Chapter 18
When I was twelve, I took a tumble on a gravel path while racing Christabella to the fields. I ended up with bruised, broken skin on my hands and knees, my stinging flesh speckled with debris. It was single handedly the most painful thing I had ever experienced.
Walking home with Ma was even worse.
“So, you’re back,” Ma said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm as she led the way, her footsteps brisk on the cobblestone path.
“For a short while,” I said.
Ma was never calm. This was unsettling.
“How short?”
“Twelve days.” Assuming Edmund would stay for his allotted two weeks, which was looking less and less likely.
Maddox trailed a few feet behind us, his blond head lowered. He hadn’t spoken since Ma demanded his name a few minutes ago.
Ma rearranged the knitted scarf on her head.
It was goldenrod yellow, her favorite color, wrapped around the brown skin of her face.
She looked like a sunflower, if sunflowers had fierce aquiline noses and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
They darted to me. “Why is that boy following you? Is he in love with you?”
“Stop it, Ma,” I whispered harshly. I hoped Maddox wasn’t listening too closely.
“A human boy would not be my first choice for you, but I suppose it is to be expected,” she said, as if she didn’t hear a word I said. “Who is he?”
There was that undertone of disappointment again. I pinched the bridge of my nose—but pretended to wipe it when Ma looked at me. Any sign of exasperation would immediately prompt a lengthy lecture.
“Maddox is a guard.” Who should’ve been staying with Edmund right now. I threw him a glare over my shoulder, but he didn’t seem to understand.
“Why do you need a guard? Did you commit a crime?” Ma asked.
“No!”
“I don’t understand, Giselle. All these months you disappeared without so much as a letter, and now you show up out of the blue with two strange human men. What are you trying to do?” Her voice rose in pitch. “Have you come to ask your father and I permission to marry?”
“Ma!” I protested.
The mere thought of going to her for romantic or matrimonial matters was enough to make me gag.
I was tempted to turn around and run straight back to Beatrice’s shack, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.
Ma wasn’t even restraining me, yet I was following her home like a good daughter, even though she had made it clear that I wasn’t one.
I looked heavenward at the pitch black, non-existent sky.
I should’ve never accepted this assignment!
“Christabella didn’t tell me you were back,” Ma continued. “I’m assuming she knows everything.”
“She doesn’t,” I lied. I didn’t want Chrissy to be blamed for keeping my secrets.
Eventually, our house came into view, along with the shadowed branches of the large oak tree that loomed behind it like a massive crown.
My home certainly wasn’t as big as a Deliberan estate, but it was easily twice the size of most cottages in the village, sporting two stories and ten rooms, shaded by the branches of the first tree planted in Witch Village—the First Oak.
Outside, it looked cozy and comfortable enough. Inside, there was so much pressure I hardly had room to breathe.
“Come in and eat,” Ma said as we stopped beneath the portico. “You can explain everything to me and your father. We both deserve to know what you’ve been doing and where you’ve been.”
I wanted to tell her no, but I held myself back. The consequences of that would be disastrous. I didn’t even think Maddox’s presence as a third party could shield me from Ma’s wrath.
“Fine,” I said.
Since I was already here, I might as well pay Christabella a visit.
As if summoned by the thought, Christabella burst through the mahogany door. “Gigi! You’re here!”
I squinted as a blade of warm light cut through the shadows of the porch, no doubt due to Christabella’s witchlights inside the house. My eyes adjusted.
“Cute dress,” I said, a smile spreading over my face despite my mood. “I like the tulips.”
She brushed her hands over the yellow tulips I had once embroidered along the bodice of her pinafore. “Me too,” she said cheerily. “Hi, Ma!”
“Christabella,” Ma said, her face softening. She took off her scarf and stepped inside.
I hesitated at the threshold. The scent of home was one of smoked tea and herbs and linen. My throat closed up in spite of myself. “I left my things back at Alexander’s,” I said. “Can I go back and get them?”
Ma glared. “You’ll go nowhere until we speak. Besides, everything you need is right here.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked over my shoulder, where Maddox was still lingering like a lost kitten. “Send that boy away or invite him in. I don’t care.”
Ma whirled down the hall into the kitchen.
Shaking my head, I turned to Maddox. “You should go back to Beatrice’s shack. You’re supposed to be guarding Edmund, not me.”
“I know.” He paused. “How long are you going to stay here?”
“Hopefully no more than a day,” I muttered.
