Witch Rising

by Paige McKenzie

  She was ready.

  Inside the library, Hunter waved to a dark brown leather chair. “Is this okay? I’ll just be a sec.”

  Div sat down, crossed her legs, and pulled her phone out of her bag. “No worries, I can occupy myself. What time does the meeting start again?”

  “In about ten, fifteen minutes, in the living room. People are beginning to arrive.”

  “Will Colter be here?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Div knew Mira wouldn’t be present, though, because she was stationed outside with Aysha and Binx, and besides, Colter hadn’t invited her. Did he not feel comfortable sharing the New Order/Antima part of his life with her? Or was Colter not hugely involved in the group? Although… Hunter said “me and some of my family” last night at the country club. If Div had to guess, that meant either Mr. Jessup, or Colter, or both. Dr. Jessup hadn’t expressed any Antima sentiments—not in Div’s presence, anyway. She’d also defended the twins’ new obsession with the Witchworld video game to her husband. If indeed one or both girls had powers, perhaps there was a small chance they could count on their mom to shield them from the bigoted men in their family.

  And speaking of bigoted male relatives… Div felt awful for Mira because of what her coven had learned about Mr. Jahani at the community center earlier. She made a note to have a one-on-one with the girl soon, to cheer her up and also to strategize about how best to protect Mira inside her own home. Plus, they needed to brainstorm how to use this new angle to further penetrate and decimate the Antima. Mira might be feeling upset and vulnerable at the moment, but she was a witch first and foremost, and she knew her duty.

  Hunter kissed Div on the cheek and left the room. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Div began texting her three witches.

  Are you guys in position?

  Aysha wrote back:

  We’re in position.

  Binx added:

  Taking pix of the people as they get out of their cars. So far, no one we recognize.

  Mira joined in, too:

  There are police officers guarding the front. Did you know they’d be here?

  Div frowned. She was not happy to hear this.

  No. Obviously don’t let them see you.

  Binx replied:

  Obviously!

  Div wrote:

  The plan is like we talked about. If anything goes wrong on my end, I’ll text CANCEL. Then you guys need to enter the house through the kitchen door and look for me. No enhancements unless absolutely essential.

  Enhancements was their new word for spells. Mira replied:

  Got it. Be careful.

  Div wrote:

  You too. All of you.

  Div deleted the texts—this was their new protocol—then slipped her phone into the inner pocket of her blazer. She hadn’t known how to dress for a VIP New Order meeting, so she’d elected for an all-beige outfit: tailored jacket, pencil skirt, and silk tank top. Boring but classic, nothing that would scream “witch,” although she wasn’t sure what that would be, either. Maybe Greta’s thrift-store boho look? Honestly, the girl might as well be wearing a pointy black hat and matching cape.

  Div was glad her girls were obeying orders and taking pictures of the incoming guests with their phones. Later, they planned to run the images through a magical photo-recognition program that Binx had recently created.

  Binx. Recruiting her had been a brilliant move. Not only did she have unique and impressive skills—Div didn’t know any other cyber-witches—but the girl was as determined as Div herself to wipe the Antima off the face of the earth and create a society that accepted witches. Maybe more than just accepted. Respected. Revered, even. Div wasn’t one of those tedious “equality” types who believed that witches and humans were the same, that neither was inherently better than the other. Of course witches were superior. Of course they should be at the top of the hierarchy. It was only logical, and it was only a matter of time. Based on their recent conversations, Binx seemed to be coming around to this idea, too.

  Div stood up restlessly. The library was an unusual room—a true luxury, because how many families had the space or the money to have a personal library in their homes? Thousands of books filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves—novels in alphabetical order by author, nonfiction books in alphabetical order by title. The furnishings consisted of pricey-looking antiques. Two Tiffany lamps cast a soft glow on the burgundy-and-gold wallpaper.

  A strange unease settled over her. All of a sudden, she felt as though she’d been here before, alone, although she couldn’t remember when or why. She remembered having been in danger.

