Witch Rising

by Paige McKenzie

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps not.”

  “Binx!”

  A man in a purple polo shirt and khakis, no costume, was making his way toward her and Div. The shirt bore the distinctive Witchworld logo—a big W and a small w strung together to look like a jagged line.

  An unwelcome human. Her father. Binx groaned. Even though this was his con, she hadn’t expected to run into him; she’d figured he would be overseeing the operations from somewhere far away and letting his many minions deal with the on-the-ground details. She hadn’t seen him since July, when he’d insisted on flying her to his fancy vacation house in Aspen to spend a week with him, Sloane, and Lucas. She’d holed up in her room the entire time, gaming nonstop and trying to tune out the baby’s incessant crying… and also avoid having to conversate with Sloane while pretending she hadn’t had an affair with Binx’s dad and broken up the Kato-Yamada family.

  “Is that ShadowKnight?” Div asked, confused.

  “Ew! No!”

  Her father dodged a small band of Enochian Elves, walked up to Binx, and hugged her. She patted his back and carefully extricated herself.

  “Binxy, you should have told me you were coming!”

  “It was super last-minute,” Binx fibbed. “How did you recognize me in this, um, outfit?”

  “Don’t be a goose. I’d recognize you anywhere.” He turned to Div and thrust out his hand. “Hi there, I’m Stephen.”

  “Div, this is my dad. Dad, this is my friend Div,” Binx mumbled.

  Div shook his hand. “So I guess you’re a Witchworld fan as well?”

  Stephen laughed. “Yes, you could say that. Do you live in Sorrow Point, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s terrific. Hey, let me set you guys up with VIP passes… unless you bought them online already?”

  “We bought regular passes because the VIP ones cost, like, a fortune,” Binx replied.

  “Come with me, then. I’ll grab you some VIP Premium passes; they’re for industry only.”

  “I’m confused. Does your dad work here?” Div whispered to Binx as they trailed behind him through the lobby.

  “Um… yeah. Kind of,” Binx whispered back.

  “What does that mean, ‘kind of’?”

  “Yeah, so he kind of owns Skyy Media, the company that created Witchworld.”

  Div raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Yes, but that’s not why I’m a fan. We’re not exactly close. He and my mom split up a long time ago, and he lives in Palo Alto now. I hardly ever see him.”

  “I understand. I have a father like that, too.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you about him sometime.”

  Binx nodded. Div was full of surprises today.

  On the far side of the lobby, Stephen spoke to one of the minions, who left and returned a moment later with a pair of platinum-and-purple passes. Binx and Div slipped the lanyards around their necks.

  “Are you two free for dinner? I’d love to take you out,” Stephen offered. “Sloane and Lucas are visiting her parents in Portland, so I’m on my own. There’s a terrific ramen place down the street, and it has a live DJ.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Why don’t I text you? We kind of have to rush off now because we need to get to the”—Binx glanced at a nearby poster and picked a random event—“Beeble’s Bazaar minitournament in room two forty-three.”

  “Sure, of course. Have fun. And no need to go through security; I’ve cleared you.” Stephen’s gaze dropped to Binx’s plastic ax. “Say, didn’t I buy that for you in kindergarten?”

  Binx felt herself blushing. “I don’t know, maybe?”

  “You were cute as a button then. Still are. I’m so glad you’re here, Binxy.”

  “Yup.”

  “Text me, okay?”

  “Yup.”

  “Nice to meet you, Div!”

  Div smiled and waved.

  Binx grabbed Div’s arm and pulled her toward the main floor. “Whew, that was close.”

  “What was close?”

  “Having to deal with parental social interaction when we need to focus on… you know, super-important, life-or-death, world-on-the-brink-of-disaster stuff.” Binx didn’t add that seeing her father had made her feel awkward and weird and also a little sad.

  “Yes, I agree with your priorities. Now, are we really going to room two forty-three for this bizarre minitournament, whatever that is, or are you going to go find ShadowKnight?”

  “The latter, and it’s BA-zaar, not BI-zarre. The cosplaying competition starts soon. Why don’t you stay close, and I’ll text you when the, um, coast is clear?”

