Witch Rising

by Paige McKenzie

  The puppy continued licking. He made a happy crooning noise.

  Binx stood up and set her backpack on the front hall table. Aside from the puppy soundtrack, the house was silent. She knew that her mother was still at the university, at a faculty meeting. Binx was glad to have the house to herself for a while. For one thing, she could practice her spells—finally! It was so hard not being able to use any magic whatsoever at school or elsewhere in public. In the privacy of her room, though, she could cast away. On top of which, she never looked forward to the obligatory end-of-the-day questions from her mom: How was school? Did you finish your homework? Don’t you think you’ve had enough screen time for today? What are those strange cartoony things on your nails?

  The puppy, at least, was never annoying and judgy like that.

  “You probably need to go outside, don’t you? Let’s go outside.”

  He wagged his tail and panted, so Binx opened the front door again and led him around to the backyard. The property was pristinely landscaped and also loaded with fancy extras she hardly ever used: an infinity pool, two Jacuzzis, a tennis court, and a Japanese Zen garden with a meditation hut. At the edge of the yard, a hiking trail led down to a private beach.

  Behind the garage was the basketball hoop that Binx’s father had installed for her years ago. They used to play one-on-one, but not so much anymore, now that he lived in Palo Alto full-time with his new wife, Sloane, and their new spawn, Lucas, who was fairly useless except in the crying, eating, and pooping departments. Binx’s dad had made his fortune as the founder and president of Skyy Media, Skyy being a mash-up of his name, Stephen Kato, and her mom’s name, Yoko Yamada, from back when they were together and didn’t hate each other’s guts. Witchworld, currently one of the most popular video games in the world, was the crown jewel of the Skyy Media empire.

  That wasn’t why Binx was a Witchworld fan, though. She liked Witchworld because it was a legit awesome game and also the one place it was legal to practice witchcraft, even if it wasn’t IRL. In the fictional universe of Witchworld, witches ruled, and everyone else, humans included, were considered beneath them. Sometimes, when the threat of the Antima became too much, Binx wondered how it would feel to live in a universe like that.

  The puppy ran to his favorite place to do his business, under a madrona tree. As he hunkered down on a carpet of dried-up red berries and leaves and got to it, Binx’s phone rang. The custom ringtone was the first line of the Witchworld theme song, which she’d recently assigned to one person and one person only—and it wasn’t her absentee dad.

  She hit the talk button eagerly.

  “Hey, ShadowKnight4811!”

  “Hey, Pokedragon2946!”

  Binx sat down on a nearby stone bench and shifted the phone from one ear to the other. She was glad he’d gotten her message… messages, plural. “What’s up? What’s going on? It’s been a while.” She picked up a small rock and began doodling with it on the bench.

  “Sorry for the radio silence,” ShadowKnight apologized. “Haven’t slept much. A lot’s been happening.”

  “What do you mean, specifically?”

  “Specifically? For starters, I just got off the phone with one of our Libertas members. She’s been keeping track of nationwide arrests. She reported that two weeks ago, there were two hundred ninety-five arrests. Last week, there were seven hundred thirteen more arrests. That’s over a thousand arrests in fourteen days, which is more than we’ve had in the past hundred forty years since the Great Witch Purge.”

  “What? Over a thousand… gah! I didn’t realize it was that many.” Binx scratched out a surprise-face emoji on the bench.

  “Yeah. Unfortunately. We’ve been keeping track of assaults, too. Twenty-nine across the country in the past month. None of the assailants was charged.”

  “Oh my god! Were they Antima?”

  “Yeah, we think so.”

  Binx eyed the puppy nervously. “What about familiars? I heard there’ve been some mysterious pet disappearances?”

  “We’ve heard that, too. There’s no proven connection to the Antima yet, although I wouldn’t put it past them. Your new puppy’s okay, right?”

  The puppy had moved over to the bazillion-dollar Japanese crane sculpture—a long-ago wedding anniversary gift from Binx’s dad to her mom—and was peeing on it, hydrant-style. Binx frowned and mouthed, No! He blinked innocently at her and continued peeing.

  “Have you named him yet?” ShadowKnight was asking.

