Chapter 11
Edmund de Clare’s carriage pulled up sleek and black before Miriam’s shop, the groomed horses and elegant silver hardware starkly out of place in the homely street.
It surprised me to see that he had brought only three suitcases, one of which was for his hat.
Maddox packed light as well, bringing only one suitcase. I, luckily, had my bottomless bag.
After Edmund dismounted, Miriam welcomed the three of us inside her shop. Today, she was draped in pink and fuchsia shawls.
“Strange doing this in broad daylight,” she said as she drew away the tapestry that hid the entrance to the passageway to Witch Village. It resembled an old brick wall, chipped and faded of color. “Usually I sneak humans in under the cover of night.”
Edmund laughed. It sounded a tad nervous.
“Miriam is just joking,” I said quickly. “Isn’t that right Miriam?” I gave her a hard look, to which she merely shrugged. As the emissary inspected a snail in a hexagonal terrarium, I hissed, “A lot is riding on Edmund having a good experience.”
“He’ll be fine,” Miriam said, waving a bejeweled hand. “All the human men I let through the passageway lived.” She leaned closer and winked. “It’s the witch girls who have a more difficult time.”
She was alluding to Seraphina Barclay, who quite literally died, and her daughter, who apparently ended up a scullery maid and thrown into prison for a bit. I shuddered. “I won’t be one of them,” I muttered to Miriam under my breath.
The witch merely shrugged and pressed several bricks into the wall. Slowly, the bricks parted, revealing a dark doorway and a narrow staircase that melted into impenetrable shadows.
“Here we are gentlemen, a passage straight to Witch Village,” Miriam announced.
Both Edmund and Maddox peered in, hesitating at the threshold.
I sighed and shouldered my bag. “Come along.”
The last time I’d been through the passageway was when I had come aboveground nine months ago.
I’d been preoccupied with excitement and pleasant thoughts then, but now, as the shadows grew denser and Miriam’s brick wall closed behind us, sealing us in shadows, dread stirred in my gut.
The temperature was significantly cooler down here, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine.
Someone tugged on my skirt.
“It’s so dark,” Maddox grumbled behind me.
“It’s meant to be this way,” I replied. “There are no directions. You simply walk forward for long enough until it opens up. Now kindly let go of my skirt. I don’t enjoy a breezy backside.”
“I’m not holding your skirt,” Maddox protested.
My hem dropped. Edmund cleared his throat. “Apologies, Miss Giselle. I thought that was your sleeve.”
My blush couldn’t fade quickly enough. For a long time, the only sound in the passageway was Maddox and Edmund’s footsteps crunching the gravel ground.
The end of the passageway appeared at last in the form of a glowing rectangular outline. When I reached out to touch it, the doorway melted away, leaving us standing at the outskirts of Witch Village.
I surveyed my home, not surprised to find it virtually unchanged since I saw it last. Witch Village’s imitation of autumn was half-hearted at best and nonexistent at worst. The deciduous trees in the distance were still a sprightly green with only dots of yellow leaves.
Most of the trees here were evergreens, which made less of a mess during autumn.
The sky was the same shade of medium blue when I left last winter.
The magicked sun was also warm and bright.
I never realized how unvarying the weather was down here.
Grandma had said the weather witches used to put more effort in differentiating the seasons: biting wind and frost during winter, red leaves and gray skies during autumn, green grasses and mild sunshine for spring, and a sweltering sun for summers.
About fifty years in, their memories of the weather above had faded and they didn’t bother teaching their apprentices.
But Grandma remembered. She always said she would have been an excellent weather witch, but her talents were better used for charm making and sewing.
I’d never cared much for the differentiation of seasons.
Extreme weather was impractical at best and destructive at worst. The slight drop in temperatures during the colder months had been quite enough for me to determine the time of year.
But now, seeing Witch Village’s version of autumn was like sipping watered-down milk after swallowing a spoonful of cream.
I shielded my eyes as Edmund and Maddox gazed around in wonder.
Most of our residential cottages were built on a large, sloping hill, the clusters of buildings spiraling up like a dollop of cream.
We landed right at the edge of Witch Village, which was bordered by a flat expanse of produce fields and individual plots, a grid of lush greenery and ochre dirt.
“I would never have guessed we’re underground!” Maddox exclaimed.
“Amazing,” Edmund breathed.
I felt something akin to pride when I saw the awe in his eyes. So far, so good.
