Tamsin had gone white as a sheet.
“Come on.” Without thinking, Wren reached for Tamsin’s hand. It was a testament to the witch’s state that she did not protest; she merely allowed herself to be led. The trees were spindly and thin, hardly big enough to give them cover. But Wren wanted to keep hidden, wanted to protect Tamsin from the footsteps, the endless clacking that filled the air.
They crowded behind the largest trunk Wren could find, their shoulders pressed together, their hands still intertwined. Wren tried to steady her shaky breathing, but whether the root of it was fear or her proximity to the witch, she couldn’t tell.
“It’s all right,” Wren whispered quietly, even as the clacking got louder. Even as she knew her reassurance was a lie. Tamsin was battling memories, was haunted by her past at every turn. Wren wanted to save her, but she didn’t know how.
Then something nudged her other hand, something smooth and hard and cold. The white bone of a deer’s antler.
Wren screamed as the skeleton scout shoved her, sending both Wren and the witch tumbling out into the open. They landed in a heap, their faces close, Tamsin’s body pressed against hers. Wren hardly noticed the branch digging into her back. She was enchanted by the witch’s lips. They were rounded in a small O of surprise, so close Wren could feel her hot breath on her cheek. For a moment Wren forgot about the woods around them, the skeletons, Arwyn, the plague. For a moment there was only Tamsin.
The witch’s eyes searched hers, the air between them hushed and stilted. The magic between them thick enough to slice.
And then Arwyn cleared her throat, the bones of her skeleton lackeys clacking together as they settled.
“Well, well, well,” she said, her voice sharp as a winter wind whistling through bare branches. Her skin was as translucent as morning frost, her hair shorn down to her skull. Her green eyes glittered in the weak light of her lantern, just as icy as the rest of her. “What do we have here?”
NINETEEN TAMSIN
They were done for.
Tamsin felt it in the way Wren shifted beneath her. Knew it before she even looked into the tracker’s eyes. There was no warmth there, nor had she expected there to be. Arwyn was precise. Exacting. Detached. She always had been. When Tamsin was a child, she’d been in awe of the woman, the way she carried herself, the authority she radiated. She was the only witch in the world who dared to enter Vera’s chambers without an appointment.
That reverence was gone now. It wasn’t that Tamsin resented Arwyn for turning her in—the Coven existed for the sole purpose of preventing the spread of dark magic, after all. Arwyn had only been doing her job. It was that Tamsin was embarrassed to have been caught by the witch she had respected most in the world. It was the way Arwyn’s face had twisted in disgust as she took in the twelve-year-old’s haggard appearance. As though Tamsin were not just a fool, but a stranger. The disappointment in her voice had hurt worse than any of her harsh words.
There was no trace of that disappointment now as the woman towered over the two of them lying in a crumpled heap on the forest floor. Now there was only anger, white hot like an iron in the fire. Tamsin scrambled to her feet, putting as much distance as possible between herself and Wren.
She focused on Arwyn’s boots, trying to put aside the strange fluttering in her chest. Trying to forget the feeling of her body pressed against Wren’s—a body that was soft and warm and had stirred something guttural and deep and desperate within her. She wanted to know what it meant, and, perhaps more important, how it was possible that she could feel anything at all.
“Hello,” Tamsin finally said, meeting the older witch’s eyes with as much dignity as she could muster.
Arwyn snorted. Apparently, Tamsin hadn’t had much dignity to work with.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
Tamsin was startled to find that Arwyn was actually expecting an answer. Usually, the tracker’s questions were rhetorical. She knew everything that happened Within and wanted everyone to know it. It was off-putting, watching the woman wrestle with her curiosity.
“We’re here to hunt,” Wren piped up, cheeks still burning red.
Tamsin shot her a sharp look. The girl did not know how to read a room.
Arwyn’s mouth split into an empty smile. “Are you, now?” Her eyes silently appraised Wren, her patchwork clothes, her pink cheeks and freckled nose and eager eyes, bright and defiant. Tamsin felt suddenly protective of the source, resented how Arwyn’s gaze lingered on Wren’s too-big boots. As though her appearance somehow made her unworthy of respect.
