Bright Young Witches & the Restless Dead

by Beth Byers

  Echo was dangerous with her ability to see and interact with the dead. She could raise ghosts, tap into their power, and send them through the veil, using them as messengers. If Nighton held a thinning of the veil, Echo would have been its Keeper. She wasn’t just dangerous. She was terrifying.

  Circe though? Hardly. She was a siren. She could weave a spell into a song or any piece of art and make it more powerful. What was so scary about a sung spell? If anything, they were less terrifying than chanted spells.

  “I’m sorry,” Circe said. Once again, she hated herself for longing to go to Lindsey Noel’s door and demand why he had done this to her. Hadn’t he whispered to her of his love? Hadn’t he told her that they’d be together? Hadn’t he sworn, as he’d taken her virginity, that their differences didn’t matter to him?

  “You know what your problem is?” Echo suddenly demanded.

  Circe looked up, blinking away her tears.

  “You think that you have to apologize for being what you are. You don’t, you know? None of us have to apologize for who and what we are. We don’t any more than the Abraham family does for having dark skin or Ariadne does for being the eldest and having the power of our bloodline or I do for being able to see the dead. Would you expect Ariadne to despise what she is?”

  Circe shook her head, hating Echo for saying it in front of the little ones.

  “Then why do you?”

  “Lindsey wanted something different than me. He wanted something traditional and honorable.”

  “Honorable,” Echo mocked. Her head tilted and that snide voice asked, “If he had said he loved Abraham’s daughter, Faith, would you expect her to apologize for her skin?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t!”

  “Then why do you have to change who and what you are?” Echo shouted back. “Stop hating what you are—what we are—what Medea and Cassiopeia are—because it makes me feel like you hate all of us along with yourself.”

  Circe stepped back, holding her hand to her mouth. “I don’t hate you.”

  “And Ariadne? Do you hate Ariadne?”

  Circe shook her head over and over again, wishing Echo would abandon Circe to her thoughts. To change the subject from sweet Lindsey or Ariadne.

  Circe asked, “Where do you think we’ll go?”

  “I don’t know,” Echo sighed, looking in the direction of the graveyard. “Do you care?”

  Circe bit her lip as she considered and then admitted, “No. Wherever it is, it won’t be here.”

  “Exactly,” Echo said too viciously. She met Circe’s shining gaze and then Echo sighed. “It’ll be all right, Circe, love. It’ll be better, you’ll see. Right as rain and just as cleansing.”

  Circe hardly thought so, but she knew that when it came down to it—her vote didn’t matter.

  Chapter 4

  APRIL 1922. NEW YORK CITY, USA

  ECHO BEATRIX AZALEA WODE

  “Where are you girls off to?”

  Echo looked up from her book, smiling cheerily at the woman. She had to be in her mid-40s, perhaps even into her 50s. She had the motherly look that said she’d been watching and worrying even though the sisters weren’t hers. Given the woman had been watching them for a while, she also had to have realized that there was a deep tension between the sisters.

  Circe blamed Ariadne that the romance between Lindsey and Circe was over. And that Ariadne had ended their lifelong friendship with Lettie Moore. Their softest sister didn’t seem to care that Ariadne had hated Noel but had never once interfered until he’d shown up with torches and guns.

  Even little Medea understood that things had to change with Lettie and Noel, and Medea was five years old. And still not talking if she could avoid it.

  Ariadne blamed Circe that they’d had to leave home. She had, after all, revealed their secrets to her untrustworthy lover. Ariadne had drained their accounts and borrowed from their aunt to get them on their way before money could be drawn from their investments or the next shipment of alcohol could be delivered. The fact that she’d had to do such a thing as the eldest of the Wode had left Ariadne angrier.

  This motherly figure had seen the little girls disappear with Abraham Jones’s daughter, who’d been hired to look after the youngest sisters. The watching woman had noted the quiet fury between Ariadne and Circe and then watched along with Echo as the two had eyed each other and then Ariadne had disappeared into their cabin while Circe had decided to watch the shores of all she loved and her future fade away.

