Mark of the Wicked

by Georgia Bowers

  “Yeah, they caught me sacrificing a goat in my dorm and kicked me out.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Oliver shrugged. “It was getting too expensive.”

  “Oh.”

  “No big deal.” The corners of Oliver’s mouth twitched and his eyes crinkled. “I’m kind of liking it here.”

  Matilda took a long drink, hiding her smile behind the cup.

  “Do you like living here?” asked Oliver.

  “I guess so. I mean, I have no choice really,” said Matilda. Oliver frowned and sat forward in his chair. “Because of my lineage, we draw a lot of power by being here. My magic would weaken if I lived anywhere else. It might even disappear altogether.”

  “But, can’t you just do what I do and learn it again?”

  “It doesn’t work like that for lineage witches. I love the power I have, what I can do with it. I’m not sure I’d like a life without it.”

  “So that means no travel, no college?”

  “I thought about trying a trip to France but—WHAT THE…?!”

  Oliver’s hand flew up to his chest and he jumped in his seat, spinning around to look at who Matilda was pointing at. He frowned through the window, his chest rising and falling as he took calming breaths, then turned back to Matilda.

  “Friend of yours?”

  A girl stood at the coffee-shop window, her hands resting on the glass and her face pushed up so close she was giving herself a little piggy nose as she stared at Matilda. Matilda frowned and waited for her own heartbeat to slow.

  “No, I don’t think so?” she said, peering at the girl. “What’s she looking at?”

  Oliver cocked his head and looked between the girl behind the glass and Matilda.

  “I think she’s looking at you. Are you sure you don’t know her?”

  The girl pulled away from the glass, letting her features fall back into place, and Matilda realized who she was.

  “I do know her. Her name’s Erin; we actually used to be friends. Why the hell is she staring at us like that?” The glass fogged where Erin was breathing against it. Matilda locked eyes with her and mouthed through the glass, “What’s your problem? Get lost, Erin!”

  Erin’s eyes slid from Matilda to Oliver. They both looked at each other until Erin turned from the glass and walked away as suddenly as she’d appeared, her red hair blowing around her face. Once she’d gone around the corner, Oliver and Matilda turned to each other and burst into giggles.

  “Jeez, what a weirdo, staring at us like that. I don’t understand what she was doing,” said Matilda.

  “Do you think she wanted something? Why didn’t she just come in if she wanted to talk to you?” said Oliver absently, checking his phone. “Shit. She might be a weirdo but she’s a punctual one. We better get going, or we’ll be late for school.”

  A wave of disappointment paralyzed Matilda for a moment, and she had to force herself to shuffle forward in her chair and pick up her bag.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” she said.

  “No problem,” said Oliver.

  Oliver stood up and did a theatrical stretch as he looked at the Witching Well Festival decorations that were dotted around Grounds. He smiled at Matilda, then turned his phone over and over in his palm, cleaning the screen with his sleeve.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He stopped rubbing at his phone and blinked at her.

  “Huh? No. Yes, I mean yes, I’m okay. Just assessing all this.” Oliver smiled and gestured at the empty coffee mugs and the two of them facing each other. “And wondering whether it went well enough that if I asked you might say yes to coming to that party with me Friday night?”

  He’s asking me out. He’s asking me out of his own accord, thought Matilda. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Matilda surveyed this new boy, wondering where getting to know him the nonwitchy way, as he’d put it, might take her.

  “You’ve been here a month, and you’re invited to a party I know nothing about?”

  “It’s Sean Barker’s; we play soccer together. His parents are away, and he’s taking advantage. Do you want to come?”

  Matilda looked down at the floor, then at Oliver, no longer able to hold back the smile on her face.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll come.”

  “Cool,” said Oliver, his shoulders relaxing. “I’ll pick you up at eight thirty? Is that too early?”

  How would I know? This is officially my first party, thought Matilda.

  “Eight thirty is fine,” she said.

