“I don’t know where Mouse is, and what’s more, I don’t want to know.” I covered my face with my hands and stifled a scream.
My kid brother Joe looked up at me with accusing eyes as if I’d hidden his frog someplace on purpose, just to spite him. Honestly, I would have sworn everyone was being especially obtuse this morning. It was like they knew I wanted to get away.
On the upside, Mom had got up super early, and if I had been behaving suspiciously at all, she’d been in too much of a hurry to notice. Dad, as always, got up at dawn and had long since gone to work.
He had tied a couple of ginseng roots together and had left them for me to find on the kitchen table. I shot an anxious glance at the clock. It was nearly nine. To my utter relief, I saw a quick jerk under a tea towel, and a moment later, Mouse hopped out from underneath it, and Joe scooped his pet frog into his pocket.
“Thank goodness for that,” I said, pushing my annoying little brother toward the door. “Now scoot or you’ll be late for class.”
I grabbed the ginseng and closed the door right behind him. Unlike nonmagical school, class didn’t start until nine thirty, but it was a fair hike across the village, and if Joe and the others didn’t get a move on, they’d all be late. I could still see my brother Jimmy, right at the end of the lane, herding the others like sheep. He looked back and waved Joe on to hurry to catch up with them. I left him to it, my mind now on other matters entirely.
My path led me past the cemetery and beyond the notorious grave. The pulsing in me quickened the closer I got, and at one point became so strong, I almost forgot why I was going by it at all. The idea that I might soon learn what this all meant filled me with excitement, and it was that thought alone that urged me beyond the stone and over to Matt’s house.
At one time, the Allen house had probably been the most prestigious in the village. The all-red stone exterior had corner gables and decorative cornices over the bay windows. There were signs of rot in some of the frames, and Virginia creeper covered most of the brickwork.
At the corner of the house, wood smoke oozed from the biggest chimney I had ever seen. The house itself was partly surrounded by a black iron gate, but the gate, like the house, had seen better days. Sections were hanging on their hinges, and some panels were entirely missing. Some would call the place derelict, but to my eyes, it was the most beautiful home I knew.
I passed Matt bent over an elevated plot of land, spade in hand, and from the sweat on him, I imagined he’d been at whatever he was doing for a while. The shovel handle looked almost as wide as he did. There was a muddy pile of freshly harvested potatoes by his side. All this could have been achieved by a simple magic spell, but as he was fond of saying, farming was his favorite exercise.
“Oh good, you remembered!” He pointed to the ginseng in my hand.
I held it aloft and shook it. Like I would forget! “Yup, where do you want it?”
“Sylvia’s in the kitchen. Take it to her, would you?”
I nodded.
“Hey, take some of these potatoes to your mom before you go back. We have plenty.”
“Sure, will do.”
I dodged a couple of roaming hens and went in through the open oak door. The kitchen was in the back of the house, and I wandered into the familiar front room with its threadbare but cozy damask sofa, Indian rugs, and ornate, marble fireplace tall enough for me to stand in. There was a fire burning there now, and a cauldron filled with something green and intensely aromatic. I caught the whiff of mint, basil, and ginger, and wondered whether the brew was for eats or a spell.
“Come on in, Catherine. I’m in the kitchen.”
As far as I could tell, I hadn’t made a sound, but perhaps Sylvia had heard me talking to Matt in the garden. I’d have been surprised since the kitchen was all the way in the back.
“There you are!” Today, Sylvia wore a deep-purple dress with black lace at the cuffs that draped Tudor-style down to the hem. Her wavy hair was loose today and tumbled down her back and over her shoulders. Flecks of white peppered the tips, and with her hair down, she appeared much younger than she had yesterday. “I’m so glad you could come, little one. I’m sure there is much you would like to ask me. But first, some tea. Do you like mint? It’s my favorite.”
“Sure, yes, please,” I said. I noticed Mom’s cookie box on her kitchen counter. It was sitting beside a row of small black pots, none of which were labeled. I suspected they were herbs and wondered how she knew one from another, since they were all identical. I had never seen them here before, so I guessed they were Sylvia’s.
There was a large stone pestle by the sink, like Mom’s, and more dusty tomes along the shelves than anyone could read in a lifetime.
Sylvia smiled as I perused them. “They’re mostly ley line texts. Of course, I practice earth magic—what good witch doesn’t—but my passion has always been the higher arts.”
“My mother doesn’t approve of ley line magic.”
“That’s not unusual.” Sylvia picked up a volume at random, wet her finger, and opened the book. The leaves were loose and the binding a little delicate. It had clearly seen a lot of use. “This is my personal favorite. I’ve had it since I was your age. You can have a look if you like.”