  Shake it off. You’re being paranoid.

  Still, she couldn’t help it; she needed an… enhancement.

  “Pleukiokus,” she whispered. A protection spell.

  The unease dissipated and was replaced by a shimmery white sensation, like an invisible cloak. Better. Div walked around the room, feeling more confident, and ran her fingers along the spines of the books, checking out their titles. The Art of Knitting. Boring. The Art of War. Hmm, more interesting.

  She moved to a large oak desk. An old-fashioned radio sat on top of it, along with a leather-bound notebook and an expensive-looking silver pen. Div glanced around. Yes, she was definitely alone. She inched closer to the desk and regarded the notebook. It had been locked with a small combination lock. Was it a personal diary? Or something else? Who did it belong to? She glanced around again, just to be sure. Still alone.

  “Transpicere,” she whispered. In her mind, she pictured being able to read the contents of the notebook without opening or even touching it.

  It worked. Div could see a handwritten list of some sort. But the list was barely legible because words from other pages were superimposed on them.

  “Transpicere,” she repeated.

  Three words floated into focus.

  Penelope Rue Hart.

  And Penelope’s name was followed by some random numbers, no, letters, maybe part of a word. ONEG.

  What the hex?

  Div pulled out her phone to text her girls about this. She typed:

  I found something that might be a clue.

  She hit send, and an alert popped up:

  UNABLE TO SEND.

  She tried to resend, but the delivery failed again. Her phone seemed to have lost all its bars. Strange… she’d texted with Aysha, Binx, and Mira just a few minutes ago.

  Frowning, Div picked up her purse and headed into the hallway, holding up her phone and moving it this way and that. Still no bars. She could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the front of the house, no doubt the guests gathering for the New Order meeting. Maybe she should try the second floor? She wandered down the hallway until she found herself at the bottom of one of the back staircases. Her eyes on her phone, she began to climb. She didn’t like not being able to communicate with her witches.

  On the second-floor landing, she heard more voices. She followed the sound and realized that it was coming from Cassie’s room. She peered inside. Cassie and Caitlin were sitting on the bed watching something on a pink laptop, their heads bopping in unison to electronic beats.

  Cassie glanced up and waved. “Hi, Divvy!”

  “Are you looking for Hunt? We don’t know where he is, plus we’re mad at him,” Caitlin spoke up.

  Div walked into the room and leaned against a dresser. She peered quickly at her phone. Still no bars. “Why are you mad at him?”

  “He told Mom and Dad that we were watching Xandri videos on YouTube, and they said we aren’t allowed to!” Cassie sighed dramatically.

  “Who’s Xandri?”

  “You don’t know Xandri?” Caitlin cried out.

  “Nope.”

  “Xandri’s nonbinary. They have this cool channel called ‘We Heart Magic.’ It has like a bazillion subscribers,” Cassie explained.

  Div stared at the twins. Had she heard correctly? “‘We Heart… Magic’?” she repeated.

  Cait
lin nodded. “Yeah! They’re a gamer, and they post videos of themselves playing Witchworld. Except, sometimes, they say stuff during their commentary that sounds like they really do heart witches.”

  “IRL witches, not Witchworld witches,” Cassie added.

  “Oh!”

  How had Div not heard about this person before? And how was Xandri getting away with saying pro-witch things on YouTube? Why hadn’t the police or some other authority shut them down? Also, why did Hunter tell his parents about his sisters watching Xandri videos? Did he suspect Cassie was a witch? And perhaps Caitlin, too? Or was it just his general anti-witch attitude? Div wished she could just come right out and ask the twins if they were witches. Although they might not know, either. The whole thing was so delicate. Maybe it was best to pursue the topic indirectly.

  “Do you guys think Xandri’s a real witch?”

  Caitlin shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? Probably?”

  “And if they were, how would you feel about that?” Div pressed on.