He hooked his thumbs into his belt, looking very out of place standing in that blade of light surrounded by the greenery of my front yard. “Should I wait for you to come back?”
Anxiety churned in my stomach at the thought of leaving Edmund sick and alone. But Beatrice was a competent healer. There were perhaps fifty herbwitch remedies to help with fevers, and no one I knew had ever passed away from one. It was unlikely Edmund would be the first.
Right?
I endeavored not to think of it.
“I can’t make any promises,” I said finally. “If Edmund wakes up, explain what happened. And if there’s any news about him, come to me right away.”
Maddox nodded. “See you, then.” He turned toward the road, then stopped. “Actually, it’s dark and I don’t know where I’m going.”
Christabella skipped out of the door, her skirts flouncing behind her. “I’ll show you the way!” she said cheerily, producing a bright ball of light on her palm. She stopped before Maddox. “What did you say your name was again?”
I sighed as the two of them headed down the path. A part of me was sorry to see Maddox go—he was the last tie to my life aboveground. Without him around, it would be as if I had never left home.
***
PA WAS IMPASSIVE ABOUT everything, but when I walked into the sitting room, he actually stood up from his armchair. Bobbing witchlights floated in the lanterns around the room, casting everything in a warm glow.
“Giselle?” He adjusted the silver frames of his spectacles, his face all surprise. Aside from the unusual expression, he looked the same. Same brown skin, same receding black hair, same gray shirt and breeches. “You’re back.”
“Pa,” I said, nodding awkwardly.
He and I had never been close. He wasn’t close with Christabella either, preferring Sonny over us daughters. Even still, he was a constant physical presence in his armchair; I supposed that was its own kind of comfort.
“Come to the dining room,” Ma shouted from the kitchen. “Wash your hands first!”
Movement came from the floor above, then the sound of rapid footsteps. Sonny stumbled from the stairs, grabbing the mahogany banister for balance. When he saw me, his eyes widened.
“Hey,” I said to my little brother. He was twelve now and must have grown at least a hand’s width taller since the last time I saw him. He looked like the smaller version of Pa, but with more hair.
“Ooooooo, Giselle you’re in soooooo much trouble,” Sonny said.
I rolled my eyes. A delight as always.
Minutes later, Christabella came back from escorting Maddox, her face flushed and hair coming out of her double braids from running her way back. She hurriedly washed her hands in the kitchen, then joined the rest of us in the dining room.
Ma set out dishes of roasted vegetables, a thick stew, and a bowl of spiced yellow rice on the rounded wooden table.
Christabella took her seat beside me. I glanced at the spot beside her, where Grandma used to sit.
It had been over two years with her gone, yet seeing that empty chair still brought a pang to my chest.
“That guard of yours doesn’t talk much,” Christabella said, nudging my shoulder.
I raised my brows. That didn’t sound like Maddox at all.
“You have a guard?” Sonny said, leaning over the table. “Ooooooo.”
“Stop being annoying, Sonny,” Christabella said.
He stuck out his tongue.
Ma took her seat beside Pa and briskly began scooping rice onto her plate. “Well, serve yourselves,” she said when no one else moved.
We all began helping ourselves to the food. My stomach growled as I heaped a helping of roasted vegetables on my plate. I managed to shovel two forkfuls of cabbage and sweet potato into my mouth before Ma locked her sharp gaze on me . I chewed and swallowed.
“Giselle. Are you going to tell us why you got up and left nine months ago without so much as a word?” Ma asked.
I cleared my throat, my appetite fleeing. Begging for forgiveness was far better than asking for permission with Ma, but neither option was ideal. I had spent nine whole months dreading this confrontation; some nights I even had nightmares about this.
“I wanted to apply for the Witch Committee,” I began cautiously. “I didn’t think you would let me.”
Ma glowered. “You joined that committee? Are you insane? You didn’t tell them about your type of magic, did you?”
The disgust in her voice still felt like a stab to the chest. The sensation was exacerbated by the fact that I had indeed told them about my hypnosis magic—it was the sole reason I had gotten accepted in the first place.
“I worked as a seamstress,” I said.
Ma shook her head with a huff. “You could’ve been a seamstress here. There’s plenty of sewing and mending to do in the village.”
“Giselle was the royal seamstress, Ma,” Christabella piped up. “She had distinction.”
I gave Chrissy a grateful look, but her attempt at defending me was not as effective as I hoped.
Ma twisted her lips. “What’s so great about royal distinction? We have plenty of distinction here as a founding family of Witch Village.”