What I really wanted was to ask her about last night, and how she’d zapped her thoughts into my head, and what my strange impulses meant, but I didn’t want to appear rude. I took the tome carefully and opened it. The pages opened naturally to an inked drawing of an ancient dwelling with an old man crouched low, his right palm touching a small cluster of stones close to the earth. There were unfamiliar runes under the picture and some text in a very old language I struggled to make out.
Cîgendlic âlecgan dôð belîðan
I guessed from the images it had something to do with the dead, but beyond that, its meaning escaped me. Below the heading were more words written in the same obsolete language, but I had no clue what they meant.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sylvia looked over my shoulder and smiled at me as I glanced up at her. “It’s Pagan—very old English. It says Calling to the Dead.” Her eyes misted over with delight. “I believe this goes back to the beginning of the beginning of all things magical. It’s the first book I ever owned on magic, and it’s how I fell in love with the art. Let me show you something.”
Sylvia rose and opened the box of Mom’s cookies sitting on the counter. She offered me one.
Confused, I reached in and took a piece of shortbread. “Err, thanks.” I was about to nibble at it when she shook her head.
“No, wait. Just hold it for now.”
She turned back to the shelves, her fingers wavering before her as she perused the volumes. This time she selected a smaller book, and after flicking through the pages, she put it down in front of me at an open page. Looking down, I saw that this was also written in a language I didn’t understand.
“Don’t worry. This volume has slightly less advanced magic, and anyone can use it. Put your palm on the page.”
Excited to see what Sylvia had in mind, I did as I was told. I sensed nothing at first, and then I felt a slight tickle, nothing as intense as what I’d felt at the grave of my ancestor, but it was like a faint echo if it. “Should I close my eyes?”
“No need. Now, think of a squirrel. There are plenty in the garden outside.”
“A squirrel?”
“Yes. Concentrate hard. And keep your hand flat on the page. You don’t need to breathe a word.”
I felt a little daft, sitting in Matt’s kitchen, imagining a random squirrel. I probably didn’t need to, but I held my breath. I was about to exhale when I heard a scuffle, and a moment later, a red squirrel appeared at the open window, hopping about from foot to foot, as if unsure why it was there.
“Offer her the cookie.” Once again, Sylvia’s voice was inside my head, just as it’d been last night. “There’s no need to speak. Talk to her like I’m talking to you.”
Excited, I offered the squirrel the cookie in the palm of my hand. Come on, sweetie. I promise I won’t hurt you.
Glancing up, I saw Sylvia smiling, as if she could hear my thoughts. The squirrel hopped down onto the counter, wavered for a while, and leapt across to the kitchen table. It darted cautiously from left to right, and then it must have sensed it was safe because it stepped up to my hand and climbed onto my fingers. I watched in awe as the squirrel nibbled at the end of the cookie, paused, and settled in, sitting down in the crook of my hand. It chewed for a moment or two, and when the cookie was small enough, it vaulted back onto the table, carrying the shortbread with her.
My heart danced as I felt the squirrel’s gratitude, and I almost cried before it bounced away again, taking her prize with her.
“That was amazing!” I sat straighter in my seat and stared at the books in awe. “Do you have any more like these? Maybe one I can understand and borrow? Like this one?”
Sylvia shook her head sadly. “As much as I disagree with your mother’s opinion, I must respect her wishes. We both know she wouldn’t want you to keep such books in your house.”
I slumped in my seat. She was right of course. Mom would never approve, but I so wanted to learn it all. Sylvia had handed me something precious, and now that I’d had a taste of it, I yearned for more. But what could I do? As she said, Mom wouldn’t stand for it.
“But I want to learn.” I blushed at the whine in my voice. “I have all these feelings inside me, and all I want to do is understand them. I can’t help it if Mom doesn’t get it, but whatever it is, I don’t think it’s as bad as she makes it out to be. The small squirrel didn’t seem to think so.”
“You are right.” Sylvia twirled her wrist, and two fresh mugs of peppermint tea appeared before us.
With a little reluctance, I politely closed the smaller book and took a sip of the tea, which was just at the right temperature. My head seemed to clear, and my emotions calmed a bit.
“You will soon be of age and when you are, you would be perfectly entitled to find out more of who you are and what your powers are.”
I nodded. She was quite right. At twenty-one, I would be considered mature and free to make all my own choices.
“But you are also wrong,” she continued.
“What about?”
“Your mother. She understands better than you think.”
I very much doubted that but didn’t want to sound too childish about it. More than anything I wanted Sylvia to like me, and adults didn’t pout and throw hissy fits. “Maybe. So what can I do?”
