Chapter 19
The room was still dark when I woke up. My pillowcase was wet with the tears that stung my cheeks.
I pushed myself up to my elbows and shoved aside my blankets. That dream hadn’t been a dream; it was a memory. One that I had buried so deep that sometimes I could go months without thinking about it. Being back here reminded me of why I left and that I had never been welcome in the first place.
Before long, the candles on my desk were lit and I had taken my dress form out of my satchel.
The stand had gone askew in storage and made the whole thing wobble, but luckily it was still in one piece.
I had managed to shape the form to Narcissa’s exact measurements by padding out some areas, hopefully eliminating the need for fittings.
The floor space was cramped, but I made do with it.
I rolled out the bolt of silk satin I’d purchased from Blanche de Clare and cut out one of my tried and true flared skirt patterns, this time to the correct length.
Sewing always put my mind at ease. By the time I had finished basting the panels together, my eyes had dried and the tightness had left my throat.
Through my window, the soft light of outdoor lanterns streamed in, though the sky was still pitch black. It seemed that the weather issue hadn’t solved itself overnight. Sounds of Ma splashing her face in the washroom could be heard a few doors down. I assumed it was early morning.
This was the perfect time to leave for Beatrice’s shack and see how Edmund was doing. It would be far more difficult to leave later, as I would have to explain where I was going to Ma.
Grabbing my satchel, I dressed quickly and yanked my hair back into a simple tail, forgoing my typical braid.
Ma was still bustling around in the washroom.
I blew out the candles on my desk, plunging the room into darkness, and strained to conjure a witchlight on my palm as I slipped out of my room into the corridor.
A tiny blue light the size of a mung bean sputtered to life, illuminating a radius no larger than three inches.
I never had Chrissy’s talent for conjuring.
I tiptoed blindly down the stairs and pushed open the front door.
Due to the lack of sunlight, the air was colder outside, sending goosebumps along my forearms. I unrolled the sleeves of my blouse, suppressing a shiver.
Whatever elements I had to brave to avoid Ma was worth it.
After quietly closing the door, I whirled around, not expecting to run headfirst into Maddox.
My mung bean light sputtered out.
“What are you doing here so early?” I whispered, blinking rapidly and trying to calm my racing heartbeat.
Maddox bounced on the balls of his feet, holding a regular oil lantern which threw shadows over his face, exacerbating the dark circles under his eyes. “I slept in a shack with a sick man who snores up a storm,” he said hoarsely. “How many more nights of this do I have to suffer?”
“How is Edmund?” I asked.
“Is he all you care about?”
That was a stupid question. “Yes, obviously. He’s the whole reason we’re here.”
Maddox looked heavenward. “Let’s go investigate the weather, then.”
Right. I had wanted to check in on Edmund first, but I supposed fixing the weather issues took precedence if I wanted him to have a good experience when he recovered.
I shouldered my satchel and sighed. “I guess we’ll have to pay a visit to your grandparents, then.”
Maddox furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”
“Just follow me. I’ll explain on the way.”
***
THE ROAD WAS DARK DESPITE Maddox’s lantern.
Our journey was a slow one. The road was narrow, featuring a steep incline, twists and turns, and uneven stone steps, but as we traveled further up the village, the path grew more spacious.
Bright cottage windows, some circular, some square, and some hexagonal, dotted the view before us.
I could just make out the shadowy silhouettes of picket fences, straw privacy screens, and little herb gardens.
Maddox walked beside me, an uncharacteristic crease between his brows. His lantern wobbled, the light sputtering and swinging around us in dizzying effect. I didn’t have to wait long before he burst out, “What do I say to them?”
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood,” I intoned. “Can you explain why you’re not doing your job anymore?”
“I mean, do they even know I exist?” Maddox asked, raking a hand through his hair. “Are surprise grandchildren a good thing?”
“I’d say so. Grandchildren are always in high demand.”
Maddox fiddled with the buttons of his waistcoat. I’d told him that his father’s side of the family was most likely the weather witches we were going to see. I wasn’t entirely sure how well he was taking it.
I studied him for a moment before saying, “Why do you care if they like you? They’re practically strangers.”