  “Awesome. Ferly Cottage, right?” Matilda nodded and Oliver smiled so widely his dimples were like connect the dots. “We better get to school.”

  Matilda looked down and put on her coat, beaming at each button as she did it up.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Matilda closed one app and opened another, cross-referencing Oliver’s posts to check his story about private school and segueing off to various girls’ profiles who might be exes or even current girlfriends. When Matilda was friends with Ashley, one of Ashley’s favorite pastimes was poring over boys’ profiles to track their movements and see who they were hanging out with. Matilda had always rolled her eyes and shaken her head as Ashley stared at her phone, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling until she found something to obsess over, and now here Matilda was doing the exact same thing.

  As Matilda scrolled down the newsfeed, a post someone had shared caught her eye. She sat up and read the headline: “Further Deaths Add to Animal Slaughter Mystery.”

  Matilda held her breath as she scanned the article; this time it was horses. The hairs stood up on her arms as she read the report, and she pulled her blanket tighter around her. The police had no leads but were treating it as suspicious. There was no mention of any names or words on the bodies.

  Who the hell would do this? she thought as she pulled herself up and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Something moved in the corner of her eye and Matilda spun around, sighing when she saw Nanna May shuffling around outside with a pair of rusty garden shears.

  “What are you doing, Nanna May? It’s freezing. Go inside,” said Matilda as she stuck her head out the door. “I can do that.”

  Her grandmother carried on cutting the twisted branches of a bramble hedge that was growing outside Matilda’s windows. Matilda shoved on some shoes and went outside where Nanna May was on her knees yanking at the roots of the bush. Matilda put a hand on her shoulder and Nanna May looked up at her.

  “I said, I’ll do it. I thought you old people were supposed to be too scared to go out in the cold weather?” Matilda picked up the shears and rested them against the bench. “Come in while I finish getting ready and I’ll do that tomorrow. What even is it, anyway? I’ve never noticed it before.”

  Her grandmother straightened up (as straight as the weathered old woman could go) and peered at Matilda. She moistened her lips and whispered so quietly that if the wind hadn’t dropped just at that moment, Matilda wouldn’t have heard her words.

  “Wicked Tilly.”

  “You’re not coming in if you call me that, Nanna May.”

  “Wicked Tilly.”

  Matilda shook her head, then put her hand under her grandmother’s elbow and gently guided her into the garden room.

  “You haven’t spoken in three years, and now you’ve decided that’s your new catchphrase?”

  Matilda set her grandmother down on her bed and wheeled the heater over to her feet. She took Nanna May’s hands in her own and tried to rub some warmth into them, just like Nanna May had done with Matilda’s frozen hands after she’d run around the garden on crisp autumn weekends. Nanna May pulled one of her hands away and traced Matilda’s cheek with a crooked finger, her fingernails caked with soil from tending her herbs.

  Matilda recoiled from her touch, guilt slopping around in her stomach.

  “She deserved it. I thought she was my friend, but … you wouldn’t understand.” Victor appeared with Genie perched on top of his head and put h
is chin on Nanna May’s knee. Matilda stroked him as her grandmother let Genie hop onto her finger and then her shoulder. “And I already told you, those dead cows are nothing to do with me. Or those horses. And cats. I could never…”

  Matilda’s knees buckled and she slumped sideways, shadows of a blackout swirling at her temples. Her grandmother caught her with quicker reflexes than anyone would expect from an old woman, and as she cradled Matilda’s head in her lap, Matilda could just make out the small white pouch Nanna May pulled from inside her sleeve. It tinkled as she smashed it onto the wooden floorboards, then waved it under Matilda’s nose.

  The black smoke was sucked from the edge of Matilda’s vision, and she blinked up at her grandmother.

  “I nearly blacked out, didn’t I?” Nanna May nodded as she smoothed Matilda’s hair from her face. “What’s happening to me, Nanna?”

