House of Ivy & Sorrow

by kindle@abovethetreeline. com

  He comes over to me, puts his hands on my arms. “I’m not lying. You want answers? Fine. The Blacks are the ones after you and your land—me, the others like me, are pawns in their game. They’ve been snuffing out other, more powerful families for hundreds of years using us. And if you don’t go now you’re dead.”

  He’s not lying. It makes too much sense to be anything but truth. This is the big secret we’ve been missing all these years.

  “Why are you doing this?” I pull away from him, pissed because now I have to be grateful he told me.

  He leans on the doorframe. “What do you mean?”

  I take the opposite side. “You obviously hate me. And now you’re saying you belong to a family that wants me and Nana dead so they can take my land. But you’re ruining your grandmother’s plan.”

  He looks at his feet, as if he’s trying to stuff his emotions down, and then back to me. “Maybe I know what it’s like to watch your mother hack up black blood, to be helpless to stop it, to hate the person who did it so much all you think about is revenge.”

  “What? Witches can’t have sons!” But I know the agony on his face, hidden well to those who’ve never lost a close family member. “That’s impossible.”

  “Not when your father has magic, too.”

  I can’t breathe right. So much about this is wrong, and yet it feels true. “Stacia . . . was your mother.”

  He doesn’t have to speak for me to know I’m right. It’s all in his eyes. “You need to leave. She’s calling him.”

  My blood turns cold. “Him?”

  He nods.

  Nana was right—witches were involved after all. The betrayal cuts into me. How could the Blacks do this? The Curse goes so much deeper and darker than I could have ever imagined. And still I say, “But what about you?”

  His brow pinches, as if he’s completely confused. “Huh?”

  “It’s just . . . will she know you told us? Won’t you get in trouble?” I fiddle with my hair. Stupid boy, making me feel compassion for him.

  “I’ll be fine, Josephine, but thanks for caring.” He smirks, and I regret giving him a second thought.

  “Maybe I should make sure you have a good alibi, just in case.” Before I can think better of it, the magic pools into my hand and overflows. With one flick, Levi is on the floor convulsing from the shock. I smile, enjoying it far too much. “You couldn’t stop us from leaving, could you?”

  He’s limp, only his chest moving up and down rapidly. “I hate you.”

  “Good.” I motion to Maggie. “Let’s move.”

  We run for the door, and once we’re out we don’t look back. I’d teleport right there, but I don’t want to risk them finding the way to our house through magical remnants. We need to get some distance first. I speed away, and Maggie keeps her eyes on the road behind us, silent with terror.

  “Do you see anything?” I ask every five minutes.

  “No,” she whispers. “Not yet.”

  Everything seems worse in the silence—how stupid we were to think that Sylvia would help, how close we came to being Cursed and sucked dry, and how the only reason we’re alive is Levi. Being indebted to him is not my favorite place to be.

  By some miracle, we make it all the way back to Dublin without so much as a flicker of threat. Which is probably Levi’s doing, though I try to pretend it isn’t. Once the car is checked back in, we find the closest deserted alley and teleport back to my house.

  The apothecary is empty when we arrive. In fact, the entire first floor is dark, save the glow coming from the living room and its glorious TV.

  “Nana?” I call, though she can’t possibly be watching television.

  “She went to her room,” my dad says. “How did things go?”

  “Not as planned,” I say, rushing up the stairs. I hope she’s not writing more letters, because obviously that got us a lot of nothing. I open her door without knocking, and the world crumbles beneath me.

  Black blood. On the floor. The sheets. Her quivering lips.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Josephine,” Nana says, her voice partially garbled from what I can only assume is more blood. I can’t move. I’m not even sure I’m breathing. All I can do is stare at her while everything clicks into place. I knew something was wrong the day we cured my father—felt it deep in my bones—but I never thought it would be this.

