5

5

F rom the steps of my House, I watched Ethne on the platform of the gallows where Renk’s body lay prone on the weathered-gray planks. She waved her arms over the killer’s corpse, causing a white-hot fire to consume it before the stench of him reached the crowd. She was a master of her craft, and could wield the flame so precisely that there wouldn’t even be a char mark left on the planks. I could feel the heat of her anger wave across the grass.

Ela carefully climbed the steps to stand beside her. Her thick robes, now as dark green as the pines in the forest’s middle, concealed her shrinking body. She’d shriveled just since this morning. Time had been kind to her for a very long time, but she had begun to pay the price for the unnatural extension of her youth. She looked positively brittle. Tonight’s events had aged her significantly, though I wasn’t sure why they’d taken such a toll.

Her hair faded more and more by the minute, leaching from newborn fawn to silvery white. The slight hunch in her upper back became a sharp mountain peak. Her skin wrinkled as she climbed, and her muscle withered away. By the time she reached the platform, she could barely fight the atrophy overwhelming her body to pull her weight up the stairs. She huffed and puffed, and I honestly thought she might fall over dead when she reached the top step.

It was immediately clear that despite the ravaging toll on her body, Grandmother’s mind hadn’t shriveled at all. Nor had her demeanor. But as she cleared her throat and her weak voice tried to calm the crowd, Fate gently whispered that her days were numbered.

As if she could read my mind, her hazel eyes snapped to mine.

A hush fell over the crowd. I wasn’t sure if she’d spelled them, or if they genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say about what they witnessed.

The shaky words she spewed were spelled to calm and comfort those who heard them. She assured them that no witch would ever harm the innocent. The shoulders of the members of the crowd visibly relaxed, as did their breathing. The worry lines on their faces faded away. It was like they’d taken a collective breath and slowly expelled it.

I took a seat at my table once Bay helped Ela descend the platform’s steps, and the musicians began strumming a soothing tune. The circle of witches that had surrounded the Center broke apart, freeing those within .

I searched for dark hair and golden eyes, but never found him.

Ethne lit the bonfires. A pair of witches juggled fire sticks, while another duo swung lit chains around in great arcs, slicing bright circles through the twilit sky. The scent of smoke filled the air as our guests finally began to form groups, talking and even laughing among themselves.

The witches of the House of Water called for miniature storm clouds to build. Lightning forked from them, creating small, intense bursts of light within the roiling thunderheads. The thunder they made complemented the musicians’ drum beat.

Fragrant flowers in every color and shape emerged from the soil as the witches from the House of Earth were introduced. Topiaries of twisted vines formed next to a family of three, a father, mother, and daughter, perfectly mimicking their shapes down to the child’s fine hair.

Those from the House of Wind sent a sweet, warm breeze to sweep across the space, plucking petals from stems and sending them whirling above the rooftops nearby, beyond the treetops and high into the sky, until they disappeared from sight. As they lowered their raised hands and snuffed out any trace of wind, soft petals rained from the heavens. Within minutes, the grass was carpeted in petals of every color of the rainbow. Children scooped up the delicate petals and flung them into the air, trying to imitate the Wind witches.

Tonight, here in this space, no one would scold them.

Tomorrow would be different. I’d heard that those who returned to Sector Twelve would advise their children not to speak about coming here, nor about the magic they witnessed. Where it was almost fashionable to attend years ago, cavorting with witches was becoming more taboo with each passing season. When I was a child, the woods overflowed with guests. Now, the Center was barely full.

Being a witch is nothing to be proud of , they would tell them. Witches are dangerous creatures.

They weren’t wrong, but they also weren’t right.

Children would ignore their own experiences and feelings if adults pressed them hard enough into the straight and narrow line. It was how prejudice and ignorance were perpetuated through the generations. But as long as it was only one night a year and they hid their purchased tinctures and herbs in their pockets, covering their heads and faces with the hoods of their cloaks as they crossed the borders and snuck back to their homes, there was no harm.

I whispered a spell, lighting the white candle on my table. I didn’t have any of the elemental affinities, but I’d learned to conjure the elements to a small degree. I couldn’t call down a tornado or flood a stream, but I could light wicks and fill my basins if the well dried. And, as long as I paid attention to my plants, they grew just fine.

