“Then let’s go home,” Sabrina murmured, her voice warm on the word.
She was the only one who really had a home.
The witch-hunter turned the truck around and drove down another winding path. It was easy for a mortal to get lost in these woods, but evidently he knew the way to the Spellman house. Dawn light outlined the yellow sign, the gray grave markers, and the sloping gables. All the windows were lit up.
“There’s a mortal tradition that says the people you spend New Year’s with are the people you will spend the rest of the year with,” Sabrina remarked.
“Please, Lucifer, no,” said Prudence.
When they pulled up outside, the door was flung open. Hilda and Zelda Spellman spilled out, Hilda in flowered pajamas, Zelda in a red silk wrap, both of them rushing for Sabrina.
“Where have you been—”
“—worried sick—”
“You couldn’t call?” asked Zelda. “Or send a quick bat with tidings? I despair, Sabrina.”
“Hello, sweet Harvey,” said Hilda. “Thank you for bringing her home.”
“Hi, Hilda,” Nick said with his most winning smile.
Hilda pursed her mouth as if she’d tasted something rotten and shook her head.
“Nicholas,” said Zelda. “Would you take her inside?”
“Be happy to,” Nick murmured.
“Yeah,” said the witch-hunter. “Go.”
Sabrina turned to him in clear distress. They looked at each other for a moment, profiles outlined by dawn.
“This doesn’t change anything,” the witch-hunter said, his voice scratchy and worn. “Does it?”
Sabrina shook her head. “No,” she said sadly. “I don’t think so.”
Zelda’s eyes, now they were no longer trained exclusively on Sabrina, rested on Nick with approval, skipped over the witch-hunter, and glanced on Prudence.
“Are you injured, Prudence? Let’s get both the girls inside.”
Zelda reached for Prudence, and Prudence sat up, reaching back. But Sabrina was climbing down from the truck, and Zelda turned instinctively toward the light of Sabrina’s hair under the moon, all else forgotten.
Prudence clenched her fists beneath the witch-hunter’s coat. She was so grateful Zelda had looked away and hadn’t seen Prudence embarrassing herself.
Nick offered Sabrina a hand to help her out of the truck, and Sabrina accepted it. The witch-hunter climbed out and went around to the bed of the truck where Prudence lay.
“I’ll carry you inside,” Harvey offered.
“I’ll turn you into a toad. You’d be hotter.” Prudence lowered her voice. “I don’t want to go in.”
The witch-hunter frowned.
“You think I want to go to her home and be second best?” Prudence demanded, imagining the Spellmans healing her when they wanted to be fussing over Sabrina, their eyes passing over her the way parents’ eyes did when they visited the Academy, looking for their child and not some orphan girl. “Would you?”
After a moment, the witch-hunter shook his head. He cleared his throat. “I’ll take Prudence home.”
Sabrina went around to the side of the truck, almost climbing over to try and give Prudence a hug despite Prudence’s stern prohibition. Evidently Sabrina thought they were friends now.
They weren’t. Prudence would make that clear, one day.
Nick and Sabrina stood in front of the house, watching as the truck pulled away, while Sabrina’s aunts tried to shoo them both inside. Nick’s arm was around Sabrina. Prudence saw the witch-hunter noticing.
“Just drop me off in the woods,” ordered Prudence.
“I know the way to the Academy,” the witch-hunter said.
Prudence sighed as she surrendered to slumber. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
She woke to find the pickup parked much too close to the Academy. The witch-hunter was sitting in the bed of the truck across from her, his head hanging, hands clasped between his knees. His awful hair was in his eyes again.
“The Academy is home, right?”
“I don’t have any other,” said Prudence.
“I can carry you in,” he said.
Prudence envisioned the reactions of the Academy if a witch-hunter came through their doors.
“If you try, you will be blasted to red powder.”
The witch-hunter silently handed Prudence a few sketches. Most were of her baby brother, but the last one was of her and Nick and Sabrina standing by a river that blazed. Prudence knew she was beautiful, but she’d never seen this kind of beauty in herself or in any other witch before.