  Everything makes sense now. She let Kat know about witchcraft so I’d have someone to talk to. She allowed my father to stay so I’d still have a parent to care for me. She kept Maggie here because she was losing her power. She stopped harassing me about Winn because she knew I’d need someone with comforting arms to hold me when . . .

  I lean on the wall, my knees threatening to give out. This can’t be happening. It doesn’t matter who else I have. How am I supposed to go on without her?

  “It had to be this way,” she says. I still can’t get my lips to move, and she squirms in the silence like I usually do in hers. “I was careless, my child, hungry for revenge. When that shadow man appeared . . . I did what I had to do to make sure you survive.”

  Of course she sacrificed herself. I put my hand to my mouth, that moment taking on all new meaning.

  She runs a shaky hand through her long, white hair. “I hoped the dagger and my magic would be enough to stop it entirely, but the Curse was far more insidious than I dared to imagine. The purity of that weapon wasn’t enough, and it transferred to me.”

  I can’t look at her anymore, the image too familiar and horrible to handle. So I pull my knees in and put my head to them. Something pokes my skin, and I put my hand to it.

  Mom’s pendant.

  I pull it from my pocket, rubbing it with my thumb over and over. She used to wear it all the time, though it wasn’t for any spell that I knew of. She loved the look of it, I suppose. It is beautiful, a never-ending storm swirling inside. Thank goodness I didn’t give this up to our enemy. They’ve already taken so much.

  “I’m not afraid to die,” Nana says.

  “Oh, that’s good to know.” Finally the tears burst through, hot on my cold cheeks. “I’m so glad that you’re not afraid to die! That’s makes everything all better.”

  “Josep—”

  “You should have told me!” I yell. “We’ve wasted all this time trying to fight our hunters when we should have been trying to cure you.”

  She purses her lips. “We know very well that it can’t be cured.”

  I stand. “No. We don’t. Levi was at the Blacks’ house, Nana—he told me they’re the ones who created his kind and therefore the Curse. Now that we know where it comes from and what it really does, there has to be a way to stop the guy who Cursed you.”

  Nana shakes her head. “We don’t have time. Whoever this man is, he is taking all he can from me as fast as he can. I assume in order to get to you and our land. All we can do now is protect you, the house, and hope he can’t break through.”

  “No!” I gasp between sobs. “I’m not letting you die!”

  She gives me that look, like I’m being completely unreasonable.

  “I’ll kill him first. Killing him has to break it.”

  “Even if you could, we still don’t know which of these men Cursed me.”

  “Levi does. I could find him again. He wanted to help us—”

  “No!” Her gaze turns angry. “You are not leaving the barrier, and he is too dangerous to trust. It’s not worth the—”

  “Don’t you dare say it’s not worth the risk.” I ball my fists, so close to losing it that all I can do is believe there’s another option. I can’t do this without her. I can’t be head of house at seventeen. I can’t be the only Hemlock on the entire planet. “Your life is just as important as mine—you know I don’t have a chance at survival without you.”

  Her dar
k eyes water. “You do not give yourself enough credit, my dear.”

  “If I have so much talent, then why are you giving up?”

  She leans back on the headboard. “I can’t lose you. I already failed Carmina . . . my sweet, strong, beautiful Carmina. Josephine, don’t let me die worrying that you’ll follow.”

  What little resolve I have left is gone. My face crumbles into sorrow as I rush to her bed. She puts her hand on my head, and I cry into her bony shoulder. Heaving, painful sobs that reach deep and far. Even the house groans, as if it shares our misery.

  This is too close to another horrible day in my life. A morning and afternoon sitting by a bedside, then a night spent lying next to my mother, wide awake in fear that she’d stop breathing the moment I closed my eyes. I still remember the feel of her fingers going limp on my back, how I could sense her leaving. I cried like I am now.

  “It’s not fair,” I say.

  “I know.” Nana continues running her hand over my hair, and I feel like a child but I don’t know what else to be right now. I wish I could go back in time and stop everything from happening. I wish my mom were here, so she could be in charge instead of me, so we could move on like we’re supposed to, so we could sit on the couch together and reminisce about Nana and her pudding.

