Witch Rising

by Paige McKenzie

  “They’re new since you all moved out here. Remember, darling girl… everything is possible. Magic is only limited by your imagination.”

  “I guess I have a lot to learn, then.”

  “Yes, you do. We all do. After all, the craft is infinite.”

  Everything is possible.

  Magic is only limited by your imagination.

  The craft is infinite.

  Ridley wished she could reflect on these intriguing concepts, follow their trajectories in her head, maybe even write about them in her grimoire. This was the part of being a witch that she missed. The luxurious swaths of time and space to study, to discuss, to grow. These days, with the New Order people bulldozing full-speed ahead with their magic-hating agenda, Penelope’s death, a new death—Mrs. Feathers’s—and the prospect of Maximus Hobbes being alive, Ridley felt like she was in triage mode. She was just trying to get through the day without being discovered or losing herself in the despair of what was happening and what was yet to come. Lately, even the coven meetings at Greta’s house had become all about strategizing and putting out fires and forestalling disasters.

  Aunt Viola’s voice interrupted Ridley’s thoughts.

  “You haven’t asked me why I’m here.”

  Ridley blinked. Her aunt’s unscheduled appearance in Sorrow Point had caught her by surprise, especially since this was her first and only visit in over a year. Her father, on the other hand, was just glad to see his sister, and likewise with her mother.

  “Okay. Why are you here?”

  “I had a vision last week. In my scrying mirror.”

  “What about?”

  “About your parents. They know about you.”

  What is she saying?

  “They… know that I’m a witch?”

  “No. They know that you’re trans.”

  “What?”

  Ridley rocked back on her heels, dizzy with shock. She felt as though she might pass out. This was the absolute last thing she’d expected to hear from Aunt Viola… from anyone. Momma and Daddy knew? How could they, when she’d been so, so careful around them?

  Aunt Viola reached over and gave Ridley a long, fierce hug. “Darling girl. It’s okay. Breathe.”

  Ridley took a deep breath. Then another. The dizziness subsided a little.

  “They know, but they don’t know how to talk to you about it. They both love you so much, and they don’t want to mess it up,” Aunt Viola explained.

  “But… Daddy and Daniel…”

  “Your dad isn’t exactly Mr. Woke, that’s for sure. When we were in high school and college… well, let’s just say we had our share of arguments about the meaning of ‘equal rights.’ But there’s not a day that goes by when he doesn’t beat himself up about his last conversation with your brother. I truly believe he wants to be more open-minded, be a better man… be a better father. Just give him a chance.”

  Ridley nodded into Aunt Viola’s shoulder. She didn’t know what to say.

  Aunt Viola leaned back and ran a loving hand across Ridley’s hair. “That’s why I’m here. Not to push you into coming out to them—that’s entirely your choice, and you should do it on your own timetable, whether it’s tomorrow or next year or ten years from now or never. But I wanted to let you know in person that they love you, that we all love you. And I wanted to be here to support you guys if you want my support. And if you don’t, well, we can still have a nice visit, can’t we? I can help out with the cooking and other household chores, too. I’ll make a big pot of my nettle soup!” She winked.

  Ridley clutched her grimoire to her chest. There was so much to process. “I’ve been trying to learn vertero and dissimulatio because I didn’t think I would ever be able to come out to them,” she confessed.

  “Well, now you have some options.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  A shadow seemed to pass across Aunt Viola’s face. “There’s another reason I’m here.”

  “What?”

  “My ladies’ group has been keeping tabs on all the negative activity in this area. The hate groups, the death of that girl…”

  Ridley winced.

  “… and your teacher who’s missing. The substitute history teacher.”

  “You mean Ms. O’Shea?”

  “Yes, that one. My group thought I might look into all that, and help if needed.”

  “We’ve been investigating all this stuff,” Ridley told her. “My coven, that is, and another coven at our school. In fact, I really wanted to talk to you about what we’ve learned, get your advice.”

  “Well, fire away. But first, you should call your friend. Bicks?”