  “Well, the ship is going to Southampton,” Echo said brightly, pretending that she didn’t have a headache pounding from the silent rage ricocheting in their family. “My sister has been researching our family history. Letters and such. We’re going to see the old villages. Maybe visit London. Visit the jazz clubs and have legal cocktails. Dance an evening or two away.”

  “Discovering your family does sound lovely. Has it been long since your family has been in America?”

  “Since the 1600s depending on which line we’re speaking of,” Echo said, smiling as though her heart weren’t breaking to leave behind her kindred dead. In fleeing Nighton, they were leaving behind the family graveyard. She knew them, she could see them. They couldn’t bring them along like they’d brought their cats along.

  “I’m having a party in London a few days after we arrive in England. A homecoming if you will. But there will be young people there. You could come if you’d like, my daughters and sons are around your age. Meet some Londoners. Are you traveling without your mother?”

  “She died when Medea was born,” Echo said, knowing the rage between Ariadne and Circe wouldn’t exist if Eudora had survived. “Ariadne looks after us.”

  “Do you not have anyone else? Your father? An aunt?”

  “Just Ariadne,” Echo said, “my oldest sister, but we haven’t been entirely alone.”

  “Oh it feels alone, doesn’t it? When you don’t have your mama. Young women need their mothers. You’re too alone, dearie. Only you and your sisters?” The woman winced and shook her head, her gaze wide with concern on their behalf. “You’ll need friends while you’re in England. I might be married to an Englishman, but we American girls have to stick together.”

  “That sounds nice,” Echo said, noting the earnest gaze. This woman, unlike so many, seemed to have no ulterior motives. Genuine human kindness was as refreshing as the metaphorical rain that Echo kept waiting for, something to cleanse the air and the hearts of sisters who would die for each other but could hardly be in the same room.

  “Oh sweetie. Discord between sisters. On top of a new country. We might speak the same language, but things are different in London. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

  Echo nodded and then said, “We’ll be at the Hotel Saffron. We’d love to come. Thank you— Oh! I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  “Margaret Langford, my dear. I’m sure we’ll become quite good friends on the voyage.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Langford. I’m Echo Wode. You saw my sisters. Ariadne is the older one and Circe is the one who looks a bit fluttery.”

  “Wode?” Mrs. Langford asked. She frowned for a moment and then shook it off to smile brightly. “I feel like I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t place it at the moment.”

  ARIADNE EUDORA WISTERIA WODE

  “I don’t know why you think you’re so much better than me,” Circe snapped to Ariadne that evening. Yet again, Circe wasn’t whispering despite the nearby presence of the Langford sons and daughters. “You are just as responsible for why we have to leave home.”

  Ariadne snapped her champagne back onto the tray of the circulating waiter and left her sister behind. Circe wanted to fight—she always wanted to fight. Ariadne simply wanted to breathe in and not worry about whether or not they’d be all right once they reached England. It wasn’t like witches had only been persecuted in America.

  How was Ariadne supposed to keep them all safe when Circe was determined to rehash each moment of why
they left? Whether it be because the KKK realized they were witches or because Ariadne was a lady bootlegger, they were reasons best kept under wraps. There had always been reasons to keep one’s mouth shut tight. A lesson that Circe still hadn’t learned despite their predicament.

  Ari left the ballroom where Echo was dancing with one of the gentlemen from Brazil and Circe was pouting because it had been Echo and not Circe asked to dance. Want to know why Circe was lashing out? See where the attention of the nearest handsome man was directed, Ariadne thought meanly.

  She followed the line of the railing around the ship, breathing in the sea air. Wode were more wood and land witches than sea witches, but the power of the Atlantic was undeniable and intoxicating. The sea air hit her from all sides, the ocean with the currents and the sea life called to Ari in a way that water never had before. It was teeming with life and with power. She could see why nature witches inclined towards the water so often ended up on craggy cliffs and islands.

