But she wanted you before she knew you had magic, Tav thought, their stomach twisting with anxiety.
Maybe she’s lying to you.
The Sun appeared too soon, framed by the half-light of the moon. Tav flashed their lights a few times and then waited. After a long moment, the lights inside the café flickered on.
The Hedge-Witch was waiting.
Fourteen
THE HEIR
Fanged horses screamed, sweat and blood leaking from their nostrils as they climbed into the sky to escape the trauma. Carriages were ripped apart, spiked wheels tossed across the square. Witch bodies were torn from their essences. Smoke and flames rose from the ruin. The steps leading to the Coven were demolished, a pile of burning white rubble.
Proof that the Coven was no longer untouchable.
The rumours would start here — that the Coven was weak, the Witch Lord fallible, that the centre of power could be destroyed. That the Heart of the world was failing, or perhaps, even, that it had been stolen. The stories would circulate throughout the world.
Thousands of eyes watched the bloodbath, and tongues whispered of fear and failure and disobedient children.
Above it all, golden curls bouncing, face smudged with soot, Clytemnestra was resplendent — her essence glowing through her skin, her smile benevolent and gentle.
She was a queen crowned on a throne of mayhem.
A tiny worm of fear slithered behind Kite’s eyeballs. She had done this, piecing together forbidden magics in the library and using that knowledge to destroy. She had brought the spell work to Clytemnestra, and she herself had whispered the words. The Beast whined against her skirts.
“It’s okay,” whispered Kite. “This is what we wanted.”
But her voice trembled.
Acolytes rushed from the mouth of the Coven to quell the flames. Jade steeds lay on the ruined marble, wounded and shrieking, blood flowing like ink.
Clytemnestra was giggling.
“They will come for the children,” said Kite.
“They can’t enter the Children’s Lair. They can run through the entire Labyrinth and will never find us!” The Warlord clapped her hands together. “We will play a game of hide and seek.”
The flames were already extinguished, members of the higher rings of power emerging to cast protective wards and heal the wounded. Smoke fluttered above the Coven, stretching upward toward the sky. The Coven itself was unharmed; it was an impenetrable fortress, a living creature of stone and earth and magic. But the message had been delivered — the announcement of a coup, the proclamation of a rival lord. And the challenge had been written in gunpowder on the very steps of power.
The children had come out of hiding.
A few bloodthirsty children pushed past Clytemnestra and Kite, casting flashes of light to spook any animals that were uninjured and tossing hexes at the Coven witches before vanishing back into the Labyrinth. A boy in a tutu lay on his back and made ash angels, sweeping the soot with his arms and legs. One naughty girl in pigtails set off fireworks, the gold-and-red glitter mixing with smoke.
“They can never resist a demolition,” said Clytemnestra fondly.
“Even if you hide, they will find you. They will hunt you.”
“They won’t have to find us.” The Warlord yawned, her pink tongue sticking out of her mouth like a kitten’s. “We’ll come to them. The children are ready to fight — and you won’t take too long to find us some new recruits, will you, my little matricidal Heir? Besides, people will be lining up to join us once they hear about our magnificent performance!”
Kite stared at the smoking street that would soon be polished over again in marble and magic. But the stone would remember being broken. There was no going back.
Clytemnestra’s eyes were shining as she turned to Kite, capturing the Heir’s gaze as easily as she stuck insects with hat pins. Her voice was reverent as she whispered, “The revolution has begun.”
Fifteen
THE HEALER
Then —
They had been picking up milk from the corner store when they first saw it — a glimmering light in their peripheral vision. When Tav tried to focus on the light it disappeared, playing in and out of their line of sight. The carton hung from one hand, the other stuffed into their coat pocket. Flakes of snow drifted past, gently brushing their shoulders and forehead.
A few months earlier they would have turned away from the strange glimmer. Made a box of KD with cut-up hotdogs. Binged reruns of Friends (they had a crush on Charlie, the highlight of season ten).
But that was before the ghost.
This was after.
The light was a different kind of magic from the ghost, but it crackled with the same electricity. Smell of burnt sugar. Aftertaste of rotten fruit and mouthwash. Sickly sweet. Tav’s mouth watered, saliva pooling in the corners of their lips.
Their cell rang.
“Hey, Mom. Working late again?”
“Don’t make Kraft Dinner, okay? You can’t live off that shit.”
“I won’t.”
“You home yet? What’s that noise in the background?”
Tav glanced up, and a flash of greenblack burst into their vision, lights flickering down an invisible chain before vanishing into the distance. They were leading east.
“Yeah, I’m home.”
Tav hung up, opened the carton, took a swig of milk, and started walking. They weren’t reckless — most of the time — and their guidance counsellor insisted they were smart. So Tav didn’t follow the thread of promise and power. At least, not on foot.
They stole their mom’s bike.
It was early December and the bike hadn’t been stored away yet. It had been an unusually warm fall, and this was the first snow. At least the roads weren’t icy. Tav buckled the helmet and pulled on their mom’s leather gloves, feeling braver and stronger than they had yesterday. Finally, after weeks of waiting, and wondering, and looking everywhere for magic — finally, they had a lead. And they weren’t going to lose it.
Tav turned the key in the ignition and grinned as the bike roared to life. They took off into
