B*witch

by Paige McKenzie

  Ridley held the translucent green gem against her heart and closed her eyes. Aunt Viola had told her that moldavite was a powerful aid in transformation rituals.

  “Muto,” she said softly.

  Nothing.

  Focus on your intention, she reminded herself. Which was not easy, since part of her—a big part of her—didn’t want to transform.

  But she had no choice. She hated, hated, the twice-daily transformations—each time, the ritual brought up the gut-wrenching pain of the past, of living as someone else—but it was necessary until she perfected a permanent form of the muto spell, vertero, which would substitute for medicines and surgery. And dissimulatio, also an advanced perception spell, way beyond what calumnia could do; there was an incomplete entry about it in Callixta Crowe’s book, and Ridley had been working in her spare time to fill in the gaps. Once she’d perfected it and vertero, too, she would be able to live as her true self twenty-four seven but still appear as Morgan to her family. Some people couldn’t see the truth, anyway.

  “Muto!” she repeated, more loudly. “MU-TO!”

  The third incantation did the trick. The muscles in her neck began straining and pulling as her Adam’s apple expanded. Her scalp tightened as her long, beautiful curls grew shorter and settled into a neatly trimmed ’fro. Her small breasts sank into her chest, becoming even more invisible under her white button-down shirt. The Crimson Secret polish vanished from her fingertips, leaving them bare.

  She touched her upper lip and felt the bristly shadow of a mustache, which made her grimace. Her fingers grazed her cheeks; the skin was rougher, coarser, with tiny bumps. The fat in her body had shifted, too. And…

  Enough. She didn’t want to go through the full checklist in her head; she just wanted to get on with it. Her sad metamorphosis was complete. She could go home.

  But just as she was about to leave her hiding spot, her phone lit up with a message.

  It was a group text from Greta to her and Binx:

  Gofflesby is missing.

  19

  TRANSCENDING TIME

  Your Familiar is not your Familiar forever. One can lose a beloved spirit companion to Death or other partings.

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

  Greta wandered through her house aimlessly, chewing on her thumbnail and trying to still the wild trembling of her hands. Upstairs, downstairs, and back up again. She cast fleeting glances at every corner of every room, under furniture, on top of furniture, but nothing registered. She felt blind, helpless, powerless; Gofflesby had disappeared, and she had no idea, not a single clue, where he might be. Standing on the second-floor landing, she clasped the raw amethyst pendant. But it, too, seemed lifeless—it offered no vision, no inspiration, not even a sliver of comfort. She was useless as a witch.

  Tears stung her eyes. She covered her face with her hands.

  Don’t cry. You’re not useless. You have to stay strong. Gofflesby needs you.

  The smell of black-bean-and-sweet-potato chili wafted from the kitchen. Her mother, making dinner. Greta swiped at her eyes, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs.

  Teo was on the family computer in the living room, playing Roblox.

  “I didn’t let her out,” he said without taking his eyes off the screen.

  “Him. I know you didn’t. When was the last time you saw him, though?”

  “Dunno. This morning? He was in my room scratching up my closet door again, bad kitty. Oh no you don’t!” he shouted at a two-headed green zombie moving across the screen.

  A lavender candle flickered on the coffee table next to a pile of petitions and voter-registration pamphlets. In the window, the last light of the day caught on the crystal suncatcher and broke into rainbow-colored shards across the old oak floor.

  Gofflesby, where are you?

  “Greta?”

  Ysabel poked her head through the doorway, ladle in hand. “Dinner in five minutes. Don’t worry, honey, he’ll be back. He probably snuck outside through the bathroom window—I’ve been meaning to tell the darned landlord to fix that screen.”

  Greta closed her eyes briefly, trying to discern if the juxtaposition of Gofflesby and bathroom window resonated. Nothing. Also, outside made no sense. He rarely went out. And he was sick.

