The fat tabby currently resting on Lena’s bed eyes me. “Shh, don’t tell,” I whisper to it.
I lower the note to the flame of the gas lamp on my bedside. My anticipation is as dark and wild as the smoke that rises from the burning parchment.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m so nervous for the next two days, I barely get through my classes. In Mrs. Roberts’s class I can scarcely focus enough to lift a sewing needle. Mrs. Li is so upset with my lack of participation, I make up a story about remembering my father’s face just to get her to stop glaring at me.
It isn’t until Thursday after the sun has set that I begin to wonder if I’m making the right decision. No choice seems easy, so I choose to listen to the humming in my chest that begs for answers and for the possibility of seeing my brother once more.
Lena and I sit on the edge of her bed embroidering, waiting for the clock to countdown to ten. Her nimble fingers sew green seed beads into elegant spirals on a piece of leather. I pull black roses into a piece of pale pink cotton. Lena’s hands are quicker than mine. We could use the spells from Mrs. Roberts’s class, but the pain in my fingers is a comforting familiarity.
At a quarter till ten we rise, lace our boots, and put coats on over our nightdresses.
Maxine is waiting for us in her room, just as she said she’d be. She’s wrapped in a hooded cloak, which she tucks the spell book under. With her silvery hair in a braid over her shoulder, she is the very picture of a witch, which I’m sure was her intention.
Haxahaven is even more unsettling at night than it is during the day. Without the chatter of girls to fill the empty space, it looms dark and hollow, like the unbeating chambers of a heart.
We creep through drafty hall after drafty hall to a nondescript wooden doorway. Maxine raps on it three times in rapid succession. There is an agonizing pause before the door cracks open, throwing a gash of light across the dark floors of the hallway.
Standing in the doorway is a middle-aged woman with dark skin I’ve never seen before. She’s wearing a white muslin dress, and has kinky curls pulled up into a bun, set with a mother-of-pearl comb. Her eyes are kind, but her mouth is set in a hard line. “Quickly, girls, please.”
We step through the door and into the warm belly of a kitchen.
“Thank you again for your help, Florence.” Maxine trots across the kitchen, trailing a finger across the polished butcher- block counters.
“I still don’t think this is a very good idea, girls.” Florence takes us in, raising her brows.
Maxine shrugs. “Then thank you for helping us anyway.” She turns to Lena and me. “Florence runs the kitchens. The back door is monitored less than the others.”
“How do we know we can trust her?” Lena asks.
Florence smiles at Lena. “I like her.”
Maxine laughs. “We can trust her because I trust her.”
It’s good enough for me.
The three of us follow Florence across the warm brick floor of the kitchen to an oak door set with a small, round window, black with night.
“Helen is on patrol tonight. I encouraged her to have a brandy with me after dinner, so hopefully her senses are dulled. You girls be careful, you promise me?” Florence says.
Maxine grasps Florence’s hands with a warmth I’ve never seen from her. “I promise, Miss Flo.”
With that she opens the door, and we step into the chilly night.
The air is damp and heavy, but it is a relief to fill my lungs after sitting inside for so many days.
Maxine unlocks the gate, and we step into the park.
“Thank you,” I say. “For sneaking us out tonight. I know it’s a risk for you, too.”
Maxine shrugs. “We’re lucky to have Florence.”
Lena nods in agreement. “Feels good to break the rules of a place I hate. Cathartic, is the word, I think.”
In silence the three of us walk to the edge of the park. At the tree line on the east field, we stop. I reach out and grasp their hands on either side of me. “So we don’t get lost,” I whisper.
Maxine snickers. “You know you can just ask to hold my hand.” I nudge her with my shoulder, but I don’t let go.
The park is as omnipresent as ever. For a place that fills me with such discomfort, I seem to be spending an awful lot of time here.
It doesn’t take long for us to find Finn’s lantern flickering in a copse of aspen trees.
