The Spinner of Dreams

by K. A. Reynolds

  Annalise’s eyes pinched and her chest heaved. Static crackled across the screen when her dark mark spiked in pain—she clenched her big hand tighter. “Please,” she begged her shattered black-hearted mark. “Not today.”

  For now, her cursed hand listened.

  “Our man on the scene, Richard Inglehart,” Penny Fabius continued, “reports that the accursed parents have not left their home since yesterday, and the Accursed One, not for the last forty-four days. Thank the Fate Spinner for that.” Penny spat on the ground and glared proudly at the screen. “Stay tuned to Channel 7 News, the Eye on the Sky, for hourly sightings, locations to avoid, and updated Meriwether reports. And,” she finished with a grin, “may a better fate be yours.”

  The burden of all she was, and the harm she’d caused simply by being born, settled like a thundercloud over Annalise’s heart. Many times, she’d pleaded with her parents to leave Carriwitchet—move somewhere no one would know their name. But always, their response stayed the same: “We’ll not flee because we’ve been bullied into thinking we don’t belong here,” her mom would say first. “One day, maybe you’ll understand.”

  “We were not born to run from oppression,” her dad would add with pride. “But to stand bravely inside it and defy it. This is our home, Annalise, and we refuse to go.”

  “Yes, that,” her mom would say next, her face worn and a bit ashamed. “But we also have very little money. Your grandparents left us this place, thank goodness. And I know you’d like to move. But I’m afraid even if we wanted to go, we couldn’t afford another home.” Then she’d smile and say, “At least we always have each other.”

  And as happy as Annalise was to be anywhere with her parents, standing in the hallway staring at the television screen flickering with an old image of her face labeled Enemy Number One, all she wanted was to flee the town that hated her and never return.

  Annalise forced herself to keep moving toward breakfast but paused at the kitchen door, just out of sight. Her mom and dad sat at the decrepit table (its legs held on by rope and clamps), sipping hot beverages—Mom, watery tea; Dad, coffee from yesterday’s grounds. The shadowy sky hung lower than usual outside the cracked kitchen windows. Low fog crowded the field. Dead branches scratched the window glass like charred claws. Annalise avoided the curtains—old yellow ones from the attic, replaced in the night. She tried to ignore the scorch marks on the sagging wood ceiling but failed miserably. Now the burns were all she could see. Crisp, heart-shaped black leaves, the only kind that survived after Annalise’s birth, bustled past the house carrying on with their pretty deaths, as if letting go was the easiest thing to do.

  For Annalise, letting go was the hardest thing ever.

  The memory of flames from the night before. The worry her parents would change their minds about letting her get a cat. The secret thought that maybe her parents hated her, that maybe they wished she’d never been born. The creeping fear that the Fate Spinner would one day take her mom and dad away from her, like she had Annalise’s grandparents. Worries whirled about inside Annalise as she hovered outside the kitchen.

  Four breaths, in and out. Four more strokes of her hair. Four times Annalise threw her worries away; and four times they returned. Until she finally forced her feet forward and stepped into the kitchen light.

  “Morning, shweetheart,” her mom slurred. She peered over her notebook, pen clenched in her teeth as usual. Her mom, Mattie Meriwether, had a friendly, heart-shaped face, smiling brown eyes, and skin like blended autumn leaves, a shade darker than Annalise’s own. She smiled at her as if nothing had happened the night before. As if children spat burning ash and black flames from their hands regularly. As if Annalise was the rarest and most lovely star of them all.

  “You look nice,” her dad said happily. Harry Meriwether, the handsomest man in Carriwitchet, was tall; had longish, straightish dark hair; chiseled cheekbones; a short black beard; and a kindness that radiated from him like sunlight. He regarded Annalise over his black glasses and chipped coffee mug that read: Poetry Is Life. “You ready for the big day?”

  Annalise slid out her wobbly chair and sat across from them. She wanted to tell her parents how sorry she was for being cursed and setting fire to things again. Except only strangled air escaped her throat.

