by Horn, J. D.
FOUR
Abigail pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. “Actually, if you can spare Mercy, I’d like to borrow her for a bit.” She focused on me. “We appear to be at the point of a breakthrough. I think Maisie is ready to discuss . . . that day.”
That day. There was no need for Abby to be more specific; she was speaking of the day of the investment, when Maisie was to be installed as an anchor of the line, but instead caused all hell to break loose. Rather than accepting the role everyone believed Maisie had been born to play, she rebelled against the united witch families and handed me over to Jackson to sacrifice. With my death, she had planned to wrest control of the line from the other anchors and secure its magic for herself. I cringed at the memory, doing my best to push it down, set it aside, not let the true weight of what Maisie had put me through touch my heart. In order to welcome Maisie back into my life, I’d been forced to suppress my pain over her grievous betrayals, but seeing it all spread back out before me reminded me I had a lot to forgive Maisie for.
Jackson had harbored his own ideas, intending to double-cross Maisie and steal the line’s magic for his own purposes. He planned to use it to free his boo hag buddies from the dimension where they had been trapped since the line’s creation. Things didn’t work out the way either of them had expected, though. For some reason, Maisie faltered at the last moment, and rather than harming her, the line had shown her clemency, moving her away from our reality to a place where she could work no harm.
Jilo had warned me against bringing the sister who had tried to kill me back into this world, and the other anchors had forbidden any attempt to locate Maisie, let alone rescue her. My family’s insistence on doing just that was now viewed as the opening volley in what many were calling the “Taylor Rebellion.” Still, the line had protected Maisie rather than punished her. And the line had helped me bring my sister home. I told myself that these points should stand as proof positive that in spite of everything, I was right to believe in her, right to try to find a way to move past the harm she’d caused that day.
That day seemed a million years ago, although in truth it had taken place in July, a mere four months ago. And a month before that, I had been an entirely different person. It seemed that an enormous gulf stood between the girl I’d been and the person I now knew myself to be. I felt proud of the woman I had become, or was at least in the process of becoming. Still, a part of me missed the girl I had been. Sure, I had led a privileged and sheltered life, and maybe I was a lot less mature than I ought to have been. But there had been something magical about that girl, her innocence and open heart, even if I had failed to see it at the time.
The thought of all that had occurred since the solstice morning I stumbled onto Ginny’s corpse nearly made my head spin. I could barely wrap my mind around it. How could it have only been this last summer that I doubted my feelings for Peter and believed myself to be in love with Jackson? That this counterfeit emotion could have seemed real enough to me to send me out to Jilo’s crossroads to seek a conjure to turn my heart away from Jackson and back to Peter? Now I knew it had all been part of an elaborate lie, and the love I felt was not for Jackson, but for the magic that had been denied me. Maisie had fed Wren on my magic, helping him to grow and evolve until he could take on a new guise, that of Jackson. I had sensed my connection to this misappropriated magic and interpreted it as love for the man.
Even though the line had helped me bring Maisie home, she had not returned in good shape. Physically she was fine, but still she had spent several days in a coma following her return. Abigail had advised caution, since we had no idea what state of mind she would be in upon waking. So in much the same way that Ginny had diverted my power away from me, we—my aunts, my uncle, Abby, and myself—siphoned away Maisie’s magic until we could determine the lay of the land.
Even after Maisie awoke, she remained still and unspeaking. Abby spent a few more days alone with her, commencing a course of treatment that we all hoped would provide a lasting cure. Abby started by leading Maisie in guided mediations, then moved on to good old talking once Maisie found her voice. It was only in the last few days that Abby felt comfortable allowing Maisie to reconnect to her powers, so we unkinked the hose a tiny bit, allowing Maisie’s magic to begin to return to her in a slow and controlled flow.
None of us even knew how much of her own power Maisie actually had. Even before the two of us were born, Ginny had begun stealing magic from me and feeding it to my sister. My gut told me that my great-aunt’s goal hadn’t been to strengthen Maisie, but rather to weaken me; Ginny only intended to use Maisie to prime the pump, until she could manage to pull away my magic. Her goal was to feed it into the neighboring plane and ground it there.