  “I bet he went to one of the neighbors’ houses,” her mother went on. “That’s what happened when I was about your age and our cat, Boots, escaped. He was an indoor cat, too. We found him at Mrs. Zakarian’s down the street; he’d gone right into her house and helped himself to a bowl of dog food! He’s lucky their shepherd didn’t eat him.”

  “Mama! Don’t even say that!” Greta cried out.

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m just trying to… I guess I’m not being very helpful.”

  The front door opened and her father, Tomas, walked in, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. “It got humid all of a sudden. So I walked up and down our street, but no sign of him. I checked the garage and shed, too, in case he was hiding. Listen, Bug, we can make flyers after dinner and pass them around to all the houses.” Her father’s nickname for her was “Ladybug,” which often got shortened to either “Lady” or “Bug.”

  Her father said something else, but Greta wasn’t listening. She was rewinding back to when she’d last seen Gofflesby, in case the memory might trigger clues. This morning, before school. She’d woken up early and filled the upstairs bathroom with eucalyptus steam; it was something her mother had done for her when she had bronchitis. Greta had sat down on the bathroom rug and cradled Gofflesby in her lap, encouraging him to breathe. She’d gently stroked his ears, the way he liked, and told him a Chinese folktale about a woman who’d woven a beautiful tapestry, only to have it stolen by fairies, and about the magical journey her three sons had to undertake to recover the lost tapestry. Gofflesby’s emerald eyes had never left her face, and he’d coughed only once the entire time, which seemed like progress. Greta had promised him that they would repeat this ritual every morning and every night, too, until his respiratory infection was totally gone.

  She’d also recited a spell of protection to him—a poem—one of her favorites from Callixta’s book:

  Goddess of the wild Beasts

  Watch over this familiar

  Favor him with winds from the East

  Take your magic brand of peculiar

  And bless his soul

  Keep him safe from harm

  Help him feel control

  And lots of charm

  That was the last time she or anyone else in the family had seen him, except maybe Teo with his story about the closet door.

  “Gofflesby, come back to me,” Greta prayed out loud.

  Only silence greeted her.

  For a brief, awful moment, it occurred to Greta that his disappearance might be connected to the shadow message she received yesterday morning. Did the words you and your kind mean familiars as well as witches? But she couldn’t go to such a dark, dark place in her mind. The Antima couldn’t possibly want to hurt an innocent cat.

  Could they?

  By morning, Gofflesby still hadn’t returned. Greta had stayed up most of the night, trying sortis and every other finding and scrying spell she could think of. A chaotic assortment of candles, gemstones, herbs, and flower petals covered her floor. She’d fallen asleep just before dawn—fully dressed, her face pressed against her grimoire, her wand, Flora, clasped in her right hand, and Gofflesby’s favorite toy clasped in her left.

  That day, Greta didn’t go to school (her mother called the attendance office to say she had a migraine). Her father drove her over to the SPCA to see if Gofflesby might have shown up there (he hadn’t). They also made another sweep through the neighborhood and passed out more flyers.

  “He’ll be back,” Ysabel kept reassuring her. “He’s a smart little guy. He’ll find his way home.”

  But Greta wasn’t so sure.

  Binx and Ridley had been texting her every few hours to check in. They w
ere coming over after school to try some group scrying rituals.

  Around lunchtime, Greta received a new text from Ridley:

  Is he back?

  Greta replied:

  No.

  I’m sorry. Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Power of three!

  Can you ask Iris to come, too? Power of four would be even better, and she knows about you and Binx. Or five—what about Penelope? You guys talked, right?

  Yes. She confirmed that’s she’s like us. But she’s not in school today.

  Is she sick?

  I don’t know. I texted her a couple of times this morning, but she didn’t text back.

  Just ask Iris, then, okay?

  What about Div and Aysha and Mira?

  Greta hesitated.

  Maybe later, if we need them. I’m feeling too raw to deal with them right now.

  Especially not Div, Greta thought.

