Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  “What’s happening to her?” she said.

  Ash’s gaze remained fixed on Hazel. “She is becoming her true self.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her father said nothing. He shifted his gaze over to Willow, who stood before the dragon with an upraised hand that, somehow, seemed to have enthralled the creature. Ash gave Verrin a pointed look, and Verrin barked orders in a harsh, guttural voice that made his words incoherent. At least for Holly.

  But the necromancers wove their spells, and the dragon came out of its stupor and snapped its jaws at Willow before turning back towards Hazel.

  Ash went up to Willow and took her by the arm. The determination she had held while facing the dragon faded, and she turned to look upon Ash as if nothing in the world existed except for him.

  The necromancers continued chanting, and the dragon extended its wings, bringing night into the chamber. The bright blue scales blinking over its body became like stars.

  The room faded away, and Holly found herself in a wide field dotted with purple cosmos flowers, underneath a pale golden sky with clouds like mother of pearl. A grey stone wall running alongside the field cast long, impossible shadows that stretched towards the setting sun and towards Holly’s feet. She stepped back like she might step away from an encroaching mud puddle, but the shadows continued to creep and creep until they nipped at her toes.

  A cry from Hazel rang into the air. The field faded, and Holly was back in the chamber. Yet the walls pulsed around her, as if they remembered the meadow and preferred to give way to it.

  Hawthorn tried to run past the dragon, but it swiped a claw at him. He twisted out of the way, lost his balance, and fell.

  As Holly ran over to him, twisting shadows passed overhead as they bled from the dragon to Hazel and the necromancers. Hazel never looked at Holly; she had taken on a distant look, as if watching something Holly couldn’t see.

  Then the shadows connecting the dragon to the necromancers severed, and they all cried out in surprise or maybe pain.

  “I saw a room,” Hawthorn murmured as Holly knelt next to him. “Paneled in stained walnut and… my father was there. Did that really happen?”

  Holly tried to help him off the floor, but he just sat there like a sack of grain. She tapped his cheek. “Snap out of it, Hawthorn. I need your help.”

  One necromancer buckled to the ground and then another. The dragon, smaller than it had been but still imposing, lumbered towards the necromancers. Hazel watched its advance with apparent disinterest while Ash watched on with an expression that looked far too eager.

  Holly pulled at Hawthorn one more time. “Get up,” she said, then hurried over to Hazel now that the dragon had moved away. She grabbed her sister’s arm but yanked her hand back when a shock of searing cold lanced through her bones.

  “Stop this!” Holly shouted, as if Hazel stood across a great chasm and not right in front of her. She waved her arms, but Hazel’s eyes had turned black and her gaze never moved from the dragon. She didn’t even look at Hemlock, who still sat near her feet, looking much more ashen than a man ever should.

  Hawthorn staggered upright, looking perplexed that Holly was no longer at his side. “I was coming to help you. Didn’t you notice?”

  “That’s nice,” Holly said as she looked around. She needed to bring Hazel back from… wherever she was. Holly didn’t want to think about it too much. Hawthorn shuffled over to check on Hemlock just as Holly’s gaze fell on a mirror on one of the tables. “Make sure she doesn’t kill anyone.”

  “Right…”

  Holly hurried over to the mirror, grabbed it, and returned to find Hawthorn waving a kerchief in front of Hazel’s face. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know. Something reasonably inoffensive so she won’t kill me. Have you seen her? She looks ill amused.” He waved his kerchief some more, but Hazel never looked at him. “I don’t think she even hears us. Or sees us.” He stuffed the kerchief back in his pocket.

  “Well, let’s hope she can see something.” Holly held up the mirror in front of Hazel. But her sister never blinked, just stared straight forward as if she could see through it.

  Growing frustrated, Holly shouted, “Look at yourself!”

  Hazel gave no reaction. The dragon reached one of the prone necromancers and stepped on his back with a scaled foot. The necromancer cried out. The other two worked a spell, but nothing happened.

  “She’s become the dragon,” Hemlock rasped from where he sat on the floor. “Hazel, for the moment, is gone.”

