By Any Other Name

by Kayti McGee

  “Exactly,” they said in unison.

  “So…” I said, deciding not to pout. I probably did seem like a baby to them. To everyone, lately.

  Silence while they communicated with their eyes for a moment, then both of them came around the counter, one leading me to a velvet-covered chair and the other flipping the sign on the door back to closed. I breathed deeply of the incense and gazed around at the offerings. Atop a wooden floor, scattered apothecary cabinets offered interesting little talismans. Jars of herbs fought for shelf space with esoteric books, and crystals were absolutely everywhere. No wonder Tessa liked it here. So much hippie shit. Although I was feeling much less dismissive of it today, knowing that there was more to it than just love, light, and ‘gram-able decor.

  “The why and the how are questions you will eventually have to answer for yourself,” said one twin.

  “All matters of faith ultimately are,” said the other.

  “Suffice it to say that when the world was made, it was not made to be so free of wonder as it is now.”

  “Magic is our birthright, as children of God.”

  “Men of God, of course, have never appreciated the diffusion of power.”

  “But they oppressed it too much, and lost much of their connection.”

  “Catholic rites used to be so marvelous, weren’t they, Sage?”

  “Some days I can still taste it, Rosemary.”

  “But that was a long time ago, and we have occulted our knowledge in fairy tales and rituals. Miracles no longer abound, but that doesn’t mean you cannot find them.”

  “Or create them. But you are not yet strong enough for that.”

  I interjected. “So… how long ago are we talking, exactly?” Because I was handy with a search engine, and certainly knew plenty about fairy tales. Children’s stories were my forte. They glanced at each other again.

  “I doubt you can afford the cost of learning one of our secrets, infant.” I tried not to roll my eyes, and I think I very nearly succeeded. Classic old people, always convinced the best years were behind them even as they envy the ones ahead of the young. All neatly tucked away in the old “never ask a lady her age” bullshit. Patriarchy, man.

  “Fine. How do I get started? Is there a school, or something? Oh, God, no. Am I not eligible? Is that why I never got invited?” This time, it was the sisters rolling their eyes.

  “Hogwarts remains as fictional as ever.”

  “The school is life.”

  “To learn magic, you must become it.”

  “It takes a great deal of focus.”

  “A great deal of work.”

  “Many refer to it simply as the Great Work.”

  “Is that lavender I smell in your coffee?”

  “Lavender is a lovely ally for witches. It soothes.”

  “It cleanses.”

  “It brings Her, our triple-formed Mother.”

  “It brings Her children, the dead.”

  “Jesus,” I said. That got dark fast.

  “It doesn’t bring Him, no, but you’ll find it in churches regardless,” one of them assured me. They had begun to circle me, I noticed, and their voices were blending together, identical and low, into a rhythm that made me inexplicably tired.

  “Breathe it.”

  “Feel it.”

  “Be it.”

  Breathe.

  Feel.

  Be.

  Breathe.

  Feel.

  Be.

  Choke.

  Numb.

  Been.

  Blind and deaf, the blackness driving me to madness, the fading memory of who I was giving way to envy, then to anger, and finally to amusement. I think therefore I am. I thought therefore I was. I think and I am was. Present and past, pretenses of the gods, pre-tenses, tense trances, where am I? Who was I? What have I become? Where is my love?

  I gasped for air, fumbling my coffee as my eyes flew open. For a moment I had thought I was dead. Scrabbling through the dirt, endlessly seeking something I’d lost, something I no longer had a name for. I felt as cold as I had fleeing from the stream, and my hands were shaking just as hard.

  “Interesting, isn’t it, Sage?”

  “I find it so, yes, Rosemary.”

  “I don’t!” I said, still panting. “I found it terrifying! What did you do to me?”

  “It wasn’t us.”

  “It was Her.”

  “It was you.”

  “You appear to have quite an affinity for Her children. Perhaps you are more of a toddler than an infant.”

