The Iron Witch

by Karen Mahoney

  Aunt Paige held her gaze, glancing away only to fold up the cuffs of her soft red sweater. Her casual clothes today made her look only slightly less intimidating; a tall woman, Paige Underwood usually lived in fitted charcoal trouser-suits. She was Donna’s father’s sister, three years younger than him, and was very well regarded among the alchemists. The Order had thrown a big party for her on her fortieth birthday, with a dizzying array of members from other Orders in attendance. Quentin Frost had turned his estate into the perfect high-class venue: there had been a marquee, beautiful catering, and even a live band.

  Of course, Donna would rather have celebrated her aunt’s birthday in a quieter way, but Quentin wouldn’t hear of it. Not for one of the Order’s “Moon Sisters”—an ancient name for female alchemists that Donna had always found amusing. Apparently it was a title she herself could look forward to if she followed in her parents’ footsteps and became a full initiate when she was eighteen. It wasn’t something she liked to think about, because it wasn’t something she wanted to do. She just hadn’t gotten around to telling anybody that. And she wasn’t entirely sure that they would even listen to her if she did.

  Aunt Paige’s face was lined with tension, as always. She worked full-time in the offices of the Mayor of Ironbridge, and by all accounts he was a hard taskmaster. But Paige thrived on the workload, and Donna knew that the real reason she worked there was so she could keep the Order informed of any relevant insider political information. It wasn’t unusual for alchemists to be situated in high places; centuries ago, in countries like Great Britain, it was thought that some alchemists were royal spies.

  When Donna didn’t offer any further information, Aunt Paige crossed her arms. “And why is it that you can’t come with me tonight? Do you have plans with Navin?” The unspoken word “again” hung in the air between them.

  “No, it’s just that … ” Donna swallowed and stirred her tea. “I was planning to visit Mom this evening.” Okay, so it was an excuse, but she really should go see her mother. It was long past time.

  Her aunt’s tone softened. “Really? That’s wonderful news—she’ll be so happy to see you.”

  Donna doubted that. For the most part, Rachel Underwood didn’t recognize her own daughter when Donna visited her at the exclusive and very private Institute. The residents were mainly elderly, but there were a handful of younger patients, her mother among them. Nobody quite knew what to do with her—she wasn’t exactly crazy, but she certainly wasn’t … well. It was more like there was a void where once a person had existed. A beautiful, vibrant person, who was now an empty shell who rarely spoke.

  All of that vitality, snuffed out after one night of terror in the forest.

  “Well,” Donna said, “I haven’t been for weeks.”

  “All the more reason to go, then.”

  Aunt Paige nodded firmly, as if the matter was already settled. In her mind, it probably was.

  Donna Underwood’s Journal:

  Visiting Mom is always difficult. “Difficult”: that word doesn’t even begin to describe it, but if I tried to write what I really felt I’d just start crying. And I promised myself, a long time ago, that I would never cry over my mom again.

  Even while I waited to be admitted—standing in the familiar spacious entry hall of the medical facility, with its smell of pine, lavender, and the strongest bleach you can get—I felt a mixture of hope and despair. I can’t help hoping, even after all this time, that Mom will somehow get better.

  As if by magic. Yeah, wouldn’t that be something to see.

  So it turned out that I lost both my parents after Dad rescued me from the dark elves—after the Wood Monster ruined my hands and forever marked me as different. Mom was in the group of alchemists following behind, the ones who tried to stop Dad from getting himself killed. That’s what Aunt Paige has told me; I hardly remember anything that happened that night. I was very young, and it’s almost as though there’s a gray cloud over the whole thing in my mind.

  And then there are the dreams. But I don’t even know which parts are real and which I made up.

  We do know that the elves did something to Mom—worked their mojo on her while she was in their territory—but nobody knows quite what they did. Which means it can’t be undone. Quentin says if the alchemists could be certain of what actually happened, they would have a better chance of fixing it. Of fixing her.

  Maker’s best guess was that they took a lock of her hair during the fight. An elflock is a particularly powerful kind of magic; dark fey can use a lock of human hair to invade the victim’s dreams and slowly drive them mad. Seems pretty obvious to me that’s what happened, but, even if that is the case, we’d need to know where that lock of hair is in order to have any chance of healing her.

  So until then, she has to stay in this halfway state, here at the Institute. Most of the time she sits and stares out the window. She likes to see the sky, I think. Sometimes she’s completely comatose, while other times you can at least have a conversation with her. You never know if she’ll remember who you are, though.

  It was good to see her today, despite everything. I was surprised at how relieved I was just to be able to sit with her. To hold her hand and look into her eyes. Her lovely eyes that are still that unusual silver-gray—my eyes do a poor imitation of them, though I remember that Dad used to compare us and say that it was our eyes that made us look like sisters. She would laugh at that.

  Memories are stupid things. Why is it that I can only remember the useless stuff?

  Mom’s beautiful red hair has faded, and the streak of white in the front had spread since the last time I was here. I picked up the heavy brush on the old-fashioned dresser and began to run it through her long curls. I took one section at a time, working gradually and methodically until her hair shone like burnished wood.