  “The dragon?” Holly said. “How is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know. But judging by her behavior—and the dragon’s—my guess is she’s performed a variation of a keyhole illusion, only without the illusion.”

  “Impossible,” Hawthorn muttered.

  “Can you undo it?” Holly said to Hemlock. “You undid Hawthorn’s keyhole spell. Can’t you undo hers?”

  Hemlock shook his head. “I’ve already tried; she won’t let me in.”

  “That’s because you can barely stand,” Hawthorn said. He cast his own spell, then his face darkened.

  “Well?” Holly said.

  “Your sister’s quite the stubborn girl.”

  The necromancer under the dragon’s paw fell silent, and the dragon moved towards the remaining two. They tried to cast another spell, but when it failed, one ran out the door while the dragon trapped the other against a bookshelf.

  Hemlock struggled to get to his feet, so Hawthorn helped him up. “Hold the mirror up again,” Hemlock said.

  Holly raised the mirror back in front of Hazel, but she still ignored it.

  Hemlock lifted a hand, and a light shone from within the mirror.

  “How did you—” Hawthorn began, but Holly shushed him.

  This time Hazel’s gaze moved towards the mirror. Her brow furrowed, and she reached towards the glass as if to try to pull out the light.

  “Hazel,” Holly said as she took her sister’s hand. Her skin was painfully cold, but Holly endured it.

  “Don’t forget yourself,” Holly whispered. “Don’t forget why you’re here. Don’t forget… me.”

  Hazel’s fingers tightened around Holly’s, and she met her sister’s gaze.

  Holly bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from gasping, for the eyes peering out from her sister’s pale face were foreign. They were an eerie color—a mixture between charcoal and silver. And yet there was a gleam of familiarity deep within them, an indescribable aspect that could only belong to Hazel.

  Her sister shifted her gaze back to the dragon and rasped whispered words that remained foreign to Holly’s ears. The dragon started to unravel, but then Verrin stepped forward, lifted his arms, and worked a spell that kept the dragon bound.

  It reared its head back towards Hazel and hissed a cloud of fetid breath.

  Hawthorn coughed and lifted a kerchief to his nose, but Hazel cried out as if it had hurt her. She spoke a spell—deep and guttural—and the mirror Holly had brought over transformed into an eagle of spun glass.

  The eagle veered over the dragon’s head and pierced its scaly skin with its talons. The dragon snapped at the bird, but the eagle darted away. It soared across the room towards Ash and Willow. Willow took a step back, but Ash remained still. He cast a spell, but it must not have had the effect he wanted because his expression turned troubled, and then the eagle was upon him.

  Hazel moved as if within a dark and disturbing dream. It was like she had become trapped in a net of ironbound mist. And she wasn’t alone. There were others here with her, whispering against her skin, drawing long, shadowed fingers across her mind.

  They desired things of her, wordless pleas that pulled on her thoughts and crawled over her skin. The men in black robes needed to die—they told her this. And they gave her a soulless dragon as her vessel.

  Yet at the height of her fury, a light shone in the distance. It permeated the cloying whispers
like sunlight spilling over a strawberry-strewn hill. She reached towards it, but then the warmth gathered around her hand as if she held the sun itself and it had refused to burn her.

  Confused, Hazel stared at her hand. A faint light glimmered there. She focused her thoughts, pushed away the whispering voices, and before her stood a girl with golden hair and rosy cheeks.

  The girl didn’t belong here with the scratching whispers and wormlike fingers. She needed to leave, go someplace where her golden hair could shine in the golden sun. Hazel wanted to tell her, but the girl pressed her hand and told her to remember.

  Remember what? Mountains grinding into sand that had been washed out to a long-forgotten sea? No, the sun. It must be the sun, shining and brilliant, warming her skin much like the girl’s hand warmed hers.

  Hazel squeezed her sister’s fingers, for it was her sister. She remembered now. The wormlike fingers lacing through her mind eased, and the voices lessened. But shadows still connected her to the abominable dragon. She tried to send it back to its own realm, but before she could unravel it completely, Verrin severed the dragon’s connection to her and took it as his own.