  “Tell us, does necromancy run in your family?”

  At that I stood up. I might have been quavering from head to toe, the taste of earth still in my mouth, but this was too much. I wanted to run all the way back to Missouri, back to Mother and Joe and the coldness I knew. Of hearts and not souls. I wanted to forget this batshit state even existed. I wanted, but I didn’t.

  Because I also knew myself. I knew if I ran, I’d regret it. I’d have backed down from the most interesting thing that ever happened to me, just because we’d gone from flowers to death in a few short sentences. In a single vision, a daymare not worse than many I’d had at night.

  I sat back down. The twins continued to wait for me. I sighed.

  “I have no idea. I’m adopted. That’s why I’m here, kind of. I found an uncle up in the mountains. His cabin is covered, like covered, in those things.” I pointed at the skull again. “Are you saying my uncle is a witch? Wizard? Warlock? Is there a genderless term I should be using?”

  Of course I was starting to babble again, desperate for answers and at the same time afraid to hear them.

  “Likely sigils and runes of protection. The mountains are a powerful place.”

  “A dangerous one.”

  “Particularly for a man.” They nodded firmly at each other.

  “His name is Rune. Maybe he’s just a weirdo who likes them a lot.” Afraid of the truth, even now. They had said magic was everyone’s birthright, but wasn’t it just a tad too much responsibility to hand to someone like me? I spent the bill money on a wine club, for fuck’s sake. And not infrequently. Then I quit my entire life to hunt down a stranger. I was the exact opposite of responsibility these days.

  “A witch’s name has purpose.”

  “One grows into the destiny it offers.”

  “Juniper Hollow, did you say?”

  “We haven’t been there in ages, have we, Sage?”

  “Not in ages, Rosemary. But we do recall the waters.”

  “The entire water table rests upon a bed of quartz, noted for its purifying capabilities.”

  “Magic water isn’t perhaps a wrong name for it.”

  “Witches do get pneumonia, so we’d advise waiting until a warmer day to try that again.”

  I was dizzy following their conversation. Another sip of my coffee, still clinging to warmth, made me feel marginally better. Perhaps it was the power of suggestion, but me and lavender were fast becoming friends. Although we needed to have a good long talk about that death thing.

  “Okay, but listen. What do I do with all of this? It has to mean something, right? I didn’t just stumble into it by accident. Did I?”

  “It doesn’t matter if you did.”

  “A witch becomes her destiny.”

  Something Rune had said came back to me. Something about my own name. The most beautiful thing in the brambles that Juniper Hollow was becoming. If this was a children’s book, that would be a clue. If there was some purpose to everything, it would be found there, in the dark town on a crystal bed where I was conceived. But I couldn’t go back there as unprepared as I went the first time.

  “I don’t have much money, but I’d really like to buy a little instruction. Nothing crazy, just the basics. How not to die, I guess, mostly. Maybe a party trick or two. Ooh, is water-into-wine a real thing?”

  The twins did another round of silent communiqué.

  “We can teach you how not to die.
”

  “Not immortality. Simply basic protection.”

  “You’ll develop your powers more every time you use them, of course.”

  “So a simple spell becomes complex.”

  “And therefore our compensation must be fair.”

  “Mm-hm,” I said. “I got like three hundred bucks I could spare, probably. And I’m not sure I got much of an answer to my wine question.”

  “Does the toddler know about Trader Joe’s, Sage?”

  “She know enough to know what she doesn’t know, Rosemary, and we must be contented with it.”

  “Tell us, Rose. What is your deepest, darkest secret?” They leaned in as one. I was beginning to consider the fact that they could be. Two bodies and one brain. Stranger things had happened—like yesterday.

  “When I was four, I stole a little plastic rabbit from the children’s room at the library. I felt so guilty I never played with it. And to this day I hate the sight of rabbits.” I waited. Another long glance between themselves.

  “Not very deep.”

  “Not very dark.”

