Maybe it’s good I can’t talk, because I’d sound all weepy. I write another question and Kat reads it. “Do you know who took the picture?”
“It had to be one of her roommates, because I recognize the setting, but me and my roommates didn’t have a camera that day. They were taking pictures at some point, though. I remember her posing.” He sighs. “That was over twenty years ago. We were in college then, and she moved around a couple times before we lived together. . . .”
I tilt my head. They lived together? Wow. Nana was serious when she said my mom stayed with him as long as she could. “Her roommates were Eva, Taiko, and . . . Stacia.”
Last names? I write, and Kat repeats.
He laughs. “I remember Eva’s because it was Corona, and we’d tease her about it. Taiko’s was something long and Hawaiian. She was from Maui. And Stacia’s was Black—she and Carmina were really close.”
I jump at the name. Black. They’re the largest witching family around. Not that any of our families are super big, but they have cousins and that seems huge to me. I haven’t met any of them since I was a little girl, because Nana basically cut off all contact with other families once my mom was Cursed. But Mom loved to tell the story of how we once went to a big Halloween gala when I was four. Every other little girl was a Black. One of them, a snotty redhead with perfect ringlets, said, “Hemlock? I’ve never heard of that bloodline. Are you sure you’re a witch?”
I scowled at her. “Of course I am.”
“Prove it.”
“Fine.” I cut off one of her curls and turned it into a butterfly. She wasn’t very happy about that. Mom told me that we might be a small family, but our magic was still as strong as anyone else’s.
But maybe not all the Blacks were like that little redhead. Stacia Black could have been a lovely person. And it makes sense that Mom would bunk with at least one witch, especially if she was so far from home. If Stacia is a witch and knew Mom back then, then Stacia probably has information we’re missing, information Mom wouldn’t have told my dad.
“What, Jo?” Kat asks.
I grab the pen and paper. Black is a witch family name. Stacia could have been a witch, and maybe that could be a lead.
“Huh,” my dad says when Kat tells him. “I would have never guessed, but that’s the point, isn’t it? You blend right in.”
“No kidding,” Kat says. “I grew up with Jo, and I never had a clue. She was just fun, sweet, crazy Jo.”
I scrunch my face, embarrassed, but my dad smiles. “I bet. Sounds like—”
Boom.
The house rocks, every plank crying out its creaky song. Plaster rains from the ceiling, and a few pictures clatter to the floor. I put my hand over my heart, as if that will steady it, and wait for the world to stop swaying. The house hasn’t fallen yet, but there’s a first time for everything. Kat uncovers her head. “What the hell was that?”
Better find out, I write.
“We’re going to investigate.” Kat opens the door. “We’ll see you later, Mr. Johnson.”
He waves. “Hope to see you soon.”
I can’t wait until we can actually talk.
When Kat and I get down to the kitchen, everything is out of order, but that’s not what has my mouth hanging open. Three women stand there, brushing themselves off as if they’ve come in from a rainstorm. They all have long gold hair, braided and looped intricately, and wardrobes that look either hippyish or medieval peasantish.
The Crafts. Nana must have asked them to come fast, because they usually use the front door.
Maggie turns, her big eyes lighting up. “Jojo!” she squeals as she careens into me. “This is all so crazy! I don’t know how in the world you deal with so much and you can still smile and everything!”
I forgot how fast and incoherent she gets when she’s nervous. Or excited. Or hopped up on caffeine. Last time she was here, she got a hold of one Dr Pepper and, wow. She ended up raiding our newt-tail supply and using it to toilet paper all of Main Street. Nana was not happy, but at least she had the foresight to get our house, too, so no one blamed us.
“What’s the bad news Nana Dottie is writing cryptic messages about?” Maggie continues. “Mom and Auntie keep giving each other weird looks. You know, the ones where they know more than you do but they don’t know if they should tell you?” She shoots them a glare. “I really hate when they do that.”