  Got it.

  A short while later, Ridley texted again:

  Iris said yes. I still haven’t heard from Penelope. It’s kind of weird.

  She probably turned her phone off.

  I guess so. Anyway the three of us will be over soon. We’ll find him!

  Later that afternoon, Ridley, Binx, and Iris showed up at Greta’s house, holding various packages.

  “Any sign of Gofflesby?” Ridley asked immediately as Greta let them in.

  “No, not yet.”

  Iris hugged Greta; her hair smelled like strawberry shampoo. She held up a paper bag. “I brought you some chocolate-chip cookies. Chocolate-chip cookies always make me feel better when I’m stressed, which is basically all the time. They’re a thousand percent vegan. Wait, can something be a thousand percent? Is that even a thing?”

  “I don’t know, but… thanks, Iris. This is really sweet of you. Hi, Binx.”

  “Hey.” Binx crossed her arms over her chest and gave a chin-nod. She seemed more subdued than usual. Maybe she was still upset about their argument? But Greta couldn’t handle a reprise of that right now—all her energy, mental and otherwise, was taken up by Gofflesby. Maybe the two of them could have a heart-to-heart later, after he’d returned.

  “Hey, Greta?” Binx said. “Did you think any more about the…”

  “The what?” Greta prompted her.

  “Never mind. Not important. Come on, let’s go find your little furball.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  They had to focus on Gofflesby. Greta led the girls upstairs and into her room, where she’d already set up for the magical ritual. Behind them, she closed the door and turned the lock. Her father was at the bookstore, and her mother had taken Teo to his therapy appointment, but she wanted the sense of privacy as well as the sense of security.

  “Wow. This is your room!” Iris exclaimed. She swept her arm in a wide arc and accidentally bumped her hand against the dresser. “Ow! False alarm, I’m totally fine. Is that a dream catcher above your bed?”

  “Yes, although it doesn’t get much use.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Okay, so we need to cast a circle. Binx, did you bring your Pokémon cards?” Greta suddenly felt motivated, efficient; her witches were here, and Iris, too, and there was business to be done.

  Binx held up her deck. “Need you ask?”

  “Do you have more of Gofflesby’s hair? We could add that to the ritual,” Ridley suggested.

  “Of course, I almost forgot.”

  Greta hurried over to her dresser, picked up Gofflesby’s grooming brush, and pulled away a soft, fragile nest of golden fur. The look and feel of it derailed her for a second, made the tears well up again… but she took a deep breath and centered herself.

  “Have you tried sortis yet?” Iris asked Greta, who nodded. “Okay, well… whenever Jadora’s familiar, Baxxtern, goes missing, she uses this special spell to find him. I could look it up for you; I think it’s called Location Lock.”

  “Yeah, but that one’s not as good as Transcend Time,” Binx replied.

  “True! Wow, so you play Witchworld, too?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “Nice!”

  The four witches sat down in a circle. Greta briefly explained to Iris about the calling of the quarters, since this was her first time. She handed Iris pieces of amber, tiger’s eye, white-quartz, and lapis lazuli to use to correspond with the fire, earth, air, and water elements.

  Iris handed back the lapis lazuli. “I’ve got the water element covered. I have this!” She touched her smiley-face moonstone pendant.

  “Wonderful!” Greta said.

  After calling the quarters, they began the spell. Greta had closed the curtains and dimmed the lights. A dozen candles flickered in the half darkness. Amethyst, rose quartz, and other crystals had been arranged inside the circle along with her scrying bowl. Greta didn’t always use the scrying bowl, which was actually one of her mother’s black pewter soup bowls; sometimes she preferred to use the vintage mirror she’d picked up at a garage sale instead. Or neither. She often made her choice based on a gut feeling, and today, her gut was telling her to use the bowl.

  Now she held Gofflesby’s fur a few inches above the bowl. She noticed Iris watching her every move intently, as though memorizing the steps.

