by Ami McKay
Beatrice nodded, then asked, “What’s that song you were singing?”
“ ‘J’ai vu le loup,’ ” Eleanor answered. “ ‘I Saw the Wolf.’ My mother used to whistle it while clacking a pair of sheep’s ribs to keep time. Before the burnings, witches sang it as they danced at their Sabbaths.”
“I can see why,” Beatrice said. “It’s lovely.”
Smiling, Eleanor thought of her mother. We’ll make a witch of her yet, Maman.
—
When it came time to set the places around the table Beatrice asked, “Will Miss Thom be joining us for the supper?”
“I hope so,” Eleanor replied wondering what was keeping Adelaide out so late, again. “It would be a shame for her to miss it.”
“And what about the place for our ghost?”
“Our guest,” Eleanor corrected. “Leave that to me.”
Climbing the stairs, she went to her room to fetch several items from an old wooden trunk—a dagger, a chalice, a mirror, a bell and a cloak. The dagger, worn with age, had a handle made of antler. The chalice, though tarnished, was made from the finest silver. The mirror, meant for scrying, was of polished obsidian, stowed inside a leather case to protect it from damage and demons. The brass bell, no bigger than an egg, was inscribed with angelic script. Holding it upside down in her palm Eleanor silenced the clapper with a small rag, to ensure it wouldn’t sound prematurely. Last but not least, she scrutinized the cloak that was waiting in the bottom of the trunk. Simple in design yet exquisitely made, the cloak, with its pointed hood and crescent-shaped clasp, was a beautiful shade of blue, akin to the wash of azure that paints the sky as twilight turns to night. Her mother had told her its origins. “The woman who was first to wear this cloak was also the one who made it. She tended the sheep to get the wool. She grew the woad to dye it. She spun the wool into yarn. She wove the yarn on her loom. She poured the silver to make the clasp. She sewed each stitch by the light of the moon. Every fibre of the garment contains her determination, her sweat, her blood.”
Eleanor hugged the cloak, burying her face in its folds. It smelled of woodsmoke, sweet grass and beeswax. “I need you, Maman,” she whispered. “Please come.” The key Eleanor was wearing around her neck grew hot against her skin, prompting her heart to open and her tears to fall.
—
The opening of the trunk brought Bright out of hiding. The minute the Dearly saw what Eleanor was up to, she knew what was in store. “Twitch,” she hissed, after Eleanor had left the room. “Come here!”
“Why for?” Twitch asked, yawning and stretching his spindly arms above his head.
“We need to move a ghost.”
“Again?” Twitch complained.
Tugging on Twitch’s arm, Bright pulled him into the air and guided him towards Adelaide’s room. She hovered over Adelaide’s mother’s ghost (who was curled up in a washbowl, snoring). “We need to oust her now. I don’t want her to interfere with the supper.”
“Where to this time?” Twitch asked.
Forcing the chimney’s flue wide open, she said, “Up and out!”
The Gypsy woman snorted and turned in her porcelain bed.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“Don’t you care about the girl?” Bright needled.
“Beatrice?” Twitch asked, eyes gleaming.
“Who else?”
Twitch couldn’t deny that the beautiful young woman had stolen his heart. “Well, all right then, let’s put her out. How do you want to do it?”
“By hook or by crook,” Bright replied with a grin. Then she roused the dead Gypsy from her sleep so she could tell her something between the truth and a lie.
“You’re sure she needs me?” the befuddled ghost asked, unsure as to why the fairy was in such a rush.
“Your daughter’s not home yet. Who knows why.”
“Who knows why she does anything,” the Gypsy replied.
“She should be here asleep in her bed. Don’t you wonder where she’s got to?”
The ghost knew her daughter could take care of herself. But it’d been a long time since she’d seen the whole of the night sky, or given a fright to gaily-dressed ladies who’d had too much to drink. If the fairy was willing to let her out, then who was she to argue? “You’ll let me back in?” she asked, just to be sure.
“Of course,” Bright replied, nudging Twitch with her elbow.
“Of course,” Twitch parroted. “Of course.”