  I tried again.

  “When I was sixteen, I kissed my best friend’s boyfriend at a party. I didn’t want them to break up or anything. I didn’t even like him. I just… I just needed to know what it was that he had that was more important than me, since he was the only thing she ever thought about anymore.”

  “And what did he have?” they asked together.

  “Nothing. He had nothing. His lips were smooshy and he tasted like blank paper.” Funny how I could remember all those details even so many years later.

  “And how did that make you feel?”

  “As though you, too, were nothing?”

  I stared at one and then the other. Sage and Rosemary. The twin witches I longed to retain as my teachers. And I told them the crux of my secret.

  “I’d always thought I was nothing. All adopted children suspect so. The confirmation was a relief. I liked my friend more afterwards. When they broke up senior year, I was probably more upset than she was. Because they had taught me that nothing really matters. And that’s all that does matter, you know?”

  I cast my eyes down, drank the rest of my now-cold coffee. This time, the lavender didn’t affect me. Although if it hadn’t already, I might not have been relaxed enough to let that out.

  “A sorry little secret.”

  “But one with Her wisdom inside it.”

  “Though the secret itself contains only small power…”

  “...the lesson reverberates as your magic shall.”

  “We accept you.”

  “Eight tomorrow morning, and every morning for a week.”

  One of them walked me to the door, the other flipped the sign back to open as I walked out, bewildered. It didn’t occur to me until I was preparing to knock the following morning that I’d never actually told them my name, though they’d used it.

  Nine

  Thorn

  Rosemary and Sage called me on the first of October, which did not feel like a coincidence. October is a high holy month among witches, along with January, April, and July. We celebrated the lesser sabbats—midwinter, midsummer, and the vernal and autumnal equinoxes—but the true bacchanal goes down on Samhain, Brigid’s Day, May Eve, and Lammas. Case in point, I less than half-remembered last year’s Samhain feast.

  I lifted the phone and assumed a patient voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Thorn,” said Rosemary (or Sage).

  “It’s us,” said Sage (or Rosemary).

  It was impossible to tell the twin witches apart. They always called together, like gossipy aunts or teenagers who had just discovered the joy of a conference call. And I always got the most inane urge to ask if Parsley and Thyme were in evidence.

  “I see,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Ah, we have a delicate matter,” said one of the twins.

  “A matter of some concern,” said the other.

  “A visitor to our humble place of business.”

  “Yes, a red-headed girl.”

  I had been sitting in an armchair in my library, a heavy volume on spells of warding open across my lap, but at the mention of Rose I stood. The tome tumbled toward the floor. Pages akimbo and flapping above the rug, the book paused mid-air and lifted serenely to the coffee table.

  “What’s that to me?” I said coolly.

  “We weren’t sure—”

  “—if it was anything. She mentioned ‘a magical enemy’—”

  “—and Juniper Hollow. Masking waters...”

  “Someone, per her description, ‘really hot.’” The twin cleared her throat and chuckled uncertainly. “You can see why...”

  “Why we thought of you.”

  I ground my teeth. Rose, it seemed, was determined to forfeit the mercy I had shown her. Not only had she stopped at the town limit of Juniper Hollow and begun shrieking about magic (my fault, probably, for scaring her stiff), but now she was barely out of the mountains and raving to the local witches about what had happened to her in the valley. Better Rosemary and Sage, though, than an overzealous psychiatrist. I would not easily forgive myself if Rose ended up in the psych ward after one interaction with me.

  In fact, I would not forgive myself at all. I would rescue her.

  I kneaded my brow, contemplating that strange thought, while Rosemary and Sage prattled on about “never treading on Blackmane toes” and “wanting to exercise the utmost caution.” They detailed Rose’s desire for an apprenticeship and elaborated on her many questions. A word from me and they would end the association.

  “An enemy of yours,” said Rosemary or Sage, “is an enemy of ours,” the other twin concluded.