  But no. I’m alone. My witching family is hanging by a charred hair, one breath enough to turn it to ashes.

  “Take her.”

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping when I hear her voice, but it startles me awake. “Nana?”

  “Right here, my dear.” Her voice is soft, like she’s trying to soothe a baby. “Joseph is going to take you to your bed, so you can sleep more comfortably.”

  “No.” I lay my head back down.

  “Jo,” my dad says. “Dorothea needs to sleep comfortably, too.”

  “No.”

  He sighs, and then I feel his strong arms on my shoulders. Before I can stop him, he’s carrying me like a little kid.

  “Put me down!”

  “Sorry.” He pushes my door open and plops me on the bed. His stare cuts through the darkness, intent and yet compassionate. “I can’t let you do this. I know it’s hard, but we’ll be okay.”

  My mouth hangs open for a moment. “Wait, you knew?”

  His words catch in his throat.

  “You knew!” Anger and betrayal swell inside me. “She told you before me! Why would she do that? How could you let her?”

  He looks down. “I don’t know why. The day after you fixed me, she just did. I didn’t think it was my place to question her choice, being new to all of this.”

  “Were you going to let her die? Did you think it would be easier for me to handle if it happened one day and I had no clue?”

  “We thought—”

  I throw a pillow at him. “Neither of you thought at all!”

  “We thought a lot. I promise you that.” His eyes are sad, but they don’t reach me. My soul is spent and desperate.

  “You lied to me. She lied to me.” I pull the covers over my head, ignoring whatever my dad says. I don’t even hear his footsteps as he leaves, but the darkness after he closes my door proves he’s gone.

  Great Black Death, Levi was right—everyone is lying to me.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  THIRTY

  My phone keeps ringing—whether it’s Winn or Gwen or Kat I don’t care. I shut it off. When I can’t sleep, I stare at my ceiling. A long crack begins at the chandelier, and it slithers out toward the window, stopping short of the frame. It reminds me of a lifeline. My Nana’s lifeline, almost out the window.

  Stupid crack.

  I burrow into the sheets, into the darkness that is at once comforting and full of sorrow. There’s a knock at my door, but I’ve sealed it shut with my sense of taste. I don’t need it anyway, since I’m not hungry. “Jo, it’s time for dinner,” my dad says softly.

  I don’t answer.

  His footsteps trail off, the creaking stairs signaling I’m alone again.

  I can’t stop thinking about Mom, though I should be thinking about Nana and how to fix the mess that is my life. But I don’t know what to do. Listen to Nana, who lied and sacrificed herself? Find Levi, who, despite his knowledge and presumed good will, probably wants to use me? Or keep fumbling around trying to find answers on my own, which I prefer even though it’s probably reckless?

  Nothing feels right anymore.

  My pillows smell like Mom, I swear, even though her scent left the house long ago. Her soap was lavender, and it made me gag up until she died. Some memories are fuzzy, but that smell stands out against the haze. I remember the homemade lotion, purple like her pendant, and how her whole room would smell like lavender after she put it on. That scent still belongs to her, and each time I take it in it’s like she’s here. But she’s not.

  She never will be.

  And now Nana . . .

  I curl into a ball, trying to get that smell out of my head. The smell of missed hugs and motherly advice. Of moments never shared and dreams once bright. It seems like it’s everywhere, so thick that it saturates my lungs and tastes bitter on my tongue.

  “Carmina! Get down here right now!”

  My eyes fly open.

  A girlish laugh fills the air. It’s familiar, but I don’t dare believe it. I pinch my cheeks, trying to wake up from my crazy dreams. The stress has finally gotten to me—I’m officially insane.

  “Carmina Lucille Hemlock, get your fanny on the ground this instant!”