  Ariadne would have given much to be able to drop into a pentacle and meditate about what was ahead. It was almost as though magic were in the air. She breathed in and hummed like Circe did when she meditated. It helped. It had always helped Ariadne to focus when Circe hummed. The magic seemed to crackle in the air. Did it crackle in the air? What was she feeling?

  Was there a storm coming? It felt cold and almost vicious. Almost directed. Perhaps the ship would run into a large storm soon and they’d be in for a rough ride. Ariadne paused, and then Faith, Cassiopeia, and Medea appeared on the walk.

  “Ari?” Medea cried and ran at her, throwing herself at Ariadne.

  Ari lifted her sister, who wrapped her arms and legs around her. Ariadne’s baby sister was shaking with terror and all other thoughts fled Ari’s mind.

  “I keep dreaming about crosses burning,” Medea whispered with a cracking voice. “But it’s so cold and there are bad guys. Only I can’t see them. They come from the shadows and they get me, and I can’t make them stop and then I lose you. I lose you and lose you. Don’t go away!”

  “I won’t,” Ariadne whispered. “Never.”

  “Mama went away,” Medea told Ariadne. “People go away. Don’t go.”

  Ariadne crossed to a deck chair and sat down with Medea in her arms. Cassie curled into Ari’s side as Medea cried. Ari glanced at Faith who mouthed, “I’m sorry, miss.”

  “It’s all right, Faith. There’s a dance tonight, isn’t there?”

  Faith nodded.

  “Why don’t you go? Have a good time. I’ll have time with my girls.”

  The girl’s dark eyes brightened and she bobbed a little curtsy. Ari sighed as she watched Faith hurry away. How many times had Ariadne told Faith to not bother? They were friends, weren’t they? Friends didn’t curtsy even if one was paying the other.

  Ariadne rubbed Medea’s back and hummed to them both. She wasn’t a singer, not like Circe, but Ariadne sang to them anyway. She’d promised her mother that she would. Ari had promised Mama to raise and love them and to teach them to have a song in their hearts with happiness in their souls. Ari sang until Medea’s breath evened out and then she whispered to Cassie.

  “What happened?”

  “Medea had a bad dream,” Cassie whispered back. “Like she always does, she woke screaming about cold fingers. Cold fingers and big flames.”

  Ari wove her fingers into Cassie’s hair and hummed. Ariadne needed Cassie to stay awake as she couldn’t carry both girls.

  “Tell me about when I was born?” Cassie asked and Ariadne smiled into the darkness. The sky was overcast, so the brilliant stars overhead were hidden from sight. Even the moon, waxing larger in the night sky, was nearly hidden from view.

  Ari told her the story. The pains that came after tea when Ari and Circe had been entertaining Mama, who had been stuck in bed for the weeks before. The pains had come and Mama had said, “Finally, I’ll get up. Baby in one arm and my other girls in the other. We’ll dance and sing and spin in the moonlight.”

  Cassie asked, “When I came, did Mama cry?”

  “When you were born?” Ariadne asked, knowing it was the question. It was always the question. “She did with happiness. She cried and ran her finger over your hair and down your nose. She said you were as pretty as the stars and as sweet as chocolate. She said you were a dream come true when she thought the goddess of the hearth had looked past Wode house and Mama’s still-hungry heart.”

  “But then I came,” Cassie said, rubbing her cheek against Ariadne’s arm.

  Ariadne nodded and then she felt that force again. The rush of focused power. Something whispered to her instincts and the mama bear inside of her came alive. The little girls might technically be her sisters, but they were daughters in all the ways that mattered. Ari rose, the sleeping Medea in her arms, and Cassie held onto the skirt of Ariadne’s dress as she made her way to their cabin. They were in second class cabins, and they had to make their way down a flight of stairs and a long hall.

  “Something feels funny,” Cassie told Ariadne after they entered the cabin.

  The worry in Cassiopeia’s voice was sufficient to send Ariadne’s concerns spiraling. When a little girl could feel the magic, what had gone wrong?

  “Don’t worry, little one,” Ariadne dodged. “Ari will place wards. I’ll look after you like I always do.”