  Nanna May’s eyes darted back and forth across Matilda’s face like she was looking for a fortune to read, then she looked out at the darkness tapping on the window, wanting to come in and play. Matilda swallowed, the look of fear in her grandmother’s eyes turning her spine to ice until Nanna May hushed her and raked her fingers through Matilda’s hair.

  “Okay, but don’t get any dirt in my hair.” Matilda pulled herself up and helped her grandmother back onto the bed, then sat cross-legged at her feet. She stared out of the windows. The usual calm she felt in the company of the old lady was far out of reach. The whisper of fear that something was hovering, ready to shroud her in darkness at any moment, and the mystery of the animal murders were just too much even for Nanna May’s gentle hands to counteract.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thirteen days until Halloween

  Matilda had been ready for the party for hours by the time she gave herself permission to leave her garden room and make her way to the front of Ferly Cottage. Her stomach was bubbling with an unsteady mix of nerves and excitement, so she took long calming breaths as she strode down the gravel pathway.

  As always, the night helped to settle her emotions, and she glanced into the woods and drew strength from the secrets and shadows of her ancestors. A figure moved between the trees, and Matilda stopped, squinting into the darkness.

  “Hello?” she called.

  There was a sharp intake of breath, and Lottie’s hair fanned out in a halo as she looked around. Matilda frowned as her mom tried to conceal what was in her hands, something with a handle that glinted in the moonlight. Before Matilda could tell what it was, it had disappeared inside the folds of Lottie’s coat. Matilda opened her mouth to ask what she was doing, but Lottie spun around and disappeared between the trees.

  “Okay, Mother. Weird, even for you,” said Matilda as she carried on down the path, filing the moment away for a future argument.

  * * *

  The sight of Oliver striding across the gravel driveway made Matilda’s freezing fingers and toes buzz with heat. The wind whipped around her, excited for her night out, and she kept tucking her hair behind her ears in a futile attempt to control it.

  Oliver let out a long whistle, his eyes taking in every brick and crack of Ferly Cottage.

  “Nice house,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Matilda, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s been in our family for generations. It’s where Ivy lived.”

  “Ivy-down-the-witching-well Ivy?”

  Matilda nodded. “It’s been added on to since then, but she lived in the original part of the cottage.”

  “Wow,” said Oliver, raising his eyebrows.

  “That’s your car?” asked Matilda, biting her lip and nodding at the tiny car in front of her house.

  Oliver looked up from his feet and smiled. “That is correct.”

  “Do you even fit inside?”

  “It’s like climbing into a big hug,” said Oliver, folding his arms as he reached Matilda. “My other car was better, but we had to sell it. Still wheels, though. I didn’t know if I was allowed to park in the driveway?”

  “Wherever is fine,” said Matilda, hurrying to the car and away from the unsubtle curtain twitching that was happening in Nanna May’s bedroom windows.

  “Whoa, whoa,” said Oliver as Matilda reached for the passenger-door handle. “I’ll get that.”

  “Thanks,” said Matilda, smiling as she slipped into the seat and looked up at Oliver before he closed the door. “I’m not sure I could have managed it myself.”

  “Hey, total feminist here, but I would have died if the door fell off before our date even began.”

  Matilda smiled. She hadn’t even gotten in the car yet, and already she was enjoying being with Oliver.

  Oliver jogged around the car and pulled his door open with a creak, then managed to slip into the driver’s seat.

  “Ready?” he said.

  “Ready,” said Matilda, trying not to laugh as Oliver tucked himself inside like the Big Friendly Giant squeezing inside a Smart car. “How long have you been driving?”

  “A year now,” said Oliver, checking his mirrors, then pulling away. “Wish I’d learned magic before then—wouldn’t have waited until I was sixteen or stressed about passing the test.”

  Why didn’t I think of that, thought Matilda. Oh, I know, because it’s not like I’d have anywhere to go.

  “What would you need for something like that? A, what do you call it … glamour on the license so if a cop looked at it, they’d see a fake birthdate?”

  “Or a control spell would work,” said Matilda, nodding as she looked into the blackness of the night. She glanced back at Oliver, who was smiling at her. “What?”

