Near the top of the napkin pile was a pale blue one with the initials RRL monogrammed on it, the middle letter bigger than the other two, for Roseline and Louis Romain. Iris knew it was one of her grandmother’s favorites from when she and Grandpa Louis were first married. Iris murmured a quick prayer under her breath, as she did every time she thought of Grandpa Louis: “May the angels smile upon you. May they have free premium cable in heaven so you can watch all the ESPN stations. May you and Dad stop arguing about politics up there because it is very annoying.”
Dad. Beau Gooding, aka her favorite person in the whole entire world. He was the reason why the family lived in Sorrow Point now and not New York City. He’d passed away unexpectedly in May, and after that, Rachelle had struggled to make ends meet and take care of the family on her own, especially with Kedren’s expensive tuition at Barnard College. So Grandma Roseline had invited them to move to Sorrow Point and live in her house with her; she’d also given Rachelle and Iris jobs at the café.
“May the angels smile upon you, too, Dad, Daddy-o, Dadster,” Iris added softly. “May they have indie folk bands in heaven so you can keep playing your acoustic guitar and singing your songs, even that super-awkward love anthem you wrote for Mom, the one that I used to make fun of. Because, surprise, I secretly liked it, too. Oh, argh.”
Tears were gathering in her eyes. She reached up and quickly pinched her nose, hard. It was a trick she’d learned from the school social worker to keep from crying.
Although… for some reason, she was having a hard time remembering the social worker’s name. Mrs. Bird? Mrs. Plume? In any case, Iris hadn’t seen her around lately. She reminded herself to stop by her office to say hi, maybe on Monday.
She refolded the RRL napkin neatly and set it aside. “Grandma?”
“Oui, chère?”
“How did you and Grandpa Louis meet?”
“I never told you this story?”
“Nope, negatory.”
Grandma Roseline smiled. “We were both seventeen. His family ran a grocery store in Port-au-Prince. He wanted to introduce himself to me, but he was too shy. So one day when I was running errands, he saw my red bicycle parked in front of the store, and he sneaked up and let the air out of one of the tires. A few minutes later, he appeared with one of those little portable air pumps and pretended to rescue me. I knew, though.”
“You did? How?”
“I know everything.” Grandma Roseline tapped her forehead twice. “By the way, I forgot to ask… how is your school going?”
“I thought you knew everything!”
“Clever girl. I know almost everything. You’re a hard one to read.”
“That’s because of my Helmet of Inscrutability.”
“Your what, now?”
“It’s from Witchworld. It’s a rare to ultra-rare item made of Draggidian steel. You can acquire it for twenty thousand Firx once you reach Level… never mind. School’s okay. Although…”
“Although what?”
Iris held up a finger and glanced over at the three remaining customers. They were all standing up and putting on their jackets.
She waited until they’d left. The front door opened and closed with a clattering of tiny seashells. Then she turned back to her grandmother.
“One of our teachers was arrested. My English teacher, Mr. Dalrymple. The police think he’s a witch.”
Grandma Roseline pushed her shoulders back. Her mouth twisted with anger. “Another arrest? It’s absurd. Honestly, what harm did witches ever do to anyone?”
“Right?”
Iris had never told anyone in her family that she was a witch—not that she didn’t trust them to keep a secret. Well, maybe she didn’t, especially when it came to Ephrem, who was too young to understand about secrets, and Nyala, who might blab on Iris just to be an annoying brat.
She’d almost revealed her identity to Grandma Roseline on one or two occasions because sometimes, Iris suspected that she might be a witch, too. Although maybe that was wishful thinking. Still, what about that time when Grandma Roseline had made Nyala’s science-experiment plant from school, the dead one because lazy Nyala had forgotten to take care of it—come back to life overnight? Or the time she’d touched the cut on Ephrem’s knee, and it had immediately stopped bleeding?
“—and it’s all because of that President Ingraham,” Grandma Roseline was saying. “He’s only been our president for… what? Nine months? And in that short time, he’s stirred up a whole lot of witch hatred, anger, prejudice. Those things should be crimes, not being a witch! Right, chère?”