  Cassiopeia nodded and climbed the ladder to her bed while Ari laid Medea on her own bed and then dropped to the floor, quickly drawing a pentacle with chalk. The cats were all too alert, she thought. Their gazes watched Ariadne as though they had something to tell her.

  “What?” Ariadne asked them. “What is going on with you?”

  Banshee eyed Ariadne as though she were stupid. Ari stared back at her cat and wondered if the cat were entirely correct. Perhaps Ariadne was stupid.

  Stupid for feeling something magical when she was crossing the ocean. What wasn’t magical when you were bobbing about on the sea? Stupid for thinking she could be a bootlegger and not get hurt. Stupid for thinking that she and Circe would ever be friends again. Stupid for thinking that this trip to England was a good idea. They should have just moved to a different city and changed their names until the forgetting spell was fully enacted.

  “Ari?” Cassie whispered from her top bunk, “if you die what will happen to Medea and me?”

  “Circe and Echo will take care of you and love you.” Ari answered without thinking and then knew she was stupid.

  The silence was stark and Ari was certain she should have just promised nothing would happen. Ariadne stumbled through several replies and then said, “We can’t make promises like nothing will ever happen to me, Cassie baby. But I can promise you that I’ll do everything possible to ensure you are safe and loved for the rest of your life regardless of what happens to me.”

  “I feel like someone is breathing sad on my neck,” Cassiopeia whispered. “It’s reaching inside of me and making everything blues and greys.”

  “You’re just tired,” Ariadne said, standing and taking a bit of potioned lavender and soul soothing oil and drawing a “peace” rune on Cassiopeia’s forehead. Ari smoothed back Cass’s hair. “It’s all right, baby. I’ll watch over you.”

  Cassie’s rune was followed by one on Medea’s forehead and then with a possible flash of insight, Ariadne drew one on her own forehead and went to sleep praying that the next day would dawn brighter and that somehow she could find a way to build a bridge between herself and Circe.

  Chapter 5

  APRIL 1922. SOMEWHERE ON THE ATLANTIC

  CIRCE EUTERPE MAGNOLIA WODE

  Circe trailed her fingers down the length of the dress. With her black hair, black eyes, and pale skin, Ariadne’s dress looked amazing on her. The long slit down the front of the dress showed enough of Circe’s feminine roundness to entice a likely man. Preferably a handsome, rich one.

  “Why are you wearing Ariadne’s dress?” Echo asked with a narrowed gaze. “Do you know how many new dresses she’s
had since Mama died? Why are you being like this? Why are you so angry?”

  “Four,” Circe said. She didn’t answer Echo’s other questions, but her gaze was narrowed and furious. “That’s not my fault. She’s the one who spends her pin money.”

  Echo closed her eyes and breathed in slowly.

  So, Ariadne bought things for other people with her money. It was her choice and Circe didn’t have to feel like a demon for not doing the same.

  “Please take it off,” Echo said, sounding exhausted. “Please don’t make Ariadne ask you.”

  “It looks better on me.” Circe straightened her curls and then adjusted her earbobs. “In this dress, I bet Alejandro would ask me to dance instead of you.”

  “Alejandro dances beautifully,” Echo snapped. “He’s also married, had a second family with a mistress, and has a lover in third-class. You’re better than that.”

  Circe snorted and muttered, “I like to dance. I would look amazing in his arms with his darker skin against my white skin. We’d be like yin and yang.”

  “Please take it off. Ariadne had to save for that dress for months and months. She’s only had the chance to wear it once and that wasn’t enjoyable.”

  Circe twirled, watching the fringe fly around her thighs. She really did look good in this dress. She could just imagine herself with one of those long cigarette holders and a strand of pearls that was wrapped around her neck a few times. She’d look amazing.

  “Circe,” Echo demanded. “Take it off! Ariadne will be back any moment.”

  Circe shot Echo a scathing look. “I’m bored! I’m not hurting the dress! And Ariadne is off playing shuffleboard with the girls. Medea is so terrible. Playing with her takes ages and ages.”