“Ah, Frances, I knew you’d come.” The last word of his sentence is clipped. He stops short at the sight of Maxine and Lena linked to me.
The three of us stare Finn down, daring him to say something.
After a tense second he opens his mouth. “We hadn’t discussed bringing friends.” His eyes narrow as if he’s doing an equation in his head. Finally, he shrugs. “But the more the merrier, I suppose. Ladies, I’m Finn D’Arcy, a friend of Frances’s late brother.”
“Maxine DuPre, not a lady.”
“Lena Jamison.”
He nods his head. “Why’d you follow our Frances out into the woods?”
The answer to Finn’s question seems obvious, that we all share the same bruising ache for more magic.
“We’re not in the habit of letting our friends sneak out alone to meet strange boys,” Maxine replies with a twist of a smile.
Wind whips through Finn’s curls. “Ah, I understand William would be pleased to see his sister surrounded by such good friends.”
The sound of William’s name being spoken aloud into the world fills me with warmth. It makes him feel a little less gone. He’d find all of this one hilarious adventure. He would have packed snacks.
“It’s chilly out, so I’m sure you lasses would rather we do this quickly,” Finn trills.
“Actually, we have a few questions for you,” Maxine interjects. I didn’t expect this, though I probably should have.
Finn nods. “Of course.”
“Not that we don’t take our dear Frances at her word… but we’d really like to make sure you are who you say you are.”
“Maxine, he knew my brother.”
“Well pardon me if I don’t trust boys who appear from nowhere. He shouldn’t even know where Haxahaven is.”
“Fair enough.” Finn shrugs. “I know the location of Haxahaven because I belong to the Sons of Saint Druon, an organization of men who have magic much like you witches.”
His honesty stuns me. I know about the Sons—my brother used to work for them—but I thought they were just a plain old gentleman’s social club, not unlike dozens scattered across the city. Men who meet to push money around and wield political influence, it makes sense they’d play with other kinds of power too.
Lena looks nervous. Maxine doesn’t look surprised. I don’t know what look is on my face—it’s gone numb with the cold. But I’d guess it’s something close to shock.
“I’ve heard of the Sons,” Maxine replies sternly. “I was told to stay far away.”
Finn laughs, but there’s an uncomfortable edge to the sound. “And I’ve been told to stay away from you.”
“Then why are you here?” Maxine crosses her arms over her chest.
Finn shrugs casually. “I don’t mind risks for things that matter.”
It’s Lena who speaks next. “So what will your boss and our headmistress do if we’re caught conspiring together?”
Again Finn smiles wide, showing us every one of his straight teeth, but if I’m not mistaken, fear flickers across his eyes. “Let’s hope we never find out.”
“If we’re such enemies, how did you know where Haxahaven was?” I ask him.
He continues casually, “The Sons and the witches of Haxahaven have a gentleman’s agreement to leave each other be, but that doesn’t mean they don’t keep tabs on each other.”
“We’re not gentlemen,” Lena replies.
“If we’re being honest with each other, neither am I.” If I weren’t so freezing, I might have blushed.
“And we’re just su
pposed to believe you?” Lena replies, her face serious.
“I’m too lowly an errand boy to be privy to much of anything that goes on at the club. If this were truly a Sons of Saint Druon scheme, there’s no way they’d ever send me.”
“But you’re a magician too?” Maxine asks. She sucks on her teeth, as if finding the very concept of a boy with magic inherently suspect.
Finn gives a nod. “I can enter dreams and cast. William couldn’t, but it didn’t stop us from becoming fast friends.” Finn continues, “When I learned William’s sister was taken to Haxahaven, I wanted to help. William was always fascinated with magic, despite not being able to do any of it himself. I thought he’d probably want his sister to learn in earnest. I’m not much of a teacher, but it seemed worth tryin’.”
Maxine looks from Finn to me. “Frances?” she asks.
“I believe him,” I say simply. Lena gives me a sideways glance that communicates that she disagrees with me. I widen my eyes at her as if to say, Trust me.