For hours, I sat and watched. Anyone who ventured close to my table quickly found their way back into the anonymity of the crowd, placing as much distance between them and me as possible.

I sat quietly, alone, and watched the stars tilt around the blue-black sky. Blackberry wine was being passed around to anyone who wanted it, and the heavy atmosphere that I’d brought to the celebration of the Equinox was replaced by a more carefree one. The alcohol probably helped assuage the Lowers’ feelings, and we were plying them with enough to drown an entire sector.

Someone wearing a heavy cloak finally staggered to my table, pulled out the chair opposite me, and flopped into it unceremoniously. The sweet smell of blackberries filled the air, along with something masculine and heady.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re drunk. You should find whomever you came with and ask them to see you home.”

Strong hands pushed back the hood, and with a start, I realized it was the handsome man from earlier. Looking into a pair of bloodshot, golden eyes that tried vainly to focus on mine, I noticed details I’d missed earlier. His dark brown hair was freshly cut; the hair at the nape of his neck hadn’t even begun to grow back out. His shoulders were broad, and the cloak concealing them was made of thick, black material. In golden thread, a symbol was emblazoned over his heart, but it was wrinkled and I couldn’t make it out.

“I’m not going nowhere,” he slurred.

I crossed my arms and raised my brows. “You want a reading?”

“Reading? I don’t see any books,” he chuckled.

“I read fates.”

“Futures?” He laughed and pointed a finger at me. “You’re a witch.”

“And you’re obviously a genius.” A drunken genius, with pretty, molten eyes.

“You’re supposed to make love potions and hex dolls,” he slurred. “Not hang people. ”

“Do you need a love potion? You’re handsome enough to find someone on your own, I’d warrant,” I said truthfully. He rewarded the compliment with a ridiculously wide smile that made my lips curl upward in response. “I didn’t expect anyone to be brave enough to approach my table tonight,” I told him. “And people rarely surprise me.”

He grinned proudly and put his hand across his chest—the salute of the Kingdom’s militia. He must be a soldier. “Glad to be of service, Madame. Perhaps I should offer you a reading, instead.”

He was ridiculous and…sweet.

“Look, I can help you. Do you think you can climb steps? I have something that will help clear your mind, but you’ll have to sit down for a few minutes after drinking it.”

He scrutinized the stairs leading to my front door, and with a determined look, squared his shoulders and nodded his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

Um, good. They’re just steps.

I blew out my candle and gathered everything into my casting cloth, deciding I’d sort it all out later. It was clear that Fate had damaged any opportunity I might have had to make money tonight, not that I minded, in all honesty. Killing Jenson Renk was worth it. I wondered if it would feel the same in a month’s time when I had no savings to provide what I couldn’t, and the other Houses wouldn’t.

Still, this young man obviously came from money. Perhaps he would feel grateful after the tincture I was about to prepare worked its magic .

I offered a hand in case he fell, but he made it up the staircase and stepped over the threshold and into my house. As far as I knew, he was the first outsider to ever step foot inside its walls.

I laid my things on a chair and pointed him in the direction of the couch while I went to rummage through the kitchen for the ingredients I needed. Brecan had left most of my herbs in a sack on the counter. Quickly plucking leaves from those I needed, I folded them neatly into a tea bag and grabbed a mug. I muttered a spell for it to fill with water, and for the water to heat but not boil. I was in a hurry. Something told me to help him and get him out of there as quickly as I could.

For this reason, I was thankful when the aromas of sage, rosemary, lavender, and mint filled the air.

As I walked toward the couch with the mug, the young man sat up clumsily, removing his feet from the oblong table in front of him, sheepishly apologizing and putting them back on the floor. He scrubbed a hand down his face as I handed him the mug.

“Drink. This should make you feel better.”

He glanced from the steaming liquid to me and back. “How do I know it’s safe?”

I smiled. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You killed that young man tonight,” he answered quietly.

My lungs expanded with a deep breath. Something about the way he said it made me wish I had somehow held Fate off until after the festivities, just so he wouldn’t see the type of magic in which I was adept.

“That man was a murderer.” Steam from the cup wafted into his face and I saw his eyes begin to clear. Changing the subject, I asked, “You were with two others. Where are they?”

“We got separated. I don’t know where they are.”