  She cried out, mostly from the shock of no longer having its dark presence intertwined with hers. Then she pulled words from deep within her gut and turned a nearby mirror into a glass-wrought eagle. It dove at the dragon and pierced its scaly hide with crystalline talons. The dragon snapped at it, but the eagle soared out of the way and wheeled towards Ash.

  He had been watching the unfolding events with an expression of smug amusement. Now as the eagle soared towards him on beveled wings, his smugness turned to annoyance. He took a few steps back as he cast a spell, but when the eagle still flew towards him, his annoyance gave way to shock as he put up his arms to ward off the eagle’s outstretched talons.

  The bird rent his arm, and he cried out. He worked another spell, and the eagle’s glass feathers cracked, causing beads of broken glass to fall to the ground like crystallized blood.

  Hazel put out her arm. The eagle gave a pathetic cry, but before it could return to her, the dragon crushed the bird in its jaws. The glass ground against its teeth, faintly tinkling like broken chimes.

  The dragon headed towards Hazel and the others. She tried pulling control of the creature from Verrin, but his hold upon it was too strong.

  “Are you going to let him keep control over you, Hazel?” Ash said.

  She tried to sever his connection again, but failed.

  Hemlock managed to summon a legion of fairies with ivory wings and set them upon the dragon. Holly patted her pockets, then frowned. “Stupid necromancer robes. I haven’t any pinecones.”

  Hawthorn put out his hand and conjured a pinecone that took up his entire palm.

  Holly’s eyes widened, and she grinned. “Lob it at the dragon.”

  He did, and as the pinecone sailed through the air, Holly made it combust into flame. It struck the dragon in the neck and splintered into fiery shards.

  Holly squeaked and giggled. “Again.”

  Hawthorn conjured another cone. But before he cast it, Hazel said, “Throw it at Verrin.”

  He did and Holly ignited it. The cone arced towards Verrin’s head, and just before it struck him, he worked a spell that sent it veering off course. Yet in that moment, his concentration over the dragon had slackened. Hazel pulled the shadows from him. He resisted her and started to pull them back. Hemlock sent his fairies after him, and they flurried around his head, pulling at his hair and ears and poking his eyes.

  Verrin’s concentration shattered, and Hazel took control of the dragon. The beast reared around and swiped him with its tail. Verrin dodged out of the way, but the fairies poking at his eyes had blinded him, and he tripped over his feet. As he went down, the dragon breathed a cloud of its rancid breath into his face. Verrin coughed as his cheeks purpled. He tried to get up, but his arms turned wobbly, and he flopped back onto the floor like a land-bound fish. The dragon exhaled another breath, and Verrin, after a bout of fitful coughing, became still.

  Hazel pushed the dragon’s shadows away from her, back into the creature itself. She unwound the spell until the great serpentine beast dissipated into the shadows of the room and disappeared.

  The sudden silence made Hazel’s hammering heart deafening.

  Until Ash said, “You understand now, don’t you?”

  His comment should have infuriated her. But the anger never came. At that moment, he was no longer her father—no longer the man that had broken her heart all those years ago when he walked out of her life. He was just a man, confused and afraid of his own frailty and ignorance, who tried his best to hide it. Just like her.

  She crouched down and picked up a shard of broken glass and cut her hand anew.

  “What are you doing?” Ash said. “Using your own blood against me won’t work.”

  “My blood is your blood, Father. But I think you’ve forgotten that it’s also hers.”

  Ash glanced at Willow who stood beside him, diaphanous and fading.

  “I think it’s time she told you what she really thinks.”

  Holly watched as her sister cut her hand and angled the bloodied shard at their mother. The spell she spoke was frightening with its harsh vowels and angular words. But there was also a softness there, a delicate beauty that Hazel wove between the words that Holly hadn’t ever noticed before.

  Willow’s form became solid, and her vacuous expression hardened into anger.

  Ash reached out as if to touch her, then started to move away. But Willow grabbed hold of the silver chain around his neck and, grimacing, yanked it off. The chain bore a crystal amulet that shifted from black to blue to purple, depending on how the light hit it.

