Chapter 13
As I rounded the corner of the rest shelter, a loud slap sounded, sending a jolt of panic down my spine.
My blood ran cold. I knew that slap. It was the sound of Ma’s palm meeting the ripe surface of whatever poor gourd she had fixated on—the sound that had been ingrained into my memory the moment I was conscious enough to be embarrassed by it.
Cringing, I whirled around, intending to run straight back to Alexander’s house, but someone slammed into my shoulder—a slight figure wearing a goldenrod yellow pinafore. A very familiar goldenrod yellow pinafore.
“Gigi!” Christabella squealed.
I barely took in my younger sister’s golden complexion, pretty face, and doe-brown eyes before I shushed her and grabbed her arm, pulling her behind a wheelbarrow piled high with burlap flour sacks.
“Is Ma here?” I whispered, hunched over with my hands on my knees.
“Not yet. She’s back home. Said she forgot something,” Christabella whispered back, matching my stance. Her eyes were wide and glimmering with excitement.
I breathed a sigh of relief. So that slap wasn’t from Ma.
“I can’t believe you’re here right now! And your clothes.” Christabella spun me around. “You’re so fashionable, Gigi.”
“Thank you.” I smiled as Christabella straightened and bounced on the toes of her heeled boots. It had been over nine months since we’d seen each other, but it was like no time had passed at all. We had often hid from Ma like this many a Harvest.
“I’m so jealous you don’t have to wear this,” Christabella said, tugging at her offensively bright skirt. “Ma won’t even let me dye it a more tasteful orange.”
Laughter bubbled up my throat. “My condolences.”
She took my hands and squeezed. “I’m so glad you’ve come back, Gigi. Did you mean to surprise us?”
I kept smiling, though guilt twisted my stomach at her words.
I hadn’t planned on visiting home at all, which meant not seeing Christabella, even though she was the only one whose presence wouldn’t be a punishment.
It was a shame that Ma was always around her.
Taking advantage of her absence now, I pulled Christabella into a hug.
“I missed you,” I said instead.
“I missed you too.” She pulled away and tossed her two waist length braids behind her shoulders. “So, update me! How is the kingdom aboveground?”
Briefly, I summarized my time at the Witch Committee, my temporary post as the royal seamstress during last winter’s tour, and opening my own dress shop. Christabella’s brown eyes grew even wider.
“Wow Gigi, you really made it up there,” she breathed.
I let my chest puff out with pride before it ultimately deflated. On paper, it was an impressive list of accomplishments. My past self would’ve been amazed. But my present self knew the truth of things, and I knew nothing would ever impress Ma.
“Thanks Chrissy.” I hoped she didn’t notice how my smile trembled at the edges. “Look, I have to go now, but see if you can come to Alexander’s place after Ma is done. We can talk more there.”
Christabella furrowed her brows. “Why do you have to leave so soon?”
“I’ll explain everything later. I promise. Just meet us at Alexander’s.”
“Alright,” she said hesitantly. “Should I tell—?”
“Don’t tell Ma anything!”
Christabella pinched her lips together and nodded profusely.
After hugging her goodbye, I ducked past the wheelbarrow of flour and headed back toward the house, half-running and half-walking. Better to check on Edmund quickly before Ma decided to come back.
Just as I reached the porch, the door opened, and out came Edmund in a ravishing ensemble.
He wore a seafoam waistcoat, a brown coat, beige breeches, and an ochre necktie that all fit him to perfection.
It was the perfect balance between wealthy gentleman and casual farm boy.
Maddox followed behind him, dressed in his typical manner of whatever clothing he had on hand.
I caught up to the two, unable to keep the blush from my cheeks when Edmund directed a smile at me.
“Welcome to your first morning in Witch Village,” I said to him, adopting an official-sounding tone.
“This is the first day of the Harvest. Every witch is entitled to a portion of the season’s produce and obligated to make something delicious to share with everyone by the end of the week.
There will be a celebration at the village square, but it’s not much.
Not interesting at all,” I added hastily.
The last thing I wanted was to parade Edmund around in the most populous part of the village.
“Sounds fun,” Edmund said, surveying the fields and the wooden stands erected along the dirt paths. “Shall we go and introduce ourselves to everyone?”
I winced. Somehow I assumed Edmund would prefer being a silent observer, a reporter on the sidelines.
The witches who currently remained in the village, despite having an opportunity to go aboveground, were the stubborn, old-fashioned sort, and I doubted they would welcome a human visitor with open arms. The less people we talked to, the better.
“Maybe not now,” I said to Edmund. Holing up clearly wasn’t going as planned.
“I should probably get everyone acquainted with...the situation.” That was a lie.
But if I were to have him meet witches, I’d have to first find ones who were significantly more open-minded than their peers so I could curate the best experience possible.
Beatrice was definitely not one of them.
Edmund raised his brows. “No one was informed of my visit?”
It was a good question I did not know the answer to.
Those in the Witch Committee should’ve informed the village of an emissary visit, but Ferdinand and Rowena hadn’t mentioned it, and a witch never wanted to be the harbinger of bad news.
It was bad luck. So naturally, that duty must have fallen to me.
Perhaps this could work in my favor. If I didn’t tell anyone, nobody would know.
“Introductions can wait until tomorrow, Edmund,” I said with a smile.
He nodded congenially.
Not knowing what else to do, I offered him the bag of roasted peanuts. “Peanut?”