  Cassie started to answer, then clamped her mouth shut. She and Caitlin were staring at something past Div.

  Div twisted around. Dr. Jessup stood there, her arms crossed over her chest.

  She seemed angry.

  No, not angry… worried.

  Div plastered on a quick smile. “Oh, hi, Dr. Jessup! I was just catching up with the girls,” she said lightly.

  Dr. Jessup entered the room and glanced around. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she smelled like eucalyptus shampoo. “Uh-huh. Is Hunter with you?”

  “No. He was, but he said he had to talk to Mr. Jessup,” Div improvised. “I was looking for cell reception because I needed to check my voice mail.” She held up her phone, which had recovered a couple of bars, finally.

  Dr. Jessup frowned. “Oh. Well, I’m not sure why Hunter made plans with you. He’s busy this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I know. The meeting. He invited me.”

  “He did?”

  “There you are, Div!”

  Now Hunter was standing in the doorway. “Come with me. Hey, Mom—Dad was looking for you before. He wanted to know where you keep the smoked almonds. He said Mr. Soto likes them.”

  Div was glad for Hunter’s arrival, since Dr. Jessup wouldn’t be able to continue asking her questions. But… smoked almonds? Div could see the Instagram post now: The best snacks for your hate-group meetups!

  “Mr. Soto doesn’t like them; your dad likes them. I’ve been hiding them from him because he really needs to cut down on the salty foods, for his blood pressure.”

  Hunter chuckled. “Yeah, I should have guessed. Let’s go, Div.”

  “Traitor!” Caitlin called after him.

  “Double traitor!” Cassie yelled.

  “Honestly, girls,” Dr. Jessup said as she closed the door after Div and Hunter. She said something else to the twins, but Div couldn’t hear.

  “They’re pissed at me because I told Mom and Dad they were watching inappropriate content online,” Hunter explained to Div.

  Inappropriate content. “You’re a good big brother. You’re just looking out for them.”

  “I wish they got that.”

  As Div followed Hunter down the stairs, she wondered why Dr. Jessup had seemed so bothered by the sight of her hanging out with the twins.

  Or why she cared that Hunter had invited Div to the New Order meeting.

  In the living room, Mr. Jessup was talking to the assembled crowd.

  “It’s good to see so many familiar faces here today. You know we really appreciate your taking the time from your busy schedules for this important cause,” he was saying.

  Div paused in the entryway. Okay, so Mr. Jessup was definitely a part of this. Could he even be the New Order leader? Or would that be Hunter? She would learn soon enough.

  Pretending to adjust her shoe strap, she surreptitiously scanned the guests. The inner sanctum. About three dozen people, mostly Mr. Jessup’s age, sat on folding chairs that had been arranged in rows; the majority were men, although there were a few women, too. She recognized some of the guests from a political fundraiser that the Jessups had hosted for Mr. Jahani last month, in this very same room. Three of them were the fathers of Sorrow Point High students whom Div knew to be Antima: Mr. Ngata, who was Axel Ngata’s dad; Mr. Fiske, who was Brandon Fiske’s; and Mr. Kong, who was Orion Kong’s. Colter sat in the front row.

  Mr. Jessup was standing in front of the large stone fireplace, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets and an unlit cigar dangling from his mouth. He wore a brown suit, a white shirt, cowboy boots, and a tie with an American flag design. He looks like a cartoon, Div thought. Except, there’s nothing funny about what he’s doing.

  He pulled out the cigar and set it aside. “I think we’re almost ready to start the meeting. We’re just waiting on a few folks. But in the meantime, I can share some updates. As some of you already know, we’ve assembled a database of all the Antima groups across the country, and we’ve reached out to every single one. We’re still waiting on a few, but so far, we’ve had one hundred percent positive responses. They’re eager to come into our tent, so to speak. Our very well-funded tent.” He grinned. “We should be able to make a big national announcement about the New Order very soon. We have our media folks working on it already.”