  “What? Nope, not yet. I can’t decide between Lillipup and Growlithe. Or Herdier or Stoutland, which are Lillipup’s evolutions. Or Arcanine, which is Growlithe’s evolution when exposed to a Fire Stone.”

  “Lillipup, definitely.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Hmm.” Lillipup, she scribbled on the bench, then nodded.

  “So have you guys found who killed your friend?” ShadowKnight asked.

  “No, not yet. Did I tell you? Mira and Div—those are my new coven-mates—are fake-dating Penelope’s ex and the ex’s older brother, who may be Antima, to try to find out if they or someone else in their family might be connected to Penelope’s murder. The police are still ruling it a suicide, which is beyond bogus.”

  “The police aren’t going to do anything to catch her killer. She was a witch.”

  Witches > Humans, Binx doodled. “That’s why we have to solve this case on our own. Soon, I hope.”

  The puppy was digging now, scooping and scattering dirt everywhere. Mom is gonna be so pissed, Binx thought, pleased. “What’s happening with Libertas? Will I ever get to meet the members? Will I ever get to meet you?” she asked. She’d only ever communicated with ShadowKnight online, by phone, and by video chat. Neither of them knew each other’s real names or even where the other lived, although he had mentioned once that it was somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, and she’d told him she lived in the Pacific Northwest, too.

  “Funny you should mention that. Do you know about the WitchWorldCon in Seattle? Day after tomorrow?”

  Binx hadn’t told ShadowKnight that her dad was the creator of Witchworld. Too much identifying personal information, plus, to be honest, she’d never told anyone about her dad, because she didn’t want people to think of her as some tech mogul’s rich, spoiled daughter. ShadowKnight was aware of her Witchworld obsession, though, and her gaming obsession in general. In fact, they’d first met on the Witchworld Sub9 discussion board.

  “Yeah, I know about it,” she said after a moment.

  “Are you going, by any chance?”

  “Actually, yeah. Wait, are you going, too?”

  “Yup. A bunch of other Libertas members will be there, too. We’re using it in part as a cover to meet up and strategize in person.”

  “Really? That’s awesome.”

  “Hey… if you’re going to be there, we should definitely get together. How about at the cosplaying competition? You signed up, right? At one thirty? I’ll be dressing up as Dargon. Who are you dressing up as?”

  Dargon. The half-human, half-witch former prince who’d been exiled from the kingdom of Vandervallis for attempting to assassinate the entire Low Council. Brilliant, unpredictable, ruthless, and seriously O.P. It fits him.

  “Um… I hadn’t really planned on…” Binx hesitated. Cosplaying was not her thing; it involved way too much IRL social interaction. But this was official Libertas business. “Yeah, okay, I could do that. I’ll come up with a costume ASAP. I do have some crafting skills.”

  “Let me know. It’s a date, then.”

  A date?

  “Wh-who else will be there?” Binx stammered. “From Libertas, I mean?”

  “At least a dozen members, maybe more. I promise you’ll meet them all.”

  “Okay, yeah, cool.”

  They said goodbye after promising to talk again soon. Binx stood up, pocketed her phone and also her rock—maybe it was lucky?—and started inside. She had a costume to design.r />
  “Come on, Lillipup,” she called out to the puppy.

  He bounded up to her, his tail wagging. Obviously, the new name worked.

  Binx felt inexplicably happy for the first time in days. If only she didn’t have to go to an Antima meeting tomorrow. With Aysha and Mira. Blurg.

  4

  THE UNFINISHED CIRCLE

  A lone witch has powers. A coven has a multitude more.

  But sometimes, there is a cost.

  (FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)

  Greta’s familiar, Gofflesby, sat Sphinx-like on top of her mandala-print comforter as she set up for the coven meeting. His emerald-green eyes followed her every move, and his whiskers twitched occasionally. Otherwise, he was perfectly still.

  “Iris and Ridley will be here any minute,” Greta told him as she laid out a circle of candles, gemstones, and herbs on the rug. “Our new witch might be a little late, though.”

  Gofflesby blinked.