  She suffered my attentions in silence, and I wondered if she thought I was just another one of her caretakers.

  But for the first time in months, it seemed as though she might actually remember who I am. As I moved to return the brush to the dresser, she clutched my hand and tried to say something—only the words wouldn’t come. At least, not at first. Not until she suddenly sat forward in her chair and stared into my eyes with such intensity that it scared the crap out of me. She sat like that for ages—it seemed like hours, though of course it was only a minute or two. Neither of us spoke, and I felt my heart beat so fast. Maybe she was remembering something.

  Mom said, “We tried to save you.”

  Over and over again, just those five words:

  “We tried to save you.”

  And then, while she was still speaking—chanting the words like a mantra—she went to her bedside table and opened the top drawer. She rummaged inside for what seemed like ages, finally pulling out a small wooden jewelry box. She flipped it open and retrieved a tiny pouch from inside, and then pressed the soft black velvet into my hands.

  “We tried to save you,” she said, nodding her head firmly as though confirming it to herself. “We tried to save you.”

  Eventually, a nurse came and had to sedate her because she was getting so agitated. They tried to make me leave but there was no way I was going anywhere, not if there was a chance she might say something else.

  What was she talking about? Save me from what? The elves? I wish she could’ve said more—it was the closest I’ve ever come to hearing something from her that seems connected to that night.

  I sat by her bed, listening to the sound of her breathing and the occasional twitches and murmurs that she made even in sleep. The pouch she’d given me held a beautiful, delicately crafted silver charm bracelet. It jingled when I held it up to the light and shook it. I pushed it into my jeans pocket, safely back inside its small pouch, and resolved to examine it properly later. I know the bracelet has to be important, but right then all I wanted to do was to sit with Mom.

  I watched her beautiful, ravaged face as it slowly settled into calm lines once more.
r />   One day I will find out what happened to her, and I will figure out a way to get her back.

  Donna tried not to feel nervous as she waited for Alexander Grayson in the middle of Ironbridge Common. She had dreamed her way through the day’s classes with Alma, and the tutor had even commented on her pupil’s lack of attention. Donna didn’t think she could be blamed, though. Monday’s classes were usually made up of “regular” lessons, the things that she should be covering in high school; how was she supposed to concentrate on the Declaration of Independence when she had a sort-of date with a ridiculously gorgeous guy?

  The precise center point of the Common was a regular meeting place for friends and lovers. Donna’s eyes strayed to the old wooden bandstand as she sat down on an unoccupied bench. She felt suddenly self-conscious and scruffy in her frayed jeans, although she had added a fitted silver tunic and her favorite black velvet gloves when she changed, after class, in one of the luxurious bathrooms in Quentin Frost’s huge house. Her thick gray woolen coat and flat silver pumps completed the outfit, while her hair had been simply and hastily brushed and left loose. It was growing fast, already almost to her shoulders. Seeing her mother’s crazy-long tresses last night had made Donna want to get all her hair cut off again, as she’d done last year, much to her aunt’s horror.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this nervous; she cursed her weak stomach as it flip-flopped and somersaulted. The cold November air forced her to huddle further into her coat, and she wished she’d worn boots. All of this concern over hair and wardrobe wasn’t Donna’s usual style, but at least it gave her something else to worry about.

  The Common was busy, even this late on a Monday afternoon; people were returning from the newly opened shopping mall and the surrounding shops, while others were no doubt out to enjoy their evenings after school. Darkness had already fallen, cloaking the treetops in indigo velvet; the only light came from the strategically positioned lampposts lining each pathway. No moon was visible tonight, and the stars were covered by a blanket of cloud.

  Donna fiddled with the charm bracelet that was now clasped around her wrist. It had been in her pocket all day, tucked inside its velvet pouch. She wondered why her mother had given it to her and what it meant. When she’d examined it, in the privacy of her bedroom, she’d felt a familiar tingle as soon as the metal touched her palm. One thing she was certain of: the bracelet held magic in its silver, intricately carved charms. She desperately wanted to ask Aunt Paige if she knew of the bracelet’s significance, but it was so rare for something out of the ordinary to happen when she visited her mother that she just wanted to clutch this slight memory to herself. At least for a little while longer. Her aunt would see the bracelet soon enough, if she decided to start wearing it regularly.

  And then, all thought of potentially magical bracelets was swept from her mind as Xan came striding toward her with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a long black coat, his thick amber hair catching the light as he passed the lampposts.

  “Sorry I’m late.” His voice was breathless, as if he’d been hurrying.

  “It’s cool.” Donna tried to smile, but found that her mouth wasn’t working properly. She sounded as breathless as he did, yet she’d been sitting here for the last ten minutes.

  Xan stood in front of her. “So, do you want to sit out in the cold, or shall we go and find that coffee?”

  “Let’s get coffee.” Maybe if she kept her responses to a minimum, she wouldn’t sound like such an idiot.

