Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  I’m equally speechless when Mama finally dies. This happens in the spring, as the snow is melting away to reveal the grass outside. There’s still no word from Sophie in America, no cure in sight for Mama. Aggie and I continue our vigil, every day Aggie growing more accustomed to her new old body.

  I’m alone when Mama opens her eyes and turns to me again. Her eyes are the clearest they’ve been since I came home. She reaches out to touch my hair. “Tho beautiful,” she says. “But tho afraid.”

  “Mama—”

  “Whatever happenth to me, remember that you and Agneth are thitherth. Love each other like it.”

  “I will, Mama. I promise.”

  Aggie appears at my side, probably having another of her feelings. Mama smiles slightly as she touches Aggie’s wrinkled cheek. “Tho grown up now.”

  “Mama—”

  “Don’t cry, dear. A proper lady doethn’t cry in front of people.”

  Those are appropriately enough Mama’s last words to us. Her hand slips away from Aggie’s cheek as she sags onto the mattress. Her eyes close and then her body goes still. Aggie and I watch her for a moment, but this time she isn’t sleeping.

  Our mother is dead.

  Chapter 15

  Despite that Aggie and I are about two centuries old, we’ve never gone to a funeral before. I wanted to go to Henri’s funeral, but it was held at the nearby cathedral, a terrible irony given that Henri had died fighting forces loyal to the pope. It wasn’t until I became a junior witch that I managed to visit his grave behind the cathedral. Staring at the simple gravestone and plot of grass, I didn’t feel the same closeness to Henri as in the forest or the pasture, so I had not ever gone back.

  Since Mama wasn’t Catholic, she won’t be buried at the cathedral. Instead, Aggie and I decide to bury her near the tree where she once talked to me about becoming a woman. There won’t be much to bury, as I used an Ashes to Ashes spell to cremate Mama’s body so no one can make any charms from what remained of her hair and bones.

  Aggie clutches the urn to her chest in the living room. As part of her vow to become more mature, she hasn’t cried in front of me since Mama died. She still cries in her bedroom, when she thinks I can’t hear her.

  As with Morgana’s trial, the other witches of the coven trickle in as the news is relayed to them. They vanish to the front gates so they won’t startle us inside the house. Hisae is one of the first to arrive. She bends down to take my hand and look into my eyes. “Your mother was a great woman—and a great witch.”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “You must carry on her spirit now.”

  I only nod to this, not wanting to argue with her. I won’t be the one who carries on Mama’s spirit; that will be for Aggie to do. Not only do I look nothing like Mama, I’ve never acted like her either. Aggie has far more potential to be a “proper lady” like Mama than I ever will. I’m just the black sheep of our informal family.

  The others come in and squeeze our hands and say nice things about Mama. Everyone agrees with Hisae’s assessment that Mama was a great woman and a great witch. A few go on to say what a shame it is that she’s passed on while others try to console us by saying she’s gone to a better place now. I remember what Mama said about the afterlife and nod to these people.

  Of the forty-six other witches in the coven at that moment, only one doesn’t show up, the one who should be here most of all: Sophie. I know she’s not coming when Glenda enters the living room, her face looking glum. “Haven’t you found her yet?” Aggie asks.

  “I’m afraid not, girls. Regina and Tabitha have looked all over for her on their brooms. They haven’t found her yet. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s understandable,” I say. “There’s a lot of ground to cover.” My anger at Glenda has cooled since I heard what Mama said about my “sisters” and I, so I don’t feel the urge to punch her when she gives us this bad news. I only wish that Sophie could be here so I could tell her what Mama said; that might cool her anger with Glenda as well.

  We wait three days for Regina and Tabitha to find Sophie. They show up at the house empty-handed. Tabitha limps over to me, her leg still not properly healed from the wound she suffered thanks to the Black Dragoon’s claws. “We looked all over, but there’s so no sign of her. I’m sorry.”

  “You tried your best,” I tell her.