  Ash held out his hand, palm up, as if expecting Willow to hand the amulet back. Instead, she clutched the crystal, as if trying to crush it in her pale hand, but the amulet didn’t give way.

  He gently took her hand and held it, and Willow’s resolve seemed to waver as her expression slackened.

  “Mother,” Hazel said. “It’s your choice to make. Don’t let him make it for you.”

  Willow closed her eyes and stepped closer to Ash. She looked resigned, and Ash reached out to touch her hair. Her form faded into misty impermanence. The amulet fell to the ground, and before he could react, she thrust her fading hand into his chest.

  The muscles in his neck tightened, his eyes bulged. His cheeks reddened, then paled, while his lips turned blue.

  “Mother!” Hazel shouted.

  Willow flinched and yanked her hand back, and Ash fell to the floor.

  Holly gasped and ran over to him and put her hand on his forehead. “He’s cold. Why is he so cold? He’s not dead, is he?”

  Nobody said anything. Willow stared at the amulet on the ground, keeping a distance between it and herself as if it were a poisonous viper.

  Holly put her head against her father’s chest. “He’s breathing. Sort of. I don’t think he’s dead.” She twisted her face up. “But you just can’t tell anymore these days.”

  Hazel walked over and picked up the amulet from the floor. The silver chain dangled between her fingers, swaying back and forth like an errant pendulum. Willow licked her lips, opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it and remained silent.

  Holly got to her feet. “What happens now?” She eyed the amulet in Hazel’s hand.

  “We came here to undo Father’s spell,” Hazel said. “Remember?”

  Holly swallowed. “I remember.”

  But Hazel fell silent as she stared at the necklace. She thrust it at Holly. “You take it. You decide what to do with it.”

  Holly took a step back. “What? I don’t want that thing.”

  “It holds Mother’s soul. You should have it.”

  “I don’t want it! Nobody should have it.”

  “Then destroy it.”

  “But won’t that…?” Her eyes filled with tears. “She’ll die if I do that.”

&nb
sp; “She’s already dead, Holly.”

  “Then you do it. I can’t.”

  Hazel swallowed as she fixed her gaze on the amulet. She closed her eyes and quietly said, “Neither can I.” She thrust the amulet at Holly again. “Please, just take it. I can’t have it. Do you understand me? I can’t have it.”

  Holly didn’t understand, but she understood the tremor in Hazel’s voice. There was a warning there, danger. So with trembling fingers, Holly took the amulet from her sister’s hand.

  It was lighter than it looked. And cold, too, as if it had been buried in snow. Yet it warmed against her skin the longer she held it. Aside from the strange crystal, it almost seemed ordinary. Had she seen it at a market, she might have thought it lovely.

  Willow walked up to her. Her form was more solid now, at least in the middle parts of her. On the outer edges of her hair, hands, legs, and feet, her form was still hazy and translucent. She took Holly’s hand—the one that held the amulet—in a grip so cold that Holly gasped. But her mother’s touch was gentle, and she tenderly wrapped Holly’s fingers around the crystal of bruised twilight.

  “Destroy it, Holly,” her mother whispered.

  Holly shook her head. “No, you’ll die.”

  “It is too late for that.”

  Holly clenched her eyes shut against welling tears. “But isn’t it better than nothing? Isn’t it a kind of life, what you have? Isn’t it enough?”

  “It is nothing. It is not life. It is not death. It is being in between, for years on end, for no other reason than to satisfy the whims and desires of someone else. Let me go, daughter. Do not anchor me in a world in which I do not belong.”

  Holly shook her head again, and tears streamed down her face. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  Willow smiled and touched her hair. “The dead fear nothing, don’t you know? Fear belongs to the living.”

  “But I’ll miss you.”

  “We must all one day pass into the realm of memory. Who’s to say that it isn’t real, in its own way? Who’s to say I won’t live on there, more vibrant and vital than I ever was in this life? Who’s to say that it is worse than what we cling to here? Who is to say we won’t meet again? Somewhere, someday our paths will cross, and we will love each other all over again.”