  “You mean Binx? Why?”

  Aunt Viola closed her eyes and fluttered them open again. “I’m not sure. But something tells me that she might be in trouble. I call it my seventh sense. I know most people call it their sixth sense, but in my case it’s different because—”

  But Ridley wasn’t listening anymore. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and composed a text to her best friend, in all caps:

  IS EVERYTHING OKAY?

  No answer.

  Ridley hit call. It went straight to Binx’s voice mail.

  “Profundus,” Aunt Viola said.

  “What?”

  “It’s a powerful new spell of protection that my ladies and I created. I can teach it to you now, and we can cast it together for your friend. My seventh sense is telling me that she may need it.”

  15

  DUNGEONS AND DISGUISES

  Be wary of shadows, especially the ones you have conjured.

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

  Div stood in front of a booth in the so-called Artists’ Alley and checked her phone. Aside from a reminder from Hunter about the next New Order meeting, there were no messages. Out of curiosity, she picked up one of the small paintings on the display table. The subject was an odd-looking purple creature—half-human, half-cat?—posing against a yellow sky splattered with raindrop-shaped runes. How peculiar.

  A young woman sat behind the table, dressed in a hooded green satin cape. She leaned forward and smiled at Div. “Krimlock! I’m Elysia. If you’re interested in that series, I can give you a deal. Buy two, get the third painting free. That way, you could own all three of the Mid-Council Magical Scribes.”

  Div cocked her head. “I’m sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone else. My name isn’t Krimlock.”

  Elysia laughed merrily. “No, I didn’t mean… krimlock is Ongolean for ‘hello.’ You were probably confused because the Ongolean language didn’t used to have vowels. But the Ork queen changed that after the second Ragamong Revolution.”

  “What is a… and what does a revolution have to do with… never mind. In any case, I’m not interested in these paintings.”

  Elysia’s face fell. “Oh.”

  Div noticed then that all the artwork had been signed with a dramatically curlicued E.

  How annoying. This Elysia person must be the artist.

  Sighing, Div scanned the other items on display, feigning interest. Buttons, stickers, postcards, posters, handmade soaps…

  Her gaze landed on a beanie cap. It was black and crocheted and had one star-shaped blue rhinestone for an ornament. It didn’t seem too dreadful. And besides, it might help her to better fit in with the convention masses.

  “How much is that?”

  Elysia’s face lit up. “Oh, that’s an excellent choice! It’s twenty dollars. I’m sure you recognize the symbol of the Symsarian witch army?”

  The what?

  “I have another version of that hat from when the Symsarians were more of a motley rebel squad… remember? And their star symbol was green, not blue? That was before Aksandria the Space Witch decided to organize an uprising against—”

  “Yes, very interesting, here you go,” Div said, pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of her white designer backpack. “There’s no need for a bag. I plan to wear it.”

  “
Lovely! And here’s a complimentary Ilyara sticker and a sample-sized bar of Feykarn soap. The recipe is an almost exact copy of the Feykarn tribe’s recipe, except that I had to substitute lemon balm leaves and sea salt for tallen beetle wings because—”

  “Fascinating. Must run now, goodbye.”

  Grabbing her purchases, Div continued down the jam-packed row of artist booths and headed toward the concession stands and restrooms. Good… that area seemed relatively artist-free. These Witchworld fans are odd people. Perfectly harmless, but odd.

  After a few minutes, Div found a secluded corner. She leaned against an ATM, pulled on her new hat, and checked her phone again. Still no messages.

  Her brow furrowed. Binx should have texted by now. According to the time frame she’d given Div, the cosplaying competition should be underway. Surely she’d made contact with ShadowKnight?

  Div typed:

  Need to talk where are you?

  No response.

  Are you okay?

  Still no response.

  Div frowned. She didn’t like being put in this position—waiting and in the dark—and she didn’t entirely trust this ShadowKnight character. Hopefully she was just being paranoid. As coven leader, she always had to err on the side of caution. And of course, if ShadowKnight turned out to be who he said he was, he would be an excellent ally in the war against the Antima.

