Chapter 46
SUSANNA
You’ve been watching the Swinson twins. Magical daughters of two magical parents, Greggory and Joan, who were the first to join Elora at the foundation of Haven.
Their marriage was already perilous – they would have been separated and the union declared void had their magic been discovered.
Once children came along, the risk grew manyfold.
An accidental act of childhood magic could have given them all away.
Jail for the parents. Adoption for the girls.
And so they took a chance on a charismatic old witch who’d told them she was building a place of safety where they could live among others of their kind, beneath collective protections.
You’ve seen the girls grow up. They were toddlers when they arrived – snowdrop pale, dandelion-haired, clingy like ivy.
By the time of their Determination, for which they lay side by side, hands clasped, as your grandmother performed the ritual, it was obvious what they were.
Greenwitches, like your ancestor Tobias.
It’s a valuable magical art. The girls were put to work in Haven’s vegetable gardens before they knew what work was.
Before their Determination, even. They’re doing it now.
One of them – you still find them interchangeable, even at seventeen years old – loves roses, so the other each week conjures one stem into bloom for her sister’s delight.
The other relishes the taste of fresh peas, hard from the pod and brilliant green, and so her twin ensures there is a year-round supply just for her.
Always a single flower, a few pods. It’s important not to push too hard, they say.
To work in harmony with the earth and the green things, not against their nature.
You flex your palms. A second sigil is scarred into your right palm. Command. You’re working in harmony with your nature, too.
Today, they’re absorbed by the rhubarb. They exclaim over its ripened colours the way worldly girls might delight in gems and jewels. Garnet-dark at the base. A ruby stem. Emerald leaves.
‘Oh, hello Susanna,’ one says, putting her head up, startled, as you go to them. They gaze at you warily, rabbits in the cabbage patch surprised by a weasel. They don’t return your smile.
‘I’d like to ask you some questions,’ you say. ‘Then I’ll help you gather today’s crop so you don’t lose any time.’
‘Questions?’
One bites her lip with overlarge teeth.
‘Your Greenmagic works with the soil,’ you tell them. ‘It flows between you and the earth. That’s how you’ve described it.’ They nod. ‘I have a sense of that, from watching you work. It’s a kind of deep exchange. A circulation of energy, yes?’
‘Don’t laugh,’ the more talkative one says. ‘But it’s like being a tree, and magic is the sap, but it is also the water drawn in through the roots, to be turned into the sap. And it’s also the rain, falling onto the soil and sinking and pooling.’
‘A continuous exchange,’ you say. ‘A circulation. And you pass your magic between yourselves in the same way, don’t you?’
‘No!’ squeaks the quieter one. ‘Of course not.’
‘Mother Elora doesn’t permit that at Haven,’ her sister adds.
You smile again, though there’s something unnerving about it, perhaps, for the girls quiver like green stalks in spring.
‘I saw you,’ you tell them. ‘I’ve seen you often. You’re not doing anything wrong. It’s natural for witches to work this way. Sharing magic. Now show me how.’