“I have no intention of harming you,” I told him honestly. “The tea will do nothing more than sober you up. Then you can go find your friends.”

His fingers tightened on the mug’s handle. “I hope I’m not making a mistake by trusting you.” He brought the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip. His dark brows shot up. “This... this is delicious.”

I tried to smile. “Glad you like it.”

Within minutes the mug was empty, the spell had worked, and my guest was sober. He sat the mug on the coffee table and scrubbed a hand down his face, letting out a pent-up breath. “Thank you again. I hope I didn’t do or say anything to offend you. I’m sorry to have intruded.”

“You didn’t intrude. I invited you in.”

I had no idea why I did it, but I did. And now that he was here, I had the strangest sensation humming through me. My fingers tingled with the need to touch him.

He was quiet, his gaze focused but gentle. Then he surprised me by blurting, “I had no idea until tonight that beautiful women hanged fully-grown men.”

I ticked my head back. “And who did you assume did it?”

He flashed a genuine smile. “I meant no offense. I just... my friends talked me into coming tonight to blow off some steam. My life is about to drastically change.” He ran a flustered hand through his hair.

“How so? ”

His knee bounced at the question. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I really should be going.”

“Mom and Dad not know you snuck out?” I laughed as he stood.

“Something like that.” His eyes caught on my silver bowl. A few wishbones that I hadn’t carried outside remained on the bottom. “Why do you have those?”

“Wishbones are the best way for me to read someone.”

“That’s unusual. I expected cards or a crystal ball.”

“I can use those, but don’t prefer them.” The bones called to me when I was just a girl. Wishbones, in particular, and I’d garnered all of them I could ever since.

“Is it difficult to read a person’s fate?” He worried his hands.

“It depends on the person. Some fates are more complex than others.”

He stared at the delicate bones, then turned his attention to me. “Would you read mine?”

“For a price.”

“Name it, and it’s yours,” he promised.

I looked him over again, assessing his fine clothes and grooming. He had money.

“A bag of coin.”

“Done,” he chirped, rubbing his hands together.

That was easier than I expected. I thought he would haggle.

Where most people were easy for me to read, even from a distance, this young man was not. I couldn’t pin down anything about him solidly, which shook me more than I would admit. “Sit at that table,” I instructed, pointing at a small, square table in the corner of the room .

Perhaps it was me. Was I still rattled about the events of the evening?

He removed the sheet covering the chairs and table and sat in one, turning to watch as I gathered the iron bowl of wishbones. “Moving in?” he guessed.

“Just today, yes.” Thank goodness I’d moved my clothes into a nearby bedroom. I didn’t bother with the casting cloth. It wasn’t necessary for a reading, it just added flair to the atmosphere; flair that most Lowers needed to make the reading feel more fun than true.

Sitting across from him, I placed the bowl between us. He studied the inscriptions engraved around the bowl’s rim. “Choose a wishbone. Before you break it, wish for the knowledge of your future.”

He plucked a bone from the bottom of the pile and closed his eyes. With a quick snap, the bone was broken in two, but something was terribly wrong.

I gasped at the sight of it.

His golden eyes snapped open.

My mouth gaped and I sucked in a shocked breath. Droplets of crimson blood dripped from the larger part of the bone, splattering onto the table. I felt a speck hit my cheek and wiped his blood away with my thumb. The smaller piece also bled, but to a lesser extent. I’d been reading fates for years, and had never seen a wishbone bleed. Three more large splatters fell before either of us spoke, and it was he who managed it.

“Why is it bleeding?” he asked, looking at me expectantly.

“Give me your hand.” He dropped both pieces of bone and wiped his hands on his pant legs before proffering both. I placed my right palm against his and closed my eyes.

Scenes flashed through my mind. The first was a vision of him lying on his back, a foamy trail of blood bubbling from his mouth and his pupils dilated and still. Another scene swiftly appeared, of hands pushing him from a balcony or window… someplace high… and the sickening crunch that came when he hit the earth below. Another vision of him collapsing to the ground, a fountain of blood pouring over his lips and his skin pale as ice. That vision was erased by another, heralded by a wave of sharp pain as he looked down to find the tip of a blade protruding from his chest...

Every single fate pointed to one thing.

I called on Fate to confirm it and felt his warning warmth flow through my veins. The bone did not lie. There was no mistake. “Very soon, someone will try to kill you.”

