Chapter 17

17

A s hopeless as we’d all felt watching Sergei and Ethan stumble around on stilts, delivering their lines in monotone mumbles, we were now wild with anticipation for the pageant. Seemingly overnight, our whole production had been transformed, first by the costumes, then by the replacement of the script. No one could help but stop and listen when Zale spoke in his clear, musical voice; there was no choice but to be swept away by the enchanting images he conjured, just on the rise and fall of his intonation. It no longer mattered that our actors were a bunch of apathetic teenagers with no stage experience—with Zale giving them voice, and the puppets giving them form, all they had to do was not fall over. Kaia and Petra came flying into the next evening’s rehearsal to show off the makeup looks they’d created for the frost fairies and the wood nymphs. The final touches on the costumes also added to the magic—and nothing could have made me happier than watching the proud smile on Bea’s face when she saw her masks atop the towering, almost mythical figures of the Holly and Oak Kings.

Despite how excited we were, we kept all of the details of the pageant a secret. Aside from Eva’s mom, whose help we had enlisted with the costumes and whom we had sworn to secrecy, no one else knew what we had in store for Sedgwick Cove on the night of the festival. Zale felt that the element of surprise would be the final flourish to enchanting the crowd—if their expectations were low, they’d be all the more impressed when they saw what we’d created. As for me, it was hard to keep my mouth shut.

“Really? You can’t give us any hints?” my mom asked on the eve of the festival, as we stood on the cliff above the water.

“No. I promised,” I said.

All of the Conclave covens had gathered together to decorate the sun wheel, another traditional element of the festival. Unlike the pageant, the sun wheel was inherently impressive. Enormous and constructed of wood, it was positioned at the top of the sloping path from the cliffs to the beach. When the pageant was over, the crowd would progress in a sort of parade up to the cliff, where the sun wheel would be lit on fire, and then released. Then the crowd would watch as the sun wheel, flaming and smoking, rolled all the way down to the sea, marking the official triumph of the Holly King and the beginning of his reign until Yule, when the Oak King would wrest the power away once more.

“I don’t even want to know,” Rhi said. “The surprise makes it more exciting.”

My mom pouted a little, and then winked at me. “I’m sure it will be wonderful,” she said. She was tucking blossoms into the spokes of the wheel, and securing them with floral wire. Then she laid her hands on each blossom, one by one, so that they brightened and grew more lush beneath her fingers.”

“What spell is that?” I asked her.

“Just a little something to make sure they don’t wilt between now and tomorrow night,” my mom said, smiling at me.

“Can you show me?”

She smiled. “Come here.”

I walked around the wheel to stand beside her. She took my hand in hers and wrapped it gently around a peony she had just finished wiring to the frame. “Take a moment to connect with the blossom,” she said, “Let yourself feel the life still pulsing through it.”

I closed my eyes and concentrated all my energy on the flower, trying to find that ephemeral “life” my mother was talking about. I was mentally prepared to grope and search fruitlessly, which was why I gasped with surprise only a moment later when I felt it: an unmistakable something running under my fingertips. It was warmth, but not warm; light, but not visible. It writhed and expanded, though it did not move. It was more that I could feel the potential of all of it—warmth, light, growth—all contained in a little beat, like a pulse, running from the petals to my fingertips.

“You feel that?” my mom whispered.

“Yes!” I said, still not quite able to believe how easily I’d done it.

“Now imagine pouring from yourself into that blossom, like filling a cup. Give it your energy.”

I did as she said, trying to envision that same pulse, but in me. I imagined it flowing through my veins. Then I imagined a little offshoot—a place from which I could siphon off that energy, so that it could pour from me to the blossom. I heard my mother gasp and opened my eyes.

The peony, slightly drooping a moment before, now stood with every petal at attention. The solid white color of the petals was now tinged with pink at the center. I dropped my hands to my sides in shock.

“It… did I actually do that?” I whispered.

My mom laughed. “You certainly did!”

“Are you sure you didn’t cheat? Give it a little nudge of your own while I wasn’t looking?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

She lifted her hands in surrender. “Cross my heart! That was all you!”

I looked back down at the peony in wonder, and then sighed. “Oh, man.”

“What?”

“This is one of the first bits of magic I’ve managed to produce on purpose, and we’re literally going to light it on fire,” I grumbled.

My mom laughed, and threw her arms around me. “It doesn’t need to last forever to be magic, Wren. You’re doing great.”

I thought of what I’d done on the beach the night the Darkness tried to take me. The magic had come through me suddenly, as bright and powerful as the bolt of lightning that answered my call. I looked down past the cliffs to the beach where, still hidden under the white tent, the cage of lightning sand still stood, proof that it had all really happened—a testament to my power. I remembered Eva’s scolding words at the theater. Why did I doubt myself so much? Why couldn’t I admit that the only thing standing between me and my power was… well, me ?