  In a quiet voice, Greta recited her own version of a time-transcending spell:

  Dear Goddess who watches over what is lost

  Cast your glance across the universe, let the hours rewind

  Land, sea, sky, fire, moon, sun

  Return to me my familiar whom I must find.

  “Love and light,” she added under her breath.

  She repeated the spell a second time as the others tried to follow along. By the third time, they were able to join in.

  When they’d finished, silence resonated through the air. The water inside the bowl was very still. Greta closed her eyes and drew in the energy of the group to help her see whatever answers the Goddess might offer.

  Something told her to open her eyes. When she did, she saw that the water inside the scrying bowl was slowly changing color: from clear to blue to green to red to clear again. It had never done that before. What was happening? She held her breath, afraid and excited at the same time.

  Binx and Ridley and Iris were staring intently at the water, too. Iris’s jaw had practically dropped to the floor.

  This magic was new, different, more intense.

  “Gofflesby, is that you?” Greta whispered.

  The surface of the water trembled, and a second later, a cloudy image began to form. It dispersed, drew together, dispersed again, drew together again.

  It was an image of a house. Actually, a half-built house, part wood frame and part stucco walls, with stacks of lumber and piles of gravel strewn across the bare brown yard. A red pickup truck was parked nearby.

  “Do you see Gofflesby? Is he there?” Iris asked eagerly. “I’m sorry, are we allowed to talk during… I don’t know the rules… Okay, I’ll shut up now. Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

  “It’s okay.” Greta leaned over and studied the watery image. Worry furrowed her brow. “I don’t see him. Do any of you guys recognize this place? I don’t.”

  Ridley leaned closer, too. “I’m not sure, but there’s a new development near my house, and a bunch of the houses look like that. They’re under construction, I mean. Although I suppose there’s lots of houses under construction in Sorrow Point?”

  The water began to tremble again, and the unfinished stucco house trembled along with it. Then grew smaller. Then exploded into a rainbow of colors. It was insane, like magic on steroids.

  An animal darted in front of the psychedelic house. A cat. A golden cat.

  Greta gasped. “Gofflesby?”

  The cat stopped and blinked at her with its emerald eyes.

  The image vanished, and the water was still again.

  “Gofflesby!” Greta cried out.

  She jumped to her feet and glanced around wildly, as though her familiar
might materialize right then and there. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

  She felt a gentle hand on her arm. It was Binx.

  “Come on. We’re going to go find that house.”

  20

  DEATH AND THE MAIDEN

  A spell or other Magical action can be rendered ineffective in many ways: an inadequacy of intention; ambivalence or fear; a more powerful Magical action or presence; or simple bad luck.

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

  The sun had begun to set by the time Iris and the other three girls reached the Seabreeze development. In the distance, down the hill, the lights of downtown Sorrow Point twinkled on as the sky over Puget Sound turned pink, then purple.

  Using some magical apps on her phone (before today, Iris had never heard of such things), Binx had hacked into the Sorrow Point City Hall records to find current building permits for new houses. She’d turned up forty of them, all in Seabreeze, on eight new streets that extended across a hundred-acre lot. The only other building permits on file had been for an apartment complex near the hospital, a new dorm at the university, and some sort of wellness retreat on the outskirts of the city.

  Now, walking down an eerily deserted street (no people, no pets, no cars, just the skeletons of future homes and a single streetlight) with Greta and Ridley and Binx, Iris was nervous. Granted, she was always nervous, but this was a different kind of nervous. For one thing, she’d never engaged in a mystery-solving adventure through a strange, eerily empty neighborhood in search of a missing familiar that had communicated to them via scrying bowl. Maybe in Witchworld, sure, but not IRL.

  And for another thing, her SPD was starting to kick in. Her clothes itched, and her eyes felt hot, and the evening breeze grated painfully against her skin. Greta’s voice, calling out for Gofflesby, sounded like a series of mini-explosions.