Whenever Grandma Roseline got like this, she reminded Iris of Grandpa Louis. Except that Grandpa Louis had been a big fan of President Ingraham back when the president was governor of Washington because he was always cutting taxes. Grandma Roseline had been the opposite of a big fan, though, saying she didn’t want to save a few dollars on her tax bill if it meant gutting programs for the poor and needy… or if it meant supporting a vocal witch hater. Although at that time, President Ingraham had been more of a vocal witch disliker. After his teen daughter had died under mysterious circumstances—she might have been a witch, according to the rumors—his dislike had morphed into rage.
The oven timer buzzed. “Excuse me a sec,” Grandma Roseline said, and headed for the kitchen.
Iris continued folding and stacking. She was worried—not that she wasn’t always worried, but this was a whole new level. I’ve leveled up in the worrying department, ha. There was too much happening. In part because of President Ingraham, the Antima had leveled up, too. They now possessed more power, and they were engaging in more activities, more attacks—not in a fun, fantasy, Witchworld sort of way, but in a dire and dangerous way that was harming witches IRL. Iris wished she could type NTG—“need to go”—and walk away and never come back to this terrible, scary game that wasn’t a game.
There was the matter of Penelope’s killer, too. They had to be caught and brought to justice, sure. But there was another, more urgent concern, which was: Would that person go after another witch?
Maybe me? Or Greta?
The front door opened suddenly with a clattering of seashells. Iris gave a yelp.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” a familiar voice called out.
Iris squinted at the silhouette haloed by sunlight.
Not a deranged witch murderer. Greta.
“Oh! Hi! Hello!” Iris stood up abruptly and accidentally knocked over the stack of neatly folded napkins. She’d just been thinking about Greta; did that mean she’d mentally, magically caused her coven-mate-slash-crush to appear? No way. Besides, she kind of thought about Greta a lot, so statistically speaking, her appearance could easily be a coincidence. “Argh, I am so… I was just… and here you are… anyway, hi!”
“Hi!” Greta walked over and sat down at Iris’s table. She took off her old-fashioned blue wool hat, which had a pretty velvet ribbon and a cluster of silk violets. She set her backpack on the floor, the vegan faux-leather one with the button that said I LOVE ANIMALS, BUT NOT FOR DINNER.
“How are you?” she asked Iris.
“Um…” Iris suddenly wanted to hide, or jump up and down with joy, or both. Greta had come to the café! To see her! “I’m good. I’m great! Are you here to eat? Do you want a menu?” She grabbed a menu from the next table; she turned it upside down and then right side up again, then thrust it at Greta. “So, yeah… the vegan items are marked with a little picture of a carrot… that was my idea, although I had the hardest time deciding if it should be a carrot or a tomato. Do you have an opinion on carrots versus tomatoes? Of course, tomatoes are technically fruits, so it’s kind of an apples-and-oranges comparison. Although that’s confusing, too, since apples and oranges are both fruits. They’re not both apples, though. Argh.” Iris sat back down and began refolding napkins.
“I’m actually here, well, I wanted to make sure you were okay after…” Greta glanced around. “Good, we’re alone. You seeme
d kind of upset at yesterday’s coven meeting. About Torrence.”
“What? Nah!” Iris waved her hand in a no-biggie gesture.
“I know I should have asked you and Ridley first,” Greta went on.
“Nah!”
“It’s just that, well… I’ve been feeling really upset about losing Binx to Div. And Penelope was going to join us, too, until she…” Greta’s voice trembled. “Anyway, I really want to grow our group and make it stronger. Especially with what’s happening. I got a good vibe off Torrence when I met him in front of Mrs. Poe’s store. I didn’t, and I still don’t, sense any malevolence in him.”
Iris furrowed her brow and nodded slowly. This was one of Greta’s magical skills that she’d been developing—empathy, trying to intuit people’s moods and emotions and even intentions.
