Erin held her hands out like she was taming a wild horse.
“Matilda, take a breath…”
“But I should have known! Everything he did was to get me to let my guard down so he could siphon my magic. The stone on the bracelet he gave me? Labradorite to help feelings of anxiety and induce calm. And my hair? He was always brushing back my hair, which I thought was the sweetest thing ever, but he was actually collecting bits of it to use on the poppet he’d made of me, which I found tied to a tree in the woods along with some witch’s ladders that I showed him how to make! Even the bridge swinging was to get me to let go. I’ve been so stupid! Why would anyone actually like me unless it was because I’ve made them using magic or they’re pretending to so they can ruin my life?”
“Wow,” said Erin, taking a deep breath. “There was a lot of that that I did not understand, which I will get back to you about, but for now you need to step back and give yourself a break, Matilda. Oliver has manipulated the hell out of you, not just with magic, and he wears one hell of a good nice-guy mask. Don’t waste your energy directing blame at the wrong person.” Erin leaned across and squeezed Matilda’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare do that to yourself.”
“I just feel so … weak.” Matilda looked at Erin and shook her head. “I’ve spent the last few years doing whatever I wanted to people, taking whatever I wanted from them, their friendship, their knowledge, their hard work. Now I know what it’s like. I deserve this.”
“No, Matilda. Okay, true, you are kind of mean, but, no, you don’t deserve it.”
Matilda smiled weakly at Erin, grateful for her honesty. “I’ve been taking my magic for granted, and now that he’s stolen part of it from me I can’t focus properly. I’m scared I can’t stop him, Erin.”
“We’ll find a way,” said Erin, her face serious. “We’ll stop him.”
Matilda nodded and took a deep breath just as footsteps started tapping down the spiral staircase.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Matilda and Erin looked up as Maura glided down the spiral staircase, holding a round tray in her hands. “I thought I heard your voices. Thought you could do with some refreshment.”
Maura stepped off the bottom step and walked around the table, placing the tray far away from the books. There were two tall mugs with plastic covers over the top of them and a plate of chocolate-covered cookies.
“Now, I’m very happy to have you girls here, but if you spill anything on these books or I find any crumbs inside the pages, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to, as Emily would say, lose my shit with you.” Matilda and Erin glanced at each other, both of them trying to suppress a smile. “Nevertheless, our craft requires sustenance, and here it is in the form of pumpkin spice lattes, with a little sprinkle of rosemary for focus and concentration, and dark chocolate cookies, with a bit of ginger for your taste buds.” Matilda’s stomach growled, and Maura smiled at her. “You’re welcome, my dear.”
Erin was the first to stand and go to the snack tray, making a big show of slowly lifting the mug to her mouth and blowing into the hole in the top before she took a sip, her eyes widening as she carefully put it back down.
“That’s officially in my top five of the most amazing things I’ve ever tasted,” she said.
“Well, keep a space for those cookies,” said Maura, turning back to the stairs. “How’s it going?”
Matilda opened her mouth to answer, but Erin jumped in first.
“My eyes are aching from all the tiny writing. Why’d they have to write so small in olden times? Or is it a witch thing?”
Maura smiled, lifted the tray back up, rested it on one of the chairs, then gestured for the girls to pick up their books and the blanket. She gripped the underside of the table and Erin and Matilda shoved backward as she suddenly lifted the tabletop like a lid on a hinged box. There were dozens of tiny compartments snug in the hollow of the table, each with a piece of colored fabric nestled inside and a different item sitting on top. Maura picked up a gold magnifying glass, its handle made of shiny mother-of-pearl, then handed it to Erin.
“Maybe this will help your young eyes.”
Maura lifted her hand to close up the table again and Matilda looked, her eyes taking a quick inventory of the objects that were hidden inside. There were brown knives and small ceramic pots, two poppets tied in an embrace, a lace handkerchief, a brass-handled mirror, crystals, and cracked green bottles with cork stoppers. Maura pressed the lid down firmly, then put the tray back on top, smiling at them both as if secret table compartments were the most normal thing in the world.
“Maura,” said Matilda, helping Erin replace the blanket and scarf, then gently putting the books on top of them, “what was all that stuff?”
“You’ve seen objects like that before, in your own home I expect?” said Maura. Matilda nodded. “That is all they are, items belonging to witches, probably some of them who wrote the words in these books.”
“Why do you have them?” said Matilda, reaching across the table and taking the magnifying glass from Erin.
“Hey!” said Erin. “Get your own magic magnifying glass.”
Maura watched Matilda turn the magnifying glass over in her hands. “These are the tools of witches that once were, Matilda. They were each infused with the soul of the witch who owned them, helping them along their path. I found some of them on my search for these books; others have found me. Some items I was able to reunite with the witch’s family, but some remain lost. I keep them here, safe in the company of the books. Maybe that’s where they belong, if nowhere else.”
Matilda remembered finding Ivy’s athame, the connection she felt as she held it in her hand at the bottom of the well. It was almost as if it had wanted to be found so Matilda could use it. Ivy seemed to keep speaking to Matilda, but she just couldn’t quite make out her words. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her tired shoulders back, looking around at the hundreds of books that surrounded them.