  “I won’t be far. And… Binx?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be on your guard.”

  “I’m always on my guard.”

  “I mean it.”

  As Binx made her way to the auditorium where the cosplaying competition was happening, she passed a police officer talking to two twentysomething guys who were holding hands.

  She almost dropped her plastic ax. The two guys weren’t in Witchworld costumes. They were wearing matching jean jackets. With Antima patches.

  Binx stifled a swear. She’d known there might be police and Antima presence at the convention, but still. The police officer and the Antima couple were busy talking. Binx thought she heard the words arrest warrant. What the hex? She kept her head down as she passed them. Keep walking. Act natural. Blend in.

  Then one of the Antima guys called out to her, “Excuse me, miss?”

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Binx stopped in her tracks. All three of them were looking at her. She fake-smiled, trying to hide her terror. Was she about to be arrested? “Yes. Hi?”

  The Antima guy pointed to the floor. “One of your pom-poms fell off.”

  Binx followed his gaze and exhaled. Just a pom-pom. She scooped it up and stuffed it quickly into her pocket.

  “Thanks. I suck at sewing.”

  “Hey, I think I know you,” the other Antima guy piped up. “Is your name… you’re Astrid Wong, right? You work at Abercrombie?”

  Astrid Wong? Binx stifled her annoyance. He was apparently one of those people who thought all Asians were basically indistinguishable from one another, that Japanese and Chinese were basically the same thing.

  Also, Abercrombie?

  “Nah. But I think I know who you mean. Okay, it’s nice to meet you all, bye! And thanks for keeping things safe, Officer!”

  The police officer replied, but Binx didn’t stick around to hear what she’d said. Blurg. The little encounter with the threesome—the witch-hating threesome, assuming the police officer leaned that way, which she no doubt did—had rattled Binx to the core. Her hands shook, and sweat beaded her brow.

  Stop it. Get a grip. Everything’s fine.

  Still, she wondered how many other police officers and Antima were on-site here at the convention. Maybe Div was right. Maybe she did need to be on her guard, more than she’d realized. As it turned out, she passed four more police officers and a dozen Antima-patch wearers before reaching the auditorium. Not. Good. She wondered if she should text ShadowKnight and reschedule, or meet off-site, or at least warn him.

  Once at the auditorium, she stood in one of the doorways, debating what to do. Inside, witches, elves, goblins, and other Witchworld characters in their elaborate homemade costumes were bustling around and getting ready.

  And then she saw him standing a little ways away from everyone else. ShadowKnight.

  She recognized him in part because he’d told her that he would be dressing up as Dargon, a half-human, half-witch assassin. ShadowKnight was wearing Dargon’s signature baggy olive shirt, riding pants, and scuffed leather boots. His brown cape bore the partly ripped-away scarlet insignia of the kingdom of Vandervallis, from which Dargon had been exiled for his various crimes.

  But more than the Dargon attire, she recognized ShadowKnight because he’d clearly been watching for her, and he looked as nerv
ous and excited as she felt inside. He raised his hand slightly in an almost inconspicuous wave. She did the same. They smiled at each other.

  The police and the Antima, though. She pulled out her phone and saw to her annoyance that it was almost dead. She didn’t dare use a spell to remedy the situation; she’d have to do so the old-fashioned way, at a charging station. Ugh.

  She composed a quick message to ShadowKnight via their secret server:

  LOTS OF TEAM ROCKET COSTUMES HERE. ALSO TEAM GALACTIC.

  Team Rocket and Team Galactic were two of the villainous teams in Pokémon. Team Rocket was her and ShadowKnight’s code name for the Antima, and Team Galactic was their code name for the police.

  ShadowKnight replied:

  I’M AWARE. NO WORRIES MY POKÉMON’S EVASION STATS ARE PRETTY HIGH.