“They’re not strangers. They’re my father’s parents.”
“They’re strangers who are related to you. Blood doesn’t miraculously make you acquainted with somebody.”
Maddox gave me a reproachful look, as if I had said something blasphemous.
I held my hands up. “We’re just going to ask about the weather, alright? You can tell them you're their long-lost grandson if you please, but only after we get our answer.”
“But—”
“Since when were you so keen on family anyway?” I asked. “Narcissa said you hated her when she came to live with you.”
Maddox huffed. “I was different back then. It’s true I didn’t want her around at first, but Father was happier. Maybe he’ll be happy to see his parents too.”
I made a noncommittal noise. There must have been a reason why Captain Greenwood left home, removed his magic, and never mentioned his parents, and it probably wasn’t one Maddox wanted to hear.
Eventually, a yellow cottage came into view. It would have blended in with the rest of the buildings if it weren’t for the stone tower jutting out of the shingled roof. The top of the tower was obscured by shadows.
I’d never been inside a weather witch’s tower, but I supposed it wasn’t anything special—only a structure that provided proximity to the village ceiling, bringing the witches closer to where they needed to conjure.
There were four towers total in the village, one in the north, south, east, and west points.
This one was the east tower, in charge of light as the sun rose on this side.
As the day passed and the sun migrated, the weather witches in the west tower would take over.
The north and south towers were mainly in charge of atmosphere and air flow, but all four towers worked together in harmony.
The magic was mostly self-sufficient—a weather witch didn’t have to personally stand there to keep the weather running all day, but every so often, the enchantments would need to be recast. A fault in one would disrupt the entire web of carefully woven spells that provided Witch Village’s imitation of the world above.
“We’re here,” I told Maddox.
He lifted his lantern. We stood before the backyard of the cottage, which was encased in a rickety timber fence.
A window was thrown wide open, revealing the inside of a modest kitchen.
There was no light inside, but the lanterns outside illuminated a gas stove, which sat flush against the windowsill.
A tall pot and a medium sized cauldron sat on the burners.
One of them held a lumpy stew, the other was empty.
Below, on the patchy, sparse lawn, was a sprinkling of what looked like peanut shells.
I nudged a few of them with my boot. It was rare for a witch to leave litter on her property.
Unless the litter could double as fertilizer, which I supposed it could in this case.
Maddox stepped forward, but I grabbed the back of his waistcoat to pull him back.
“Peanuts,” I warned. The last thing I needed was him keeling over because of his allergy.
We rounded the cottage. The front lawn was equally unimpressive, but free of peanut shells.
“Doesn’t seem like anyone is home,” I said.
“Should we go knock?”
I looked to Maddox and gestured to the fence. He stepped forward and unlatched it. The door barely swung out before he was promptly struck down by a flash of blue light. His lantern crashed to the ground and sputtered out.
I covered my mouth with my hands. A jinxed entrance!
Only the most reclusive of witches would have one, especially those who isolated themselves from the rest of the village.
The most common were wart jinxes that made the trespasser break out into large, lumpy warts that couldn’t be removed for weeks.
Another kind was an itching jinx, which functioned the same as the wart jinx, though in my opinion, was a thousand times worse.
“Maddox, are you alright?” I asked warily.
His silhouette moved as he righted himself.
“My...my breeches are gone,” Maddox said in a small voice.
“Good riddance.” A trouser-stealing jinx!
That was perhaps the most humiliating jinx to ever exist—though luckily very easily remedied.
I looked up, unsurprised to see a clothesline stretching from a second story window to a small tree in the yard.
Maddox’s breeches bobbed gently from the line, next to a hideous patchwork skirt and another pair of trousers. Trophies from previous victims.
“Help,” Maddox squeaked.
I fumbled under the waistband of my skirt and counted two petticoats. Quickly, I unfastened the ties of one and let it drop to the ground. Hopefully no one decided to look out their window at that moment.
“Here.” I bunched up the thin cotton lawn and tossed it over the fence.
Shuffling ensued. “Giselle, is this a skirt?”
“Yes, it is. Apologies for not having a gentleman’s wardrobe on me at all times,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You literally have a bottomless bag!”