  “I think we should go ahead now,” Aggie says. “She’ll understand.”

  We form an impromptu parade to the burial sight. David’s father has already dug out a hole large enough for the urn to go in. The Devereaux family isn’t allowed at this gathering; Aggie and I will have a second memorial with them after the coven has gone.

  There isn’t a formal service. Instead, a few of the witches relate some of their memories of Mama. There are no humorous anecdotes because Mama never was funny or lighthearted. Instead, the stories invariably tell of Mama’s kindness and generosity in helping her sisters of the coven with their spells, potions, or charms. It becomes clear why Mama was chosen to raise Aggie, Sophie, and I: she was practically a mother to everyone else in the coven already, always helping to nurture even the other senior witches like Hisae, Regina, and Tabitha.

  Glenda is the last to speak besides Aggie and I. The ancient witch clears her throat and then says, “Annabelle was the wisest, most giving woman I ever knew. Especially in my early days as head of the coven, I could always rely on her fairness, honesty, and gentle spirit to guide me. She was my oldest and dearest friend and I will miss her terribly in the days to come.” For the first time, I see Glenda cry, her face looking even older, almost like Mama’s in her final moments. She turns to Aggie and I, putting a hand on our shoulders. “If there’s any comfort in this tragedy, it’s that Annabelle has raised these wonderful girls to carry on in her stead.”

  As the youngest, I speak first. I tell them of when I was sixteen and Mama told me that my apprenticeship was over and how proud she was of me. “I only hope that I can continue to make her proud in the future,” I say and then choke up.

  Glenda takes me into her arms, patting my back the way Mama used to do when I was upset. “I know you will, dear,” she whispers into my ear.

  Aggie still holds the urn with Mama’s ashes in them. She looks up from these to the assembled witches. “I’m sure Mama would be very honored that you have all come here today and said such kind things about her. I lived with her for over two hundred years, but there’s so much I didn’t know about her. Still, I always knew what kind of person she was. No matter what happened to my sisters or I, she was always here for us, to take care of us.” Despite her best attempts to remain calm, Aggie begins to cry. “We’re lost without her!” she wails and then drops to her knees on the ground.

  I break away from Glenda to kneel down beside Aggie. I comfort her in the same way Glenda was trying to comfort me, by embracing her and patting her back. “It’s all right,” I whisper into her ear. “We’ll find a way.”

  We kneel on the ground for a couple of minutes, until Aggie has recovered enough to pull back from me. Her face is red more with embarrassment at breaking down in front of the rest of the coven like this. She takes out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes, a mask of calm settling over her face. With a nod, she signals that it’s time to put Mama to rest.

  Aggie takes one handle of the urn and I take the other. Together we lower her into the hole Mr. Devereaux has dug. The urn fits tightly against the sides of the hole, but it reaches all the way to the bottom. Aggie and I don’t bother with a shovel, using our hands to push the loose dirt back over the hole, until the urn is gone.

  ***

  Two weeks later, in part to cheer up David but mostly because we need them, Mr. Devereaux, David, and I go to a horse farm for some new animals. I know something about horses, but I let Mr. Devereaux take the lead. He has more experience in such matters and knows more of what he needs for around the farm.

  David is quickly drawn to a white pony grazing in the pasture. He leans against
the fence, watching the animal graze while his father and I inspect the rest of the breeder’s stock. As Mr. Devereaux inspects the horses, I think again of my examination by the coven, when Mama took me to the archives to become a novice. At the memory of this I want to back away, but I force myself to stay put. Handling matters like this is going to be part of my life for the foreseeable future now that Mama is gone.

  We buy four workhorses and two for the carriage. For the price of these, I could equip a regiment with muskets. Mr. Devereaux thinks it’s a good price, so I have to trust that he doesn’t just want to waste my family’s money. Mr. Devereaux goes to our borrowed carriage to retrieve the money. As he does, I turn to see David still watching the white horse.