She was sorry to burn the pictures, sorry to see the ashes blow away in the night wind, but burning them felt right. That was the nature of heartbreaking beauty. Even when it shone before your eyes, you knew it was lost.
That was when Prudence realized what the witch-hunter planned to do.
She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the truck, and made herself spring lightly onto the ground.
“You can keep the coat,” the witch-hunter told her.
She’d been planning on it. Hellfire had left a hole in her dress.
“I’m going to burn it.”
The witch-hunter shrugged. “I figured.”
He scrambled out of the bed of the truck, making for the driver seat, and Prudence turned to the Academy, its gray façade blotting out the dawn. Then she looked back.
“Hey, witch-hunter!”
His head turned.
“Stay alive,” said Prudence in her nastiest voice. “And away from me forever.”
Harvey smiled, startled and sweet. “Same to you.”
He gave her a little wave. Prudence scoffed and made for the Academy, letting out a sigh of relief when she was within the doors, sheltered behind the stone walls.
The relief was short-lived, since then she heard the sound of raucous partying, boys’ voices lifted in loud jubilation. It sounded like a pack of them, headed from the meeting of the Judas Society for that club of Dorian Gray’s, no doubt.
They passed her in a crew, laughing and singing and already drinking, the sons of Judas, chosen by her father as she wasn’t. She stood with her back against the wall, an expression of cool superiority fixed onto her face, and watched them walk by without even seeing her.
All but one.
Ambrose Spellman was beside his boyfriend, hand on his shoulder, one moment. He was by her side the next. He was dressed for a party, in an open gold brocade jacket with only a gold necklace beneath, no shirt, and here was Prudence looking terrible.
Well, as terrible as she could ever look, which was still hot beyond the dreams of dragons.
Ambrose gave her a single glance, eyes wide and glossy, and then scooped her up in his arms.
“Go on without me, boys!” he called over his shoulder, laughing. “I can’t resist Prudence tonight!”
Prudence laughed too, throwing an arm around his neck and a leg up in the air, flinging a look of saucy triumph over at Luke.
This wasn’t the stupid witch-hunter, with his dreary sorry face, making her look weak in front of other people. Ambrose knew better. This was a witch, slippery and deceptive, a laugh heard in the shadows. And what a witch he was.
Ambrose set her on her feet in front of her door.
Prudence raised her eyebrows at him. “This coat really doing it for you?”
“No, it’s awful,” said Ambrose with his easy smile. “Where’d you get it?”
Prudence shrugged. “Stole it off a mortal boy.”
“Ah, well. The coat’s dreadful, but stealing’s fun. Lucky mortal boy.”
He didn’t ask what had happened to Prudence, but he didn’t leave either. He leaned against the wall by her door, his eyes running over her. He shone even in the shadows of the Academy, and just a look from him felt like a caress.
He was flirty, but so were most of their kind. She still wasn’t sure.
Please like witches as well as warlocks, Prudence willed.
> “If it was any other night,” Prudence drawled, “I would do unspeakable things to you.”
Ambrose kicked a boot up against the wall, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, speak now.”
Maybe she should let him in her room. A few healing spells, and she’d be fine. Trust no man, Prudence always told herself, but … maybe she could trust this one.
She licked her lips and tested him. “I ran into a spot of trouble tonight. With Sabrina.”
Ambrose’s graceful lounge against the wall went tense. His eyes left hers.
Prudence had known that would happen. Ambrose said nothing, and didn’t move, but his whole body was straining against the urge to run and check on Sabrina.
She respected commitment to family.
The Church of Night said Father Blackwood was deserving of high honor, that he was chosen by Satan, that he was to be lauded and cherished in the dark heart of the dark god. The Church of Night said Ambrose was a disgraced criminal, allowed out of the house on sufferance, linked to incommunicates and infidels.
Father Blackwood refused to claim his own orphan child, had left her alone in the merciless world. Ambrose was ready to hurl himself between an orphan cousin and any threat.