“Not going well?” said Maura.
Matilda looked at the woman, her open face and long skirt reminding her of her grandmother when her body wasn’t too frail to chase Matilda around the herb garden and she still had her voice. Matilda shook her head.
“This is an amazing collection, but I don’t really know where to start because I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”
“Well, are there any books in here that speak to you, Matilda?”
“Yes, Ivy’s does.”
“Of course,” said Maura, smiling. “She speaks to all of us.”
Matilda frowned at the open book, then looked at Maura.
“Maura, do you know anything about stealing magic from another witch?”
“Siphoning magic?” confirmed Maura. Matilda nodded and she went on. “To take a witch’s power for yourself is an extremely dark deed. Someone siphoning is positively wrapped up in the most negative kind of magic there is. It’s unforgivable.”
“Siphoning!” exclaimed Erin. “That was one of the words I didn’t understand.”
“What about the person they’ve taken the magic from, can they get it back?” said Matilda, ignoring Erin.
“Impossible,” said Maura, then, after Matilda’s shoulders sagged, she added, “almost.”
“So, a witch who’s had her magic siphoned can get it back?”
“Not quite, my dear, but perhaps a witch could borrow some magic from someone else.”
“But isn’t that the same as siphoning?”
“Not if the other party is willing and you ask nicely. It really is just borrowing, though; the witch will want it back.”
Matilda folded her arms, trying to make sense of Maura’s words. Magic was the only way she could stop Oliver, and if her own magic had weakened, perhaps borrowing it from another witch was the only way.
“But I don’t know any other witches,” she said, more to herself than the others, thinking she couldn’t possibly go to her mother or explain this to Nanna May.
“What a
bout Katrina?” said Erin.
Matilda straightened up and nodded, looking at Maura.
“Lineage?” Maura asked. Matilda shook her head. “Then no. I have no issue with the learned, but their magic doesn’t flow through them in a constant the way it does for lineage witches. Ours is there all the time. A learned has to make their own.”
“Doesn’t seem very fair; they can take from you, but you can’t take from them.” Erin looked at Matilda. “There must be someone else?”
Matilda shook her head and looked at Maura.
“Oh, there is, Matilda. You just need to ask them. Or invite them.”
“You mean, you?” asked Matilda hopefully.
Maura put her hand on her chest and laughed. “Oh, my dear, I need all my magic, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t understand, then,” said Matilda, starting to feel like she’d actually get more sense out of Nanna May.
“You will, my dear, and I will say one more thing, for some secrets are made to be discovered and not passed on by others: Should you find another who is willing to loan you their magic, you must be absolutely honest with them.”
“Honest with them?”
“They like to see who they’re sharing with. You must show them your true face.”
“My true face?” said Matilda, glancing at Erin’s own completely confused face before she looked back at Maura. “I still don’t understand.”
“You must let the mask drop, Matilda,” said Maura, smiling gently at Matilda as her eyes ran across her face. “Enough from me; this is your journey. I will leave you to it.”
“Um, thank you, Maura,” said Matilda.
“You’re welcome; mind what I said about the crumbs, though,” said Maura, winking at Matilda before she ascended the staircase and left them alone with their research.
Erin waited a few seconds after the swishes of Maura’s long skirt had disappeared into the shadows before she turned to Matilda, her face a picture of utter confusion.
“Did you get any of that?” asked Erin.
Matilda let Maura’s words swirl around her head, not quite settling into any kind of logical order but also feeling somehow familiar.
“I’m not sure. I think, maybe?”
“So, what does she mean?”
“I think we need to keep looking.”
“Well, I definitely require cookies, then,” said Erin, picking one up from the plate and taking a massive bite, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. “Number one. This cookie is number one in my top five. I should have four more to give them all a place, too. It’s the least they deserve.”
Matilda smelled her latte, the aroma of Halloween and autumn twirling its fingers around the smell of rosemary, an herb she had used as a young witch to improve her memory for math tests, a purer use of magic before she started gathering hidden scars to get what she wanted. She shook her head at the thought, knowing that her lack of respect for the rules of her craft and selfish use of her family’s gift was exactly what got her into the situation she was in.
She took a sip of the latte, closing her eyes and letting its warmth travel down into her soul.
“Good, huh?”
“So good. But come on. We need to keep looking,” said Matilda, shoving a whole cookie into her mouth as she went back to her seat.
“It would help if we knew what we were looking for,” said Erin, a sigh escaping as she looked around the room.
“I’ll know when we find it. Just keep looking.”
“Is that what he was doing to you, then? Stealing your magic?”
Matilda nodded. “Among other things.”
“Asshole,” muttered Erin. She closed the book she’d been looking at. “Well, I don’t think there’s anything in this one. It’s just some old woman going on about her pet ferret. I mean, it’s all she ever writes about. There’s drawings of it, too.”
“It was probably her familiar,” said Matilda, turning the page of Ivy’s book, wondering what Ivy’s familiar was.
“Familiar? I thought they had to be cats? Katrina got a cat. Called it Fairuza.”
“Your learned witch girlfriend thought she needed a familiar? That’s cute,” said Matilda, rolling her eyes.