  She stroked her hair and clenched her cursed fist tighter instead.

  “Annalise?” Her mom’s forehead lines deepened. “Are you okay?”

  Nodding quickly, heat singeing the backs of her eyes, Annalise inhaled and exhaled, as always, exactly four times. The number four reminded her of a square—four sides, four walls to break to escape her fear. Sometimes it worked; other times, not so much. Annalise watched the lemony fabric of the new curtains lift and fall, fall and lift on repeat, until she’d calmed enough to ask the question she’d dreaded to ask.

  “Are we still going to the animal shelter today?”

  Her mom peered over the crest of her notebook, pity crossing her face. Knowing how much Annalise disliked pity, her mom traded it quickly for a spark of excitement. “Yes, of course. As soon as I finish this chapter.”

  Fresh hope lit in Annalise. Although, in the time it took her mom to finish writing her chapter, the sky could shatter completely and the earth could crumble to dust (some of her sentences took days to complete). But Annalise kept her lips zipped, not wanting to ruin the chance of her first dream coming true. “Do you mean it?”

  “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” As if she’d heard Annalise’s thoughts, her mom snapped her notebook shut and stood. “You know what? I can finish this later. Let’s get in the car and go. Right now.”

  Annalise broke into the world’s fattest grin and hugged her mom as fast as a spring wind. “Thank you!” she cried. “You won’t regret this!”

  “I know we won’t,” her mom replied, and kissed Annalise’s cheek.

  Her dad nodded in agreement. “We never have regrets when it comes to you.”

  Everything seemed so wonderfully, exceptionally perfect—

  Except for the panic stalking her life’s peripheries like a panther, growling from the shadows of her cruel-hearted mind. Foolish girl, you know nothing ever works out for you.

  Chapter 3

  The White Cat

  Before Annalise was born, her dad dreamed of being the best boat builder in the world. He’d spent years learning his craft. He’d carved sacred creatures into helms, burned designs into planks, and brought his dreams to life. Each design was a gift to behold. He’d sold boats around the world and eventually became a great success. That is, until his daughter’s birth, when his boats—and reputation—crashed and burned. Sailors died. Families were torn apart. And Harry Meriwether had earned a new name: the Devil’s Boatman. Forced to give up his dream, he carved only models of longboats these days—their house was full of them. Each pierced Annalise’s heart like a dagger of shame.

  Her mom’s story was no different.

  Mattie spent years writing books, building fantastic worlds from the ground up. But every one was rejected. “Give up,” literary gatekeepers would tell her. “Stick to gardening and leave the dream of being a professional writer behind.” Some of her manuscripts spontaneously burst into flames en route to publishing houses, while others were lost. It didn’t matter that her mom woke at two o’clock each morning to write before work, or if she was good and gifted and determined. No matter how wonderful her books were, Fate’s answer remained the same: No.

  Annalise blamed herself for her parents’ failures. So much so, she felt she needed to be extra good in return for their love. They’d already given up so much because of her. So when her big hand did wicked things, Annalise grew especially anxious.

  And it grew more wicked each day.

  The time to go to the animal shelter had arrived. Though Annalise didn’t feel she deserved to go, considering the trouble she’d caused, a secret flicker of hope in the dungeon of her heart refused to die: that maybe, even after everything, s
he could be worthy of one very slight, cat-shaped dream. Her mom unlocked the cluster of locks barring their front door. And together, they stepped into the dark.

  The Meriwether house sat at the far edge of town, bordered by a charred field and the petrified forest, dead as the sun over Carriwitchet. Their funny, hat-shaped home hung on to its togetherness by a thread. Shutters drooped. Black shingles flaked off like dragon scales. The circular wraparound porch—the brim of the witch’s hat—was a study in How to Sink into the Ground. Each of the three floors slid off in different directions. Moonglow drenched their garden of poisonous nightshades, which Annalise’s mom sold by mail order to apothecaries outside Carriwitchet under an assumed name.