  “I was thinking of using amber today. Or should I go with alexandrite? They’re both good for protection. And maybe I’ll add amethyst, for scrying.”

  Gofflesby shifted slightly and meowed. Greta reached over to stroke his ears, and he began purring.

  It was such a relief. He seemed like he was back to his old self. For a long time, he’d had a serious respiratory illness that the vet couldn’t seem to cure or even diagnose—this, despite all the office visits and state-of-the-art tests that Greta’s parents were still paying off in installments—and despite an array of advanced healing spells and potions, many of them from Callixta’s book, which Greta had tirelessly tweaked and retweaked.

  And then Gofflesby had disappeared. Run away… or possibly been taken? Greta, Iris, Ridley, and Binx had found him the following day, lying next to Penelope’s dead body at a nearby construction site. Fortunately, he’d recovered soon after… more than recovered, actually, because his respiratory illness, the perpetual cough and raspy breathing, was totally gone. Although he’d acted bizarrely for weeks after that. Wild, out of control, scratching and damaging Greta’s grimoire and crystals and other magical items. But that, too, had passed. Now he was the same quiet, contemplative, well-behaved Gofflesby that he used to be.

  Why had he been at that construction site with Penelope, though? Greta had tried to read his mind multiple times, but with no success. Even Iris, who possessed powerful psychic abilities, had been unable to glean any answers.

  Still. Greta felt like the universe, and the Goddess, were trying to communicate important clues to her about that day. Filaments of memory kept flitting through her brain, gossamer and ghostlike. A red chair. A cup of tea. A woman’s voice. Fire. Were these things connected to Gofflesby’s disappearance and to Penelope’s murder? Or were they just random visions?

  A soft knock. “Honey? Are you in there?”

  “I’m here!”

  The door opened a crack, and her mother, Ysabel, peeked in. She had the same auburn curls as Greta, except that hers were bunched up in a loose bun with a pair of antique chopsticks. Today, she was wearing a brown linen dress, an Irish wool cardigan, and clogs.

  “Hello, my love!” Ysabel said in a happy, breathless voice. “I’m taking Teo to his OT appointment; then we have to stop by the pharmacy and maybe pick up dinner at Taste of Thai. You don’t mind carryout two nights in a row, do you? Oh, and your dad might be a little late. He’s dealing with a ceiling leak at the store. It’s in the biography section… I guess the karma gods don’t like biographies.” She smiled. “Kidding! He said no water damage to the books themselves, which is a big relief. Just a wet, messy floor.”

  “Does he need help?” Greta asked. “My friends are coming over soon, but I’ll be free in an hour or so.”

  “Oh, that’s very thoughtful of you. I think he’ll be okay, but I’ll tell him to text you if that changes.” Ysabel’s gaze dropped to the circle of candles, gems, and herbs on the floor. Her smile wavered. “Are you having a meeting?”

  “Yup.”

  “You girls are being very careful, right?”

  “Of course, Mama.”

  “Because the other day when I was dropping off a new batch of oatmeal soaps at Organic Bliss, Sparrow told me that Brianna next door was arrested for suspected witch activity. Brianna, that sweet young woman who works three jobs and takes care of her father who’s got Alzheimer’s! Things are getting very bad around here.”

  Greta had met Brianna a couple of times. She hadn’t picked up a witch vibe off her, but one never knew. Poor Brianna, she thought, and made a note to cast a protection spell for her during the coven meeting. The same for poor Mr. Dalrymple. Greta winced as she recalled the terrible scene at school this morning, the police officers dragging him away in handcuffs.

  “This is why my coven and I have to keep meeting, Mama. We’re trying to figure out how to help stop the hate.”

  “How on earth do you girls hope to stop it? Maybe in three years when we have a new president, if we have a new president. But right now, he’s… it’s… well, the whole country is turning against witches. It’s insane, and it’s scary. Your dad and I”—Ysabel’s voice shook—“we worry about you all the time, mijita.”

  “I know. We’ll be careful. I promise.”

  “Yes, please be extra careful. I’m locking the front door and the back door, too. Text me if you need anything. Teo and I will be home around six. With vegan pad thai, extra peanuts and bean sprouts, the way you like it.”

