“You deserved everything I did to you, including that stupid bird,” growled Oliver, his jaw clenching around each word as his muscles became tighter and tighter.
Matilda raised her eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have come back here, Oliver. You shouldn’t have come back to my town or back to Ferly Cottage. Yes, you stole my magic from me, but my family is happy to share, and this is the best time of year to do it. If you weren’t such a bottom-feeding beginner, you’d know a few facts about witches, one of which is that we like to keep our dead close.”
Matilda turned her palms upward and tilted her head back as if she were calling out to the moon.
“Sisters of my sisters, mothers of my mothers, I call to you this Halloween witching hour. Share with me your love and power so I may punish one who has disrespected our ways and our magic. Lend me yours in the absence of my own, which he tore from me. Hear me, family, as I show you my face so you may pledge your power and I may put the balance right.”
Matilda lifted her shaking hands to her face and closed her eyes, sucking down her breath as she prepared to drop the veil that she’d spent the last three years building to hide the things she’d done. She knew it was a fair trade, that the spirits of her ancestors deserved to see the true face of the young witch they might share their magic with, but she was terrified of revealing what was hidden beneath the facade.
“I offer you my truth,” she said into her hands. “See me, sisters, see my pain so that I may draw from yours.”
Relief rippled across Matilda’s skin as though the pain seared into her face was blown away on a breeze. She’d forgotten what it had felt like before, to not carry the agony around with her, and for a moment she was overcome, until she felt a warm trail of blood trickle down her cheek and she remembered what the sudden absence of pain actually meant.
She lowered her hands. Oliver tried to scream, his frozen muscles making the sound even more terrifying as it screeched from within his throat.
“I may not be the wicked thing that Nanna May was warning me about, Oliver, but I’m pretty damn close,” hissed Matilda. She shook her head, feeling a crimson waterfall trickling down her face as each of the names reopened her skin, pieces of flesh hanging between each letter. “I’m ashamed of what I’ve done to get these names on my face, but I’m not ashamed of who I am. You messed with the wrong witch.”
The night took a breath. Animals stopped to listen, and the wind held still as the flames inside the pumpkins blinked out one by one up the path and into the garden room. Magic rushed through Matilda’s veins, creeping up her neck and tingling at the end of her fingertips as Oliver panted, his eyes wide in panic. The shadow Oliver had made in Matilda’s soul shrank as it refilled with magic. Not her magic; something much older, more powerful.
“The ground we’re standing on is charged with the power and suffering of my ancestors and they really don’t like you messing with one of their daughters. I can feel them, Oliver, I can feel them gifting my veins with pure, ancient magic, and right now I feel so powerful that if I had a broomstick, I think I could fly.” Matilda tilted her head and smiled. “It’s hard to tell because you can’t move, but you’re either pissed off or terrified. Maybe both.”
“P-p-please … I…,” panted Oliver through clenched teeth.
Matilda put her finger to her lips.
“Shhh. The witch is talking.”
Matilda felt unseen hands rest gently on her shoulders and arms, letting her know that she wasn’t alone and those long buried had come to lend her the strength to stop Oliver. Tears fell from her eyes and her limbs shook as she embraced the new, old power inside her.
“Remember I told you what they did to us when they found out who we were? So scared of our power, they would hold a witch down, break every one of her fingers so she couldn’t grind her ingredients for a spell, then they would take a sharp needle and sew her mouth closed so she couldn’t utter a single charm. And then they would kill her.”
Tears streamed down Oliver’s cheeks as Matilda let her words sink in.
“So, I figured, what goes around comes around,” said Matilda. “Don’t worry, though, Oliver, not the killing part. Death is too good for you.”
A gust of wind whipped through the open doors, sending books and glass bottles tumbling to the floor of the garden room, but Oliver couldn’t move against the invisible forces that were still holding him.
“Hear me, sisters. I see this wickedness before me and I bind it from stirring a potion or grinding a powder beneath a rock.” Matilda fixed her eyes on Oliver. “A click for each of your fingers.”
She clicked her fingers once, not even flinching at the sound of cracking bones as Oliver screamed from within the prison of his body. She clicked again, and the screaming intensified as she glanced at his hands, both his thumbs and index fingers sticking out at unnatural angles. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and Matilda clicked a third time, then a fourth, and one final click so that every one of his fingers were broken.
Her coven watched as Matilda shook her hands out and then looked at Oliver again.
“I see this wickedness before me and I silence it so it may not utter a single word of magic. A needle through your lips.”
Matilda pinched her index finger and thumb together on both hands, raising them up level with her eyes. She bent her head forward, so she was looking at Oliver from beneath her eyebrows, like an angry bull ready to charge. Slowly, she moved her fingers up and down, up and down as if she were sewing an invisible thread through the air.
Oliver whimpered as his lips slowly pulled together in an unnatural grimace and his eyes squeezed closed as tiny pinpricks of blood sprang above and below his lips. Muffled sobs escaped through his nose as his mouth was sewn together by the invisible thread sending tracks of blood flowing down his chin. Matilda brushed her hands together and walked forward until she was almost nose to nose with Oliver, still with the firm weight of her ancestors’ hands on her shoulders.