Had the Dearlies made the ghost a promise they didn’t intend to keep? Not quite. Bright would gladly let the wayward spirit in, if she could find her way back. Flying up the chimney, the eager ghost swallowed great gulps of soot and smoke, savouring the dirty air.
Bright quickly threw a handful of graveyard dust on the fire, then watched it spark and hiss. “That should keep her from coming back any time soon.”
“She’s going to be angry,” Twitch warned, shaking his head.
“She’s always angry,” Bright said. “It had to be done.”
—
It was quarter to midnight when Adelaide finally appeared. She’d fallen asleep on the park bench with the Bird Lady at her side. When a policeman had poked her with his stick, she’d woken with a start and found the old woman was gone. She was hungry, thirsty and tired. She wanted her bed.
Finding the shop with the table set, blinds drawn, strewn with lit candles, she wondered if she might already be asleep and dreaming. “What’s all this?” she asked while reaching to pinch a grape off a plate that was overflowing with fruit.
“Don’t,” Eleanor said, rushing to push Adelaide’s hand away from the offering. “If you’ve ever considered yourself my friend, you’ll listen carefully and do as I say.”
Adelaide stopped where she stood. Not because she was offended, but because there was something in Eleanor’s voice that said there was more at stake than their friendship. Taking hold of her partner’s hand she said, “Tell me what to do.”
Beatrice stood near as Eleanor explained the strange things that’d been happening in the shop and everything that was about to take place. She could tell from the expression on Adelaide’s face that she, too, had never participated in such a rite.
“What if I forget something?” Adelaide asked.
“You won’t,” Eleanor said. “You’re the girl who sees everything, remember? Watch, observe, listen. Use your gift. It’s what you do best.”
—
At one minute to midnight, everything was in place—food and drink on the table alongside the sacred tokens of Madame St. Clair’s past. A small cauldron served as a centrepiece, sending curling billows of smoke wafting through the air. Beeswax candles anointed with oil of myrrh burned bright about the room. A single taper glowed before Madame St. Clair’s chair.
Bright and Twitch sat on the stairs, waiting for the proceedings to begin.
“Join hands,” Eleanor said to Adelaide and Beatrice. “It’s time.” Closing her eyes, she began the rite.
Earth, air, wind, fire,
In a circle we conspire,
To make ourselves dumb so we might see,
Across the veil to summon thee.
As we are, so you once were
As you are, so we shall be.
So may it be
So may it be
So may it be
The hands on the clock touched twelve, but the chimes did not strike.
Eleanor took the bell in hand and rang it three times.
One by one, each of the women moved through the room, their backs towards the table—first Eleanor, then Adelaide, then Beatrice. Once they were seated, Perdu made a graceful swoop and landed on the back of Madame St. Clair’s chair.
They ate the first course in silence.
Eleanor savoured her share, allowing each bite to conjure memories of her mother.
Adelaide fought the urge to devour the sweet in one go.
Beatrice wondered if she’d be able to finish everyth
ing on her plate. Her nervousness had returned with a vengeance, and she could hardly swallow.
Thankfully, as the meal progressed, their nerves were soothed by feelings of sisterhood and friendship. When the soup was gone and the last course over, Eleanor reached for her cup of mead and held it aloft, making a voiceless toast to her mother. Adelaide followed suit, as did Beatrice (as did Bright and Twitch with thimbles full of May dew).
The flame of the candle that’d been placed at Madame St. Clair’s seat began to dance and flicker. A rhythmic clacking sounded in the room, seeming to come from all directions.
Throwing his head back, Perdu imitated the sound in his throat. Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.
Beatrice stifled a laugh.
Adelaide tapped her teaspoon on the edge of her plate, keeping time with the raven.
Eleanor did nothing to stop her.
Between the clicks and clacks someone began to whistle “J’ai vu le loup.”
The cloak draped on Madame St. Clair’s chair began to move, undulating to the music. As the tune grew to a frenzied pitch, the wise-woman’s spirit appeared, inhabiting the garment. Her skin was wrinkled, her bones gnarled, but her eyes shone bright as the full moon on a clear night. “Hush!” she said, then gave a roaring laugh.