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Persi beckoning me away from the sun wheel. I dropped my handful of wire and roses, and followed her.

“What’s up?” I asked. Persi was looking shifty. Her eyes kept darting to the other adults as she reached into a little pouch slung around her waist, and pulled two small vials from it, each one sealed with wax.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the vials into my hands.

“What are these for?” I asked, staring down at them. Their contents had a slight iridescence to them, like they might glow when darkness set in.

“It’s a little something to help make your pageant special,” Persi whispered. “Magic isn’t allowed to be used in the pageant, strictly speaking—no one wants to tip off the tourists about what really goes on around here. But this is just a bit of fun.”

I looked over my shoulder, too, to make sure the others were occupied. “But what are they?”

“Pour this one with the blue wax on the Holly King’s staff. And this one,” she pointed to the other vial, sealed with gold wax, “you pour on the Oak King’s staff.”

“What do they do?” I asked.

Persi smiled. “Nothing, until the staffs hit each other. Then they’ll create a little… special effect for you.”

“Are you gonna tell me what the special effect is?” I asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Persi said, smirking.

“This is why everyone in this town is half-afraid of you, isn’t it?” I sighed, pocketing the vials.

“Probably,” Persi admitted, and sauntered away.

The morning of the Midsummer Festival dawned bright and beautiful, to no one’s surprise. Though Rhi insisted that the witches of Sedgwick Cove could not control the weather, she nonetheless admitted that they had never had a rainy day for the festival in the entire history of the celebration, which led me to believe they had more collective influence than they were willing to admit.

Main Street had been blocked off from traffic. Shops and restaurants were spilling out onto the sidewalks with tables and tents and booths, all decorated with suns and balloons and bright yellow flags. Banners had been strung up across the street, welcoming the influx of tourists who began to trickle in first thing in the morning. A large field to the west of Main Street had been cordoned off with cones and yellow tape, and cars were lining up in shiny rows, like beetles. Street performers had staked their claims to their corners, and were busy setting up their acts. The celebration in the air was palpable as I rode my bike through the growing crowds, and came to a stop in front of the stage in the center of the roundabout. Zale was already there, ordering around the sound crew, and making sure the wires were taped down in front of the stairs that led to the platform.

“Hey, Mr. Director,” I said, as I approached him. “How are you feeling about tonight?”

Zale looked up with that slightly manic look I knew so well—the look of a director who is constantly mentally cycling through his to-do list, while also contemplating all the myriad ways the performance could go off the rails. “Does the day of the show always feel like this?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to simultaneously implode and explode with stress?”

I considered a moment. “Yeah, pretty much. What can I do to help?”

He looked at me, wild-eyed and frazzled. “I don’t… I can’t…”

“Zale. Rule number one of surviving opening night: delegate. Now, what’s that?”

“It’s a list of all the props and costumes that are supposed to be in the bins that came over from the theater,” Zale said.

“Give it to me,” I said firmly. Zale held it out but didn’t let go of it.

“Where are the bins?” I asked.

He pointed to the left side of the stage, where I could see several large plastic storage bins peeking out from under the platform.

“I’ll go through and double-check everything, okay?”

Zale sighed and finally let go of the clipboard. “Okay. Yes. Thank you.”

“Breathe,” I instructed, watching as he took a slow, deliberate inhale and then went to check on the bins. I’d packed them myself, so I knew everything was in there, but this wasn’t really about the bins. It was about preserving Zale’s sanity.

Once the speakers were set up, the inventory complete, the microphones tested, and the set decorations hung, I told Zale I would stop over at the cafe to get us some lunch. It was hard to tell if he heard me; he was too busy pacing back and forth across the stage, mouthing the words from the book that had become our script. I left him to it, no longer able to ignore my rumbling stomach.

The cafe was bustling with people, queued up outside at a little food cart that had been set up on the sidewalk. Maricela stood at the cart, taking orders. She waved me past her and inside. “Eva was just about to go look for you,” she said.

I walked in to find even more customers lined up at the counter. Eva waved at me, indicating I needed to give her a minute to take care of the influx of orders. Over in the corner, Bea was sitting at an empty table, bent over her sketchbook.

“Hey Bea,” I called.

“Hi Wren,” she said, and I was rewarded with one of her elusive smiles.

“Oh, Wren! Hello!”

I turned back to the line of customers to see Veronica and Luca standing in it. Luca gave me a friendly wave, but it was Veronica who had spoken.

“Hi, Ms. M— sorry, Veronica,” I said. “Nice to see you.”

“I had to come down and see what all the fuss was about,” she said, gesturing vaguely back out to Main Street. “It’s a much bigger event than I realized!”