  The bars of their cage glinted in the dark midday light. Icy night winds greeted them with the scents of mildew and death. Annalise’s blackberry hair whipped back in a gust as they stood between the door of their house and the one to the outer cage. She smiled as her dad popped the enormous padlock. Hands clasped, her parents’ heads high, they led Annalise to their ancient car.

  Somewhere Channel 7 News’s man on the scene, Richard Inglehart, would be reporting her cursed family on the move. They had hidden cameras posted somewhere close by—ones her parents never could find. Annalise held her mother’s hand tighter, listening for the night wolves. She couldn’t see them but knew they were watching, too.

  Inside her cloak, her dark mark burned. Annalise imagined reporters waiting for her cursed hand to do something bad. She forced the thought away and kept moving toward the car.

  On the other side of town, a train whistle blew.

  Annalise stopped in her tracks and hugged herself tight.

  “Hey,” her dad said, softening his watchful eyes. “It’s okay. The train isn’t coming for you.”

  Her mind seized regardless. One after the next, worry-thoughts wrapped her lungs in cold cloth.

  Your existence is a curse.

  The train came for your grandparents and killed them, thanks to you.

  You’re the plague of your parents, this town, and every soul you meet!

  Her mom: “Annalise?”

  You should be ashamed.

  Her dad: “Annalise.”

  Ashamed.

  Ashamed.

  Ashamed.

  Ashamed!

  Annalise took four deep breaths and tried wishing the worry-thoughts away. You have the right to be happy, she told herself. Mom and Dad love you. It’s okay, Annalise, it’s okay.

  Your dreams might still come true.

  “Annalise,” her mom said quickly, opening the car door. “Come, sweetheart. Your new cat awaits.”

  “Okay,” she answered. Forcing a smile, Annalise got in their rusted tank of a car and quietly shut the door.

  As they drove, white crows cawed and swirled overhead, following as always. Sometimes Annalise thought the crows were protecting her. Other times, they felt like curious strangers—as if Annalise was an animal on a stage, and they’d come to watch her dance. Night wolves howled from the petrified wood, an eerily lonesome song that covered her bones with frost. She’d often dreamed of running a sanctuary for hunted and mistreated animals like the night wolves. Those attacked for their nature, for being themselves.

  Behind their cries came another haunting call of a train. The moment felt frozen. Like a photo in a book captioned: Just a few minutes before it happened . . .

  But the drive out of town was always fraught with danger. Their old car, with its dents from thrown rocks and scorch marks from tossed torches, rattled so loud, all of Carriwitchet heard them coming from a mile away. Townsfolk peered out their ramshackle doors when they passed—to spit and hold up amulets of protection bearing a shattered black heart with an eye in the center, to ward off the Fate Spinner’s curse.

  “Don’t look at them, Annalise,” her dad said, gazing at her from the rearview mirror.

  Annalise nodded and cast her gaze aside. Away from the dilapidated black houses lining the road—on her birthday, every house in town turned black. Same as the trees in the petrified wood, and the farmlands beneath the cracked sky.

  For hundreds of years prior to Annalise’s birth, Carriwitchet was blessed. Some said it was the Spinner of Dreams who’d given their town prosperity, luck, security, and life. Not until Annalise was born wearing the mark of Fate did the Fate Spinner turn her dark eye on them.

  “Fate hates us,” the townspeople gossiped. “We’ve loved her sister too much.”

  “She sent the girl as a punishment!”

  “We must prove our loyalty to the Fate Spinner!” they cried.

  “If she has cursed this girl, we must show the Fate Spinner we detest the girl, too. Mayhap then Kismet will return our sun and set our world to rights. . . .”

  Annalise squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t see the angry faces of the townsfolk holding their amulets out against her, but they were there. Each stone they threw at their car made her spirit jump out of her skin.

  She counted her breaths, but it didn’t help—nothing did.

