The Witch Haven

by Sasha Peyton Smith

  I will not go back to the basement. But with one foot out the window and one still in the foyer of the Commodore Club I am faced with a choice: fight or run.

  His words echo in my head. We’re together now, you and I. It’s going to stay that way.

  My choice was made the night I went to meet Finn in Forest Park.

  I run up the stairs.

  The sound of the scuffle isn’t difficult to follow. I race down the hall, passing room after silent room of bodies draped over couches or sprawled in front of stately portraits. Whatever has happened in the Commodore Club is nothing short of a massacre. What have they done?

  What have I done?

  The pop of a gunshot rattles my bones, and I run even faster. Down the hall, in an elegant bedroom, I find Finn and three of the Jameses. One of them is holding a smoking pistol, and at his feet is a body with a large red stain spreading across its back.

  “Very good,” Finn states casually to the gun-holding James. He freezes when he sees me in the doorway.

  I freeze too, taking in the scene before me. I shut my eyes, as if I can wish this all away, but I know what gunpowder smells like, and I’ve heard a man die before.

  There in the middle of it all is my gorgeous, lovely, sweet Finn. A boy with freckles on his nose. A boy who knit my friends and me mittens, who bought me spun sugar just to see me smile. Who is here now, with blood on his shoes and a look on his face so hardened, I barely recognize him.

  “I told you to go to the basement, Frances.” His sparkly eyes have gone dark; worry creases his brow.

  A sick feeling sluices in my chest as I realize I don’t know Finn as well as I thought I did. The boy I thought I knew would never speak to me like this. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “From what?” I demand. A childish part of me hopes he has a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this. That he’ll kiss me on the forehead and make everything better.

  “You didn’t tell her?” One of the Jameses nudges him in the rib cage with an elbow.

  “Frances knows what she needs to,” Finn replies in a low voice.

  I scan the room: the bodies are all men. “I don’t know anything,” I whisper, but that’s not true. Looking at Finn, the tension in his face, the body at his feet, I’m putting the pieces together.

  “Finn,” I beg him, “please.”

  The Jameses exchange the grins of foxes who have broken into a chicken coop. “It’s Boss D’Arcy now that the old bastard’s dead. Show some respect.”

  “Boss D’Arcy?”

  No. No, no.

  “Finn will do fine, boys,” Finn answers, looking straight at me.

  I step toward him. “What are they talking about?”

  Finn sighs like I’m an inconvenience. It shatters something inside of me.

  “I don’t have time to explain it all right now. I just really, really need you to trust me.”

  In this moment there is nothing more I want than to trust him, but I can’t ignore the slippery feeling in my gut.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I beg him, desperate and pathetic.

  One of the Jameses visibly rolls his eyes. Finn sighs and sinks down into an armchair in the corner of the room.

  “You ever heard of a coup?” the shortest James says.

  “A coup?” I ask Finn. I won’t believe anything until I hear it from him.

  Finn’s eyebrow lifts as his hand rakes through his messy hair. “The Sons of Saint Druon were due for a change. You saw the way they ran things. It was unfair.”

  I shake my head, trying to understand. “You mean the Cath Draíochta?”

  Finn snickers and looks at me as if I’m a naive little girl. “Those with magic… us, Frances, we’re special. We should be the ones in charge. I’m doing this for us, love. Truly. Please, just trust me.”

  There’s that word again, “trust.” I don’t trust anything in this moment. I’m not even sure I trust myself.

  “So you killed them? You killed the Sons who don’t have magic?” The words taste traitorous on my tongue. I can’t believe I’m saying them. Asking Finn—my Finn—these questions.

  The short James speaks again. “They killed us first. Once Finn discovered what they were doing to the factory workers, we couldn’t sit by and do nothing. They were offering our kin jobs, only to make them work with shoddy equipment that took their limbs. Then they dumped their bodies to avoid a labor investigation. They didn’t even let Walt bury his little brother Johnny. They deserve this and more.”