“Our host’s house is right through the fields,” I said, pointing to a cottage some distance from us. The houses of field witches were built on flat ground. Ferdinand’s property just happened to be the closest to the passageway, which worked out in my favor.
“Do you need help with your trunks?” I asked Edmund. “We have quite a trek ahead of us.”
“I’ll be fine, Giselle. Thank you.”
Ferdinand’s house was a modest three story cottage, painted a cheery robin’s egg blue. The property was flanked by two herb gardens that flourished on either side of a short stone path that led to the front door.
“Well, here we are,” I said, stopping before the porch.
“It’s quaint.” Edmund observed the surrounding buildings, which were a hodgepodge of different architectural designs.
Some cottages were shaped cylindrically, others a more traditional rectangle, some with roofs of thatched straw and others of lopsided slate shingles.
It was all so different from the uniform, regal streets of fashionable Delibera that Edmund was surely used to—in a charming way, I hoped.
Maddox was quiet, studying the rocky path and fields with a contemplative air. I wasn’t sure if he was taking his duty as a guard extra seriously, or if he had been rendered speechless by the sights.
I approached the door, raising my hand hesitantly. My first day back at Witch Village as myself. Hopefully, it would be a quiet affair. Luckily, it was deserted this time of day, so no nosey witches were looking our way.
I squeezed my eyes shut and knocked thrice.
“Just a moment!” came a muffled voice.
The door burst open. A strapping young man stood at the threshold, a crate of red and orange bell peppers in his tanned arms, his dark hair curling over the tops of his ears.
His brown eyes widened. Before I knew it, the bell peppers were on the ground and I was yanked into a violently tight embrace.
“Gigi!” Alexander exclaimed, lifting me off my feet. “Blazing fires, I didn’t think you were ever coming back!”
I wriggled out of his grasp. He looked the same as he did nine months ago, all farm-work muscles and boyish smiles. He was wearing the same oatmeal linen shirt he wore seven days out of the week, the collar yellow with sweat stains. I tried not to make a face.
Another thing I didn’t like about the village: the fashion was lacking.
“Didn’t you get my letter? Your grandfather must’ve said I was coming too,” I said, smoothing out the front of my waistcoat.
He shrugged. “Well, yes, but I didn’t think you were actually coming. Or that you would bring...” he trailed off, looking past my shoulder at Maddox and Edmund who were standing silently behind me.
I realized a beat too late that they were waiting to be introduced. I had forgotten such formalities existed aboveground. Witches usually introduced themselves.
“This is Mr. Edmund de Clare, the emissary, and our guard, Maddox Greenwood,” I said awkwardly. “I’m assuming Ferdinand informed you about our assignment?”
Alexander raised his brows. “Ah, of course!”
He managed a cheerful inquiry about our travels, though the smile splitting his face earlier had fallen slightly at the corners. I hoped Edmund didn’t notice.
“Please come inside,” Alexander said. “Your rooms are prepared and—oh, Gio, come and say hello to our guests! This is my younger brother, Giovanni.”
A ten-year-old boy peeked out from behind Alexander’s muscled frame. Gio was almost the spitting image of his brother, but paler with rounder cheeks. He had grown taller since the last time I saw him, the top of his head already surpassing my shoulder.
“Hi, Gigi,” Gio said with a shy smile. He peered at the two men behind me. “Hi, guests.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, Gio had accompanied Ferdinand to Celeste’s show at the Grand Alevine Opera last winter. No wonder he was back here. The poor boy was probably traumatized.
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Edmund said with a bow. Gio, who looked taken aback by such a flourish, retreated swiftly inside.
Alexander helped us lug our trunks into the sitting room. It was neatly furnished, all light blues, yellows, and creams. There was a faded rug on the wooden floor, patterned with tiny orange carrots.
Gio split off to show Maddox to his room while Alexander led Edmund upstairs. I followed, thinking it was best for me to chaperone, in case Alexander said something to make the other man nervous, like Miriam had.
“Here you are, sir,” Alexander said, opening the door to a little attic bedroom. The walls were painted a soft blue.
Edmund inclined his head. “Thank you very much, Mr. Alexander.”
Alexander stood by somewhat awkwardly as Edmund placed his suitcases on the wooden floorboards. “Well, if that’s all...” He gave a brief, stilted bow and headed back down the stairs. I rolled my eyes, reminding myself to teach him about proper greetings later.