  Things would be much easier if Binx was more… compliant. Obedient. Respectful. Granted, she’d been with Div for less than a month, so she was still finding her place in the coven and getting a sense of the hierarchy—not the obvious hierarchy, with Div as leader, but the subtle infrastructure of the roles the witches played. Mira was the social one who was good at interacting with the outside world, like the Jessups and the Homecoming Committee. She was also good at following the rules when it came to coven business. Aysha was more of a loner, preferring her Alaskan noble companion dog familiar, Nicodemus, to humans or even witches, but she possessed impressive telekinetic powers and other skills, too. And although she might lack Mira’s obsequiousness, she knew at the very least not to defy or question Div’s authority.

  Ever since meeting and recruiting the two girls over a year ago—Div smiled slyly at the memory of when she’d overheard their plans to magically alter their report cards and pretended she would turn them in to the authorities—she’d developed their coven into a formidable group, focusing on dark sorcery, which in her opinion was far superior to the “love and light” nonsense in Crowe’s manual. Of course, Div had used some of the knowledge in those pages; they weren’t entirely frivolous. But she’d tweaked most of those spells and potions to give them an… edge. Magic wasn’t for the timid or the faint of heart. That’s why she and Greta had ended their intimate little coven of two in junior high; that girl had no guts.

  Div waited one minute, then five minutes, then ten. Still no response from Binx.

  Then a text popped up—finally! Except it was from Ridley. Div would have to deal with her later; she had to concentrate on finding Binx.

  Time to be more proactive. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking—she’d noticed police and Antima members wandering through the crowd, which was highly disturbing—she held her phone to her ear and pretended to be having a conversation.

  “Locus,” she whispered, picturing Binx in her mind.

  The location spell worked almost immediately, although the results were somewhat vague. Downstairs—maybe one level?—but nothing more specific than that.

  “Locus,” Div repeated. The enchantment revealed no new information. Impatient, she pocketed her phone and started toward the elevators.

  “Div! Krimlock, greetings, hello!”

  Now what? Div spun around.

  A familiar figure stood behind her, waving awkwardly. Ponytail, glasses, black leotard, black leggings, a lot of aluminum-foil accessories…

  “Iris?”

  “Affirmative! Wow, I didn’t know you were a Witchworlder. I just made up that word; do you like it? Witchworlder?”

  “I am not a… never mind, have you seen Binx?”

  “Binx is here, too? How cool is that?” Iris exclaimed.

  “Yes. But I need to—”

  “Do you guys want to hang out? I took the bus; did you guys take the bus? Except, you must have been on a different bus, because I didn’t see you on the ten-forty express, which by the way smelled funny. Like bleach and sunscreen and scrambled eggs. Speaking of… have you tried the big concession stand way over at the end? They have Haruyn doughnuts just like the ones from that tavern in Valkyrie Valley; can you believe it? And they’re pretty yummy, which is saying a lot because they had that mashed sweet potato filling, and my mouth usually can’t stand mashed foods. It’s the SPD, I’m super-sensitive to textures and tastes and smells….”

  Div groaned. Was she destined today to be socially entrapped by people who never stopped talking?

  “Thanks for the culinary recommendation. So I gather you haven’t seen Binx?”

  “No. But, full disclosure, I spent the last half hour trying to track down Xandri—do you know Xandri?—so I could get their autograph for my little sister. Well, I finally found them, and I bought an autographed headshot. It cost a fortune, but I guess it’s worth it because it’ll make Nyala happy. She’s a humongous Xandri fan.”

  Xandri. Cassie and Caitlin’s obsession. Div made a mental note to purchase some autographed headshots for them, too. “That’s very nice. Come with me, please. I really do need to find Binx.”

