Of Thorns and Hexes

by C. J. Canady

  “I’m aware, Elyse.” Vahilda removes piping hot bread from the stove and balances the glass dish between her hands, protected by oven mitts. “Don’t be rude; say hello.”

  “H-Hi,” is all I can muster before I race back to my room to grab the satin scarf Vahilda loaned to me. The fabric smells of roses as I quickly and sloppily wrap it around my head. Back in the dining room, I half-smile at Percy. “Hello again.”

  “Hello to you too.” Percy inhales the pink wine in his glass. “Perfection.” He kisses the tips of his fingers in praise. “Where o where did you find this Pink Elephant?”

  Vahilda, seated at the head of the square table, sips at the wine. “Yardenfeld.” She wets her lips and shudders. “This is quite foul, if you ask me. Humans aren’t the best at making wine.”

  “Yardenfeld?” Percy downs the wine, wipes his mouth. “Is that where you’ve been off too? And here I thought you found a mate.”

  Vahilda chuckles and rolls her eyes playfully.

  Seating myself, I look from Percy to Vahilda to, finally, the food. Sweet, buttered bread, seared swordfish, salt, and peppered Brussel sprouts. For dessert, marigold pie.

  “Serve yourself.” Vahilda hands me a glass plate from a stack. “We’ve got training in the morning.”

  “I take it your new accomplice is going to enter the Flower Trials?” Percy is on his fourth glass of wine but doesn’t seem to slur his words as he speaks.

  “Elyse will be joining the Flower Trials.” Vahilda carves the bread and plates a hot slice for herself. “She’ll be a last-minute entry. The Elite have no idea about her.”

  “How long have you been practicing magic?” Percy asks me.

  Holding up a finger as I chew on the delicious fish and swallow, I answer, “I haven’t.”

  He blinks at me. “Is she joking?” This question is aimed at Vahilda.

  “No. Only yesterday did Elyse find out she was a witch. And that she’s the daughter of Edwin—”

  Percy chokes on the wine and pounds on his chest for a few scary moments. Face red with embarrassment; he stares at me. “Y-You’re Edwin’s daughter. Goddess on a cracker am I gobsmacked.” He finishes off the remaining dregs of liquid and pushes his glass away. “I never knew he had a daughter.”

  “I never knew I had a father.” I shrug, then wipe my hand on my nightgown.

  “Aren’t you familiar with the birds and the bees?” Percy raises a golden eyebrow at me.

  I snort. “I take it wizards aren’t keen on jokes.”

  He pinches his lips into a thin line and slowly, strangely, regards Vahilda with a frazzled look. “Uh, yeah, a wizard.”

  “You should take your leave, Percy.” Vahilda steeples her fingers under her chin. “Stop by tomorrow morning for breakfast and a show.”

  He shakes his head. “No can do. I’ve got some bird watching to do.”

  “A wizard who watches birds?” I smile at him. Who knew wizards were so... normal?

  I can imagine that I’ll be surprised by just about everything and everyone in Parnissi. Nothing is as it seems here. No screams of terror. No eternal flame. It’s peaceful and quaint. Even the moonlight that slips through the open window is a beautiful spectacle to behold in this supposed underworld.

  Percy bows his head at me, and leaves us, two witches, to our lonesome. “Found your cat,” is all he says as the door slams, and Vahilda’s cat slinks around the corner, yellow eyes wide at the assortment of food.

  “He was... nice,” I say. “A little strange but nice.”

  “Stay away from boys.” Vahilda’s voice is charged with motherly concern. “Percy may be nice, and he may be cute, but, just like all boys, they only want one thing.” She squints her eyes to slits at me, resembling a snake. “The Flower Trials are your sole priority, Elyse. Boys will have to wait.”

  “What exactly are the Flower Trials,” I ask. My curiosity raises the small hairs on my arms. Vahilda has been on and on about the trials that it’s almost obsessive. “I know the winner will become an Elite—unless they’re a girl, of course.”

  Vahilda slams her hand on the table. I jump in my seat, knocking over my empty glass. “I am not one for jokes, Elyse. The Flower Trials are a matter of life and death.” My jaw drops, and I ready to interject with my concerned thoughts when she continues. “The Flower Trials are a rite of passage for witches and wizards who hope to become an Elite. There can only be one winner. The losers, some of the unlucky ones, are met with an early demise.”