Prudence knew which man she believed had honor. But that didn’t mean he had power. She wished the world worked differently sometimes. But it didn’t.
If Father Blackwood ever thought Ambrose would pick him over Ambrose’s family in any meaningful way, Prudence’s father was a fool. Prudence wasn’t one.
Her father was her chance for a different life. And Ambrose would always side with the Spellmans. Carnal delights were one thing. Trust was another.
Ambrose would pick his family. Prudence should pick hers. She must be ready to hurt Ambrose, if she had to.
Prudence smirked at him. “Afraid I’m exhausted. Run along, would you?”
“Catch you later, Prudence,” said Ambrose, walking backward and away from her, but still giving her a last beautiful smile. “With a net.”
Prudence wiggled her fingers in a sultry goodbye. “Hold you later. With a leash.”
She opened her bedroom door, her heart sinking as she heard the baby starting to wail. Then she stopped dead in shock, seeing her sisters gathered around the cradle.
“Shut up, little baby,” Agatha murmured, frantically rocking. “Please, please shut up, little baby.”
“Sisters?” Prudence asked from the door. She meant her voice to sound arch, but it came out blank.
“Prue!” Agatha exclaimed. “Where have you been?”
“Getting into trouble,” Prudence answered. “What else? What are you two doing here?”
“Someone had to watch Judas,” said Agatha.
Prudence bristled, but Agatha was focused on the cradle and her words only sounded factual. “We know you’re still angry with us about the spell on the mines, but that doesn’t mean we can just leave the baby. After all, he’s your brother, isn’t he? So he’s ours, in a way.”
“Prudence, you’re hurt,” said Dorcas, rushing toward her with a flurry of spells, already rummaging in her herb pouch.
Prudence permitted herself to be attended to while she thought this over. So her sisters hadn’t been avoiding her. They’d been treading carefully around her, fearful of her wrath. They thought she was angry with them.
She supposed that was acceptable.
Once Dorcas was done healing her, Dorcas gazed up at her with beseeching eyes. Prudence sneered, but not in a serious way.
“Oh, Prue, please stop being cross with us,” said Dorcas, flinging herself into Prudence’s arms.
“Well,” drawled Prudence. “I might be persuaded to forgive you.”
Dorcas sniffled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll only ever kill the people you say from now on.”
Prudence hesitated and then lifted a hand and laid it on Dorcas’s red braids. “I will ask you to kill many men, sister. Emphasis on ‘men.’ ”
Dorcas smiled with gratitude. “Prudence, I’m so sad. I don’t really remember, but I know Nick Scratch let me down terribly.”
“Of course he did,” murmured Prudence. “He’s a man, isn’t he? They’re all trash. That’s why we should pile them up in heaps and burn them.”
Judas wailed.
“Oh, hush,” said Agatha. “Don’t be so sensitive, baby. We didn’t mean you. Prue, how do we make this baby be quiet? He cries all the time.”
“I know, it’s a problem,” said Prudence. “Let us try singing to him. Together, sisters.”
The Weird Sisters knew no lullabies, but they joined hands and danced around the cradle, chanting an eerie chant and swaying together. Dark of the moon, light of the sun, the three in one. The child stopped crying, for once.
When Prudence’s father dropped in and found his son sleeping, he laid a hand on her shoulder. She ducked her head to hide how his approving touch made her smile. Perhaps she’d misjudged the situation with him, as she had with her sisters. Perhaps, once her father came to know her better, he would appreciate her.
That night, the Weird Sisters slept on Prudence’s settee together, in a tangle with Prudence at the center.
She didn’t need luck. She could make the family she wanted happen without it.
After all, she’d made one family already.
All in all, kind of a weird night,” concluded Harvey. He leaned down and patted the gravestone. “I’ll come back and tell you how things are going at school. Happy New Year, Tommy.”
He left the graveyard, closing the gate behind him and making for home. There were patches of scorched earth everywhere he went today, but snow was still falling through the crisp air of early morning. The blackened earth would be hidden soon.
