even, though they were hewn from stone.

  If only the woman were real. If only she could tell Emma what to do next. Where to go from here. How to find her friends.

  Something prickled at the back of Emma’s skull. The tiny hairs at the nape of her neck were rising, as if in response to an unspoken threat. A moment later, she realized what it was. Edgar had not made a noise. As she’d crept forward to investigate, he’d been utterly silent. He hadn’t commented on the statue, or told her how creepy its face was, or suggested that its presence here must mean they really were in Witch City. He had not said anything for more than a minute at least.

  She clenched her teeth, not wanting to turn around, tears already stinging her eyes. But she had to—she had to see for herself. Slowly, so very slowly, she turned on her heel.

  There was no Edgar behind her, only the thin trunks of the trees and the spaces between them. Only the overgrown grass around her, and weeds bursting up through the dirt path. Emma turned back to the statue, blinking away tears.

  She was the only one left.

  Suddenly, it felt as if there was an enormous weight on her chest, and Emma struggled to draw in a breath. She couldn’t do this alone. Couldn’t walk through the rest of Hyde Park and back into the ruined, overgrown London. She couldn’t get to the other side by herself. And so she sat down heavily, at the base of the statue, ignoring the fact that the ground beneath her was slightly damp. She curled her knees up to her chest and stayed there, squeezing her eyes shut tight. In that moment she wanted, desperately, to just give up.

  A sudden rustle came from the statue, and the ferns growing wild at the base shook violently. Emma’s heart jumped, but calmed again when a soft meow broke the silence. A fuzzy black-and-white face peaked out at her from the foliage.

  Not the only one left, then, but what good was a house cat when she needed directions?

  The wind had picked up now, twisting icy fingers through her hair, dragging strands into her face.

  “All my friends have gone.” Her voice came out in a cracked whisper. “All I’ve got left is you, cat. I don’t know if they’re safe somewhere, or if they’re in trouble…they just vanished.” Her voice was growing louder now, strengthened by the anger slowly swelling inside her. “What kind of place is this? I thought there was supposed to be a city, one where we’d be safe, and instead this place has taken all my friends from me.”

  She was practically shouting now, fists clenched at her sides. To her surprise, the cat didn’t stir from its spot. It simply watched her with wide black eyes, tail twitching slightly now and again, as if it were waiting for her to run out of steam. Eventually she did, breathing hard, still staring at the cat. Finally, it turned on its heel and slunk around the base of the statue.

  She tipped her head back to glance up at the stony witch queen looming above her. The statue was still and gray against the dark sky, against the black rain clouds gathering in the distance.

  There were no ravens left in the sky, not even one.

  A minute passed, and then another. Emma stayed where she was. She was cold now, the dampness of the forest floor leaching the heat from her bones. The edge of the statue’s base was digging into her back, but she didn’t move. From somewhere behind her, the cat gave a loud, insistent meow, and Emma glanced angrily over her shoulder.

  “No! I’m not in the mood to follow a cat anymore. Unless you can take me directly to my friends, please just go away.”

  Another meow, louder this time, with a slight yowl on the end. Emma had the distinct impression she was being loudly scolded in whatever language passed for feline.

  “I mean it. Leave me alone!” All she wanted to do was sit down and have a good cry, and this stupid cat wouldn’t stop yelling at her.

  There was another yowling complaint, longer and louder this time, and Emma finally vaulted to her feet, sheer irritation propelling her forward and around the base of the statue, navigating clumps of ferns and wild overgrown hydrangeas.

  “I’ve told you, I don’t want—”

  Emma froze.

  The ground beyond the statue dipped down abruptly, so that she found herself standing at the top of a mountain. Several hundred feet below lay an open valley.

  This was nothing like the dark, overgrown forest of Hyde Park. It was a canyon filled with green poplar trees and an ice-blue lake with a waterfall at one end. But the truly shocking part was the city of towering stone in the center of the valley; the peaks and rooftops that rose into the cloudless sky; the flaming orbs of blue light glittering over the roofs and gables. A city nestled in the mountains, decorated with blue fire.

  Impossible. She’d just been standing in front of a statue in the middle of Hyde Park. She should have been able to see the valley drop off beyond the statue, not to mention an entire city looming in the distance. None of this had been there until just now.

  Her mind took a moment to catch up with what she was seeing and comprehend what exactly it meant—that, indeed, she was correct. None of this had been there a mere second ago.

  Somehow, she’d crossed over; she’d left the In-Between.

  This had to be Witch City.

  It made sense now, the look of awe she’d seen on Eliza’s face right before she’d vanished. Emma knew she had the same expression on her face now, as she stared at the towering city. She took a deep breath, and then another, before inching forward.

  The city looked distant enough that she almost wanted to run. To bolt toward it in case it, too, decided to disappear. She didn’t look back over her shoulder at Hyde Park and its statue; she was too afraid to take her eyes off the city.