She’s never going to be quiet. It’s hard enough to stop her when I have a voice.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you and it’s so disgusting that you’re prettier than—”
Kat clears her throat, and finally Maggie notices her. “So you’re a witch, too, Maggie? I feel kind of stupid for missing that one.”
Maggie smiles. “Hey, Kat. Long time no see. Are you having fun learning about magic? I heard all about the binding.”
“It’s been interesting so far, and not that long since I’ve seen you. A year maybe?”
Since Maggie visits often, my friends know her. They think she’s my cousin, which is kind of true. Close as I’ll ever get.
Maggie points back to her family, who eye Kat warily. “This is my mom and auntie. Gran stayed behind to man the house and watch Molly, my baby sis, who is the cutest little girl ever. You should see—”
“Mags.” Her aunt steps forward, and immediately the air quiets from her authoritative presence. “We’re here to get information, not give it.” She appraises Kat in a way that makes me want to protect her. “So you are the one who received the binding?”
Kat tries to stand tall, but that’s not much when you’re five foot nothing. “Yes.”
“I’m Prudence.” She holds out her graceful hand, and Kat takes it. “You have a lot to learn.”
“I know.”
Prudence scowls. “Good. And this is my younger sister, Tessa.”
Tessa’s smile is warm, just like Maggie’s. “Welcome to our world, dear.”
“Thanks.” Kat nods in my direction. “Also, you might want to know Jo can’t talk right now.”
They all give me a surprised look, so I motion for them to follow me to Nana, who already has the picture rehung and waiting. She fills the Crafts in on the situation, and they stare at the image in horror. Even Maggie’s perma-smile has faded. “Are you certain you’ve never heard of such things?” Nana asks.
“Positive,” Tessa says. “That is . . .”
“An abomination,” Prudence says. “If a witch did this, she should be publicly punished.”
“While it makes sense that a witch would be behind this, we have no proof that one is. Carmina could have crossed paths with one of these evil men during her travels. I don’t know. I’m afraid we have nothing to go on, and I’m not sure it’s wise to alert any other families of our situation,” Nana says.
Tessa nods. “With the threat so close, how can you know which way to go?”
“You thought you were doing a good thing cleansing Josephine’s father,” Prudence adds. “And it almost cost you everything.”
Nana sits in her chair, looking lost. I walk over and hug her. Her brow furrows. “What is it, dear?”
Kat clears her throat. “We went and asked Joseph more questions. Turns out he knew where that picture came from. He said one of Carmina’s roommates probably took it—Stacia Black.”
Tessa and Prudence gasp at the name, clearly familiar with whoever Stacia was. Which makes sense, considering they were my mom’s closest friends.
Nana hugs me. “Of course! You darling girl.”
Tessa smiles. “Stacia was so kind—definitely not your average Black witch. She and Carmina became really close. If anyone else knows more about Carmina’s life, what might have happened, and who performed the Curse, it’d be her.”
Prudence folds her arms. “I haven’t seen her in years, though. I think Carmina mentioned a long time ago that Stacia was pregnant. Seems they lost touch after that—she wasn’t at the funeral.”
Kat, Maggie, and
I lap up the information. This is all news to me. “If they were close, why wouldn’t Stacia go?” Maggie asks.
Tessa shrugs. “It’s easy to lose contact after you have a child—I remember how very protective I was of you, Maggie. I didn’t take you from the house for years—not until you were four or five.”
Nana nods. “If Stacia did have a daughter, she wouldn’t have risked taking her to the funeral of a witch who died from the Curse. We have to find her now. It might be a stretch to think she has any answers, but . . .”
“She’s your only hope,” Kat says, as if reading my mind.
Nana’s eyes are dark, so sad that they don’t reflect light. “Exactly.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
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SIXTEEN
I don’t bother going to school Friday or the following Monday. I can play the sick card until my voice comes back, and Nana needs my help fortifying barriers and tracking down Stacia Black. That, and Maggie needs supervision. I love the Crafts, but I’m sure Tessa and Prudence left her behind to “help” so they could get some peace and quiet back in New York.
