Chapter Twenty-TWO

The Siren and the Witch

The knock is proud and unapologetic. It gives me hope.

I shakily get to my feet, looking to Freddy. He gives me a nod of encouragement and though I don’t know what awaits on the other side of the doors, I do know he had some part in it. Portia shifts her stance and clicks her fingers. The Fae, a little more reluctantly than usual, gather around her. Malachi sniffs and scowls, eyes pinned to the rear of the room.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Portia says edgily.

I let myself bask in hope for a moment. I let myself dream. “I am.”

The doors burst open. A mass of people are revealed, and I gasp out a breath as I see three women at the front.

My mother, my grandmother and my aunt Leanna.

Gran stands in the middle of the trio, looking more glamourous than ever. I can’t help but release a snort of laughter as I watch her pointedly and deliberately turn down her hearing aid. Mum splays her hands and fire flares within her palms. The kind of fierce fire I could only dream of conjuring. Aunt Leanna has her hair scraped back and before anyone can utter a word, she stretches out both arms and releases green vines. They twist and turn and slither like emerald snakes across the floor before pinning Malachi and the Fae to the wall.

“We surrender!” yells one of the Fae, her eyes fixed on Mum’s hands and her fire.

“Coward,” snarls Portia, taking three steps
forward and addressing my family. “I wouldn’t advise this, ladies.”

My family are backed up by at least fifty Hidden Folk. I see Hulder, Blue Men, Selkies and Kelpies. A few Sprites hover overheard and there are even a few Fae. They advance into the room, and I watch as Mum glances between the Ripple and me, her face growing confused.

“I’m the real one,” I say, pointing to my chest.

She frowns, her eyes drifting to the Ripple. Doubt creeps into her features.

“I still think you all should have done this on day one, if that helps,” I add.

Her expression relaxes and she sighs irritably. “Yes, it’s definitely her.”

“This is touching but a few words from me, and most of you will happily walk yourselves into your cells,” Portia says silkily. “In fact—”

She is interrupted by the unimaginably, unmistakably loud drone of bagpipes. I clap a hand over my mouth in delight as my cousin edges to the front of the herd, his face red as he blasts out all his Grade 3 skills on the ancient and indominable instrument. Some Hidden Folk drum on anything that they can (walls, floors, discarded stone) to add to the cacophony.

“Yes, Marley!” I yell, inwardly taking back every mean thing I ever said about his choice of musical instrument. “Play!”

No one can hear me over the noise. Portia’s own fingers move to her ears in distaste. The Fae and Malachi are pinned to the wall and the Ripple has transformed into Marley, as if in admiration. Freddy dashes towards one of the antechambers and I spot Erica at the front, near Marley. We lock eyes and both break into beams, marvelling in relief at the madness of it all.

When Marley runs out of breath, Mum blasts some magic towards Portia, enclosing her in a circle of fire. The Siren hisses and steps towards it before checking herself. Her voice has no power over the elements, and she is not immune to burns. She glares at Mum with teeth bared.

Mum shrugs, smirking. “You can’t burn this witch, Portia.”

I laugh, still strangely delighted. My shoulders sag
in relief at the sight of my family and then I register one absence. Two. Three, when I look to the tree next to me.

Sacrifices that are like ghosts here with us.

I notice lots of other women standing among the Hidden Folk. Some Mum’s age, some older. They stare Portia down with as much ferocity as Gran. They must connect to Mum and Gran’s mission in some way. They make an intimidating team, whomever they are.

Then, time stands still for me. The room falls quiet and the large mass of people at the back of the hall parts to create a path.

And a ghost does in fact walk into the room.

Someone makes a noise of disbelief, and I’m not even sure if it is me or not. I stare at the figure as they move through the crowd of Hidden Folk to the middle of the hall, stopping before Alona and me.

Opal.

She catches my eye for the briefest moment. She touches her wrist. My eyes drop and note the teal fabric is still tied there.

“How?” I whisper, but Opal is no longer looking
at me.

She has to be a ghost. This can’t be real. Yet I know if I crawled over and touched her skin, I would feel blood pumping. She is not some ethereal spirit, she
is human.

Alive again. Right in front of me.

I expect Portia to take advantage of the silence and use her voice, perhaps to free her only supporters. I watch as Mum makes the fire circle a little calmer. She is watching Portia with acute concentration.