  “How much for that pony?” I ask the owner. The price he quotes me is as much as the workhorses put together. I wish I had my crossbow so I could “haggle” with him.

  “It’s a thoroughbred,” he says and then begins relating the horse’s impressive lineage.

  Mr. Devereaux interrupts this, setting the trunk of money down on the ground. He turns to his son, shouting, “Stop daydreaming, boy, and get those nags ready to leave.”

  David turns away, hanging his head as he trudges over to our carriage to get the horses turned around. I again wish I had my crossbow, or that I could just kick Mr. Devereaux in the crotch for ruining David’s dreams. But then, why shouldn’t he? The Devereaux family have been peasants serving my family for two hundred years. Why should he have any hope?

  “I’ll take the white horse too,” I say.

  “Excuse me, mademoiselle—”

  I cut Mr. Devereaux off with a glare. “I’m buying that horse and your son can ride it as much as he wants so long as his chores are done. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Get the animals ready to go while Mr. de Gaulle and I complete the transaction.”

  Mr. Devereaux looks like a bigger version of his son as he trudges off to take possession of our new horses. I know it stings his pride to be ordered around by a woman—especially in front of another man—but he’s wrong. David needs some hope and I’m going to give it to him.

  I buy a saddle for the pony so David can ride the horse back home. The look of joy on his face is enough of a payment for me. I insist on riding one of the workhorses, not caring about the looks the former owner or Mr. Devereaux give me. I want to tell them that these are my fucking animals and I’ll do as I please, but instead I decide to maintain an icy, lordly silence.

  “How do you like her?” I ask David as I trot along beside him.

  “It’s a he.”

  “Oh, right. How do you like him?”

  “He’s a great horse.”

  “Better than Smokey?”

  David winces a little as he thinks about this, perhaps realizing for the first time that he’s betraying the memory of his old horse. He ducks the question by shrugging and saying, “I don’t know.”

  “He’s a thoroughbred,” I tell David and then repeat the horse’s noble lineage. This impresses him far more than it impressed me.

  David stroke’s the pony’s mane. “Am I going to get in trouble with Papa?”

  “No, of course not. I’ve already arranged things with him. You can ride the horse as much as you want—so long as you finish your chores.”

  “Really?”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  The joy returns to his face as he realizes that I’m serious. If it were possible he would hug me, but since he can’t, he settles for saying, “Thank you, ma’am.”

  We have to stop halfway home to give the horses a break. While David watches the animals, Mr. Devereaux takes me aside. “I’m sorry for speaking out of turn earlier, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

  “It’s all right. I know you just wanted to protect David from disappointment.”

  “That’s true, ma’am.” Mr. Devereaux shakes his head. “It’s a fine animal. I just worry that the boy will get used to things we can’t provide.”

  “I understand.” I ask Mr. Devereaux what Mama—and now Aggie—have been paying his family for their labor. The paltry sum per month wouldn’t even buy a half-dozen muskets. “When we get back I’ll talk to Agnes. I think it’s time your family got a raise.”

  “You don’t have to do that, ma’am.”

  “I want to do it. Your family has been loyal to my family for generations.” I watch David with the animals for a moment, thinking back to Henri’s dreams of making his fortune at sea. When those hadn’t worked out he had gone to another estate so he could own a bit of land for himself and in turn been conscripted into the army. If Mama had paid his family better, maybe none of that would have happened. Maybe Henri and I could have been together.

  I sigh and then turn back to Mr. Devereaux. “I want the boy to go to school, too. All of your young ones too.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s really too much.”

  “No it’s not. It’s not nearly enough.” I say this harshly enough that Mr. Devereaux says nothing else, merely nodding to me.

  Our little caravan arrives home at sunset. Once the horses are in the stable, David finally gives me that hug he wanted to give me earlier. “Thank you,” he says again.

  “You just take really good care of him.”

  “I will.”