  “You were right to call me,” I said, “but I don’t know the girl. She must have come up here and gotten a bit of a scare from her uncle.”

  “Oh, lovely.”

  “Wonderful to hear.”

  “Then we’ll tutor her with no consequence?”

  “None from me.” I yawned elaborately. “Sisters, I haven’t visited your little shop in ages, have I? How long has it been?”

  “Years,” said one of the twins.

  “Too long,” the other lamented.

  “I might stop by,” I said. “Your call has pleasantly reminded me of your loyalty.”

  They gasped in unison.

  Although allegiant to the Blackmanes, Rosemary and Sage were practitioners without a coven, as are many witches the world over. We covened witches tend to look down our noses at those lone wolves whose gifts can only grow so much. The confines of the coven provide early teaching, ancient resources, safety, strength, and the heightened power of the egregore—the collective in session.

  Covens, in short, are like monarchies. Lone witches are vassals. Thus, it would be a conferral of honor for me to descend from the mountains to visit the shabby little establishment of two uncovened witches in Boulder.

  I could already hear the sisters fluttering around the shop in preparation.

  “Don’t overextend yourselves,” I said. “I have other business in town; I’ll just drop by briefly, if it suits. And please keep my visit to yourselves. I wouldn’t want any... superfluous meetings.”

  Rosemary and Sage assured me that I would be most welcome and that my visit would be kept private. They were still clucking and enthusing as I ended the call.

  I may be guilty of giving the impression that witches only travel by spiriting invisibly through the night, but that is not the case. When it came time for me to venture into Boulder, I chose my black Bugatti. She was parked between my black Aston Martin and my black Lamborghini. (I have a weakness for high-end automobiles, which, in the final account, isn’t the worst of my flaws.)

  I tore down the winding mountain roads at a steady ninety miles per hour, veering over the solid yellow lines to pass the more circumspect motorists. Only one police officer attempted to pursue me, but, when he saw my telltale license plate (VANITAS), he wave
d out the window and turned off his siren.

  The authorities for many miles were well within my family’s deep pockets.

  The sun was setting as I cruised into Boulder. To me, the city resembled nothing more than a glorified Juniper Hollow, complete with hippies and foodies and a little too much faux mysticism. I was glad for the coming darkness, which would spare me seeing the carryings on of the mortals.

  For lack of a better starting point, I located Rosemary and Sage’s shop—Toil and Trouble—and waited in the alley, listening.

  You might say I got lucky, if you believe in luck, for no sooner had I stationed myself in the shadows than I heard Rose’s voice inside the shop. She spoke giddily, at a hundred miles an hour, and I could picture her dimples deepening and her dark eyes jumping between the twins.

  “Will it work if I say it wrong? Do you think it could hurt someone? And seriously, do I always need to carry salt or one of these crystals? They’re kind of clunky. Well, I guess I could put one in my purse. Is that what you guys do? Wait, is that why you wear all that jewelry? Hey, do you think I could—”

  “Times up, my child,” said one of the twins.

  “But I—”

  “Tomorrow, tomorrow,” said the other twin. “Do you have our payment?”

  They were handling Rose expertly, so much so that I sneered. Salt and crystals? Payment? What sort of racket were they running? To be sure, salt and crystals had their place in spellwork, but they were nowhere to begin. Meditation and prayer were the places to begin. Books and nature were our schoolhouse. If I’d had less restraint, I would have torched Toil and Trouble, noisome twins included, the moment Rose stepped out.

  She looked defeated. Her shoulders slouched as she adjusted her large canvas handbag around her coat. She checked her phone, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and began walking briskly. Wherever she was staying, it must have been in walking distance. That, or she had totaled her car on her way out of Juniper Hollow and was now heading to the nearest bus stop.

  I couldn’t be bothered waiting to find out.

  I pursued her soundlessly, coming abreast of her in seconds.

  She jumped and stopped, her breath juddering out. “You.”