Adelaide dropped her spoon, sending it tinkling to the floor.
Madame St. Clair turned to her. “As you are, I once was. As I am, so you shall be.”
No sooner had she uttered those words than the ceiling above the table turned into a night sky dotted with stars. The walls of the shop disappeared, giving way to a dark forest. Wind rustled through trees, punctuated by the hoot of an owl and the distant howl of a wolf. The scents of moss, pine needles, leaf litter and smoke filled the air.
Eleanor kissed her finger and held it out to her mother.
Adelaide pinched the fleshy part of her forearm to make certain she was awake and not dreaming.
Beatrice bit her lip in fear, tasted blood on her tongue before it trickled down her throat.
Perdu took hold of the hood of Madame St. Clair’s cloak with his beak and gave it an impatient tug.
The spirit laughed as she addressed the raven. “Old friend,” she said, “you’ve tricked us all, haven’t you? Now that I’m on the other side, I can see who you are. Do not forget the Mothers are watching you. So long as you behave yourself, your secret will be safe.”
The raven cocked his head and nodded.
“Dear Eleanor,” Madame St. Clair said, turning to her daughter. “You’re wondering how I’m feeling, being called here this night? I will tell you I’m disturbed but not surprised. But it matters not. That is the way of all spirits. I wait for the past. I remember the future. Time means nothing.” She caressed the objects before her—the dagger, the chalice, the mirror. Cradling the mirror in her hands, she gazed across its black surface searching for signs. “For you, my child,” she said, “I see blessings from beyond, from all the Mothers who have ever lived and all the Mothers yet to come. You are as strong and wise as the Bright Ones who came before you, from Heidr to the Queen. Your strength comes from on high, but you needn’t be a nun.”
Adelaide looked at Eleanor and gave her a wink.
“And you,” Madame St. Clair said, turning to Adelaide. “Why have you chosen to forget your name? The tree has not forgotten you, Moth. Do not ignore the magic it gave you.” Holding her hand in front of her face, she blew on her fingertips until a perfect golden pear appeared in her palm. “Eat of its fruit,” she commanded. “It will help you remember.”
Adelaide reached for the pear and took it. She sank her teeth into the fruit’s ripe flesh, and felt its juice run down her chin. It was the sweetest, most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.
“Beatrice!” Madame St. Clair exclaimed, now clutching the girl’s witch’s ladder in her fist. “You tied these knots to make your wish and by so doing bound your fate. Do you deny it?”
Eyes wide, Beatrice shook her head. She thought she might be sick.
Wriggling in Madame St. Clair’s hand, the charm slowly changed from a tangled length of string to a writhing, hissing snake. Holding fast to the serpent, Madame St. Clair opened her mouth again to speak, only this time it was unclear as to whether it was her voice or the snake’s. “This realm of the living is a palace of forgetting. Birth gives us life, but leaves us blind to all other worlds. We witches, we wise-women seek to touch all that’s been forgotten. Isn’t that the stuff of your dreams, dear girl?
“Your wish was your choosing and now you have been chosen—to remember the worlds before the present, to see those who’ve passed beyond the veil, to hear the whispers of the Fay, to learn the sacred order of nature, to speak the language of dreams. The world has need of more witches. Sibyl, oracle, seer, prophetess, hag—it is their hearts that wish to beat within you, their souls you see in the face of the Moon. The Mothers are always watching. They’ve seen you cross paths with a sacred stone and confer with an ancient jinni. They’ve watched you sleep in the house of witches, and heard you speak with spirits. They are here with us now, come to bring you a message. The first witch not born but made shall renew the work of the Mothers. She shall lead her sisters through the fire.”
Madame St. Clair slumped in her seat, her spirit fading fast.
In the forest an animal drew near, snarling and breaking branches underfoot.
Disappearing into the darkness, Madame St. Clair cried, “Le Loup!”
With that, every candle in the room went out.
Twitch bolted upright and looked at Bright, who took his hand and held it tight.
Ringing the bell three times, Eleanor whispered, “Don’t be afraid.”