  I tousle his hair and then leave him to feed, water, and brush our new livestock. Before returning to the house I stop at Mama’s grave. The grass has sprung up thanks to a potion Aggie brewed so it’s hard to tell where exactly the urn is anymore. I put a hand on the tombstone. “Everything’s going to be fine, Mama.”

  I regret those words once I get inside the house. The moment I open the door, Aggie wraps me in a hug. She cries on my shoulder in a way she hasn’t since the funeral. “Agnes, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Sophie,” she says between sobs.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s dead.”

  ***

  Of the almost two-dozen to die in the Salem Witch Trials, only one actual witch was killed: our sister Sophie. From what Glenda tells us in the living room, Sophie was in Salem Town to get supplies for a journey into the interior. Somehow she was captured, tried, and burned at the stake.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Why didn’t she just vanish herself out of there? Or why didn’t she use a spell to put out the fires or turn the judges into toads?”

  “I don’t know,” Glenda says.

  I leap to my feet before Aggie can put a hand on my shoulder. “And what about you? Where were you? Or the rest of the coven?”

  “We didn’t know. Not until Tabitha went there in disguise.”

  “You didn’t know?” I snort at this. “I doubt that. I’ll tell you what happened: you gave the villagers one of your little charms, like the one you gave me for Morgana. Then you let them kill her so we’d all think it was just an accident.”

  “I would never kill another witch,” Glenda says.

  “Like you didn’t kill Mama?”

  “Sylvia!” This comes from Aggie, who gets to her feet. She tries to grab my shoulder, but I shake her hand away. “You were at the funeral. You know Glenda loved Mother.”

  “That’s what she said.” I stand close enough to Glenda to smell ale on her breath. “Why don’t you tell Agnes about the missing spell in the archives. Tell her about that idiot Ingrid you stationed down there to watch the place.”

  “Why would I kill your mother? She was my friend.”

  “Because you knew what Sophie was doing. You knew she was going to complete what Morgana started. And you knew once she did, that she’d threaten to take your precious coven away from you. So you got Mama sick to distract Sophie. Then you sent her to America, where you could arrange that ‘accident.’”

  “That’s nonsense,” Aggie says. “Glenda would never do that. She’s not a monster.”

  I turn to Aggie, barely resisting the urge to grab her by the front of her dress. “Y
ou saw what she did to Morgana.”

  “Morgana was a traitor.”

  “Wake up, Agnes! This woman is a liar!” I’m about to tell Aggie everything, about our past, but Glenda grabs me. Her grip is like iron, so despite Hisae’s training I can’t break free.

  I wait for Glenda to kill me, but she only drags me into the dining room. Aggie starts to follow, but Glenda signals for her to stay back and like a good dog Aggie does as her master commands. “Consider your words very carefully,” she hisses into my ear.

  “Why should I? You’ll make me a child again?”

  “You’re still a child,” Glenda says. I brace myself to begin shrinking as Morgana did in the archives, but nothing happens. “What do you think telling Agnes that will accomplish?”

  “She has a right to the truth.”

  “You’ve seen what a state she’s in. First her mother and now her sister—”

  “They aren’t really her mother or her sister.”

  “You should know that blood isn’t all that matters. Annabelle loved you—all of you. Had it been up to me I would never have let her take Sophie on. That girl was nothing but trouble right from the start. But Annabelle thought she could redeem herself.” Glenda shakes her head sadly. “See how that turned out?”

  I stare at Glenda, unable to speak for a moment. “You’re saying Sophie killed Mama?”

  “She’s the one who found that fool Ingrid and took her down to the archives. I’m willing to wager she stole that spell and used it on your mother.”

  “Why would she do that? Why would she kill Mama?”

  “To give her an excuse to go over to America and look for this silly ‘birthplace of magic.’” Glenda rolls her eyes. “I thought your sister was too smart to believe in such foolishness like that.”

  “If Sophie believed it then it’s probably true.”