Portia does not seem interested in charming anyone. She is staring at Opal with the same disbelief that I feel, clearly trying to decipher how this is possible. There is also something I cannot fully name in her face. She is breathing rapidly, and her eyes continue to flit over my aunt with confusion.

Opal looks back, calm and collected. “Hello, Sha.”

I gape. The whole room seems to hold their breath at the utterance. I stare at the Siren, expecting her to hiss or spit at the informal greeting. I expect her to bristle at the impudent smile Opal is wearing. I expect her to call for her guard, bark orders and use the full force of her voice to fight back against this new development.

She does none of that. Her smile quivers. As does her voice.

“Hey, you.”

The word ‘you’ has a lifetime of stories buried in it and suddenly things click into place. I cling to the unchanging tree, wishing the Dryad who once lived inside of it could come back like Aunt Opal and see this bizarre little scene.

Opal’s smile becomes sad. None of the frosty bravado she exhibited on Inchkeith is present now. She does not look at this Siren the way she looked at Ren.

“You always take things too far, Portia,” she says, too quietly for people at the back of the great hall to hear. “We’re not playing this game anymore.”

Aunt Leanna and Gran suddenly set off towards the different antechambers, followed by a handful of Hidden Folk. Leanna’s vines continue to bind the Fae and the warlock, but Portia does not look away from Opal. She seems either oblivious or uncaring to what is going on around her.

“The Druid claims to have killed you.”

Opal nods once. “He did.”

Portia looks as torn about this as I feel. “You always were one for surprises.”

“An old friend owed me a favour.”

“Speaking of old friends—”

“You know you have to stop all of this, right?” Opal interrupts Portia, her jovial tone edging into a more serious expression. She looks at Portia, and I’m suddenly reminded of the photograph in Grandpa’s office. Her face looks similar now. They’re looking at each other, and there is a connection there that is filled with things the rest of the room will never know. A familiarity that is visible with every movement and gesture. “Let us take the Hidden Folk out of here
and you can surrender. Stand trial. We can do this
with honour.”

Portia laughs shrilly. “Nah, not for me, Opal. That’s not going to happen.”

I hear a gasp of pain and spin around. Freddy emerges from the antechamber I was being kept in; his arm slung around an exhausted Murrey. The Vampire is leaning against the Siren, letting the latter take most of his weight. Not that he could be heavy, he looks completely emaciated.

“Freddy,” Portia says, in a broken little voice. “What are you doing?”

My friend stares at his mother, with a touch of both misery and disgust. “Something I should’ve done already. Something we’re supposed to do.”

“You’re on their side then?”

“There are no sides!” shouts Freddy, and the entire hall is gravely silent. His voice, equally as powerful as her own, perhaps even more so, echoes and bounces off the stone walls. “You know that, Mum. You create the sides. You draw the line, you make the divide. I’ve wracked my brain trying to work out why, I don’t understand it. Why you get such pleasure from everyone being at each other’s throats, or stuck in a cycle of mindless obedience, I don’t know. I’ll never know. But not me. It will never be me.”

Freddy looks over at the large collective of Hidden Folk and a decision is made in his eyes.

“Do not obey this woman’s instructions if you do not want to,” he calls, projecting his voice over to the back of the large room. He points to Portia as he speaks. “Do not harm yourselves or your friends for her.”

A few whoops of approval meet his pronouncement.

“What a waste,” Portia breathes, staring at Freddy. “This won’t last, you know. This bright-eyed optimism. Your faith in these lesser beings. What about when that one wants nothing to do with you anymore?”

She jerks her chin towards me. I cling onto Alona and glower at her.

“I don’t think,” Portia goes on, staring at her son, “you realise how lonely this life is, Freddy. How hard it will be.”

Freddy’s face is more emotional than I’ve ever seen it. “I’ve already been lonely, Mum. It’s all I’ve ever been. Until now. Now, I have friends. And I don’t need to order them to like me, they just do. Well,” he glances at my cousin, “sometimes they do.”

Marley grins, despite the gravity of everything. Freddy helps Murrey over to where Erica and some Trolls are standing by. They instantly leap into action, helping to tend to the Vampire.

“I’m never going to be what you want, Mum,” Freddy concludes, glancing back at Portia. “And I’m not sorry for it. I wish you were.”

He is now stood with his chosen side. As we all
stare at one another, Aunt Leanna calls out to the Hidden Folk.