There was evidence that Ginny realized the process didn’t work entirely as planned, that even though the bulk of my power did pass harmlessly through Maisie and into the realm where Ginny grounded it, a good portion of it fed directly into Maisie. The rest of us had believed Maisie had been born a magical wunderkind with a dud for a sister. The truth was the energy was overwhelming her, destroying her from the inside. Ginny evidently realized she couldn’t undo the attachment to Maisie without breaking the flow and returning my power to me. Whatever Ginny believed about me, she believed it strongly enough to risk destroying my sister.
Perhaps it was poetic justice that Wren killed Ginny. Ginny stole from me and damaged Maisie. Regardless of the source of Maisie’s problems, she used the stolen magic to feed the monster that killed Ginny. God help me, I hated the old woman. Perhaps even more than Emily. I couldn’t help but wonder if Ginny’s evil had somehow infected my mother as well. Still, I had no idea why my great-aunt had hated me so, had feared me enough that she would attempt to strip me entirely of magic, and risk Maisie’s well-being by force-feeding it to her.
The line itself put an end to all that. That day. The line claimed me as an anchor and returned my own magic to me. Now, the only power Maisie had was what naturally belonged to her. Yet even running on partial steam, it seemed, that magic was formidable. In just these few days, under Abby’s guidance, Maisie progressed from zero to creating temporary miniature worlds where she could begin to work through her issues. The same issues that had driven her to offer me up as a sacrifice in an attempt to take over the full power of the line. It was intensive magical therapy, and frankly, when Abigail was through helping my sister, I intended to ask her to help me work on some issues of my own. God knows lately I’d been racking up issues like an overeager Girl Scout collects insignia badges.
“I think I’d like to stay also,” Ellen said, pulling me from my thoughts. I noticed that she looked neither at Abigail nor myself, but to Iris for permission.
“We should perhaps have this conversation as a family—” Iris began.
“No.” Abigail shook her head. “Maisie isn’t ready to talk to the entire family all at once. It’s Mercy she’s done the most harm. Let the girls have a chance to talk things through first, and then we’ll take it from there. You two go on to the store.” Iris and Ellen hesitated, a silent conversation seeming to go on between them.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said, “but Maisie tried to kill Mercy. You’re talking like they’ve squabbled over a stained blouse.” If anyone could understand the complexity of my feelings for Maisie, it would be Ellen. Emily, her sister and my mother, had faked her own death largely so she could invent new and creative ways to turn Ellen’s world into a living hell. I knew Ellen would never forgive Emily the harm she’d done. I didn’t blame her. I had come to realize that it is possible for someone to go too far to be forgiven. The best you could do was walk away and pray they didn’t try to follow you. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt my mother had stepped too far over the line.
Now that Maisie was back, cogent and willing to talk, I had to learn if the same was true of my sister. I had to know for sure that she felt true contrition. That she knew she ha
d done wrong. That she would never hurt me that deeply again. “It’s okay. If she’s ready to talk about what she did, I’m ready to listen.”
Iris looked to me. “Are you sure you’re up to facing this alone?”
“Really,” Abigail said, “things will be just fine here. Go on, get—”
A thought hit me and sapped my reserve. “Wait,” I said, my voice breaking. I felt guilty even bringing it up. I wanted to believe my sister was getting better; I wanted to believe in her. But I had been wrong before. “The timing of this breakthrough . . .”
Iris nodded and saved me from finishing my thought. “It gives one pause that it follows on the heels of her accomplice’s return.”
Abigail’s face fell. “Her accomplice?”
“Wren showed back up today,” I said.
Abigail’s face pulled into a tight-lipped grimace. “That puts a different complexion on things.” She tilted her head toward Iris. “It never occurred to you that perhaps y’all might want to share this tidbit with me?” Her face grew flushed. “Either I’m one of you, or I’m not.”