  Okay. So ShadowKnight was telling her that that it was safe—or safe-ish, anyway—for them to meet. She looked up from her phone and saw him chin-nod at the rear left corner of the auditorium. It was pretty much empty; all the action seemed to be up front. Binx gave ShadowKnight a thumbs-up and began walking in that direction. When they were a few feet from each other, she sized him up. He wasn’t just cute, which had always been her impression of him during their videochats. He was downright… well, hot, which was a word she rarely used, because hotness was not something she really cared about. He was also much taller than she’d expected.

  It occurred to her just then that he was one of only two male witches that she knew of IRL, the other being her replacement-slash-Greta’s-maybe-crush, Torrence.

  Oh, and that homicidal freak Maximus Hobbes. Binx had spent hours digging for info on him last night. One new tidbit she’d gleaned was that he’d gone missing in 1878 and never been found. He’d gained a sort of legendary status among witch haters, especially in the past few years with the rise of the Antima.

  But Binx didn’t want to think about Hobbes right now. This was a happy moment, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  “Hey, ShadowKnight4811!”

  “Hey, Pokedragon2946!”

  They stood grinning at each other for what seemed like forever.

  “So this is okay?” she asked him.

  “This is definitely okay.”

  “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

  “Around. I’ll introduce you soon.”

  “Are you actually competing in this?” Binx gestured at the stage.

  “Yeah, but later. They had too many contestants for the one-thirty round, so I got bumped to three thirty. Which is fine. When are you competing?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Got it. Your costume’s cool, though. You’re a Hodge-demon, right? From the Brandlewycke Dimension?”

  Binx touched her papier-m ch horns. They felt crooked, so she adjusted them slightly. “How can you tell? My crafting skills—my costume-crafting skills, anyway—aren’t exactly, well, skills.”

  ShadowKnight laughed. Binx noticed that his eyes lit up when he laughed. It was a surprising sight… and it was nice, really, given how he was usually sad or mad or subdued whenever they spoke.

  “I think you look awesome. So, listen… I scouted things out, and there’s a conference room one floor below that’s not being used at the moment. We should go down there so we can have more privacy.”

  He thinks I look awesome. “Yup, good idea,” Binx said out loud.

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  They left the auditorium, and Binx followed ShadowKnight to a nearby stairwell. As they headed down, several more pom-poms fell off her ski pants—she really did suck at sewing. She thought about not picking them up, then changed her mind; she didn’t want to leave a trail of bread crumbs for anyone to find her.

  Once in basement level 1, ShadowKnight led her down a long hallway to the last door on the right. A handwritten sign had been taped to it: DRASKA’S DUNGEON #1, WITCHWORLD PLAYING CARD TOURNAMENT ROUND 1 @ 2 P.M. NO PRE-REGISTRATION NECESSARY. Hmm, sounds fun. Binx wondered if she might have time to participate. But, nah… she’d probably be too busy engaged in a real battle against evil.

  Inside the conference room, she and ShadowKnight closed the door and sat down at a folding table.

  “Calumnia,” he said quickly. “Just in case.”

  Binx held up her phone. “So from your message, it sounds like you’re not worried about the police and the Antima?”

  “I’m always worried about the police and the Antima. My people have taken measures to stay safe, though. And you and I should be fine. If we run into any authorities, I have a plan A and a plan B.”

  “What are they?”

  “Not important. Hopefully we won’t have to deploy them. Let’s get down to business since our time is limited. Tell me what’s been going on in Sorrow Point.”

  “Sure.”

  Binx took a deep breath, then launched into a long, detailed update about everything. The escalating Antima presence at the high school, including many more students plus Mr. Terada, the history sub. The arrest of the English teacher Mr. Dalrymple. The New Order, and Dr. Jessup being their leader. The discovery of Mrs. Feathers’s body last night and their belief that she’d killed Penelope for her heart-fire, which would prolong the life of Maximus Hobbes, who happened to be a witch and witch-hunter.

  She was about to tell him about the witch database that the New Order was compiling when something niggled at her brain. Something about ShadowKnight. Something off.

  “ShadowKnight?”

  “Yes?”

  She studied his very cute face, trying to decode his expression. Decode him.

  “How did you know I’m from Sorrow Point?”