“Yes,” Wren squeaked, although she didn’t sound particularly certain.
“Interesting.” Arwyn moved her icy eyes back to Tamsin. “And who approved this?” Her fingers twitched as though ready to issue a binding spell, ready to clap iron around Tamsin’s wrists and haul her back to the academy.
“The High Councillor.” Tamsin hated the way her voice shook.
Arwyn’s nearly invisible eyebrows shot up. “Vera knows you’re here?”
Anyone who did not know the tracker could not have detected the hurt in her voice, but Tamsin knew her, had spent so many years studying her mannerisms and her tone. Arwyn felt betrayed. Vera had kept the truth a secret, had turned to her daughter in her time of need. It sparked something within Tamsin, something almost hopeful.
Perhaps she did still have a family after all.
“Yes.” When Tamsin spoke again, her voice was stronger. She pulled the hunting license from her cloak pocket and offered it to the tracker as proof. Her hand did not waver.
Arwyn’s expression soured. Behind her, her bone army clacked menacingly. Somewhere, far away, a bird called.
“I told your mother she was making a mistake when she banished you. I told her to kill you.”
Tamsin had hoped her curse would make her impervious to that sort of hurt. But of course she felt it, every sinking inch of pain. It wasn’t that she thought Arwyn was wrong. It was that she wondered if she was right.
If she had been killed, as precedent required, none of this would be happening. Marlena would not have summoned the plague. Dark magic would not be ravaging the earth. Arwyn would not be looking at her with renewed disdain.
“Well, she’s alive,” Wren piped up, her voice stronger this time, “and she’s probably your best chance of finding this dark witch. So you should really let us get on with it.” She glanced over at Tamsin appreciatively. Tamsin felt a flood of warmth. Wren knew everything, all her twisted, messy pieces, and believed in her anyway. Wren’s voice silenced some of the doubt racing through Tamsin’s head.
If Tamsin had died, Marlena would not have lived. Wren would not be standing here, eyes blazing with a fire Tamsin had never before seen. For better or for worse, Tamsin was here. Alive. She had made her mistakes.
Now she had the opportunity to fix some of them.
“Our best chance?” Arwyn’s eyes pooled with pity. “Where did you find her?” she asked Tamsin with an empty smile. “She seems to be quite the yappy little guard dog.”
“I’m simply stating the truth,” Wren said, her bravado wavering slightly. “Just because you’re too arrogant to see it doesn’t mean it isn’t fact.”
Arwyn’s hands balled into fists. Tamsin took a step toward Wren as though to shield her from the witch’s wrath. But Arwyn merely chuckled.
“You think I’d waste my time on the likes of you two?” Her bone army rustled and settled. “If your mother had killed you when I told her to, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But she betrayed me, betrayed all of us when she let you go. Our authority was tossed right out the window. And now there’s someone else out there, testing our limits. Trying to see how much they can get away with.”
Tamsin swallowed thickly, guilt roiling in her stomach. Arwyn was right, of course. She was always right.
“Rules are in place for a reason,” she continued sharply. “After Evangeline, the Coven made a promise to hold witches to the highest st
andard. To never waver. But your mother did. And I can never forgive her for that.” Arwyn exhaled, long and loud. “Do you think this is what I wanted? To monitor the activity of witches, making sure they don’t take advantage of ordinary folk? Do you think I enjoy scouring the world for nonconsensual love spells?” She raised her eyebrows at Tamsin. “I could have become more. We all could have. But we made a promise, for the good of the world. For the good of all witches. And you broke that.”
“I’m sorry,” Tamsin said finally, her hand resting on the pocket that held her sister’s diary. “I know it doesn’t matter, that it doesn’t change anything, but I am. I wish I hadn’t done it, but I did. That’s the reason I came back: to help make things right.”
