“Thank you for coming,” Catherine says finally.
It seems difficult for her to get the words out. I can’t recall if she’s ever thanked me for anything before. Both she and Da always took for granted that I would work, as if I were born for the role.
That peculiar tension persists even after the meal. I play with the girls for a while, but Tillie tires swiftly so I help her back to the loft. Our parents head out to the brewing shed out back, not that there’s any point in working there anymore.
Up in the loft, I tuck Tillie in, pulling the quilt up to her chin. I hear Millie acting out a scene with her dolls downstairs and wonder why my sisters are so different in resilience despite being twins. I’ve been ignoring the soft taps on the wards I laid at Bitterburn, not heeding signals of what’s going on there. But for the first time, I realize that I can sense threads here too, as if something has awakened since I went away and returned.
A little shiver runs through me, and I recognize the feeling. That terrible voice tried to claim that I got my power from Bitterburn, but it’s still here with me, electrifying my skin and lifting the hair on the back of my neck, like the ability wants me to use it. On impulse, I close my eyes and extend my senses toward my sleeping sister. Inside her, I find a tangle of inky threads, like the ones that tie Bitterburn to the land. Something is drawing the vitality straight out of Tillie, and with this new internal sight, I can tell she won’t last the winter. The next fever will take her.
I don’t have a book of charms, no formal chant to power this spell, but I can’t look away. I can’t leave without attempting to save Tillie. Calming myself, I reach and try, knowing it will hurt her if I sever all these tendrils that are woven through her like a web. I must search for loose ends and pull gently, like I’m unraveling a badly knit scarf.
I focus all my attention on searching, until I can’t even feel my body. The world recedes until I can only see the whorls of darkness, homing in until I see the starting point. I’m intuiting how to do this, but it feels right and natural, slowly drawing it out. Even dark energy must go somewhere, so I feed it into a dying tree in the back garden. Something must be draining her life with purpose, but whoever is using Tillie in this way, they will only kill the tree, and then there will be no more life to take. The tree’s already dying, riddled with rot, so I’m not doing anything dire. At least I hope I’m not. Maybe this is how one becomes a wicked witch, choosing who to save.
But I’ve already done this once, when I nursed Tillie and neglected Owen. If I don’t save Tillie now, it will be like he died for nothing. At last I excise the final thread, and as I open my eyes, Tillie relaxes in her sleep, her little hands uncurling.
Quickly I check the tree to make sure the parasitic strands aren’t sinking into the surrounding land, using the roots to feed, but the tendrils are tangled up in the roots that have rotted and are no longer pulling nutrients from the soil. Good, I’ve created a trap for whatever this is, instead of starting a blight.
But this energy is so familiar. It reminds me of the curse, what I feel inside Bitterburn. There must be a connection, but I’m missing something. I’m the primary link between those two places. But I . . . couldn’t have put a hex on Tillie without realizing it, could I? Like I wished for goats, perhaps before I realized that I have power, I angrily wished that she would disappear? I have no idea if magic works that way outside of the keep, and there’s no one I can ask.
Or . . . maybe there is.
Silently I slip out of the loft and head for the brewing shed. Millie grabs my skirt as I pass by. “Are you going?”
“Just to talk to Da,” I say.
She smiles so brightly as she lets go that I feel guilty because I’m not staying. The truth is that I am going, but I can nurse Tillie for a day or two longer to make sure that my spiritual and physical treatments took, and that Tillie will thrive even after I’m gone. It’s ironic that she was impacted, because she always loved me most, like anyone who cares for me will inevitably suffer harm.
Maybe I’m just not thinking straight. Truth is, I’m exhausted and hungry, as I haven’t eaten more than two bites since I’ve been here. I can’t eat comfortably in this house, as Da and Catherine always made me feel like I’m stealing food directly from the girls’ mouths. And they still do, though now their gazes are layered with . . . I don’t know what. Expectation? But what more can they possibly want from me? I curl my hands into fists.
The brewing shed is a ramshackle wooden hut with a scrap of rawhide where the door ought to be. A strong wind could topple this place, and there would be no funds to restore it. I can’t see Da and Catherine, but I hear them talking, as there’s nothing to block the sound in such a rickety outbuilding. I’m sure they don’t expect me to bother them, as I never have. Before, I looked after the girls without hesitation or complaint, but things have changed since I left.
As I approach, Catherine says in a low voice, “It’s for the best. Just give her the medicine, and when she wakes up, she’ll belong to Bascom. It’s