“Do as we discussed: empty the cells. Set everyone free.”

“Bring me the Druid,” Opal adds, and Freddy is the one who nods and sets to it. Malachi grimaces against his bindings and some of the Fae who are on our side step forward.

“We will punish our own accordingly,” one says, his face as earnest as a member of the Fae’s can be. “We swear it.”

Opal looks to Gran, who nods. Then Opal does, too. The Fae pull their own kind free from their trappings and walk out, trying to appear dignified. I watch their backs, never fully relaxed.

“There’s a dragon outside,” Aunt Opal says coolly, just before they are gone from sight. “So don’t try anything funny.”

Her words have the intended effect. They fearfully nod and then are gone. Hidden Folk disperse into all of the antechambers to fetch their comrades and set them free. Portia still stares at Opal, as if she cannot believe she is there.

“Let’s speak, just us two?” she finally volunteers.

Opal shakes her head gently “No, Sha. Had plenty of time to speak. This mess, everything you’ve done to this city, it’s done all the speaking for you.”

Portia’s eyes are glistening and her voice catches as she responds. “You know… all I ever did, everything I ever did, it was just to make you look.”

I can feel my jaw slipping open. Aunt Opal does not visibly react. “I’ve prepared something for you. If you’re not willing to surrender.”

“No!” Portia cries, slamming her foot against the ground as she staggers closer. “This isn’t how it’s meant to go. You—you wouldn’t do this to an old friend, Opal. Not when you know I’m right.”

“You’re not right, Portia. There is no ‘right’ when
it comes to harrying people’s lives. Trying to wipe
out Hidden Folk. You’ve gone beyond what I ever
thought possible.”

“We’ve always been the same,” Portia whispers. She falls to her knees, just as Hidden Folk begin to emerge from the many doors around the hall. They look confused and tired. Leanna and Freddy usher them to safety, leading them out through the large doors. “Opal, we’ve always been different. They don’t accept you any more than they accept me.”

Opal moves towards the Siren and kneels down in front of her. “Sha, I’m a neurodivergent witch. Do
you think for a single second I’ve ever cared about fitting in?”

I choke out a laugh and for the briefest second, Opal’s eyes meet mine and she winks.

“A scorpion cannot help its sting,” Portia says, reaching out to grasp Opal’s hand. “You can’t kill your oldest friend.”

“Oh, Sha,” Opal’s voice is now the one that shakes a little. “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been working on something special, specifically for you.”

“Take the Druid and the warlock into custody and remove them from this place!” Mum says to some of the other women with Gran. They obey, using magic to turn Malachi’s bindings into handcuffs. They are witches, too. I watch in fascination as a large group of middle-aged women march the two men out of the great hall.

“Take the wounded out and start tending to them,” Gran adds.

Soon the hall is almost empty. Only my family, Freddy and Portia remain. I still cling to Alona, mere feet away from my aunt and the Siren. Kneeling across from one another. The Ripple hides in the shadows of a corner.

“Little boy,” Portia addresses Marley. “Do you want your father back? Do you want your family united again? I bet you do. I can make that happen. He has another family now, a wife and three girls. They live in the rich part of town.”

Leanna starts for the Siren but Mum and Gran hold her back. The Ripple steps forward and transfigures into that same man from the beach. The one that made Leanna sad, the one I do not recognise.

It makes sense now.

“I can bring him back, Marley,” Portia says desperately. “Would you like that? One word from me, he’ll come home again. You’ll have a family”

Marley shakes his head and smiles a bittersweet smile. “I have all my family here already. Despite your best efforts.”

Gran wraps an arm around him and Mum presses her fingers against his cheek. Portia’s expression hardens, all attempts at pretending to be civil gone. She looks to Mum and her voice is deep and low; her last final attempt at influence.

“Come closer, Cass. Come and feel this fire.”

Mum takes a few steps forward and then yells, forcing herself to stop. She stands still, glaring back at the Siren.

“I’m not your puppet anymore,” she finally says, and I feel like crying. I remember that night, so long ago, when Mum and Dad were under Portia’s spell.

“Walk through the fire,” Portia reiterates.

Her voice is powerful enough to force Mum to stumble closer. Until Opal steps in front of her. The two witches, the two sisters, look at one another and Portia’s orders fade. The Siren lets out a wretched gasp of fury and then one, small and bitter laugh.

“What are you going to do to me?” she finally mutters.