  “Sure! By the way, that’s a supercool hat! You’re a member of the Symsarian witch army, amiright? Did you know that the leader of the Symsarian army was actually a set of identical twins? During the Battle of Carthagria, she—I mean, they—fooled the enemy because one of them would be, like, at the eastern citadel, and the other one would be all the way across the kingdom at the western citadel, and…”

  Div wondered if she should break her no-magic-in-public rule yet again and deploy silencio.

  When the elevator reached basement level 1, Div and Iris started to exit. At the same time, a young guy in a purple polo and khakis—the same outfit Binx’s father had been wearing, perhaps a corporate uniform?—got on.

  “Need any help?” he asked Div and Iris in a friendly voice.

  Iris raised one of her aluminum-foil contraptions in the air. “Krimlock! Yes! We’re looking for—”

  “No, we’re fine, thank you,” Div cut in. She didn’t want to draw any extra attention to themselves or to Binx.

  “Okay. Welcome to WitchWorldCon; enjoy yourselves!”

  “Thank you! They’re so friendly here. Aren’t they friendly here?” Iris gushed to Div.

  Div didn’t reply but instead started down a long hallway. Binx had to be here somewhere. Some instinct made her look behind her, though. Turning, Div saw that the elevator doors were still open, and that the WitchWorldCon employee was speaking quietly into his headset. And watching Div and Iris with a not-so-friendly expression. What the hex? He wasn’t reporting them to someone, was he?

  “What are we looking for, boss?” Iris asked Div.

  “Please don’t call me that. Calumnia,” Div added under her breath; the spell was unavoidable, given the circumstances. “I believe Binx is around here, possibly with ShadowKnight.”

  Iris’s eyes grew enormous. “The ShadowKnight? The one Greta yelled at Binx about, and then Binx broke up with our group to go to your group, and the whole thing caused a big, huge, messy drama?”

  “Yes, that ShadowKnight.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “At the moment, hopefully discussing strategy with Binx. But I’m not entirely certain. That’s why we need to find her. She hasn’t been returning my texts. And I’m concerned she’s not entirely objective about him. For all I know, she has personal feelings for him.”

  “Oh!” Iris plucked at her sleeve. “Speaking of personal feelings… what’s your opinion on love potions?” she whispered
.

  “Love potions?”

  “I mean, if a person uses one to make someone like them, that person must be pretty desperate, right? Not to mention deceptive? And on a related note… if you knew your friend was being fed love-potion tea without her knowledge, wouldn’t it be your duty to tell her?”

  Div sighed. “Can we discuss this matter later? We need to focus on our task at hand.”

  “Sure, boss. I mean, not-boss.”

  They continued walking down the hallway, passing a dozen doors with cutaway windows. Div paused and peered inside each. Some of the rooms seemed to be hosting Witchworld-themed tournaments or workshops. Others were empty. She looked back to see if the employee guy was still lurking at the elevator; he wasn’t.

  At the end of the hallway was a red door with a handwritten sign that said: DRASKA’S DUNGEON #1. Div peeked in.

  Inside the room, Binx was talking to someone with his back to the door. Longish brown hair, brown cape, boots. ShadowKnight, no doubt.

  Div squinted, trying to better assess the situation. Binx looked angry. Or scared. Or both.

  “Come on, Iris!” Div pushed open the door and ran inside.

  Binx turned toward them and gasped in surprise. “What are you… how did you know I was here?”

  ShadowKnight whirled around. He was reaching for something under his cloak—for a wand? For a weapon?

  “What’s going on?” Div demanded. She reached into her pocket for her wand, which she’d disguised as a tube of lipstick via morpho.

  ShadowKnight closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “Oh. You’re Div”—he glanced at Div, then pivoted to Iris—“and you’re Iris.” His hand fell to his side.

  “Guys, I’m okay. ShadowKnight and I were in the middle of an interesting conversation.” Binx crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “He was just about to explain how he knew I lived in Sorrow Point.”

  Iris raised her hand. “Um, question? How is that interesting? Because, no offense, but people’s home addresses aren’t exactly… well, riveting. Also, I like your Dargon costume,” she said to ShadowKnight.