“Use the weapons of our enemies against them. I read that somewhere, Oliver. And take a close look,” whispered Matilda, pointing to her face. “No new scar. Guess someone thinks I’m doing a good thing here.”
Tears pooled in Oliver’s eyes as he blinked at Matilda and dropped to his knees.
“One more thing, Oliver. This hand is for Ashley, and this one is for Genie.” Matilda circled her fingers around Oliver’s hands, his eyes closing tight in agony as she squeezed his broken bones together. “And silencing your cruel mouth? That’s for everything you did to me.”
Oliver slumped into a heap on his side. He stared back at her, the invisible stitches pulling his lips together and the blood trickling down his chin making him look like the monster he was, but she saw something new in his bloodshot eyes.
Fear.
She crouched down next to him and clasped her fingers together.
“You can stop now,” she called to her coven, and the voices outside disappeared into the darkness. “For as long as your lips remain stitched and your fingers are broken, you can’t do a spark of magic, but I’m going to offer you a deal. My coven has stopped holding you still, so you can move now, Oliver, but I want you to think very carefully about what your next move is going to be.”
Matilda could still feel her ancestors behind her, nodding at her every word.
“I’ll remove your fate from your face and your hands, but then you walk out that door and you leave my town, Oliver,” said Matilda. “You leave and you don’t stop going until you’re far away from here and from anyone else. Do you understand?”
Oliver blinked and nodded.
“But know this,” said Matilda, leaning in closer to Oliver so he could look into her eyes and see how much power she had at that moment, “if you even think about a spell or open a magic book, I will know. They will know.”
Matilda looked up, and Oliver followed her gaze to the windows of the garden room. In the reflection of the glass stood dozens of women, crowding around Matil
da and filling the room behind her. Some of them were hunched with age and some stood tall, wearing cloaks and holding broomsticks, their familiars perched on their shoulders or curling around their legs. The ones close behind Matilda had their arms outstretched and rested their hands on her shoulders.
Oliver gasped and shuffled backward on the floor, looking between Matilda and the windows as the women slowly lifted their hands and pointed at him.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Oliver? Do you understand what we’re saying?”
Oliver nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the generations of witches who had sealed his fate. Matilda stood up and lifted her hands.
“Undo this one’s curse so that he may speak and use his hands once more.”
Matilda clapped her hands together. The invisible thread tore from Oliver’s mouth and his fingerbones snapped back into place. He threw his head back and a guttural scream filled the room as he was finally able to release his pain.
He pulled himself up, barely able to stand at his full height as he stared with wide eyes at the dozens of witches still watching him. He shuffled backward until he got to the doorway, then looked at Matilda, fear etched in his ashen face but sparks of anger still flashing in his eyes. He opened his quivering mouth a fraction, but Matilda lifted a finger and shook her head.
“Just because I’ve let you speak again, don’t think it means you get to say what you want without consequence.” Matilda folded her arms and Oliver closed his mouth. “Get the hell out, and don’t trip over a pumpkin on your way.”
Oliver glared at Matilda and the witches who stood behind her, then stumbled into the night, something unseen slamming the door behind him. The hands that had been guiding Matilda left her shoulders and the crackling possibility of the magic they had shared suddenly disappeared. She stumbled back and dropped to the ground.
They had taken back their magic, just as Maura said they would, and the shadow inside her was still there. Matilda lay on her back and put her hands to her forehead, staring up at the ceiling and hoping that the spirits of her ancestors could still hear her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She hauled herself up and went outside to check on the others. The fairy lights on her roof began twinkling, and Matilda peered into the darkness as she sensed something coming toward her on the wind. Tree branches cracked together, the door slammed, and she was thrust backward into the air, panicking until she felt the wind embrace her, holding her light as a feather, stiff as a board a few feet above the ground. Something tingled from the tips of her fingers all the way to the magicless shadow inside her until it filled the void with energy, all over again.
The force that had levitated her brought her back down to the ground, resting her on the crunchy leaves of autumn. Suddenly, the barren cherry blossom trees awoke from their sleep, green leaves unfurling from their crooked fingertips, sprouting tiny green buds that burst open into pink flowers. Matilda watched the flowers blossom then burst from the ends of the branches, their petals drifting to the ground.
Daisies sprouted and daffodils bloomed before their petals puffed from their stems and drifted on the wind. The flowers’ scent weaved through the autumn air as they went through their cycles in seconds.
Footsteps crept around the garden room and Matilda could feel the world slowing down as she watched four green hooded cloaks hurry toward her.
“Matilda?” said Erin, pushing her hood back. “You okay? What happened?”
Matilda smiled as Katrina and Sean pulled their hoods back, peering down at her with concerned eyes, both of them still holding their candles.
“It worked,” whispered Matilda. “You did it.”
“We did it,” said Erin. “Gravewick Coven 2021, thank you very much!”
Erin held up her hand, and Matilda tried to do the same, smiling as Erin gave her a gentle high five.
“Oh my God, you’re covered in blood!” gasped Katrina, kneeling down at Matilda’s side. Her eyes flew across Matilda’s chest and face. “Are you okay? I can’t see where it’s coming from?”