“So there’s this boy at the community center in the town an hour from our place, and he’s the cutest guy in the whole wide world, but every time I think he’s going to ask me out he swipes my pass and says, ‘Have a great workout.’ What’s that supposed to mean anyway?” She dips her quill into the potion and continues writing. “At least you kind of live in a town—I’m in the freaking middle of nowhere. This is the closest interaction I’ve ever had with a boy.”
The Crafts’ house is in upstate New York, where the forest is so thick it’s suffocating. But the magic there is rich and vibrant, like the leaves in the fall. The first time I visited their place, my head wouldn’t stop spinning because it was so different from our land.
“I just want a boyfriend, you know? They tell us we’re responsible for preserving the bloodline, and then they refuse to let us date! What the crap?” Maggie is home-schooled, which might be why she can’t get enough of being around new people.
Try as I might, I can’t bite back the smile as I think about Winn.
She stops writing. “Wait, what’s with that goofy grin?”
I wave it off, though I can feel my face warming.
“Josephine Hemlock!” She shoves me so hard I have to grab the kitchen table to keep from falling off my chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I give her this look that I hope says, “Hello? Can’t talk here.”
Maggie mock glares. “Fine, I’ll let it slide as long as I get to meet him.”
I nod, dipping my quill back in the potion. Nana gave us a list of witches to send letters to. We have no idea where Stacia is, which means we can’t send our words directly to her. Much like the door spell, we have to know the location in order to send or go there. Either that, or have met the person recently to tap into their wavelength.
The letters are all the same:
Dear Friend, We are in need of assistance, if you are able. Having finally gathered the strength to go through my Carmina’s things, we’ve discovered that she has something that belonged to her close friend Anastacia Black. We have not had contact with Ms. Black since before Carmina’s death, and are unaware of her location. If you know where she is, we would very much like to return her valuable possession. Sincerely, Dorothea Hemlock
I don’t like lying, but Nana said if other witches find out that the Curse is after us they might be too afraid to affiliate with us at all. And if we mention we think our hunters are men? Everyone would write us off as crazy.
Nana’s cane clicks down the stairs, and when she appears she looks absolutely haunted. “Forgive me, Josephine, but I still can’t do it. I can hardly touch the cover.”
She leans against the wall, spent, and I know exactly what she’s been trying to do—read my mother’s history. Each book has its own unique enchantments, but every single one is made so that you can’t open it until you’re ready to face what’s inside. And since Mom should still be alive and writing in her history, Nana and I haven’t been able to break past that spell. It would bring too much sorrow, and thus Mom’s book remains clamped shut.
I was okay with that up until we needed the information inside.
Nana sits at the table, and I give her a hug. She pats my arm, leaning her head against mine. “How are the letters going?”
“We have . . .” Maggie scans the list. “Twelve down, eighteen to go. But my hand is killing me so can we please take a break?”
“Two more from both of you. I’ll make an afternoon snack.”
Maggie groans as Nana heads for the fridge, but we both get back to work. The faster we write, the faster we can find Stacia. And then we can discover if she has any bit of information that could crack this mystery and save Nana and me from my mother’s fate.
My phone buzzes, and Maggie practically mauls me to see the screen. “Is that your boyfriend?” She frowns when she sees the name. “Just Gwen. Boo.”
I roll my eyes as I open the message.
Tell me you’re better. We need to hang out asap. I miss you!
I’ve only been sick 4 days! I’m that important?
Yes: ( Btwn Winn and this you’ve disappeared. Can I at least come visit?
Talk about a stab to the heart, but it’s true. Gwen, Kat, and I usually hang out every day. I didn’t see much of her last week, and I’m willing to bet Kat didn’t either since she’s here half the time. Gwen must be bored out of her mind.