Someone was waiting for him on the bridge, snowflakes lighting soft on his hair. It made Harvey remember that shining moment in the dark, the dazzling snow like diamonds scattering around Nick and Sabrina, the way they’d smiled at each other. How it felt, seeing Sabrina turn to someone else.
“Hi, mortal,” said Nick. “I thought you might come here.”
Harvey raised an eyebrow. “You also, like, know where I live.”
“You told me not to go back there.”
“Oh, hey, boundaries,” said Harvey. “Cool.” He smiled a little before he realized he was doing it.
Nick smiled back. “Thanks for the assist last night.”
“All hands on deck for a prince of hell, I guess,” said Harvey. “Really, a prince of hell? You could’ve mentioned that earlier.”
“I will next time,” Nick promised.
Harvey looked down at the water running under the bridge. He’d heard somewhere that you couldn’t cross the same river twice. Because the river was always different, and you were different too.
“Nah,” he said quietly. “Don’t bother.”
“I’m sorry,” said Nick in a fast, rough voice, as though he was pulling off a bandage. “I’m not used to—considering mortals’ feelings. You have so many of them. It’s hard to keep track.”
Best if you never found out, Nick had told him once, about all Sabrina’s lies. He’d brought the girl who killed Tommy into Harvey’s home, without even thinking how Harvey would feel if he discovered the truth. Mortal lives didn’t matter to witches. Mortal feelings were utterly unimportant. Harvey was sick of lies.
“I get it. I think … I get what witches are like now,” Harvey said slowly. “That’s how you are. No use expecting you to do things against your nature.”
“I—I could try,” said Nick.
Harvey glanced up at him, hesitated, and then shook his head.
“But I said I was sorry,” Nick argued. “And I was honest. So now it should be okay. That’s in the books.”
“It’s not a magic spell,” said Harvey. “Sorry.”
“So …” said Nick. “So … bye? Been annoying knowing you?”
Harvey took a deep breath. “Actually, I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”
>
There was a startled pause.
“Sabrina did a memory spell on me once,” Harvey said. “I was so mad at her for doing it, but now … I want you to do one. I want you to get witches out of my mind.”
Nick treated him to a spectacular eye roll. “I can’t give you Sabrina amnesia, mortal. You’ve known her since you were five. You would end up even more empty-headed than you already are.”
“Not Sabrina,” Harvey said, appalled by the idea. That would be like taking a color away from him that he needed for every drawing. “Not the last eleven years. Jesus. Only the last five days. Those witches. Dorcas. Prudence. Jude. You. I just wish—I hadn’t opened the door when you asked to come in.”
He thought Nick might respond, but Nick only leaned against the rail of the bridge, listening.
Harvey swallowed. “It was dumb,” he said. “I’m dumb. I was lonely. I—I miss my brother. But it was magic that took him away from me. And I hate that girl, Dorcas. I want to kill her, but—I don’t want to be someone that angry, someone who wants to hurt someone else that much. I don’t want to be reminded of magic and murder at every turn.”
Witches were killers. Witches were liars. Witches didn’t need him.
It was bad enough to know with inescapable certainty that he’d come running every time Sabrina needed him. Far worse to get attached to more witches, which he would—which he was. Far worse to smile back when Prudence’s ebony-painted mouth curved on the words Stay alive, or worry so much about Nick dreaming of Satan. Far worse to think of witches as friends when witches didn’t even think of mortals as people.
You poor pathetic wimp, his dad said in his mind. He should never have opened that door.
Harvey appealed: “Do you understand why I’m asking? How can I trust a witch not to hurt me? I can’t trust my own father not to hurt me.”
“I understand,” Nick said icily. “You’re a coward.”
His dad had always said so. He’d insisted that he wasn’t, told Sabrina that he wasn’t, fought against the creeping knowledge it was true. It’d seemed so important, once.
Harvey shrugged. “I guess I am.”
That didn’t matter. Maybe he had to go through being a coward to become something more.
Daughter of Chaos Page 26