  Johnny O’Farrell, found handless on Sheepshead Bay.

  The Jameses mutter and nod their heads in agreement.

  Finn whips his head around to glare at the boy who spoke.

  I stare up at Finn in horror. My ears ring for a moment as I attempt to process what I’ve heard. Surely I can’t be understanding right. “The boys on Sheepshead Bay were victims of factory accidents? How do you know?”

  He’s breathing so heavily. “We don’t have confirmation on all of them. I found the documents the night you and I broke into Boss’s office. We confirmed the cause of death with the city coroner. I guess after the Triangle Shirtwaist disaster there’s been a great deal more manufacturing oversight. Boss Olan and the factory managers wanted to avoid an investigation. It made more sense to dump them. But that doesn’t mean the witches didn’t kill your brother. He never worked at a factory, Frances. Vykotksy deserved what she got.”

  For a moment it’s like I’m watching this all happen to someone else, like I’m out of my body floating on the ceiling. Finn knew, I realize. Finn knew why those boys were washing up on the beach, and he never once told me. Instead he let me traipse around the city, put myself and my friends in danger. Sure, I’d still have wanted to use the resurrection spell to speak to my brother, but I would have made different choices if I hadn’t believed that speaking to him and solving his murder could save more lives.

  Oh God, Maxine. I picture her devastated face as I accused her of being responsible for killing the Sons.

  I come back to my body. “Of course that’s what it means!” I shout. Rage and horror burn through me like a wildfire. “You lied to me?”

  Finn crosses the room and takes my hands in his. They’re cold and clammy. I want to pull away, but he grips hard. “The entire system is rotten. Everyone at the top was corrupt. We can build a better world now. One where magicians can live without secrets, one where we can rule justly, like we were meant to.”

  “A mansion full of bodies is not my idea of a better world,” I reply.

  He closes his eyes in an expression of frustration. “This was a necessary sacrifice. You and I, we’re going to rule the city… the world… side by side, just like we spoke about.” His wide-eyed optimism might be infectious were it not for the blood staining his clothes and the body at his feet.

  “I didn’t ask for this.” I didn’t know he wanted this. I didn’t know this power-hungry, brutal side of Finn at all.

  “You didn’t have to.” He reaches up to brush a lock of hair from my face. It is in this moment that I realize I’m still wearing his sweater and socks. “I’m sorry I kept this from you, but I didn’t want to scare you—your heart is so soft.”

  It doesn’t feel soft now. It feels shattered.

  He continues, excited. “Once we’ve cleared the high council, we’ll rule everything, love. The judges, the mayor, the factories. And that’s just the beginning.”

  “We’re going to be kings,” a blond James adds, gazing at Finn with the reverence of a choirboy.

  Finn nods. “Soon the world will be as it should, with the magical ruling over the non-magical.”

  My heart sinks. The whole world is crumbling, and I can’t stop it—I’m as powerless as the body lying on the floor in front of me.

  “I’ve never wanted to rule over anyone,” I answer. “I don’t want to be a part of this.”

  “That
’s because you’re so sweet.” Finn looks at me with pity, like an aversion to killing is a weakness.

  “Listen, love,” he continues. “We have the power to remake the world. Make it different, better. This is what William wanted. You, changing things.”

  I scan the room, the weapons in the boys’ hands, the blood, the body, see how proud Finn stands as the coordinator of it all, and at once I understand. Finn would burn the world to the ground to get what he wants, but I have no interest in helping him turn the world into ashes.

  “My brother wouldn’t want this,” I whisper. Finally, he allows me to take my hands from his. “I don’t know who you are,” I say more to myself than to him. Speaking the words aloud makes it real.

  Finn purses his lips, clenches his jaw. A look of hatred crosses his face, so intense, it feels as if I’m looking at a stranger. “Would you prefer I be more like Oliver Callahan?” His anger mixes with a genuine look of hurt, which only confuses me more. “I see the way you look at him,” Finn scoffs. “I could be your future. Let me be your future.”