  Jerking to my feet, I cup a hand on my collarbone. “You never said anything about dying, Vahilda. I can’t... I’m sorry.”

  “You can, and you will.” Vahilda stands; her looming shadow climbs up the walls and flickers in the candlelight. “I saved you, Elyse. Don’t make me go back on my word and send you back to that prison.”

  “You saved me only to tell me that I’m going to possibly die.”

  “If you do as I say, you will not die. Your fate is in your own hands and in mine.” She opens her palm to me, face up. “Trust me.”

  “No!” I hurry for the front door to escape this mad witch. But when I open the front door, Vahilda stands in my way like a prison guard. Her eyes bore into me, malicious and angry.

  Gripping my shoulders, the witch hisses in my ear. “Disobeying me will not get you far. You will do as I say or face the consequences.” A wave of her magical aura hums in the air, whirls around me like a deathly breeze. Vahilda is powerful, perhaps much more powerful than I could ever imagine. I wouldn’t dare cross a witch like her. Not now. Not ever.

  The witch draws in a breath and relaxes her shoulders. Grabbing my hand, she leads me to the loveseat and silently tells me to sit. Doing as she says, I clasp my trembling hands together as I watch her every move. She glides a finger over a selection of books on her shelf, removes one, and hands me the heavy thing. Family is spelled out on the front cover, and a picture of a man, woman, and two children, is glued to the center. It’s a picture book. Why has she given me a picture book?

  Vahilda, seated beside me, legs crossed, urges me to open the book. “I’ve been hiding something from you, Elyse.”

  Skimming through the photos worn by age and slightly fading away, I am greeted by the loving smiles of the same family on the cover. Each picture tells the story of a man and his wife, their son, and their daughter engaging in daily activities. From walks in the parks on a sunny day to extravagant birthdays to magical feats caught on film, I am puzzled for a few minutes until I begin to recognize the daughter. Vahilda.

  “Why are you showing me this?” I pause on a picture of her and her brother wielding unidentifiable flowers, noses pressed against blue petals. Vahilda says nothing. She wants me to figure this out on my own. But for what purpose? What does she want to reveal to me that she can’t say aloud?

  Vahilda sniffles, dabs her eyes with a cloth napkin. She’s worked up about these photos; her eyes are misty, sad even. I’m nearing the end of the photo book, only two pages left, two more chances for me to solve the mystery Vahilda wants me to unfold.

  My breath catches. The boy, now a grown man of about twenty years of age, is wreathed by a halo of light on a newspaper clipping. Edwin Marguerite, the headline reads, the wizard set to take Zerachael Duth’Kurr’s seat has passed beyond the veil. It’s my father’s obituary. It says he died under mysterious circumstances that only someone of magical blood could have done. There are no suspects. Not a witness to the crime. According to the obituary, Parnissi laws do not extend beyond the perimeter of thorns. Witches and Wizards, who are ordained officers, could not thoroughly investigate his death because my father perished in the human realm. So, in short, his death is an unsolved mystery.

  “Edwin Marguerite is survived by his sister... Vahilda Marguerite.” I’m silent as I process the newfound information about my father. I stare, silent, at Vahilda, mouth opening, and closing, attempting to form a coherent question.

  Vahilda removes the photo album from my hands. “We hav
e an early morning tomorrow,” she says, her voice fading into the night as she disappears down the hall.

  Chapter 7

  I’VE NEVER EXPERIENCED such a restless slumber as I had last night. My mind wouldn’t shut off, wouldn’t allow me a minute or two to snooze. Instead, I was swarmed with so many questions that I stayed awake the entire night, exhausted by the weight of information I’d uncovered. Typically, I’d welcome a sunrise with open arms and a renewed zeal about the possibilities life could offer. Before I was whisked away from Yardenfeld, I would usually beat the sun to rise. It was my routine for a while to awaken before my mum did and map out the places I could run off to. I’d check my secret stash of gold to ensure not a gold piece was missing and then head out for my morning sprint. Townies in Yardenfeld were accustomed to seeing me jog in the early morning, where I’d greet the shining star at the docks. Now, though, I’d wish the golden rays of warmth would fall away back to the comfort of night. I have more thinking to do.