Finn raises his hands in a show of truce. “What else do I have to gain by being here other than freezing to death and losing sleep?”
“Our sparkling company?” Lena deadpans.
His answer must be good enough for her, because Maxine pulls the ancient, leather-bound book out from underneath her cloak.
She flips through the thin pages with nimble fingers, then lays it open on a tree trunk. The lantern casts long shadows and orange light through the clearing.
On the page is a spell in a language I don’t recognize.
“This isn’t the resurrection spell,” I whisper to her, irritated.
“Let’s not dive feetfirst into hell,” she replies.
She cracks her knuckles and begins to read. The words sound unnatural, sticking like honey in her throat. Nothing appears in her cupped hands. She frowns and tries again. Still there is silence.
Lena places her chin on Maxine’s shoulder for a better look at the book and tries herself. Again there is nothing.
“Why isn’t it working?” Maxine says. She’s frustrated, her hands balled into fists at her side.
Finn approaches carefully. “May I?”
Maxine nods reluctantly.
Finn studies the page for a moment. “There are notes here in the margins,” he explains.
“I’m not stupid. I can see that,” Maxine snaps back at him. “But I don’t know what half of them are saying.”
I peer over Finn’s shoulder to see what Maxine is talking about. It’s difficult to read the spell book in the light of a single lantern. Shadows of tree branches dance over its ancient pages, giving it the illusion of being alive. Scrawled in the margins are notes, made so hastily, the author has left the page covered in ink spots. Some of them I can read, quick English words like “breath.” Another is in Latin, “fiat lux.” But most of them are in a language I don’t recognize, a mess of consonants and vowels.
Finn meets my eye. I hadn’t realized we were standing nearly close enough to touch. “This is Gaelic.” He turns to grin at us. “How lucky you are to have an Irishman around.”
He turns his attention back to the book. “This is different from the magic they teach at school. This is magic of creation, the kind of magic that comes straight from the core of you. Words can help direct energy, but it isn’t as… specific as what you’ve been taught at Haxahaven.”
“What do you mean ‘specific’?” Lena asks.
“Think of basic spells as a hammer and a nail. No creativity, but it will get the job done. The magic in this book is more like paints and a canvas.” I can’t help but wonder how Finn knows all this. Where his knowledge comes from. As if reading my mind, Finn turns his attention to me. “Magic is an art, not a science. Think of this book as giving you suggestions, not instructions.”
Maxine’s eyes narrow. “How does that work practically?”
He shrugs a hand through his curls. “Let me see if I can translate this.” In his pause the only sound is our breathing, so deep and heavy, the trees might be breathing with us.
“The first thing to understand about magic is that language has power. But intention matters more.”
We nod, though I’m not sure yet if I understand his meaning.
Finn runs his pointer finger along the page. “These notes here speak of an inner light that exists within a person. The spell you were practicing the other day is a command, which is well and good, but magic is not a dog to be called. It’s part of you. The words you use should be too.”
He closes his eyes; his eyelashes are so long, they graze his cheekbones. Under his breath, so soft it’s almost inaudible, he whispers, “Solas m’anam, Aisling,” and a spark crackles to life between his thumb and forefinger. He picks up a dried leaf from the forest floor and sets it alight. The smile that cracks his face is almost as bright as the magic.
Ashes drift to the ground as we stare on in awe.
“What’s ‘Aisling’ mean?” Lena asks.
“It’s my mother’s name. This spell requires something of you, something personal. It requires emotion. It helps to think of something you love.”
It’s strange to think of Finn having a mother, of having existed anywhere before he popped into my life.
“But why wouldn’t they teach us this kind of magic at school?” Lena asks.
Finn grins. “Because this kind of magic is wild. It’s unpredictable…”
“And the world doesn’t like wild, unpredictable girls.” Maxine finishes his sentence.
He nods at me. “Go ahead, Frances, you try.”