  Finn runs a hand through his sweaty curls. “Join us. There’s so much left to do.”

  I could say no. I could walk away, run from Finn, from magic, from myself. But would he really let me just march out the door?

  “Remember,” he says, holding his hand out to mine. “You and I are tethered together. What we did in the basement. There is no escaping that.” He smiles at me, and I know he’s right. There is a small, foolish part of my heart that wonders if Finn is not yet irredeemable. An even worse part of me thinks maybe it’s where I’m meant to be—by his side. I’ve killed twice now. I can’t temper my anger, take hold of the power I have swirling inside me; I can control others against their will. Maybe I am just like him.

  The tether of energy between us tugs me closer to him. Is this where I belong? There is nowhere else for me to go. Would Maxine and Lena ever forgive me for what I did to Mrs. Vykotsky? The other witches? And Oliver. No. He’d never understand me now. And I have no intention of dragging the one good thing about me into the middle of a magical war. Do I really have another choice?

  “All right,” I reply.

  Finn’s face crumbles in relief, and he throws a heavy arm around my shoulder. “I know this is hard for you, but you’ll understand in time.”

  I smile sweetly, like he wants me to, slip on my shoes and a coat and follow him out the door. I smile the smile of a girl who is nothing like me.

  You foolish girl. Mrs. Vykotsky’s voice rings in my head.

  The street is dark and cold, but I am relieved to be out of the death-filled Commodore Club.

  “What’s your plan?” I say to Finn with an intentional touch of his shoulder. Let him think I’m a sweet girl. He doesn’t yet need to know my heart is nothing but a burned-out shell, filled with the smoke of things I used to love.

  “We’ve taken care of all the council members we could. Their meeting this afternoon was like shooting fish in a barrel. But there were a few that couldn’t come, so the boys will go to them. You and I are going to take care of some paperwork.”

  “Paperwork?”

  “Mayor Gaynor is in Boss Olan’s pocket. He’ll never agree to work with me now that Boss Olan is out.”

  I don’t correct him that by “out” he means “dead.”

  “So he’s going to sign his resignation,” Finn continues.

  I think of the last time I was tasked with making a man sign his name against his will. “Have you had this idea since the night with the commissioner?”

  “You were so powerful, Frances. I can do great things, now that we’re one.”

  He turns to the four Jameses milling about the sidewalk, cracking their knuckles. One is twirling a butterfly knife. “You know where you’re going, lads?”

  “We’re off to the Callahan place.” The blond James gestures to the tall James.

  “And we’re off to the Tilfords’.”

  “Most of the lads are already headed up to that school,” a short redhead adds.

  Finn gives them a sharp nod, and the four of them take off like a shot down the street.

  “The Callahans’? That school?” My false sweetness evaporates, replaced again with terror. Just when I think I have a handle on what Finn’s planning, he plays another card. He’s been playing all along.

  He loops his arm through mine and tugs me forcefully in the opposite direction from where the Jameses ran. I try to shake him off, but I stumble over my shoes. He’s so much bigger than me.

  “It’s fine,” he says darkly. “You and I have our own tasks to worry about. And besides, we’re finally alone again, eh?”

  He leans in to kiss me, but I recoil from his touch. “What are they doing at the Callahans’? What are they doing at Haxahaven?” Finn’s mouth is so dangerously close to mine, I almost bite him.

  “I always said if I was in charge, I’d recruit the witches to join us. We’ll give them the opportunity to learn real magic, just like you and I always wanted. Think of what we could accomplish together, the witches and the Sons. We could do anything.”

  “But you’ll kill anyone who gets in your way?” I think of encouraging Mrs. Roberts, kind Florence, and gentle Ann. They’d never join him.

  “Every war has casualties.” He shrugs. “If they choose to die rather than join us, that’s their business.”

  The gesture fills me with white-hot rage. I need to get out of here, to warn them.