  Everyone began clapping. Div forced herself to clap, too, even though mostly, she just wanted to cast a praetervolo spell on Mr. Jessup and the rest of this evil crowd and make them disappear… for good.

  Still, this was it. This was the physical, tangible proof that she and her girls, and Greta’s coven, too, had been after for weeks… or at least an important piece of it. The New Order was an undeniable reality, and Mr. Jessup appeared to be their leader.

  And what about that clue she’d found in the library? Did this mean the New Order, and the Jessups specifically, were definitely connected to Penelope’s death?

  “And speaking of databases… some of us local folks have already started working on another important database,” Mr. Jessup continued. “We’re talking about a comprehensive list of all known witches in the great state of Washington, starting with Sorrow Point.”

  Div froze.

  “And once we’ve folded in the Antima groups from everywhere else, those new folks can do the legwork to collect names from their states,” Mr. Jessup added.

  Div couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A database of all known witches? No, no, no, that absolutely could not happen. Plus, what did Mr. Jessup and the New Order plan to do with these names? Turn them over to the police or the FBI? Or would they take a more vigilante approach and go after the witches themselves through intimidation or worse? Div had to get her girls on this ASAP, especially Binx, who might be able to hack into this database and disable it; she also had to alert Greta’s coven.

  Mr. Fiske raised his hand. “How will this work, Jared? Will the New Order have a top-down hierarchy? Will all those local groups who join us take their orders from us?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s the plan. We here will be the central committee. And the central committee will be taking orders from our leader,” Mr. Jessup explained.

  Our leader? Div frowned. So Mr. Jessup wasn’t the leader. Was it Hunter, then?

  “Speak of the devil… here she is now. I’ll step aside and let her take over with the proceedings. She’s a whole lot smarter with words than I am, anyway.” Mr. Jessup laughed as he pointed to the back of the room.

  Someone passed by Div, leaving a faint cloud of eucalyptus, and took Mr. Jessup’s place.

  Dr. Jessup.

  She was the leader of the New Order?

  9

  THE HELMET OF INSCRUTABILITY

  There is no such thing as a chance encounter. Magic informs all.

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

  “Iris, love, can you fold these for me?”

  “Sure thing!”

  Iris took the messy pile o
f napkins from Grandma Roseline. Still warm from the dryer, they were a jumble of colors and patterns: apricot with pale green stripes, turquoise with yellow lemons, indigo with white moons and stars. Nothing in Café Papillon matched, which was part of its charm. The linens, the china, the silverware, and even the tables and chairs were a motley assortment of flea market finds. All the art on the walls was for sale—this month it was paintings of dinosaur-sized robins, jays, and other birds perched atop skyscrapers, by an artist named REwind—and there was a bead shop in the adjoining space. Upstairs was an apartment that Grandma Roseline usually rented to university students, although at the moment, it was unoccupied.

  “Do you want swans or regular?” Iris asked her grandmother.

  “Swans?”

  “Swan napkins. It’s a thing. I learned it on YouTube! But never mind, I’ll just do regular today.”

  “All right, chère.”

  Iris sat down at a table near the kitchen and began folding. She was helping out at the café while her mother, Rachelle, took Nyala and Ephrem to their swimming lessons at the Y. In a few hours, her mom would return for the evening shift while Iris did bedtime at home with the younger kids. Or with Ephrem, anyway. Nyala would no doubt disappear into her room and lock her door, which she seemed to be doing more and more these days.

  A steamy sputtering sound… Grandma Roseline was fiddling with the monster espresso machine on the counter. The air smelled like freshly ground coffee beans and also scones; there was a fresh batch in the oven. The café wasn’t too crowded right now—just a couple in the corner talking quietly over their cappuccinos, and an older gentleman reading a British newspaper and finishing up his spinach-and-okra soup. They’d all paid their checks and were happily lingering as Ella Fitzgerald sang over the ancient speakers: “Someone who’ll watch over me…”