  They walked side by side in companionable silence for a while, Donna stealing occasional glances at Xan. He kept his head down, watching the leaf-strewn path ahead of them, which was handy when it came to guiding her out of the way of a pile of broken glass. She slid her hands into the pockets of her coat—not for warmth, but because she was afraid she might reach out to take his hand.

  “So, where are we going?” she asked.

  “Coffee. Wow, you’ve got a short memory, Donna Underwood.”

  She flashed him a mock glare. “You know what I mean.”

  “I thought we could try Mildred’s. We might just slip in and get a seat between the day and night shifts.”

  “Okay, cool.” Donna was amazed at how ordinary her voice sounded, as though walking through Ironbridge Common with a hot guy was the most normal thing in the world. She glanced up and caught him staring at her with an almost hungry expression. Wrenching her gaze away, she wondered if she was making a mistake, meeting this strange young man she barely knew.

  But as her stomach fluttered and her cheeks burned, she thought, How can I possibly resist?

  The pathway Xan had chosen wound past a small collection of trees; there were maybe a couple dozen newly planted ones alongside half-grown saplings. The intermittent lampposts lighting the way seemed to be spaced farther apart here, hardly making an impression on the early evening darkness.

  There were fewer people in this part of the Common, and it was still pretty far from the main road. If Donna strained hard enough, she could hear muffled car engines beyond the undergrowth, but otherwise the sounds surrounding them were from nature—birds calling to one another as they finished settling in for the evening, and a mysterious, indefinable, low-pitched vibration that was sort of froglike. Really, Donna’s knowledge of wildlife was pathetic, but it was refreshing to walk in the sharp air with Xan beside her, just taking in the scenery.

  He seemed at peace out here, his hands still resting deep in his pockets and his head up, green eyes alert and shining.

  Donna was the first to break the silence. “So, is this a regular shortcut?”

  Xan glanced at her. “Yeah, it saves walking around the whole northeast corner; it’s much—”

  But she never did find out what he was going to say because a man-sized shape flung itself at him and knocked him off his feet. Donna heard the air forced out of Xan’s lungs, a surprised sound that was cut off, almost immediately, as whoever attacked put his big hands around Xan’s throat.

  “Xan!” Donna ran toward the two bodies, which were rolling around and scattering dried leaves and a nest of sleeping squirrels in their wake.

  Xan seemed to have gained the upper hand and was now on top of his attacker. Donna spared a moment to wonder how he’d managed that so quickly, but all thought was forgotten when she got her first real look at the … person Xan was fighting. At first glance, he could pass for a regular homeless dude; just another guy from the street, complete with ratty-looking coat and several scarves muffling his face. Donna caught glimpses of his lined white skin and bushy dark beard before he broke free of the chokehold and pushed himself back to his feet.

  Xan flipped himself upright with super-fast agility that took Donna’s breath away. What the hell? How did he do that?

  But before she could get any further, Crazy Homeless Dude grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. She thought he would stink something awful, but in fact all she could smell was rich earth and the faint aroma of damp umbrellas.

  “Get off me!” Donna struggled against him, but her back was mashed against the guy’s chest and he had both arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides.

  Xan was half-crouched in front of them, his hair sticking up and his eyes burning emerald-bright in the near darkness. “Take your hands off her, man.” His voice was low and vibrated with barely repressed fury.

  Donna heard the emotion underneath Xan’s words as easily as she heard her own panicked breathing. It gave her courage, somehow, knowing that this guy she’d only just met wanted to protect her.

  But there was something very important that Xan didn’t know about her. Donna Underwood didn’t need protection. Not when she had alchemical magic running through her arms and hands.

  Not when she was a freak of nature.

  Sucking in a steadying breath, she squeezed her hands into fists and pushed outward with both arms. The scruffy dude holding on to her was strong, but Donna bet that she was stronger. Her attacker gav
e a surprised cry as she dislodged him. He stumbled backward, trying to keep his balance as he stepped over a fallen branch.

  Now it was Xan’s turn to watch her with astonishment. Donna felt good that she could take care of herself. It wasn’t often she felt thankful for being different, but this was one of those times.

  Donna and Xan now stood side by side, facing off with the vagrant who seemed intent on taking them down. What the hell was a street guy doing attacking a pair of kids? Donna wasn’t stupid enough to think it was a bizarre, chance encounter. She spared Xan a glance. “You take that side, I’ll take the other. Maybe together, we can hold him.”

  Xan’s eyebrows shot up. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

  And then they were circling their would-be attacker as he lunged forward once more. All three of them met in a clash of bodies that Donna felt all the way down to her toes. She was thrown to one side, unable to keep hold of the flailing arm that threatened to take her head off. So much for her plan …

  She risked a glance at the nearest pathway, realizing that in the minutes they had been fighting off Crazy Homeless Dude, not a single person had passed by—or if they had, they certainly weren’t stopping. It was more likely that nobody had even seen them, tucked away in the shadows of the foliage and half-grown trees way back here.