The tracker rolled her eyes. “You have your mother’s sentimentality. I told Vera that letting you live was a mistake, but she never listens to me when it really matters, does she?” Arwyn sniffed. “She must be rather desperate to have let you back Within. And this is how you repay her kindness.” Her eyes flitted from Tamsin to Wren and back again. “Fooling around on the forest floor while the world falls to pieces. She always expected more of you than she should have. One daughter a disappointment, the other a disgrace.” Arwyn pursed her lips thoughtfully as another breeze blew through the empty trees. “I’ll let you two get back to it, then. Don’t trip over my scouts again unless you’ve got something useful to share.”
Arwyn pulled a small ivory flute from her belt and began an eerie song that made Tamsin’s teeth ache. The skeleton herd jumped to attention, following as she turned away, bone clacking against bone. Her herd still gave Tamsin the heebie-jeebies. They had been with Arwyn for years, but Tamsin had never been able to figure out how the witch commanded bone with such ease. Despite all her prowess, Tamsin could not move so much as a mouse’s skull.
“Well,” Wren said finally, once the footsteps had grown silent, “now I know why you looked so frightened.”
“And that was Arwyn in a good mood.” Tamsin knew she was being flippant, but it was easier than letting the tracker’s words hurt.
“She’s terrifying, I can’t imagine how you…” Wren trailed off and cocked her head. Listening. “What’s wrong with the trees?”
Tamsin couldn’t hear a thing. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Look”—Wren rolled up her sleeves—“I have goose bumps.”
Tamsin took in Wren’s freckled skin, the tiny pinpricks of cold or fear or both that rose on its surface. For some indescribable reason, she started to wonder about all the skin she couldn’t see.
“Tamsin.” Wren’s voice had gone sharp and high-pitched, the way it did when she was afraid. “Please. The trees are silent. It’s worse than when they scream. It’s like I’m trying to breathe underwater. Everything’s muffled. I want to get out of here.”
She grabbed Tamsin’s arm right where the Coven’s sigil had been stripped from her. It was the reason Tamsin kept her skin covered, a visible reminder of what her impulsivity had wrought. But beneath Wren’s touch, Tamsin did not feel the scar’s weight. Instead she felt a spark of possibility. Of redemption.
And so Tamsin nodded, wrapped an arm around Wren’s waist, and guided her out of the wood.
* * *
She heard the sea before she saw it. The roaring in her ears drowned out her doubt, overpowered the churning nerves causing her hands to shake and her palms to sweat.
“I feel terrible.” Wren’s voice nearly floated away with the wind.
“Why?” Tamsin turned to her, surprised. “What did you do?”
Wren frowned. “I didn’t do anything. I mean, my stomach hurts. I think I’m going to vomit.”
Tamsin wrinkled her nose. “Please don’t.”
Wren shot her a sharp look. “Well, obviously I’m not going to if I can help it. There’s just this… clanging.” She waved her hand around wildly. “This… roaring I can’t seem to place, and the air is thick, and, oh!” She had turned toward the ocean, the little light from her lantern hardly bright enough to illuminate a single wave. “What is all that water?”
It took Tamsin a moment to realize that Wren had never seen the ocean before. “The… sea?”
Wren’s eyes grew wide, her nausea apparently forgotten. She scampered forward like a child, bent to cup ocean water in her hand. “It’s singing.” Wren turned, beaming beatifically. “It’s the nicest song. I’m sorry you can’t hear it.”
The airiness of her voice and the emptiness of her eyes were concerning. Tamsin yanked her away from the water. Wren had already wandered in ankle-deep.
“Your shoes are all wet now,” Tamsin said to stifle Wren’s protests. “If I hadn’t come to save you, you would have walked straight into the sea.”
“But the song. It was such a lovely song. The water only wanted me to add my voice to it.” Wren sounded dreamy, soft as a whisper. Then her face went slack. She stopped walking and vomited loudly onto the sand. Tamsin recoiled, pinching her nose.
Wren wiped her mouth, her face pale and slick with sweat. “Something is really wrong here.” Her eyes warily searched the coast, dotted with sloping sand dunes, littered with giant piles of gnarled driftwood stacked high as a wall. And, beyond that, something bigger. A light in the distance. “Do you think that’s her?”