“Thank you.” Edmund popped one into his mouth. “It’s good.”
“Peanut?” I said, turning to Maddox who had been trailing behind us.
He held up his hands. “I’m deathly allergic. Runs in the family.”
I blinked, appalled. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? You should’ve at least told Alexander, seeing as he’s making all our meals.”
“I’m used to fending for myself,” Maddox said. “It’s not a big deal.”
“A deathly allergy is certainly a big deal,” I said, frowning.
I tucked the bag of peanuts away, making sure to twist it tightly so nothing would spill.
Food allergies were one of the few rare illnesses herbwitches hadn’t formulated a cure for, as one of the main principles of antidote-making involved using a bit of poison in the cure.
As a result, those with severe food sensitivities usually reacted poorly to the potions meant to help them.
A witch in an ugly patchwork skirt carrying a basket of shelled peanuts walked brusquely past, bumping my shoulder. I startled away at the contact—I hadn’t noticed her approach at all.
My nose wrinkled, though less from her lack of manners than the skirt she was wearing; I’d never seen a garment more deserving of being in a dust bin.
At my reaction, Maddox asked, “What’s wrong? Who was that?”
“Nothing,” I said, waving my hand. I must’ve been extra jumpy, anticipating Ma to appear any second. “Come. Let’s help Alexander.”
Alexander was back at his plot, brushing the dirt off his gourds.
He had a significant pile of them now, a mountain of gold and orange in his basket.
The three of us headed down the little dirt path that led toward him, weaving through other witches’ produce: crates of potatoes, green beans, dirt streaked carrots with leafy tops, and the stray bell pepper and pumpkin rolling down a slight incline.
When Alexander saw us, he waved us over. “Help me bring these back into the house!”
“On it,” I called back, trotting ahead.
When my shoes hit the dirt of Alexander’s plot, the world went a shade darker, throwing shadows on the previously bright field.
I blinked rapidly, wondering if my vision had failed.
Murmurs rose from the witches around me as they craned their neck upward.
Perhaps a passing cloud? I looked up just as the sun blinked out from the sky, extinguished like a flame. Then, it flickered back to life.
“Giselle? What’s happening?” Edmund called out from behind.
I froze. This was not a good time for something strange to be happening.
“Alexander?” I said warily.
I was hoping he had the answer, but there was a sort of bewildered panic written on his face, the complete opposite of his usual congenial serenity, as he stood slowly and gaped at the sky.
He was the last thing I saw before the light went out completely, plunging the village into darkness.
A startled cry rang out behind me. The timbre was decidedly masculine and by now, familiar.
“Edmund!” I spun around, but my eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness. All I could see was black. My stomach dropped. To think my bad luck had followed me all the way down here!
“Gigi? What’s going on? Who is Edmund?” A ball of yellow light flickered to life at the corner of my vision.
Christabella trotted toward me, her outstretched palm holding a bobbing witchlight, illuminating her worried face as she skirted a raised garden bed.
She always did have a talent for light conjuring.
I was never more grateful for it than now.
A few other witchlights flickered across the field in a variety of colors: purple, orange, white. Murmurs began to crescendo, then panicked inquiries.
“What’s going on?” a young witch cried.
“Did something happen to the weather witches?”
I grabbed Christabella’s wrist. “Come with me. We have to find Edmund.”
She barely got another word in before I retraced my steps.
Our radius of illumination didn’t extend very far, so it was difficult to gauge the exact direction to go.
Edmund had been relatively close when the sky went out.
I caught a glimpse of wavy black hair beside a pumpkin of considerable size. Christabella lifted her light higher.
“Edmund!” I cried out, kneeling beside him. He was sprawled on the dirt and curled on his side, clutching his ankle. “Are you alright?”
“Think I twisted something,” he ground out.
Christabella stared at us from above, her worried eyes widening to an expression of awe. “He’s so handsome,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Maddox stepped into Christabella’s circle of light, his blond hair gleaming like a halo.
She gaped at him. “Gigi? What’s going on? Do you know these beautiful men?”
Maddox shot her a strange look before turning to me. “I thought you said Witch Village is safe!”
“It is. Usually. I...I don’t know what happened.
The sky went out. That’s never happened before,” I babbled, attempting to get my thoughts in order.
“Edmund twisted his ankle. Maddox, find Alexander. We need to help him back into the house.” I crouched and slung Edmund’s arm over my shoulder.
The weight nearly sent me back to my knees.
“I’m right here,” Alexander said, appearing from my right. He blinked rapidly. “Christabella?”
A relieved smile came over Christabella’s face. “Alexander! I’m glad you’re alright.”
I grabbed Alexander’s shoulder—this was not the time for awkward lovers’ talk—and ordered him to help Edmund up.
After he took my place under Edmund’s arm, he and Maddox heaved the emissary to his feet.
The three of them lumbered toward the house like some sort of five-legged beast. Edmund favored his left leg, his right hardly skimming the ground.
He must have twisted it badly.
Around us, witches talked in loud, worried voices, all asking the same questions, several tinged with panic.
“How has everything gone so horribly wrong?” I said aloud, more to myself than anyone else.
“This seems serious,” Christabella murmured. The sky wasn’t dark, like it would be at night. There was no sky at all. Nothing but a pitch black expanse.
“It’s a disaster,” I moaned, dropping my head into my hands.
“You know what this means. Family has to stick together during times like these.”
I looked up, dreading the meaning behind those words. “What?”
“You’re coming back home!”