I think about saying my brother’s name, but the place where he lives in my heart doesn’t feel like a place of light, just an ugly quagmire of hurt. The place my mother lives is even worse, stinging pain mingled with sickening guilt. Instead, I picture Percy, the old tomcat who lived in our apartment when I was young. He was black and grumpy, and came and went as he pleased, but William and I loved him.
I rub my hands together like I’m warming them up over a fire. “Solas m’anam, Percy,” I whisper, picturing his long tail whipping back and forth in our old windowsill.
The forest around me rattles like it’s impatient. On my third try a tiny spark springs to life between my fingers. The heat of it surprises me. I jump back and clap my hands over my mouth in glee. I feel it in every part of my body, like the light is part of me, too. For the first time I feel ownership, control of this thing, the magic.
Finn smiles proudly. “Well done, Frances.”
Next is Maxine. “Solas m’anam, Nina.”
She gets it on the second try, and light sparks to life between her hands.
As soon as it winks out, it’s Lena’s turn. “Solas m’anam, Jonathan.” Her sparks appear immediately, a light in the darkness.
The three of us share a smile.
We all try the spell again with different incantations and things we love. At one point Maxine uses “coconut cake,” and we all dissolve into a fit of giggles—Finn included.
My hands are numb, and spots flash in my eyes from staring at the light, but from the flush-cheeked faces of my friends I can tell that they feel as vibrantly alive as I do.
Success with the spark-creation spell fills us with confidence, and soon we’re flipping through the rest of the book. Splayed out on a bed of dead leaves, I thumb through pages that speak of astrology, numerology, energy work, charms, and hexes. There is an entire section dedicated to herbs and their properties, another that details which color candles to burn for which ritual.
Lena doesn’t need Finn to translate the marginal notes scrawled next to the renderings of the herbs. She recognizes the delicate drawings of wild ginger and thistle root by sight alone. Maxine explains the constellations sketched in the pages and points to the tree canopy to show us where they’d be this time of year if we could see them.
The book is a relief, confirmation that being a witch is so much more than the ability to thread a needle with your mind.
We�
�re all sitting so close together, gathered over the book, I can feel the heat of Finn’s expansive chest. It’s all that keeps me from shivering.
I extend my hand to trace over a sketch of an evil eye, and Finn’s hand brushes mine. He pulls it back like he’s been burned.
I scoot away from him and remind myself he’s a means to an end. It would be a massive waste of my time to consider the shape of his fingers.
I direct my attention back to the book and continue to flip through its pages. I catch a glimpse of the words “True Love” at the top of one page and, without thinking, flip back. Next to me, Finn chuckles. “Already interested in love spells, Miss Hallowell?”
I hope it’s too dark for him to see how I blush. “Is that what this is?”
He takes the book gently from my hands and examines it for a moment. “No, not quite. This is a spell that is supposed to tell you the first letter of the first name of your true love.”
Maxine huffs. “True love? What an absurd concept.”
“You don’t wish to try it and see if it works, Miss DuPre?” Finn asks, teasing.
Maxine sticks her tongue out at him and snatches the book.
“We need something to burn,” Finn instructs. “It’s a relatively straightforward spell—let’s give it a go.”
There’s a note in the same scrawling ink jotted in the margins. Maxine tips the book toward Finn. “What does this say?”
He leans closer to get a better look.
“It wants you to imagine the feeling of being in love.”
How could one possibly know what that feels like? But I’m not up for a philosophical discussion on the nature of love, so I stay silent.
Maxine leans down, plucks a few of the driest leaves off the ground, and brushes the dirt from them. Next, she takes the lantern and carefully removes the brass top, so the flame is flickering free.
She studies the book for a moment; then she presses the leaves in between her palms and tilts her face up at the sky. For a heartbeat, she is silent. Then she mutters the word taisdomliad.
She opens her eyes, flames reflecting in her pupils, and tips the handful of leaves into the flame.
The Witch Haven Page 14