He gave a laugh of disbelief. “What? That can’t be. You said yourself that some fates are more complex than others.”

“You have no other fate than that.”

I searched for any sign of hope and found none. His palm warmed mine, and through the connection, more scenes, each more disturbing and gruesome than the next, filled my mind. I couldn’t see anything but his death as a product of murder. I grabbed his other hand and more scenes filled my mind, each more ghastly than the one before it. My lashes fluttered from the turmoil of seeing his body torn and empty.

He stared at our connected palms. “Could you be wrong? ”

Our eyes met, and he knew the answer before I spoke. “No. I’ve never been wrong.”

He was quiet for a long moment, clinging to my hands. When he cleared his throat, he croaked, “Does the blood mean they will succeed?”

I pursed my lips. The most difficult part of reading the fate of another was telling them they would die soon. “If you don’t figure out who it is and stop them before they take action against you, then yes. I’m afraid they will succeed.”

I pulled my hand away.

His mouth parted as he focused on the droplets of blood now speckling my table. “Can you tell me who it is?”

“No, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, you said ‘very soon’. How soon, exactly?”

I pulled the iron bowl toward me and ran my hands over the bones inside. “I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t think it will be very long before they make an attempt. I take it no one has tried to kill you before?”

He glanced from my hands to my eyes. “No, they haven’t.”

“It’s not pleasant.” I knew that from experience; a rather unpleasant one I’d rather forget than have dredged up. Especially tonight, given the events of the evening.

“Given the bleeding bone, I’d say it won’t be.” He scrubbed his face again and let out a frustrated groan.

The young man was handsome. It was a pity he wouldn’t live long, and even more of a shame he wasn’t a witch. I’d never actually considered hand-fasting before, but if circumstances were different, he could make me reconsider .

He stood abruptly and extended his hand.

I looked at his palm. “Your fate won’t change with another physical connection.”

“No, I know. I was just going to shake your hand so I could thank you properly.”

I quirked a brow. “You’re thanking me, despite the news I’ve delivered?” My fingers itched to touch him one more time, knowing it may be the last time I would have the opportunity.

“I’m thanking you,” he said, taking my hand in his. It had somehow floated up toward his without my knowing... “for your hospitality, for the information you provided, and I’d like to beg for your discretion.”

“I don’t know you, so I couldn’t blab to anyone else.”

He chuckled. “Right,” he scoffed disbelievingly.

I pulled my hand away, stung. “I’m a witch, not a liar.”

His smile fell away with his laughter. “You really don’t know who I am?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I scooted my chair away from him and farther into the corner. “Should I? Are you some sort of celebrity? Look around. You’ll see no telecaster here.”

“You must be the only person in Nautilus without one,” he said beneath his breath.

“What was that?” I pretended not to have heard him. He must be famous. With a face and build like that, the women in the Lower sectors would fawn over him. Any other witch would cast a love spell on him to make him hers for a time.

Furtively, I looked at my herbal supply. I was tragically out of rosehips .

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and shoved his hands into the pockets of his cloak. “I should go. I’m sure you’re exhausted from the evening’s events.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow.

“Do you need help finding your friends?”

He snorted. “Knowing them, they won’t be leaving Thirteen until morning.”

“I think you’ll find that witches are nothing like the girls you’ve come to know in the lower sectors.”

“How so?” he asked genuinely, his tongue wetting his full bottom lip.

“We’re particular. And we particularly only pair with male witches – to whom we are hand-fasted.”

“Hand-fasted?”

“It’s what you would consider a marriage, except it only lasts for one year. Winter Solstice to Winter Solstice.” There was no judgment in his eyes, just surprise. “You really didn’t know that?”

“No, I really didn’t. But... may I ask a question?”

“You just did,” I replied sweetly.

He smiled. “What if you love the person to whom you’re hand-fasted? What if a year isn’t enough time to spend with them?”

I swallowed, trying to calm my thundering heart, and gave him the most honest answer I could, and the saddest. “I’m not sure witches are capable of loving someone for longer.”

“Are you hand-fasted to someone? With someone?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No. ”

He quietly studied my face, his gaze locking onto mine. “Thank you again.”

I gave him a small bow. He began walking backward, opened my door, and was gone.