“No.” Iris stepped forward, attempting to draw Abby into an embrace, but Abigail pulled back. “It isn’t like that. Not at all. We would have told you—it’s only that it all just happened.”
“And you figured you’d catch me up right after you found the right turkey?”
“Really, Abby.” I crossed to her and embraced her. She accepted my show of affection. “Please don’t think we do not appreciate you.” For good or bad, my hormones decided to choose this moment to kick in, and hot tears fell from my eyes. “I am so, so grateful to you for all you have done to help Maisie. To help all of us, really.” I gave her a squeeze. “We’re all just treading water here. We had no intention of excluding you, we just hadn’t gotten around to including you.”
Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, but I could feel her sense of affront begin to fall away. “Fine, fine.” She patted my back and pulled a tissue from her pocket. “It’s clean,” she said as she dabbed at my cheeks. She stepped away from me, taking my aunts and myself into her gaze. Her expression had mellowed, but I could tell, although she may have forgiven me for the oversight, Iris and Ellen had not yet been cleared of culpability.
“Maybe,” Ellen said, “we should put this talk off until we have a better handle on what is happening around here.”
“No,” I said. “If Maisie needs me to help heal, I will be there for her.” I felt a thud in my chest. “But if she is still connected to Wren, I need to know it, so that I can deal with her.” I turned my focus to Abigail. “I want to do this. I want to talk to Maisie about that day.”
“Then there is no way you are doing this without us,” Iris said, emphasizing the “no.” Her tone left no room for debate.
Abby acquiesced with a nod. “All right then. She’s waiting for us upstairs. Let’s get this done.”
We found her in her room, sitting on the floor, cross-legged in the lotus position. Here was the sister who tried to murder me. The sister I had risked everything to give another chance.
Her silky blonde hair had been plaited into a French braid. Her eyes remained closed, her heart-shaped face smooth and composed. She seemed bathed in what I knew to be a hard-fought-for serenity. It’ll be quite a while before I’m able to pull that pose off again. The thought hit me from nowhere, but in the name of all that is holy, I could not understand why it would be the first thing to come to mind. Well, that wasn’t quite true. I knew it had already begun again. My insidious compulsion to compare myself with my sister. It was a lifelong habit, one I thought I’d kicked. I thought I’d grown up a bit over the last several months, but darned if I wasn’t standing there ticking off all the ways she managed to outshine me without even trying.
I resented her for her serenity when my insides raged like a swirling ocean of fear, anger, and, yes, jealousy. A dark fragment of my soul, the part of me that wanted to strike out and hurt her as she had hurt me, took over. “Wren is back.”
Her eyes flashed open, and she looked up at me. I quivered when I saw the heat that burned in her lovely blue eyes. What was it I saw there? Shame? Grief? Anger? An odd blend of all three? I had achieved my goal of shaking her, and I hated myself for it.
“I know. He’s been calling out to me. Trying to get me to join him. Telling me to find a way to finish what I started.”
Abby gasped. “Sugar, you should have told me.”
Maisie’s eyes flicked to Abigail. “I’m telling you now. I’m telling you all, because I want you to know what you’re up against. You’ve been leading me to create these safe little worlds for myself, realities where I can work through my madness. But in the real world, none of us are safe,” she said, unfolding her lithe limbs without ever taking her eyes off me. She rocked up to her knees and stood. “And I am not crazy. I’m not.” She took a step toward me, almost as if she were challenging me to flee, as if she were testing me to see if I could move past my fear of her. I felt a bead of cold sweat break free and trace down my spine. I wanted to love her, but I wanted to run at the same time.
I held my ground, not so much from bravery, but as the intensity of her expression pinned me to the spot. “I know you aren’t crazy, but . . .”
“What then? Loony? Don’t try to lie to me.” She looked at me with one raised eyebrow. “You were a crap liar as a kid, and anchor or no, you still are.”