But wait. Did that mean Greta could pick up on Iris’s feelings for her? And the fact that she, Iris, was upset about the possibility of Torrence liking Greta, and worse, Greta liking him back?
I really, really need that Helmet of Inscrutability now.
“It’s totally fine! Torrence is fine! Do you want some tea?” Iris burst out shrilly.
“Yes, that would be nice. Do you have mint tea? Today seems like a mint tea sort of day.”
“Would you like lavender mint tea, Moroccan mint tea, or regular old mint tea? Or peach-ginger mint tea? Or is it ginger-peach? Does the order make a difference? Is peach-ginger more peachy, and ginger-peach more gingery? Sorry, I’m rambling.”
Greta laughed. “You’re fine. I’d like regular old mint tea, please.”
“Okeydokey, coming right up.”
Iris went to the kitchen to prepare the tea. Grandma Roseline was on the phone, talking to one of the local farmers about a particular kind of turnip she would need for tomorrow night’s casserole special.
A few minutes later, Iris returned to Greta’s table with a tray: a pot of mint tea, Iris’s favorite mug with the pink roses on it, a pitcher of oat milk, and a plate of Grandma Roseline’s scones, fresh out of the oven. “This one’s cranberry-orange, this one’s coconut-almond, and this one’s lemon-poppy-seed. All vegan,” she explained.
“I love scones. Thank you!”
Greta picked up the lemon-poppy-seed scone, split it in two, and offered half to Iris. “So do you have any thoughts about what Ridley told us? About the mansion in the rain forest?”
“No! That was so bizarre. Although I’ve been thinking…”
“Yes?”
“We talked about precognition at the meeting. The ability to see into the future. What if Ridley was experiencing retrocognition instead?”
“The ability to see into the past. Yes! We should research if there were ever any mansions at that site. There must be old deeds in City Hall?” Greta sighed. “I wish Binx were still with us. She’s so good with all that computer stuff.”
“I know. I wish she’d come back.”
Greta’s phone began to vibrate. She peered at the screen and frowned.
“What is it?” Iris asked.
“It’s Div. It’s a text for Ridley and me.”
“Oh. But not me? Weird. What does it say?”
Green slanted her phone toward Iris. Div had written:
Emergency meeting NOW. All of us. We need a private place though. Any ideas?
“W-what emergency?” Iris stammered nervously.
“I don’t know. But if Div says it’s an emergency, it’s an emergency. She’s not one to overreact.” Greta steepled her hands under her chin. “Let’s see… we can’t use my house, because my dad has a friend visiting. We can’t use Ridley’s house, either, because… well, I’m not sure, exactly. But she never wants us to meet there. How about your house? Is your family home?”
“IDK, but I have an even better place!”
“Where?”
Just then, Grandma Roseline bustled out of the kitchen with an armful of menus. She regarded Iris, then Greta.
“Well, hello there! You must be Greta Navarro. Iris has told me so much about you!”
“I have?” Iris didn’t remember ever mentioning Greta to her grandmother. Or had she? “So, yup, this is the Greta. Greta, this is my grandma Roseline. The Grandma Roseline.”
Greta waved. “Hi! It’s really nice to—”
“Can we use your upstairs apartment? It’s empty, right?” Iris cut in.
Grandma Roseline raised her eyebrows, then chuckled. “I understand. You girls want privacy. Well, who am I to say no to young love? I remember back when your grandfather and I were first dating—”
“NO! It’s not THAT!” Iris practically shouted. “Greta and I need to… I mean, we need a place to meet with some friends to… um… do this thing. An important school thing. Right now. And it has to be up there versus down here because we need… we don’t want to bother your customers… not that you have any right this second, but you will because it’ll be dinner soon, and… argh!”
Grandma Roseline waved her hand. “Of course, chère. Not to worry. Here, let me get you the key.”
Iris’s face was so hot that it felt as though it might start melting. She couldn’t make herself look at Greta. This was the most mortifying, most embarrassing experience of her life, bar none, which was saying a lot because mortifying, embarrassing experiences were kind of her brand.