Beatrice sighed.
Adelaide smiled.
The clock struck midnight at last.
THE MORNING SUN Saturday, September 25, 1880
CLEOPATRA’S NEEDLE STUCK
Engineering woes, lack of personnel and a spate of rainy weather have conspired to bring the Great Obelisk’s journey through our fair city to a temporary halt. In the week since the ancient monument’s landfall at the 96th Street Pier, its movement has stalled, largely due to what Chief Engineer Lieutenant-Commander Henry Honeychurch Gorringe calls “unforeseeable delays.”
The ascent up Ninety-Sixth Street has proved more troublesome than originally anticipated, causing Gorringe and his fellow engineers to re-think their approach. The method initially devised for moving the obelisk through New York’s streets lasted just long enough to get its precious cargo across the Hudson River Railroad line. Shortly thereafter, the tremendous weight of the stone caused it to fail. The former method has now been abandoned in favour of a modified “marine railroad,” which should, according to Gorringe, easily accommodate the load. This revised plan will require more manpower for the duration of the obelisk’s trek—to grade the ground ahead of the caravan, reposition the track beams, move timber and other materials and sink anchors to stabilize the device. Able-bodied men with experience in railroad construction are encouraged to apply for immediate employment. Work should resume as soon as there is a break in the weather.
EGYPTOMANIA TAKES HOLD.
The delays in the movement of the monument haven’t quashed Manhattanites’ excitement over the Needle. Visitors have been steadily making their way to see it, despite the stone being clad in a protective sheath of wood planking. Crafty treasure hunters have also been caught with chisels in hand, hoping to steal a bit of granite for themselves. “Who can blame them?” one bystander said. “Everyone who’s seen the obelisk for themselves has walked away in a wild state of excitement. Ladies swooned, lovers made wishes, and an elderly gentleman prayed he’d be sent another wife—all in the short time I was near it.”
The Witches of New York.
IT RAINED EVERY day for a week after the dumb supper, and the three witches did their fair share of thinking and worrying and scheming about the best way to proceed. When Saturday arrived with more rai
n rolling down the windows, Eleanor rose early from her bed, slipped on a dress and snuck downstairs before Adelaide and Beatrice were stirring.
For the past six mornings she’d performed six different spells to keep the shop protected and safe. What had happened the night of the supper had been astounding (even to her), but it had worried her as well. She could still hear her mother’s panicked cry of Le Loup! She had no idea who or what “the wolf” might be, but she knew the sound of fear in her mother’s voice. The words had clearly been meant as a warning, much like those of her family’s motto, Always needed, ever hunted. Even if Eleanor couldn’t say for certain why her mother had sounded the alarm, she figured that being more vigilant couldn’t hurt. After all, she wasn’t alone in this. She had Adelaide and Beatrice to consider and protect.
On Sunday she’d spread salt and tea leaves between the floorboards to keep all evil at bay. Monday she’d hung a mirror facing the shop door to reflect all negativity back to its source. Tuesday she’d placed an old shoe filled with bent nails beneath the threshold, to dispel whatever dark magic might be cast upon this place. Wednesday she’d dipped her finger in water in which a mandrake root had been bathed, and traced pentagrams on the windows, doors and mirrors to seal every portal from any dark forces that might wish to enter. Thursday she’d burned bay, juniper and sage in a large brass censer and wafted the smoke through every room, swinging the thing floor to ceiling, front to back and kitty-corner. Friday she’d swept the shop top to bottom with a crooked-handled hickory broom, collecting bits of lint and dust. Tossing the litter out the door she’d recited the following verse, Under the watch of a waning moon, I sweep out the old to make room for the new.
This morning she planned to pin a piece of parchment over the entryway, inscribed with an ancient charm spelled out in a magical cypher to invoke the aid of beneficent spirits against disease and misfortune. Her mother had made use of it time and again at their little cottage, swearing by its power to protect and heal. Whenever Eleanor was feverish or ill, her mother would write the charm on a scrap of paper then hang it with linen string around her neck to rid her body of all sickness and evil.