  “I won’t let you touch them.” I scarcely recognize my own voice. I try to unleash my power, to take hold of Finn’s body, but it feels less like a flame and more like smoke from a snuffed candle.

  An electric shock zips from the tips of my fingers, through the joint at my elbow and into my shoulder. My arm jerks away from Finn’s, entirely out of my control.

  I try again to take hold of him, but the magic doesn’t come when I call.

  Next I try to levitate a rock to hurl at him. It’s a simple spell, one I’ve done a hundred times, but nothing happens.

  Finn watches quietly as I struggle. There’s a stab of panic. “What have you done?” I ask in horror.

  “I did what you asked of me, love. You used our magic to speak to your brother. Now I use our magic to do this.”

  Sickness rolls through me as I fight understanding what I already know deep down. “This?”

  Finn’s smile is awful and hungry. There’s nothing sweet about his grin now. “Your magic within me has made me the most powerful magician in New York. No one can stop me. No one can stop us.”

  “What did you do, Finn?” It comes out as a whisper.

  He sighs, annoyed I’m not getting it. He takes a step forward in an attempt to grasp my hands in his. I rip away from him. “When we bound ourselves—which, I’ll remind you, is what you asked for—you bound your magic to me. Your power lives in me now. Isn’t that something? Isn’t it incredible, what we’ve done?”

  Panic rises in me as the horrible truth settles. “How?”

  “The binding spell gave me control over your power as if it were my own. It transferred it from your body to mine. I own all of it. It is mine to do with as I please.”

  “But you said the words too.” I’m confused.

  Finn smiles, as pleased with himself as ever. “Your vows were different than mine, love. You pledged all of yourself to me. I made no such promises.”

  “I’m powerless? It’s all gone?”

  “Oh, darling, I’d never do that to you. I’ll give it back eventually. Once you see that I’m right.”

  And here is the full force of the truth I’ve been fighting. He’s stolen it. He’s stolen my power. And it’s my own fault.

  “You can give it back, though, can’t you?” My lips tremble as I try to push out the words.

  He shrugs. “In theory.”

  “You tricked me?” I nearly double over in pain, but I refuse to be weak in front of him.

  “I did what you asked of me. It’s what partners do.�
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  I want to slap the smug look off his face. I’m on the verge of vomiting. The violation of it all makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. “Give it back, Finn. Give it back now. It belongs to me.”

  He shakes his head slowly. It’s like looking at a stranger. “No. Not yet. Not until I’m sure you understand what this means for us. I must be sure that you will stay. You’ll see in time, Frances. I’m positive of it. Just be patient, love.”

  “Was this your plan all along? Did you care for me at all?”

  A look of genuine hurt crosses Finn’s face. Whatever it is we’ve felt for each other, the betrayal we’re both experiencing is violently real. I’m not the person he wanted either.

  “Can’t the answer to both questions be yes?” he replies.

  I want to cry.

  I want to kill him.

  I want to kiss him and beg him to make it all better, and that’s what hurts the most.

  He throws his hands up in exasperation. “You know what’s so stupid about all of this?” His voice is rough and annoyed. “I could just make the mayor sign the paperwork in his dreams, like I had you write those damned notes left on your pillow. But I wanted you to be a part of this. I wanted to do this together!”

  I can’t process all this information in such a short time. “You… you made me write the notes to myself?”

  “A fancy trick. One of the reasons I was so valuable to Boss Olan.”

  I don’t understand. “It wasn’t my handwriting.”

  With wicked, flashing eyes he responds, “Of course not, it was mine. Your pen, your paper, your hand, my words.

  The sick bile of betrayal stings my throat. My own body was something I thought I had complete control over. He’s taken even that from me.

  I turn away from him, terrified to spill the ugly tears welling in my eyes.

  “Frances, please,” he begs me. His tone is softer, like it used to be. “Help me. We’re so close. Then the world will be as it should be, and you and I will be together.”

  “How do you know how the world should be?” My voice cracks.

  “I’ve been seeing you in my dreams since before I knew you were real. This is fate.”