  Vahilda is my aunt. It’s all I could think of, and all my mind would focus on. During my quick birdbath, I think of the secret she kept from me. My hurried breakfast of buttered bread is more of the same, a haze of thoughts about the fact that Vahilda is my aunt. My mum never talked much about her siblings or my grandmum and grandpop. Mum was the only family I had... until she wasn’t. I’m sure she’s cursing my name and wishing I’d succumb to the same fate as Igbob. I honestly can’t say that I know what a family is. I’ve read a plethora of books about happy families who I wished would adopt me, but reading about family isn’t the same as having one.

  Could things change now that I have Vahilda? Or is that too much to ask for? She might be a touch mean and imperious, but she saved my life. She fed me a nice meal and gifted me clothes to wear. She even said good morning to me when I sat with her for breakfast. This is as close to a perfect family as I can get.

  I’ll take it; for now, that is. I still don’t trust her for all it’s worth. Though she’s done so much for me in such a short time—more than my mum has ever—I can’t seem to get rid of this nagging suspicion I have in the back of my head that Vahilda is hiding more from me.

  The morning dew makes the freshly cut grass appear ultra-glossy under the dawning sun. Parnissi is lovely, a breath of crisp floral air that jolts me more awake than I am. Still groggy and heavy with questions on my mind, I meet Vahilda in her flower garden. Sunflowers, zinnias, daisies, cosmos, lavender, and so much more plant life blanket her garden in a rainbow of colors.

  Vahilda wears a flowing white gown with a matching headscarf that shields her curls. I’m still in my nightgown, and my scarf is somewhere in my room on the floor. It fell off after countless hours of tossing and turning. Vahilda holds two sunflowers in one hand, and in the other, the Floret Tome.

  “Since we are short on time, I’d like to tell you what to expect come the Flower Trials,” Vahilda says, her face highlighted a warm brown color under the sun.

  “Besides death? What else can I expect?” I fold my arms, too afraid to meet her eyes. I’m far too young to die. But death will be around every corner come the Flower Trials since, if I want to run for the hills, Vahilda will be after me in an instant.

  “If you do as I say,” she says, tone miffed, “you will be successful.” Handing me a sunflower and the tome, she clenches her jaw. “Elyse... you must keep our relationship a secret. If the Elite knew you were my niece, they’d disqualify you.”

  “Better disqualification than death, I always say.” I don’t always say that. I’ve never said that until today. Still, the statement stands. I did not sign up to die. Or had I when I signed Vahilda’s binding contract with blood?

  Ignoring my quip completely, Vahilda waves the sunflower in an effortless motion in an M-shape. “The Flower Trials typically occur every hundred years or so. The average life span of witches and wizards is similar to that of humans.” She makes a displeased noise in her throat. “From what I’ve gathered, when I entered the trials with my brother, the trials are identical. For such an ancient rite of passage, some things are better left alone.”

  Vahilda focuses on the sunflower pinched between her thumb and pointer. The flower bursts into an orange-red flame that she tosses high above her. I watch the ball of fire hurtling up and up and up until it fizzles out to nothing. I must admit, for something regarded by humans as demonic, magic is amazing.

  “To win the Flower Trials,” she continues, turning to me as I fumble with the Floret Tome, “you must collect the required ingredients used to unlock the Astral Veil. Once the Astral Veil is open, the Elites pool their power together to enhance the winner’s magic. The Elite who is stepping down, enters the Astral Veil, to enter the realm of the Gods.”

  Astral Veil? Realm of the Gods? I’d love to learn more about all of this, but I’m not too sure about becoming an Elite. Sounds too demanding. Too restrictive.

  “What if you win but don’t want to become an Elite?” I ask.

  “Well,” Vahilda says, smiling. “As an Elite, you can do as you please. Many Elites have passed their chairs down to their sons, who have never earned the right to become such powerful wizards.”

  “Is that what you want?” I’m slowly putting together small pieces to a puzzle that may or may not be accurate. “You want me to win so that you can claim a spot with the Elite?”

  Vahilda sighs. “Would you be willing to do that for me? I was never properly awarded my chair after my brother died.” She blinks away tears while she spins away from me. “Forgive me. I haven’t gotten over his death. He and I thought that together if we helped each other, we could both claim the same spot...”