Sylvia smiled and took a long draft of her own tea. “Your dad is a doctor, I understand?”
“Yes.”
“He has the same aversion to ley line magic as your mother?”
“Maybe not as much, but he knows how she feels about it. It’s a shame, really. Ley line doctors make a ton of money. All Dad can do with earth magic is set a few bones and apply a few herbal remedies. He works all the hours under the sun, and I feel sorry for him sometimes.”
“And you. Any desire to follow in your father’s footsteps?”
I laughed. “Me, do medicine? No, not really. Jimmy plans to, but it’s never really appealed to me.”
“So, what do you plan to do with your life?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. I hear the grass looks a lot greener on the other side of the fence, but since I never get to look over the fence, I have no idea what that means. I would like to be a good witch. Well, the best witch I could possibly be. I don’t think I’ll ever learn what that is sitting here, doing the same thing, day in and day out.”
“I agree. What you need is the chance to broaden your horizons.”
“And how do you propose I do that?” I asked.
“You should spend more time with people like yourself.”
“People who can get inside my head like you did?”
Sylvia chuckled and cupped her mug in her hands. “Just so.” The smile left her face, and her gaze turned serious. “There is a power in you. I felt it the moment we met. I know what you’re feeling. I, too, experienced something similar when I was your age. You just need to learn how to channel it.”
I opened my mouth to interrupt her, but she raised her hand to stop me. “So many questions. It’s understandable, I know, but not everything can be answered at once. Do you trust me?”
I nodded. Sylvia was little more than a stranger, but for some reason, I did.
“Good. How would you like to come work for me? I have a small agency in New York, kind of a magical boutique, but it’s more than just a store. More of a place for our kind to network, like a sort of chamber of commerce. I take paid interns from time to time and have a lovely apartment overlooking Greenwich Village. We could spend the summer there, if you like, and you will get a chance to meet people like you, who will help you understand your potential. What do you think?”
The excitement grew in me with every word. Me, go to New York City? Was she crazy? Of course, I would love that! The word yes sprang to my lips even before she finished. I was sure Mom wouldn’t mind. After all, she might not know Sylvia too well, but Matt was a dear old friend who would never put me in harm’s way.
“Are you serious? Can we go tomorrow? What does an intern do? Would you really let me live with you?”
Sylvia laughed at my volley of questions. “First things first. You might be of age, but you should still ask your parents’ permission, or at least for their input. I plan on living here for a long time, and the last thing I want is to alienate my new friends on my first day. A little diplomacy might go a long way.”
“I’m sure they’ll say yes! I mean—I wouldn’t say too much about the ley line thing, some extra money would be a good thing, and hey, I have to get a job sometime, don’t I? When can I tell them? Can I tell them straightaway? When would we go? I’d go tomorrow if I could!”
“Tomorrow might be a bit soon for my poor husband. After all, he just got me here.”
I slumped in my seat. Now that the seed was sown, I wanted to go. “When then?”
“My business pretty much runs itself these days, and I can do most of my work from this kitchen if I have to. But there is a social meeting I must attend in a couple of weeks. That would give you time to prepare and would give your parents a chance to get used to the idea. I suggest you talk to them tonight—calmly—and if everyone is agreeable, we can all meet for dinner to discuss the particulars. But Catherine…”
“Call me Cat, please.”
“Cat—if they’re dead set against the idea, I won’t be able to take you. As I said, I’m new here, and I don’t want to upset my neighbors. You understand, I hope?”
I nodded, albeit reluctantly. I knew Dad would be all for it, but I had a sneaking suspicion Mom wouldn’t be so easy to persuade. She knew me all too well. I would have to introduce the topic very carefully, concealing my excitement, or she’d be on me like a flock of hungry crows.
Sylvia rose from the table, picked up the big book and the little book, and took her mug to the sink. I wanted to read more, but she was right. Mom would have a fit if I brought either of them into the house. But even worse, she’d be disappointed in me, and that was the last thing I wanted.
“Will you be taking that little book to New York with you?”
Sylvia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
I frowned.
“I have a much better idea.” She slid the tomes back into their places on the shelf. “When we get to New York, we’ll find you one of your own. One that speaks to you, as my books whisper to me.”
My frown disappeared. “They whisper to you?” My tone was almost reverent.
“Of course. The language of magic is unimportant. True magic has its own language, and it’s not English, or Dutch, or German, or Latin. You will learn this soon enough, along with many other wonderful things.”
I nodded and stared at her bookshelf, unable to even conceive how fantastic such a thing could be. I took a sip of my tea, and ignoring Mom’s probable objections for the moment, I began to dream of a life in New York.