  This was not how she’d pictured finding the place—alone, without Maddie and Eliza and Edgar—but she steeled herself and kept going, carefully moving down the slope of the mountain. There were arbutus trees and poplars here, bright-trunked and new; they let the moonlight filter down through their slender bows and waving leaves. It was so different from the impenetrable thicket of Hyde Park that Emma almost wanted to slow down and enjoy it. But she made herself press forward, weaving her way between ferns and bursts of colorful, fragrant flowers. Soon enough, she removed her jacket and tucked it under her arm, enjoying the warm night breeze that ruffled her hair.

  It was strange, to move from winter, to fall, to spring—all in a manner of hours. Emma had begun to realize that it wasn’t Edgar who had disappeared in front of the statue back there. She’d crossed over somehow, exactly as she’d suggested back at the teahouse.

  She moved on, pushing through bright green ferns and tall grass. As she came nearer to the city, she could make out the peaks of roofs and weather vanes, clock towers, and flags snapping in the wind, and white plumes of smoke that signaled bonfires and wood-burning fireplaces. Up closer, the spheres of blue light hanging over the rooftops and towers looked like flickering flames caught in glass globes, and Emma found her gaze drifting back to them repeatedly, a nervous buzz of excitement in her stomach.

  That was magic. She was sure of it.

  The stone walls grew taller the closer she got. They had a reddish tinge to them, as if the entire city had been hewn out of sandstone.

  She kept walking, trying not to think abou
t what the others would have said upon seeing the city. It was no use, though; she could picture it all too clearly. Eliza would be suspicious, unsure of the towering walls, and Maddie would be bursting with excitement, already picturing a hot bath and all the food she could eat. Edgar would, of course, be nervously reciting poetry, or trying to put on one of his princely airs.

  Instead, there was only silence as she followed the cat down into the valley, weaving her way between the poplars. There was a wooden bridge over a rushing river. It was well-maintained—the first piece of architecture she’d encountered in this strange world that wasn’t being consumed by weeds and underbrush—and Emma felt a pang of excitement at this sign of civilization. She followed the cat across, gripping the railing with one hand, eyes fixed on the city ahead.

  A dirt path led from the bridge straight up to the towering walls, and as she approached, she scanned the broad stone, dismayed to find no visible entrance. She’d expected a gate somewhere, maybe a drawbridge like the one at the palace. But there was nothing, only more smooth stone walls. Had the cat led her to the back of the city?

  The animal stopped at the base of the wall and blinked up, first at her and then at the wall.

  “Well, what am I meant to do?” Emma felt a sudden wash of annoyance at the expectant look it was giving her. She was about to tell it that she couldn’t exactly climb the wall, and she certainly didn’t have a broom to fly on at this point…Did witches even fly on brooms? She knew virtually nothing about the subject, as her history books had never covered it.

  She tilted her head to stare up at the city again, stomach churning suddenly. Really, she knew nothing about witches at all, did she? Nothing about the city or what she was getting into. Everything she’d been taught was lies.

  For one horrible, ridiculous moment, she thought that maybe she was wrong. Maybe every terrible thing she’d been taught about witches was, in fact, true. After all, the witches really did rule London years ago. Perhaps all the rumors were based on facts. What if those missing pages in the history books were really just things that no one was allowed to read because they were simply that despicable?

  But no. Emma squared her shoulders and shook her head. She’d come all this way, and she needed answers. She needed to meet Lenore Black and find out the truth.

  She rocked back on her heels and looked up at the wall again. Maybe she was missing something—a secret lever, or a button she was supposed to push.

  Now that she was closer, she could see what looked like a number of large crystals set into the top of the wall. They were various shades, with the nearest one, just above her head, a light pink. It glowed softly in the dusk.

  Was she supposed to use that to open the gate? She felt a flutter of panic in her stomach. Maybe you had to be really good at magic to get in, in which case, she was in a lot of trouble.

  A sudden scuffling sound came from overhead, and a black velvet hat appeared over the ramparts. It had a very wide brim, and it was pointed on top, though the point listed to one side, which made it look a little drunk. There was an annoyed huffing sound from the hat, and the point swiveled back and forth. “Where’ve they gone and put the step stool? Hah, here it is. Probably using magic to get a lift. Lazy, the lot of ’em.”

  Emma tipped her head back farther, blinking as a pale, round face in a pair of silver spectacles appeared beneath the hat, frowning down at her.

  “Who is this now? You’re not meant to come around the back entrance. Highly irregular.”

  Emma only gaped at her, and then a low, musical voice from beside her left foot said, “It’s alright, Gerty. She’s with me.”

  Emma glanced back down, mouth agape, completely distracted from Gerty and her crooked hat. The black cat at her feet met her stare with even green eyes, head tilted, as if it were waiting for her reaction.

  “Did you just…speak?”

  “I did.” The cat tipped its head the other way, though its mouth didn’t seem to move, and Emma wondered if it was communicating telepathically somehow.