I don’t want u to catch this. I’ll call u 2 nite, k? I should have my voice back by then.
You better. Or I’ll be forced to seek comfort in Adam’s arms.
Is that a threat?
Shut up.
Fine :P
I close my phone, locking away the guilt over lying to her. I’ll make it up to Gwen the second I can.
“What’d she want?” Maggie asks, scribbling furiously.
I shrug. Picking up the quill, I finish off the letter I was working on. It’s for Lorena Starr, one of Nana’s friends from her childhood. I remember stories about how Lorena would visit here, and she and Nana would curse the boys who picked on other kids. Now Lorena is the head of her house, tied to her home and the responsibility of protecting it. They are the keepers of knowledge that younger generations need. I might be important for preserving the Hemlock bloodline, but Nana is just as vital. Without her, I’d know nothing.
I watch Nana as she stirs soup at the stove, an unsettling feeling coming over me. I push it back. Worrying will get us nowhere. We both know the risks of seeking out this dark man and his magic, but there’s no turning back. Like she said—it’s us or them.
But the feeling won’t go away. My heart pounds too fast, and my hands are so clammy I wonder if I really am getting sick. Then I freeze, realizing what’s going on. It’s not Nana I should be worrying about. It’s Kat. The panic hits me like ice water.
Something is after her.
My chair crashes to the floor when I stand. I rip out a handful of hair and close my eyes, picturing Kat’s room—the black-and-purple bedspread, the punk posters, the glow stars on the ceiling. My fingers go numb as the magic pulls me to her house. I can feel myself shifting planes, and when the hair in my hand turns to ash, I’m there.
But Kat isn’t.
I say her name, though nothing comes out. The house is completely silent, since her parents both work at the city building. I swear the bus would have had her home by now, and it seemed like my gut was saying to come here.
Glass shatters downstairs. As I run for the kitchen, I know what Kat meant when she said it was like she was having a heart attack. It feels like my chest is about to explode. It feels like I’m going to die. And if I feel like that . . .
Kat stands in the middle of the room, swatting at something on her face. When she turns I see what it is—a bubble of
water covering her mouth and nose.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
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SEVENTEEN
No matter how much water Kat wipes away, the bubble stays in place. I’ve heard of the spell—it’s an easy combination of fish scales, raven hearts, and dew gathered from tombstones—but I’ve never seen it in action. How simple it is—almost comical in appearance, and yet terrifying in practice. When our eyes meet, hers start watering.
I’ve never seen Kat cry.
I want to tell her it’ll be okay. That’s the least I can do to calm her, and I can’t manage it with my stupid voice gone.
Her pale skin begins to turn blue, which makes the pain in my chest burst into something part agony, part will to survive. I rush to her side in time to keep her standing and scan the kitchen for any reagents I can use to stop this. It has to be something pure, something with life to purge the death.
The orchids.
Kat’s mom loves her orchids. They’re all over the house, and she treats them like babies. I once heard her singing to them as she sprayed special water over their leaves. She’ll freak when she finds them all dead . . . but it’s my only option.
Kat might weigh nothing, but when she goes limp in my arms the weight brings me to my knees. After lowering her to the floor, I hold my hand to the orchids on the table. I use my magic to suck out their life, and they shrivel into black husks. Their power radiates through my hand, pure and clear and hopeful. I rush for the next group around the TV, then the batch in the living room, until I have enough orchid life in me that it assuages the pain in my chest. The magic begs for me to keep it for myself, but I quickly push back the thought and run to Kat.
I put my trembling hand to her mouth. It’s cold and wet, still submersed in the bubble. The moment I release the orchid life, the water turns black and hot. My scream goes unheard as the death spell sears my hand, fighting against the life. It sputters and hisses, turning into steam the color of ash. I gag on the smell, putrid like the decaying carcasses we keep in the basement.
House of Ivy & Sorrow Page 8