  “This is cool, huh? Talking about spells and witchcraft and stuff.”

  “Yeah, very cool,” said Matilda, biting her lip to stop her smile from breaking her jaw in two. “Although the only conversations I ever have with my mom are about magic.”

  “That must be good, though? Learning from your mom?”

  Matilda nodded. “And my grandmother. It would be nice to talk about something else, though, not that my grandmother actually speaks much.”

  “She doesn’t talk?”

  “There’s those questions again.”

  “Sorry, tell me to shut up.”

  “I’m just kidding. She hasn’t really spoken since my dad ‘left,’” said Matilda, hating herself for doing the air quotes around the word but not knowing any other way to explain.

  “So, he didn’t leave?” asked Oliver.

  “According to my mom he left. He left us. That’s her story and she’s sticking to it.”

  “But you think otherwise.”

  “He wouldn’t have done that. She made him go; I know she did,” said Matilda, looking down at her hands.

  “You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.”

  Matilda put her elbow on the door and looked at Oliver, his eyebrows set in a permanent frown as he concentrated on the quiet roads. She took a breath, then let it out, along with all the thoughts that had been stuck in her throat since the day her dad disappeared.

  “You’re lucky that you’re not lineage and you didn’t grow up in a house that was all about magic. My dad was like you and did everything he could to learn about the craft to try and please my mom, but he was never good enough and she pushed him out further and further until there was no place for him anymore. Do you know much about the difference between lineage and learned?”

  Oliver shook his head. “I didn’t even know they were a thing until you told me.”

  “Okay, so there’s a lot that a learned witch can do the same as a lineage, but a lot that they can’t.”

  “Like what?” said Oliver, glancing at Matilda.

  “Well, lineages always have a familiar.” Oliver frowned at Matilda, and she shrugged. “It’s tradition. Also, we sometimes have a gift on top of our ‘regular’ magic, like telepathy or divination.”

  “Really?” said Oliver, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

  “That one’s still up for debate, in
my opinion. My grandmother’s convinced she can see the future, but I’ve only ever seen her guess the weather.”

  “She probably secretly uses a witchy weather app,” said Oliver, smiling. “What else?”

  “Um, you don’t have your ancestors to guide you, so sometimes a learned’s magic can be unpredictable.”

  “Agreed,” said Oliver. “I have a burned pair of new Nikes to prove it.”

  Matilda smiled. “Lineages always have a grimoire that’s passed down through generations.”

  “Grimoire?”

  “The family book, book of shadows, whatever. It absorbs the essence of each witch that writes in it, preserving the bloodline’s power for the next generation. Learneds aren’t allowed to even touch our grimoires, the power in them is so sacred. Shit, the lectures I’ve had about that book. To give up your grimoire is the highest treason a lineage witch can commit; those before you will punish your contempt by stripping you and your family of magic. Give up your grimoire, give up your magic,” said Matilda, adopting her mother’s nagging voice. “A lineage’s magic will always be more powerful because of the generations that have built it. Learneds don’t have our history; they don’t live, eat, sleep, and breathe magic.”

  “You make it sound like a full-time job.”

  “It is. Sometimes.” Matilda looked out of the window.

  “Did your dad learn magic because of your mom?” asked Oliver.

  “He told me one of the reasons he fell for her was because she was a witch and he was thrilled that magic was real. He was pretty lonely as a kid so he lost himself in magic, like magician’s magic, card tricks, coins out of ears, that sort of thing. Because he could never be as powerful as my mom, I think he felt like he had to make up for it with all these little tricks up his sleeve. He taught me a few things,” said Matilda, smiling at Oliver. “They come in handy when I need to distract someone so I can swipe something personal for a spell. Anyway, when he met my mom, he was blown away by the world she opened up to him, but there was no way he could keep up, and he never felt like he was good enough for her or her coven. He had to work all the time because she spent all her time meeting and casting with them instead of getting a job herself.”