A mixture of panic and excitement welled up in Tamsin’s chest as she moved toward the light. She scrambled and sank into the sand of the dune. Her legs screamed in frustration, her hands gripping the cold, silty grains in an attempt to steady herself. It was like trying to grab hold of a waterfall.
When Tamsin made it to the top, her excitement waned. There was a house… but perhaps calling it a house was too kind. It had the structure of a house—walls, doors, windows, roof—but the closer they came to it, the more apparent it was that it did not possess the sort of things that made a house livable. The front columns had crumbled away, the chimney was sunken, the doors had rusted hinges, and everything was coated with a thick layer of dust.
“Well, this looks promising.” Beside her, Wren shuddered out a giant gasping breath. She pressed a hand to her mouth, her whole body tensing before she doubled over and vomited again into the sand. Tamsin hurried behind her and drew Wren’s braid from over her shoulder, securing it far from harm’s way.
Wren righted herself. “Thanks,” she mumbled weakly. “It’s the sulfur. Do you smell it?”
The wind shifted, and suddenly Tamsin did. It was a terrible stench, the smell permeating every inch of her. She nearly vomited too. Instead she nodded, trying to cover both her nose and her mouth while still allowing air into her lungs.
“There’s so much dark magic here,” Wren said as they approached the house, her skin a sickly green in the weak light pouring through the grimy front window. “Your sister has to be here somewhere.” She looked as though she might faint.
Tamsin left footprints on the dusty front steps. She raised a fist to knock on the door, its wood weathered and worn. But before her knuckles had even grazed the door, it buckled, clattering from its useless hinges and falling to the ground with a crash louder than the waves.
A creeping sense of alarm slunk across the top of Tamsin’s head, oozing down like the globby, sticky white of an egg. She didn’t know what she would find when she finally came face-to-face with her sister. She didn’t know who this new Marlena would be. Still, there was nothing to do now but forge ahead. She took a tentative step into the entryway of the dilapidated house. Wren, with one hand covering her mouth, followed.
The interior was just as dismal as the exterior. Wooden beams, rotted by age and the salt of the sea, sagged and crumbled, leaving the ceiling so low Tamsin often had to duck. The floorboards were loose, several missing entirely. One board buckled when Wren set down a foot. Tamsin had to yank her by the elbow to keep her from falling through.
There were ripped curtains, upturned chairs, and broken windowpanes, but though they searched through the destruction and rubble of every room—even braving a
rickety staircase to the upper level—Marlena was nowhere to be found.
“I don’t understand.” Wren had curled up into a ball, her whole body shaking. “I can feel the dark magic. She should be right here.”
Tamsin took in the bent nails, broken glass, and shards of mirror, but there was nothing to indicate that her sister had ever been there. Marlena was just as elusive as she’d always been. Tamsin slumped to the floor, half with frustration, half with relief. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
She pulled the diary out of her pocket, but for once the black cover was sullen and still.
“What do you want from me?” she asked it, venom dripping from her every word.
Wren looked up from her knees, her eyes reflecting pools of pity. Tamsin’s best hadn’t been enough. She wasn’t enough. She never had been.
“Please?” Tamsin hated how weak she sounded. How young and vulnerable and afraid.
A gust of wind, the breeze scented with salt, blew through the broken window, ruffling Tamsin’s hair and rustling the pages of Marlena’s diary. The book fell open on her lap. Tamsin gasped, the sound like a hiss in the dark, dingy room. It felt too simple. A trick. A trap. But there were the words in her sister’s loopy hand, drawing her back in. Calling her name. Wren, her face still ghostly white, dragged herself closer to Tamsin, her hair tickling the witch’s cheek as they both leaned forward to read.
I almost didn’t bother to write. What can you say when you know you won’t live to write again tomorrow? It’s quite a bit of pressure, trying to make sure my final words are good enough. Not that I’d really know what good enough feels like. It’s always been me scraping by, clinging by my fingernails to the bottom of the rope, hanging on for dear life. I suppose, if nothing else, I’ll finally be able to relax. Stop trying too hard, even while I continue to end up exactly where I’ve always been.
Sweet & Bitter Magic Page 21