  I pull the covers off, recognizing that tone even if her voice has a younger sound to it. There, on my cracked ceiling, is a projector-like image. It’s lavender-colored, a bird’s-eye view of two women—Nana and Great-Grandma Geraldine. I know it, even at this distance, because of their voices. The other thing I immediately notice are the two scrawny legs perched on a broomstick. They wobble as a little girl tries to stay balanced in the air, and she laughs again.

  It’s Mom.

  I can’t breathe. This isn’t possible. I shake my head, but there it stays, the scene playing out before my eyes. Mom soars out from under the interstate bridge, and the fields are endless before her. I can feel her sense of freedom, of having the whole world at the tip of her fingers.

  As she flies and flies, I notice a small wisp of purple smoke. It trails all the way to me, to Mom’s glass pendant resting on my chest. I gasp when I touch it and the image disappears, like I put my hand over the projector light.

  Luckily, I didn’t ruin whatever spell I triggered. I’m not sure how I got it to work, but I hope it gives me something—anything—before it wears off.

  The scene changes. Mom is outside the ivy house with two young girls who look like Tessa and Prudence Craft, with their long, fair braids. They comb through the brush in a manner I quickly recognize as snake hunting. Prudence lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and Tessa laughs as Mom pulls a serpent from Pru’s ankle. At a second glance, I realize it’s plastic. Even I laugh at that. Prudence afraid of snakes? I have to use that information.

  After watching a particularly homey Christmas, complete with chestnuts roasting on an open fire, I am pretty sure this is a store of Mom’s favorite moments. I’ve never heard of such a charm, but I want to kiss it. I don’t, because it might stop the reel of lavender memories.

  The next is another familiar scene—a Halloween Ball, with witches packed into every corner of an old house. Mom is with the Crafts again, and they’re laughing as they consume enormous caramel apples covered in chocolate and nuts. Mom stops, her sight focusing on a girl sitting in the hallway with her head to her knees.

  “I’ll be back in a second,” she says to the Crafts.

  Mom sits next to the girl in the hall, who jumps. Her eyes are watery, and I’m guessing blue from their pale hue. Her hair is fair as well, and stick straight. “Who’re you?” she say
s to Mom in a timid, high voice.

  “I’m Carmina Hemlock. What’s your name?”

  The girl’s eyes go wide with what I think is recognition. “Anastacia Black. But everyone calls me Stacia.”

  I freeze. Here she is: the girl I’ll never meet, but who clearly has everything to do with what has happened to us. And she’s Levi’s mother? But his hair is so dark, and his eyes are almost black like Nana’s.

  “Do you like caramel apples?” Mom asks.

  Stacia wipes away her remaining tears and nods.

  Mom plucks a rose from a nearby vase and turns it into a big, juicy apple. She hands it to Stacia, who offers the smallest smile. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  Stacia eyes the apple as if Mom gave her a purebred Persian kitten. “I’ve never had any friends.”

  “I’ll be your friend.”

  “You really shouldn’t.” Her eyes are the saddest I’ve ever seen in my life. They tug at me, as if they’ve witnessed more than any little girl should. In that moment, I understand why Mom never let go of Stacia Black.

  Mom tilts her head. “Why not?”

  Stacia takes in a deep breath, the kind that comes before one shares a secret, but then someone bangs on my door and the lavender images are gone. I shake the pendant frantically, as if that’ll reactivate the spell. Nothing happens.

  Another knock.

  “Go away!” Rubbing the pendant, I push back angry tears. I lost the only connection I’ve had to my mother in years. I want it back.

  “Jo, please.” Though Kat’s voice is muffled through the heavy wood, I can tell she’s upset. “I know you’re hurting right now. I’ve tried to give you the space you need, but something happened. And I don’t think it was an accident.”

  She’s not lying. When I let myself feel more than my own grief, there’s something in her that is nearly frantic. I force myself up and break the spell on the door. Kat’s face is tear streaked and tired. “What happened?”