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  “Back soon, sweetie. Stay safe.”

  After Ysabel left, Greta turned her attention back to the circle. She lit the candles and watched the flames glow. Her parents had known about her being a witch ever since her discovery moment at age eleven when she’d willed a dead zinnia in the garden to come back to life, and its wilted brown petals had immediately, spontaneously burst into fresh, glorious color. Ysabel and Tomas supported her magical life completely—they believed passionately in free rights for all, including witches—but they also feared constantly for her safety.

  Her brother, Teo, on the other hand, was in the dark. Ysabel and Tomas didn’t want him to have to lie or keep secrets from his friends and teachers at the middle school.

  Greta was fully aware of how lucky she was that her parents accepted her witch identity when so many parents didn’t feel the same about their children, or their children didn’t trust them enough to be open with them. Ridley kept her identity a secret from her family, and ditto Iris. In Div’s coven, only Aysha’s family was aware—and supportive—of her identity. Greta wasn’t sure about her new witch’s family situation.

  A new witch to take Binx’s place… at least things are moving forward in that department.

  A sudden chilly breeze blew in from the window and extinguished one of the candles. Greta got up to close the window… except, it was already closed. Confused, she glanced around. Where had the breeze come from? The house was old and could be drafty sometimes. Yes, that must be it.

  On the bed, Gofflesby sprang up and hissed at the window.

  “What is it, my love?” Greta asked, alarmed.

  She parted the curtains and peered outside. It looked the same as always. There was her garden, nicknamed Bloomsbury, flush with her special herbs and flowers… Teo’s cocoon swing hanging from the sycamore tree, Platanus occidentalis… the row of English laurel hedges, Prunus laurocerasus, that separated their house from Mrs. Mianowski’s next door… the garage, which was mostly an overflow space for her father’s used books and storage for her and Teo’s old toys….

  But no one was there. And nothing was out of place.

  Still, Gofflesby continued hissing.

  Gofflesby had finally managed to calm down by the time Iris and Ridley arrived at the house. Maybe he saw one of the neighbor dogs, Greta thought. Ridley texted that they were on the front porch, and Greta let them in using an apertano spell. “Open,” she added, and visualized the lock unlocking. Even
though incantations and such were important, magic was ultimately about intention.

  As soon as the girls walked into Greta’s room, Iris thrust a paper bag at Greta. “Hello! Greetings! I brought snacks!” she announced. “I mean, I know you didn’t ask me to, but I thought it would be useful, so I stopped by my grandma’s café, and she gave me some of her famous kitchen-sink cookies. Don’t worry, though… they’re not called that because they have little pieces of kitchen sink in them. They’re called that because of that expression, you know, ‘everything but the kitchen sink’? And even that’s not accurate because, well, they don’t have everything but the kitchen sink in them. Just”—she began ticking off the ingredients on her fingers—“peanut butter, dark chocolate chips, white chocolate chips, nuts, oats, dates, et cetera. They’re vegan and gluten-free, if we care about gluten-free. Do we care about gluten-free? Anyhoo, speaking of expressions, did you guys know ‘et cetera’ is a Latin expression that means ‘and the rest’?”

  Greta grinned. Iris was always so… Iris. In a good way.

  “They sound yummy. Thank you.”

  As she took the paper bag from Iris, she noticed that her friend’s cheeks were flushed and that her eyes were brighter than usual. What was that about?

  On an impulse, Greta mentally evoked a modus spell, trying to glean Iris’s mood. Her field of vision filled with a soft, shimmery scarlet haze.

  Wait. Was Iris… in love? Or at least crushing on somebody? But she hadn’t mentioned anyone to Greta. Maybe the modus spell wasn’t working properly? Also, Greta’s intuitive powers weren’t perfect; she was still working to grow and improve them.

  “Hi, Greta.” Ridley sat down on the rug and crossed her legs. She picked up a sprig of lavender, studied it, and put it back down again. She flicked away a piece of invisible lint from her khakis.

  Greta sensed anxiety and agitation. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yes. No. Maybe.” Ridley threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t know.”