Iris moved past us and pretended to examine the books spread out on Maisie’s desk. I read the cautious look lurking in her eyes, and realized that she was putting herself into a better position to strike, should it be necessary to contain Maisie. Ellen, too, seemed to take note of Iris’s intention. She slid around behind me and mirrored her sister’s station on the opposite side of the room. She wasn’t capable of matching Iris’s nonchalance. She stood stock-still, small lines forming around her eyes, and she prepared herself to intervene at the first sign of trouble. Abby did not seem worried; she remained at my side, a calming force for all of us.
“No. I’m not lying to you. I don’t think you’re crazy. To me that word means a permanent state. I would say ‘unsettled’ rather than ‘crazy.’ Listen, I’m sorry. You may be ready for this, but I’m not. I thought I was, but . . .”
Maisie willed my eyes to meet hers, and a sly smile crossed her lips. “I tried to kill you, Mercy. If the shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn’t come near you again unless you were strapped tightly into a straightjacket and wearing one of those Hannibal faceplates. As a matter of fact, if one of us is crazy, it’s probably you.”
“I’m not crazy. Just hopeful.”
“Pretty much the same thing in this world,” Maisie said. “All the same, I need you to listen to me. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me how I could do what I did to you. Why I would even dream of letting a demon harm my little sister. You’re afraid to ask, but I need to tell you why, and you need to hear it.”
“I know why,” I said, the words coming out wrapped in razor-sharp barbs. My impulse to flee having been thwarted, the need to fight brought fire to my heart. “You wanted power, and you would do anything, anything to get it.” I heard the anger in my voice, and damn it, I wanted to make sure Maisie heard it too. “You wanted Peter.” I nearly spat my husband’s name at her. “And you weren’t going to let anyone stand in your way. Even me, your own sister.”
She went nearly limp, looking like a puppet on a slack string. She stepped back as tears fell from her eyes. “No. You’re wrong. At the time, I thought it was true, but I was split. There was the part of me that covered up Ginny’s murder. The part of me that plotted against you, but then there was another part. One that watched on in horror. That part did things to try to warn you. She . . . I tried to tell you in a thousand little ways. Tried to warn you not to trust me, but you never caught on.”
“Because I trusted you more than anyone else. You were my c
enter.” I couldn’t bear to look at her; I had to look away.
“And I betrayed you in the most heinous way.” She stepped forward again, but this time I knew it was not a challenge. It was a plea for forgiveness. She took my hand, causing me to focus again on her face. I felt Iris tense on the periphery.
I drew a deep breath. “At the end. When you tried to stop. Was it because you realized you couldn’t kill me, or because you learned I was carrying Peter’s child?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It wasn’t for either of those reasons, even though”—her words rushed ahead—“it was for both.” She released me and pressed both hands against her temples. She gritted her teeth and whined as if she were in pain. She stopped and took a few breaths, lowering her hands. “It gets so confusing.” She tilted her head, a crease forming between her brows. “Hear me, Mercy. I’m not trying to excuse myself. I am not trying to rationalize my actions. I know what I did was monstrous.” I watched her face wash over with horror, her eyes widening and her lips trembling. I knew she was reliving the event in her mind. “When they got to the point where the anchor energy was to settle on me, I heard a voice.” Her eyes focused back on mine. “I couldn’t say if it was a man’s or a woman’s.”
“What did it say?” I leaned in and clasped both her hands in mine.
“That I’d done enough. I’d done everything it needed me to do. Then I was gone.”
“You believe there was a force compelling you to act as you did?”
She pulled her hands back and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “No. It wasn’t like with Uncle Oliver. I hadn’t been forced to behave as I did. I did everything, everything”—she emphasized the word—“willingly. Just not for the reasons everyone, including myself, thought I had. It was like I had been playing the role of the villain until that moment. Somehow doing wrong had been the right thing to do, like I was acting out a necessary part. When the line took me, it freed me. The real me was free.” Her eyes bored into me. “I can’t explain it, but I know.” Her hand balled into a fist and she pounded on her heart. “I know in here I never would have harmed you. I would never have gone all the way through with it. Never.”