  “Sweetie, take my hand.” Her mom reached into the backseat. Annalise opened her eyes. She clasped on to her mom like a life raft in a stormy sea as the townsfolk cried, “FREAK!” and “DEVIL!” and “CURSE!” and “Leave and never return!”

  A strangled cry escaped Annalise as tears slipped down her cheeks. But still she was smiling at her mom, because her mom was smiling so lovingly at her.

  The car swerved as her dad stepped on the gas. “You know you’re none of those things, right?” Harry Meriwether asked, skirting the rocks flying into the road.

  Annalise raised her big purple eyes to his in the mirror. “Yes,” she answered softly, but only for him. Her heart knew no such thing.

  Annalise took four deep breaths and tried to push her pain away. Sometimes deep breathing worked. Other times all it did was keep her alive.

  Classical music played in the background—dark and dramatic, as they liked. The farther away from Carriwitchet they drove, the brighter and more colorful everything became. No more venomous looks, the black stain of Carriwitchet left behind them. Here, the heavens opened blue as a gem and the whole world sang.

  Annalise pressed her nose to the window. She wanted to pluck the colors like flowers and hold on to them forever. They’d been driving for what felt like hours when finally, after cresting the lovely, rolling green hills, they arrived at the animal shelter one hour before it opened.

  A few employee cars dotted the lot. Since her mom was the shelter’s resident Cat Lady, she came and went as she pleased. As soon as they exited the car, a glorious ray of sunlight drenched them in muslin gold. The warmth flowed through Annalise like magic, leaving the darkness from earlier behind. She made sure her big hand was hidden as they paused on their way to the door to bask in the sun, faces up and smiling. Even though the shelter owners knew the truth about her family—and liked them regardless—Annalise didn’t trust her big hand to behave.

  Two dogs ran to the chain-link fence, barking and wagging their tails. Hello, hello, they seemed to say, are you here to take us home? Annalise beamed. The dogs were beautifully unafraid of her. In Annalise’s perfect world, every animal would be surrounded by warmth and love and whatever else their pretty hearts desired. She made a silent wish that both dogs would find perfect forever homes soon.

  Her mom’s coworkers let them through the double set of doors. Annalise greeted the nice-looking man and woman kindly, all the while stroking her hair and wondering if they’d like her if her big hand did something wicked. She wanted to think they would, but her experiences made her doubt it.

  The first room they entered was the cat room. It smelled wonderful—like fur, second chances, and hope. Annalise followed behind her dad. He’d put on a special mask and taken several outrageously giant pills beforehand to lessen his allergies. “Hope I don’t puff up like a balloon,” he joked, and joined her mom at the counter.

  Annalise tightened her cursed fist under her cloak,
furrowed her brow, and begged her dark mark in a whisper, “Please don’t do anything bad.”

  Her left hand pinched ominously in reply.

  Annalise walked softly down the first aisle of kittens and cats, stopping at each cage to say hello. As she approached the end of the aisle, a shock of joy struck her. On the floor in the last cage on the right sat the large fluffy Siberian, no-sneezes-for-Harry cat. He had long white fur, and, much to her amazement, large plum-colored eyes like hers. She’d never seen a cat, or another person for that matter, with eyes the same shade as her own. He was beautiful and strange and looked especially good at keeping secrets—those too private to even share with her parents.

  Annalise had always felt having a human friend would be quite different from having an animal friend and felt certain that one needed both. But as she turned to tell her mom and dad she’d found their cat, she saw that they were speaking in hushed tones with a shelter employee Annalise had never seen before.

  The woman eyed Annalise suspiciously.

  A chill of winter rippled Annalise’s scalp. Heart revving, ears buzzing, she counted—one-two-three-four. Regardless, the usual worries came. Maybe the woman hated her family? Maybe she wanted them to leave?

  Trying to make herself smaller, Annalise crouched before the cat enclosure and gulped breath after breath over the lump in her throat. A moment later, the woman laughed at something her dad had said.

  Annalise nearly melted with relief.

  Thank you, Dad—thank you!