  “But that’s against the rules, right?”

  “You’re a smart girl, Elyse.” She shows her face to me again, a soft tug pulling on the corners of her lips into a smile. But then she frowns. “Snapdragons?” She kneels near a cluster of pinkish-purple flowers.

  “Is something wrong?” I inspect the flower alongside her, wondering why she’s so upset.

  “Page one hundred thirty-four.” She snaps her fingers at me.

  Thumbing through the pages, I flip to the page she requested. A picture of a sunflower, like the one clenched between my teeth as I balance the book, is described as the sun’s flower—a fire plant. A sunflower contains the elements of fire within each petal. Along with its primary use, it can also be utilized as a mood booster to elicit a sense of happiness or, if eaten whole, can improve one’s strength. Who knew sunflowers contained so much... magic?

  “Your first test,” Vahilda says, voice to a growl, “burn these damn snapdragons.”

  “Why?” I’m concerned, disturbed by her request to destroy such lovely flowers. The mere sight of the snapdragons makes her cheeks flushed of color, her head slick with sweat. Are snapdragons the black sheep of the magical flower world? I wonder what powers lie within the beautiful plants that would provoke such strong emotion from Vahilda.

  Vahilda huffs a breath and glares at me. “Come here, you!”

  The sound of her brash voice shakes me to the bone. I nearly drop the book and sunflower as I step to her. “I didn’t mean to question—”

  A glimmering gust of black and yellow whirls by Vahilda’s heels. From the glittering breeze, Vahilda’s cat plops to the ground, summoned from Goddess knows where. The cat scans his new surroundings, a tuft of blue feathers inside of his maw. Hacking, the cat spits out a masticated bird, its tiny body an unrecognizable blob of saliva, blood, and bones.

  Vahilda snatches the cat by the scruff of his neck, instantly paralyzing the poor creature. It’s only then that I realize that the angry witch wasn’t talking to me but her cat. Her golden-brown eyes flicker with heat as she addresses me. “Burn those beasts. Now!” She yanks the cat in midair, storms back to her home like a woman scorned.

  What the hell was that all about? And what does the cat have to do with any of this? Did he plant these snapdragons? Is that why she’s so disturbed? Maybe this book will reveal s
omething.

  Dropping to my knees near the patch of snapdragons, I flip to the book’s first page to search the catalogue. Every flower from aconitum to the zinnia elegans is listed in alphabetical order. I run a finger down the long page, each flower curiouser than the next, until I find the listing for snapdragons. Page three hundred twelve. Skimming through hundreds of pages, I reach pages three hundred ten, three hundred eleven, and three hundred thirteen. The snapdragon page is missing. But why?

  The backdoor to Vahilda’s home creaks open. I rip through the book, stopping once I’m back on the page with the sunflower.

  “What’s taking so long?” Vahilda’s tone is sweet and calmer now.

  “Just trying to work out the kinks,” I say, hoping the lie I’m boldly telling isn’t paper-thin. Glossing over the wordy description about sunflowers, I focus on the sentence about a witch or wizard’s intent. Intent is the spark that breathes magic into being. So, with my intent, I can summon a ball of fire that will torch the lovely snapdragons.

  I can sense Vahilda’s impatience as her breaths grow heavy, strained. I dare not peek at her.

  Sunflower in hand, I tap into my intent and visualize the snapdragons meeting their fiery fate. The stem of the sunflower ignites in my hand like a match, zips up the stem, and lights each yellow petal with orange flames.

  “Focus on burning the snapdragons only.” Vahilda’s instructions nearly startle me out of my concentration.

  With her words in mind, I allow the ball of fire to roll off my hand and atop the defenseless snapdragons. Plumes of gray and black smoke rise from the flowers as they curl and wither by the intensity of the flames.

  “Withdraw your intent, Elyse.”

  I’m too enthralled, too fascinated to do as the witch says. Though this senseless act of murder is saddening, it’s also as thrilling as witnessing a carriage wreck. I don’t know what’s so fascinating about it, and yet I can’t turn my head away.

  Vahilda runs to her garden and screeches to the high heavens. “Elyse. You stupid girl!”