“Hey, watch it.”
“Sorry,” said Matilda, “just a little oversensitive about the amateurs, I guess.”
Erin stood up and returned the book to its place, then walked along the shelves until she found another. Matilda tried to ignore the sound of the chain jingling as her eyes ran over Ivy’s words, tripping over the curls and curves of handwriting from a different time. A few beats of silence past before Erin’s chair scraped back again and Matilda looked up, her lips pursed.
“What now?”
“It’s the smell of the lattes. I need another slurp.” She went around to the tray and took another drink, then hurried back to her chair. “Seriously, so good and Maura was right; I really feel like it’s helping me focus.”
“Right,” said Matilda, raising her eyebrows and looking back down at the book.
“What’s this?” asked Erin, sliding the book around so Matilda could see a sketched figure on the page.
Matilda sighed and looked at the drawing, obviously a woman from the dresses and curves, with crosses drawn over her hands and a zigzag across where her mouth would be. She looked at Erin, then back at her own book, rubbing her temple as she tried to concentrate.
“It’s what they used to do to witches around here.” Matilda could feel Erin watching her, about to pounce with more questions. “They would break each one of their fingers so they couldn’t prepare a spell, sew their mouth shut so they couldn’t speak any magic, and then they would kill them.”
“Oh,” said Erin.
“Yeah. Oh.”
Erin turned another page, and there was a minute of quiet until something on the page prompted another question.
“Why pumpkins for Halloween? I mean, where did it all come from?”
“Oh my God, Erin, stop, please,” said Matilda, pressing her palms together and looking at Erin with wide, pleading eyes. “I’m really trying to concentrate, and this isn’t exactly helping.”
Erin put her hands up. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just, like, so intrigued by all of this. Didn’t mean to get off topic.”
“Thank you.”
Matilda rubbed her eyes, trying to ignore the cookies that were staring at her and continued to leaf through Ivy’s book, Maura’s words still lingering in the back of her mind each time she turned a page. She was certain there was something hidden between the sketches and notes that would help, but she just wasn’t seeing it. A few minutes passed until Erin’s voice nudged into her concentration again.
“So, this is from, like, two hundred years ago and this witch, Doris something, is obsessed with the first of November. The day after Halloween?” said Erin. Matilda nodded, not looking up from her book. “I thought Halloween would be a biggie for witches?”
Matilda sighed. “It is; it’s just more like Christmas Eve. The next day is just as special.”
“So, you do celebrate Halloween?” asked Erin. Matilda nodded, trying to concentrate on Ivy’s words. “Like we do? Nonwitches, I mean.”
“Of course, mainly. Everything you do to celebrate has some of our traditions at its core. We have pumpkins everywhere and there’s a big meal but we spend it as a family rather than going out with friends,” said Matilda, yearning to be back at Ferly Cottage being fed by Nanna May at her favorite time of year.
“That’s why you would never come trick-or-treating with me?” asked Erin. Matilda nodded—she had always been sad that she never got to join in with the other children, but her dad said the way they played with magic at Halloween was embarrassing. “So, what happens on the first of November, then?”
Matilda sighed, thinking that asking Erin for help wasn’t a good idea after all. “I haven’t got time for this, Erin. Maybe you should get Katrina to learn about this stuff and then you can quiz her.”
; Erin fixed Matilda with a look of disappointment, then bent back over the book. Matilda took a deep breath and looked down at her own when Erin’s voice floated across the table.
“At the stroke of the witching hour on the first day of November, the veil of death floats away on the autumn winds and we may converse with our long dead shadows. The spirits are free to visit as they did in breath and we embrace them as they are family.” Erin juddered in her seat. “Urgh, creepy.”
“Well, you wanted to know what it was all about.”
“So, witch spirits actually come back on the first of November?”
“Yes, but, Erin, seriously, please can you just…” Matilda froze, hairs standing on the back of her neck as if Ivy herself were leaning over her shoulder. Matilda sat straight in her chair and looked at the book in front of Erin, her eyes wide and her fingers twitching as adrenaline coursed through her body. “Keep reading.”
“But you said…”
“Keep. Reading,” said Matilda, sparks flying in her head.
“Okay, okay. Jeez,” said Erin, bending over the book again. “We ask of them on this day to share their guidance and protection, for they know of our struggle and our enemies. As the night bathes us with its hour of protection, this is when we call them, this is when we seek them, this is when we ask them.” Erin sat back and looked up at Matilda, her eyebrows pinched together. “What’s old Doris going on about?”
Matilda leaned over Ivy’s book and flicked back to the page at the front she’d seen when Maura handed it to her the first time. There were her words, written down almost as if they were a message from the past. My power will never snuff out like a flame. I am the wind that blows that flame, and I am here for my daughters and my daughters’ daughters.
Sparks set off inside Matilda’s head, and she held her breath as she put the pieces of a shattered mirror back together in the hope she would be able to see. Her shaking hands turned the pages of the book, gently but quickly trying to find another page that she had absentmindedly flicked past, dismissing it as old magic that was irrelevant to her.
Mark of the Wicked Page 26