Matilda blinked. Her heart began clanging in her chest as she looked into Katrina’s eyes, not seeing a single ounce of fear as she looked back. Matilda swallowed and slowly lifted a hand to her own face, her fingers shaking as they brushed against her skin, skin perfectly smooth and clear of a single letter to warn the world of what she was.
Matilda sucked in a breath as she looked around at Erin.
“Is my face … are they there?” she asked.
Erin smiled and shook her head. “There’s nothing there, Matilda. Looks like you’ve been given a clean slate.”
Matilda fell back and ran both hands over her face, remembering what she felt like as a young witch before all the scars, seeing the possibilities and the gifts in a world of magic. She bit her lip and whispered her gratitude into the wind.
“What the hell?” said Officer Powell, the fourth candle bearer, pushing her hood back and frowning at the brambles that covered the garden room.
A green shoot snaked out of the dirt and up through the brambles that had covered Matilda’s garden room over the last few weeks. It wove through the branches, sure and steady, until it reached the top and worked its way over the roof. More of them shot up from the dirt and twisted around the brambles until it was submerged in the new plant.
The sky flashed with lightning, and they could all see tiny buds forming on the vines, growing into dark green star-shaped leaves.
“It’s her,” laughed Matilda.
“Who?” asked Sean.
“Ivy,” said Matilda. “She’s healed my scars and given me her magic. She’s letting me keep it so I can start again and use it right this time.”
Erin and Katrina helped Matilda up, and the coven watched as hundreds of ivy leaves unfurled from the vines, covering the entire garden house until there wasn’t an inch of the brambles left in sight.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Nearly a year later
“You two are hopeless at this.”
Neither Erin nor Katrina looked up from the barrel, both of them frowning and sticking their tongues out of the corners of their mouths as they stabbed at the apples with the small knives in their hands.
“You do it, then, if you’re such an expert,” muttered Erin, sucking in a breath as an apple bobbed away from the end of her knife.
“I can’t, not while I’ve got Ivy-May,” said Matilda.
Katrina dropped her knife and held out her hands.
“My turn, then; I’ll have her.”
Matilda turned away and kissed the top of her baby sister’s head.
“She’s sleeping.”
“Baby hogger,” Katrina said. “We’re still coming over to help babysit tomorrow night, though, right? I’m officially requesting lots of cuddle time then.”
Matilda nodded. “Mom and Michael are out for dinner then the movies, so it’ll be us, Ivy-May, and Nanna May.”
Erin whipped around to Matilda, her eyebrows raised.
“And Nanna May’s bread rolls, cheese-and-bacon potato skins, and toffee popcorn bark, right? Right? You did ask her?”
“Don’t panic; I put your order in.”
Erin’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s going to be the perfect Halloween night, in a real witch’s cottage, stuffing our faces while we watch Hocus Pocus with Ivy-May, then The Craft after she’s gone to bed. Oh my God,” she sighed, “I’m in a food coma just thinking about it.”
Matilda smiled at her friends and put her arms around the baby carrier, giving Ivy-May a little squeeze. Erin’s description didn’t sound that different from most of their other weekends, but she was still looking forward to it. She adjusted Ivy-May’s little green pom-pom hat and turned to watch the rest of the festivities just as someone called her name.
Lottie and Michael, Ivy-May’s dad (nicknamed The Beard by Erin), walked toward them with armfuls of steaming drinks and paper bags of deliciousness, followed by Nanna May hunche
d over a stroller that was nearly the same height as she was and crammed with fluffy blankets.
“Here you go,” said Michael, handing Erin and Katrina their drinks as they muttered thank-yous and concentrated on stabbing the apples.
“Here’s yours,” said Lottie, holding out a cup to Matilda and frowning at her. “Are you going to take it?”
“I can’t; I’ve got Ivy-May.”
“Give her to me, then,” said Lottie, handing Michael the drink and going to take the baby carrier off Matilda.
“But she’s all snoozy and cozy on me.”
Lottie rolled her eyes. “And she can be snoozy and cozy on her mommy. Come on, Matilda, you definitely get big sister of the year, but you can go off duty for one night and enjoy the festival with your friends.”
Nanna May appeared in front of Matilda and began undoing the straps with the nimble fingers of someone who spent her life adding pinches of secret ingredients to brews and potions. Matilda felt the warmth of her sister pulled from her body and watched Nanna May tuck the little baby up into the folds of the stroller, away from the biting autumn air.
“Right, we’re going to wander around the rest of the festival and then get this little squish home. You have money?” said Lottie. Matilda nodded. “Text me when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll come get you.”
“It’s fine, Mom. We don’t mind walking.”
“And I don’t mind driving you girls home.”
Matilda nodded as Lottie and Michael, who was still giving Matilda just the right amount of respect and distance as they slowly found their footing with each other, walked alongside Nanna May pushing the stroller past the crowds. Despite knowing that her friends were safe right next to her and her family was heading home, the nagging sense of fear Matilda felt for those close to her nipped at her soul.
Mark of the Wicked Page 28