“Me, too,” I admitted. “But at least we’ll have a good-sized audience for the pageant later.”

“I asked where the best spot for lunch was and was told repeatedly to come here,” Veronica said. “I had no idea your family owned it, Eva.”

Eva smiled and took Veronica and Luca’s order. Veronica stepped away from the counter so the next customer could order, and spotted Bea over at her table.

“Bea! I almost didn’t recognize you without your mermaid hair,” Veronica teased. “How are you? Excited for the pageant?”

Bea looked startled at being addressed, and though she had met Veronica before, she seemed wary to talk to her. She snapped her sketchbook closed. “Not really,” she said, her voice little more than a mumble. “It’s always so loud and crowded. I like the quiet days better.”

“But surely you’ll enjoy seeing your creations up on the stage,” Veronica enthused. “Luca, did you know Bea designed the masks for the play?”

Luca’s face split into a grin. “No, I didn’t. I saw the cast rehearsing in them. They’re awesome, well done.”

Bea took compliments about as well as I did. “Thanks,” she muttered, retreating to her sketchbook again.

“What are you creating now? Can I take a look?” Veronica asked, and crossed the room to where Bea sat. Bea hesitated a moment, then opened her sketchbook again, allowing Veronica to gush over her artwork.

“Looks like it’s coming together out there,” Luca said to me, nodding his head toward the stage. “You guys need any help?”

“No, unless you’ve got some Valium we can borrow for Zale,” I said. “There’s a good chance his head might explode before showtime.”

Luca chuckled and patted his pockets. “Sorry, don’t have any on me.”

“Damn. Well, it was worth an ask.”

We talked for another couple of minutes, until Eva handed Luca their food.

“I’ll catch you later then?” Luca said.

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Just follow the sounds of Zale having a panic attack, and that’s where you’ll find me,” I replied.

Luca laughed. “Mom, you ready?”

Veronica patted Bea on the head, and wished us all luck, before following her son out the door.

“Here,” Eva said, handing me a paper bag. “Sustenance. How’s Zale?”

“Melting down. We should go feed him,” I said.

Eva checked her watch. “Yeah, I’m officially off for the afternoon. Let’s go.”

“See you later, Bea!” I called.

Bea stifled a yawn as she waved goodbye.

It was a full-time job between lunch and evening time, keeping Zale distracted. After we fed him, the cast arrived for a quick walk-through on the outdoor stage. It went fairly well—no one fell off their stilts, and the choreography for the fight scene went smoothly with no injuries, accidental or intentional. Everyone took their costumes and accessories so they could get ready before our call time at 7:30pm. We took Zale for a walk along Main Street, checking out all the stalls. A walking tour was making its way up the street; I recognized Phoebe from the Historical Society in a pointy black witch hat, pointing out the sights. She winked at us as she passed. Little stalls were selling merchandise that celebrated the sun—sun-shaped pinwheels, sunglasses, hats and masks, and windchimes and flags. Restaurants were selling street food in the theme as well—round hand pies full of strawberries, and cookies decorated to look like flowers, suns, and candles. There was a tangible joy in the air on this, the longest day of the year. It felt as though the town itself was collectively trying to squeeze as much celebration and joy into the hours before the sun went down, and the waning of the year began.

Zale and I found some dinner while Eva went to change into her nymph costume, and at last, the time came for the cast to return. They arrived in twos and threes, looking every bit the wood nymphs and frost fairies they were supposed to be, thanks to the revamped costumes and Kaia’s makeup design. For once, the teenage apathy wasn’t strong enough to burst the bubble of excited anticipation. Even Ethan and Sergei looked both excited and nervous as we helped them climb into their costumes. Without telling anyone, I took out Persi’s vials and applied the contents to the staffs, before handing them off to the nymph and the fairy who would be swinging them.

While we got ready, Ostara herself took the platform to welcome the visitors to the festival and to explain, in layman’s terms, what the Litha festival was all about. The crowds milling up and down Main Street began to corral themselves together near the platform, drawing in closer to where the action would clearly be starting soon. I spotted my mom and my aunts in the crowd, waving at me. Children were being hoisted onto shoulders so they could see over the heads of the adults. Someone was lighting tiki torches up and down the street, bathing the festival in a warm, golden light, even as the sun was drifting closer to the horizon. Finally, the clock in the tower of the library chimed 8 o’clock, and it was time for us to begin.

“Break a leg,” I whispered to Zale, and kissed him impulsively on the cheek as I handed him his microphone. I turned to the platform to make sure everyone was in place. Eva waved down at me, her face aglow with excitement. I gave her a thumbs-up, and went to join my mom and my aunts in the crowd.

“Here we go!” I whispered breathlessly to my mom as the music began, and Zale’s voice sang out from the speakers.