Greta touched her arm. “Your grandma’s so sweet. And thank you for thinking of this. I’ll text Div right away and tell her coven to meet us here… and Ridley and Torrence, too.”
Torrence.
“Can I ask you a nosy question? Do you like him?” Iris blurted out before she could stop herself.
“Of course. He’s…” Greta stopped and stared at Iris. “Oh! You mean like, as in… like….” Her voice trailed off.
Iris finally managed to look up at her.
Now Greta was blushing.
Iris’s heart sank all the way down to the floor.
10
THE SCIONS OF CALLIXTA
Existence is never final.
(FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)
In the empty studio apartment upstairs from Iris’s grandmother’s café, Greta and the other witches sat around in a circle on the bare wooden floor. The only furniture in the space was a twin bed with no sheets, a teal dresser with a faded Sorrow Point University bumper sticker on it, and a reading lamp with no light bulb. Venetian blinds half-covered a couple of windows that overlooked downtown Sorrow Point.
Greta smoothed her gray wool skirt over her knees and gazed around at all the faces. Everyone exuded major stress and unhappiness—including Mira, who’d arrived at the café without her usual bubbly hellos; Binx, who seemed both flustered and annoyed; and Iris, who’d been quiet and moody ever since their conversation earlier, or at least the Torrence portion of the conversation, anyway.
And there was Div, who was having a minor temper tantrum. Also about Torrence.
“Seriously, Greta. Tell me again why you brought a total stranger to our gathering? And tell me again why I shouldn’t cast praetereo on him immediately?”
Greta’s ex-coven-mate and ex-crush wasn’t dressed in one of her usual sexy, stylish white outfits, but in a preppy jacket, skirt, and silk blouse. Of course, she was so stunning that she would likely pull off any look. Greta closed her eyes and took a deep, centering breath. Why was Div being so unreasonable… so Div? When Greta had texted Div about meeting here, she’d added that Torrence was a new coven member and that he would be joining them. So it wasn’t as though she’d left Div out of the loop. Besides, Greta was in charge of her own coven, not Div. Div had no authority to tell Greta who could and couldn’t be a member.
Not to mention, if Div hadn’t stolen Binx away, Greta might not have been so eager to find a new fourth witch.
When Greta opened her eyes, she saw that Div was giving her one of her cold, unrelenting death stares.
Greta took another deep breath.
Don’t fight with her; that
never works.
“Div—” she began in a conciliatory voice.
“Honestly, it’s okay,” Torrence said, rising to his feet. “I don’t want to cause a problem. I can just leave.”
“Don’t go!” Greta fluttered her fingers toward him, then turned her attention back to Div. “Let him stay. I can vouch for him.”
Binx peered at her watch. “Can we puh-lease get on with this? I’ve been nonstop all day, and I have to go home and let the puppy out.”
“Oh, right, your new familiar! How’s he doing?” Ridley asked Binx.
“He’s awesome. You should come over sometime and—”
“I have an excellent idea,” Aysha cut in. “Let the hot newb stay, and if we’re not convinced that he’s legit by the end of the meeting, we can do a massive group praetereo spell on him. That should pretty much wipe out his entire memory bank.”
Torrence smiled nervously. “Um… thanks?”
“Fine. Let’s proceed. We’re wasting time,” Div snapped.
Torrence sat back down. Everyone fell silent as Div’s gaze swept around the circle.
“We have a lot to discuss, but first, there’s an urgent matter that requires our immediate attention. Several urgent matters.” Div paused and steepled her hands. “Most of you are aware that I just now left a New Order meeting at the Jessups’ house. I was there at Hunter Jessup’s invitation. During the meeting, I learned that the leader of the New Order isn’t Mr. Jessup. Or Hunter. Or Colter. It’s the mother, Dr. Jessup.”
Mira gasped. “Colter’s mom? She’s Antima, too? Weren’t we thinking it was just the guys?”
Witch Rising Page 9