  She supposed it made a strange kind of sense, really, that a familiar could talk. But while it was one thing to think about, it was another to see it actually…well, talk.

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Emma said. “We could have used the help!”

  “Yes, I do apologize. I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely forthcoming,” the cat said, still without opening its mouth. “The way the protection spells on our city work, I wasn’t allowed to do much more than show you the right path once you’d crossed over. But…allow me to explain.”

  The black cat turned once on the spot, and then again, like a dog preparing his bed. It did not stop though, but sped up, as if it were chasing its own tail. Eventually, it was moving so fast that Emma had to squint, struggling to see past the blur of movement. It was like a furry, miniature tornado, and as it spun it lengthened, growing up and up until it was as tall as Emma…and then taller.

  Emma stumbled back, alarmed, and clapped a hand to her mouth as it stopped abruptly. Where the cat had been only seconds ago, a woman was standing. Emma blinked frantically, as if she could clear her vision and make the cat come back.

  The woman smiled at her, a little hesitantly. She had long black hair, which hung in waves over her shoulders, and dark brown eyes with black brows. Around her neck she wore a heavy silver chain with a row of multicolored crystals.

  Emma recognized her almost immediately.

  The woman from the wanted poster.

  Emma’s heart seemed to expand in her chest, and a mixture of panic and relief washed over her, a tangle of emotions that made her eyes sting and caused her to her blink frantically.

  “Good to finally meet you, Emmaline.”

  Her heart was beating hard in her ears now. This entire time she’d been searching for Lenore Black, and now…

  “My name is Lenore Black. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re my niece.” The woman’s smile broadened. “Welcome to Witch City, Emmaline.”

  If it had been left up to Emma, she probably would have remained there—outside the city walls, staring at Lenore Black in shock—for ages. As it was, she stared for what felt like an embarrassing length of time, thoughts racing. There was some resemblance to the queen, certainly, and more still to her own mother. But there was something about Lenore that was very different from her sisters. A moment later, Emma realized what it was: Lenore was actually smiling at her—and it was not a smug, superior smile like her mother’s, or a cold, terrifying one like the queen’s. No. It was warm, and a little playful, and Emma realized with a start that Lenore was waiting for her to be done staring.

  “I’m—I’m sorry…it’s a shock.” Her mind was spinning. She had so many questions, but she couldn’t seem to form words.

  “Of course it is. No need to apologize.” Lenore shook her head, her face rueful. As Emma watched, she reached up and unclipped one of the crystals from her necklace, slipping it into the pocket of her dress. “I rather imagine you’ve heard very little of me, if anything at all.”

  Emma hesitated, not sure how much she should say. “I-I’m afraid they told everyone you were dead. That you died in the Great War.”

  “Yes. They probably wish that were the truth.” Lenore let out a sigh. “Well, I know you must have all sorts of questions about our family, but I’m afraid we’ll have to talk later. Your friends are waiting quite impatiently on the other side of this wall.”

  Emma stood up straight. “They’re really here? They made it?”

  “They did. Follow me this way, please.”

  Lenore called up to the witch on the wall, “Gerty, the wall, if you please.” In response, the woman grunted and leaned over to rap a knuckle on the light-pink crystal embedded in the stone.

  Emma watched in astonishment as a great section of the wall before them seemed to vanish with a hiss and a soft rush of air. “W
as that…magic?”

  “It certainly was.” Lenore swept an arm forward, gesturing for Emma to go ahead of her, through the gap in the wall. “Welcome to New Londinium, or as we fondly refer to it around here, Witch City.”

  Emma was still half staring at Lenore—and trying not to look like she was staring. She’d been about to ask where the name Londinium came from when they stepped inside the city walls, and she staggered to a halt, momentarily forgetting how to string words together.

  The city beyond the wall was London, but it was also nothing like London at all. There was the clock tower, standing straight and tall over the city, the face lit up in flickering blue light. Beyond it, towers and rooftops were glowing, lit with the white light of a thousand delicate silver lanterns hanging in doorways and stairwells. Here and there, glowing spheres of blue light hung high above the rooftops, illuminating tiles and gutters, making the smoke spiraling up from brick chimneys look like clouds of cotton candy.

  Most astonishing of all, there were people in the air, zipping around and over the buildings, cloaks and jackets rippling behind them. Emma looked up, riveted, as a woman streaked past several feet above. She was standing very straight, shoulders back, clutching a large carpetbag in both hands. It looked like she was floating on a cushion of air as she moved forward, her green velvet cloak flapping gently.

  A million questions pressed at Emma’s lips, most of them starting with how…? But, of course, the answer had to be magic, didn’t it?

  This place was nothing like she’d been expecting. Then again, she wasn’t sure what exactly she’d been expecting to begin with.

  “What do you think?” Lenore sounded amused.

  “It’s brilliant,” Emma breathed, and then she didn’t get to say anything else. A great clatter of footsteps could be heard from somewhere off to her left, and then something slammed into her, nearly knocking her off her feet.