  14

  THE STING THAT BINDS

  Truth and fiction are often the same thing. So are life and death.

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

  “And see these leafy green things growing under the deck? You’d think they were just plain old nuisance weeds that need pulling,” Aunt Viola said to Ridley. “They’re called stinging nettle, and if you touch them without gloves, they can give you a mean rash. But they’re actually very good for you, when used properly. Witches like myself love to make tinctures and teas out of them for medicinal purposes. You can also make a tasty soup out of them. Cream of nettle. I’ll teach you the recipe while I’m here.”

  “Sure!”

  Ridley knelt down on the grass next to Aunt Viola and studied the nettle plants up close. Aunt Viola was right; they did look like weeds. In fact, she had a vague memory of accidentally touching one of them over the summer and getting super-itchy.

  She opened her grimoire—a plain old black-and-white composition notebook that she’d labeled CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL for deception purposes—and found a blank page. There, she sketched a quick picture of the nettle plants in pencil—she didn’t have Greta’s drawing skills, but she was improving—and added some notes underneath:

  Stinging nettle

  Use gloves to pick (otherwise rash!)

  Medicinal tinctures and teas (get recipes from Aunt V)

  Cream of nettle soup (ditto)

  Ridley closed her grimoire, stood up, and brushed the dirt and grass off her jeans. Her not-Ridley jeans, which were slim-hipped and a darker, stiffer denim than she preferred. She’d almost forgotten that she was in her untrue form. She’d done muto on herself on her way home from meeting Binx at Starbucks. Even though Ridley was in these ugly jeans plus had the ugly stubble on her face, Aunt Viola was aware of who she really was. She’d known for years, just as she’d known about Ridley being a witch.

  Everyone should have an aunt Viola in their lives, especially queer kids. And especially queer Black kids.

  Aunt Viola picked a few pieces of the stinging nettle, put them in her basket, and rose to her feet. Ridley noticed then she wasn’t wearing gloves.

  “Wait! Aren’t your hands—”

  “I’m fine, darling girl.”

  Probably a protection spell.

  �
��Thank you for teaching me about stinging nettle,” Ridley said. “I don’t remember Callixta Crowe writing anything about them.” She felt comfortable speaking openly without calumnia since Daddy, Momma, and Harmony were at the grocery store, and none of the neighbors were in their yards at the moment.

  “Ah, yes, The Good Book of Magic and Mentalism. Callixta actually does have a section on stinging nettle—quite a long one, in fact—but that part hasn’t been uploaded for public eyes.”

  That part hasn’t been…

  “I don’t understand. If it wasn’t uploaded by that one descendant of Callixta’s, how do you know about it?”

  “I never mentioned this to you. But last spring, my ladies’ group back in Cleveland”—Ridley assumed that “my ladies’ group” meant her coven—“well, we discovered a few lost pages that were not part of Callixta’s descendant’s original upload in 2016.”

  “Seriously? Where?”

  “At a flea market of all places. We were shopping for old bottles and jars—you know, for storing potions—when we stumbled upon a box of vintage gardening books. Well, we bought the whole lot, and when we were going through the books back at my store, we found Callixta’s pages all folded up and wedged inside Formal Gardens for the Informal Gardener by Neville Austin-Biss.” Aunt Viola sniffed. “Not a very good book, by the way.”

  “Wait… so… you have actual pieces of paper with Callixta Crowe’s handwriting on them?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That is… amazing! Can I see them?”

  “I don’t have them with me. They’re in an interdimensional vault, and the only access is through a portal behind my store. But maybe you can come visit sometime soon, and I can share them with you?”

  An interdimensional vault. A portal. On the rare occasions when Aunt Viola brought up these things, doubt seeped into Ridley’s mind. Having powers was one thing, but this stuff sounded like science fiction, like something wacky and made-up from Binx’s favorite video game.

  “Ever the skeptic, aren’t you?” Aunt Viola said with a knowing smile.

  “Maybe a little? I mean, you didn’t have a portal back when we lived in Cleveland. Or an interdimensional vault, either.”