Chapter 28
28
THE JOYWOOD SEEM a little off their game, and I don’t think it’s because I want them to be and have seen that they might be, in certain futures.
I feel it. Even bound at their feet.
Maybe it’s their inability to kill me the way I know they want to. Maybe it’s poor Happy Ambrose’s still, stiff body there before us. Maybe it’s the fact that no matter how hard they try, no matter how many digs they make and little skirmishes they win, they can’t understand us. They can’t stop us.
We keep defying expectations.
Emerson senses this too, because she tamps down her rage. I can feel it all along our internal coven channel. She’s calm now. In control. She even smiles over at Carol.
“While I appreciate you releasing Ellowyn’s voice, if not the bindings on the rest of her ,” Emerson says in that cool, calm leader’s voice of hers, “you’re going to have to let the people who support us talk as well, Carol. All this muting keeps us from truly diving into a discussion of our beliefs, as the Undine has stated is our goal here. The ascension ritual is about explaining who we are, not silencing everyone who might disagree.”
Carol sniffs, her eyes as narrow as her hair is big. “We have made it very clear what our beliefs are.”
“Yes, you have,” Emerson returns with that enviable calm, as if this is a tea party and she is the one pouring. “I’d like to talk to our citizens. About their beliefs. Their concerns. What they’d like to see us build.” She turns to the audience gathered and everyone watching from afar. “Because the Riverwood is about building a community and serving that community. Not wielding fear, questionable ‘protection,’ and desperate accusations like a hammer.”
There’s a beat where it almost seems like the Joywood can’t believe Emerson said that. When they should have known she would. She spent ten years saying all kinds of things, a lot like that, directly to their faces when she was the only one at the town council meetings who didn’t know she was a witch—and so was everyone else.
The thing about Emerson is that she’s consistent. True blue, straight down into her soul.
People always seem to find that confronting.
“This is supposed to be about your coven conspiring to kill one of our own!” Maeve shouts into the silence. She’s spluttering, red-faced, her blind pigeon making low sounds like he’s pissed too.
I get it. She can’t understand why Emerson isn’t jumping at the bait. A dead body. A young human accused. Her very own friend and her coven’s Summoner—because I don’t think they know my true designation—tied up and accused of masterminding it all.
We’re all supposed to be so focused on this little curveball that we forget what else is at stake here.
That’s not how Emerson Wilde rolls. It never has been. She waves this away. Her eyes glow gold, and I think she looks exactly like a leader should. Not expensive and otherworldly in a theatrical cloak, not condescending and terrifying with a sickly sweet smile and Medusa hair, but like one of us .
Like she’ll fight with us . For us .
She’s not following the Joywood’s plan at all.
I would hug her if my arms were free.
“We are supposed to be making clear the depth and breadth of our beliefs,” Emerson says, and she isn’t looking at or fighting with the Joywood. She’s addressing the assembled witches. The people who are going to decide.
Even the Joywood can’t change that.
“Our belief on this particular matter is simple. That poor, scared little girl didn’t kill anyone—certainly not a powerful Joywood witch. That would be unlikely even if Ellowyn helped her, which is not only forbidden by the rules of the Undine, but impossible. There’s no point debating it. Our covens’ differing beliefs on what the witching world and community should look like and be...now, that’s complicated. And it’s exactly what we need to discuss in order for witchkind to make an informed decision.”
Carol tries to speak, but nothing comes out. She must have been stopped by the Undine—the only being around who could stop her. Because the Riverwood has the floor now, so the Joywood get a little taste of their own muted medicine.
I can tell by their bulging eyes and red faces that they are not fans.
“We might have engaged in this ascension ritual for a chance to lead,” Emerson continues calmly, as if she’s noticed none of this. “But not to wield our power over you. That’s not leadership, as we understand it. Or as we have practiced it, together and separately, in all the years we have run businesses and farms here. You already know us. You know that to us, leadership is working together to form the best community we can, one that reaches and supports as many witches as possible. Not because we want to force our beliefs on witchkind, but because we want to work alongside you to flourish. Safely, honorably, and hopefully. Together.”
If my hands weren’t tied up, I think I’d applaud. I hear a smattering of clapping out in the crowd, but Emerson doesn’t stand there like she’s waiting to be adored. She nods, her statement delivered, and steps back into line with the rest of our coven.
The Undine turns to the other side of the dais. “Joywood, do you have a response?”
They do. Of course they do.
Carol looks like she’s sucking hard on a lemon, and I’m close enough to see the sheer fury in her gaze. “Emerson can speak of pie-in-the-sky honor all she wants, but everyone knows there is no honor in this group. They can’t protect themselves, and they won’t protect you . Emerson is an evil narcissist who’s never spent a second caring about anyone but her precious self. Her sister is a rootless, shiftless danger to all of our lives. Frost is a criminal—no matter how much they claim he’s reformed now that he’s not immortal. Round it out with a half-human Summoner with murderous tendencies, a subpar Healer who let too many witches die young, a brainless Guardian who let the confluence nearly kill us all, and a Historian so clueless she doesn’t even see the truth of her own past. They destroyed my son and killed our Historian. What more evidence do we need to conclude what some of us knew when they were all disappointing students? They are violent and dangerous.”
“Wait. I’m confused.” I look to my own coven to get around the Undine’s rules on who can speak and when. “Are we violent, dangerous, and a threat? Or brainless, clueless, and subpar?”
Half a life spent getting around truth curses has left me with a few tricks up my sleeve.
The debate goes back and forth like this. The Joywood issue accusations and go hard at each and every one of us. Emerson does not respond in kind. Instead, she builds worlds of what could be when we work together. She talks about hope and happiness, not personal failings and vague threats. Real joy, not the Joywood’s sick version of it.
Eventually the crowd gets restless. Maybe even confused. At a certain point, it’s all just talk, even with Happy Ambrose’s body on the ground.
Even when Emerson points out that no one liked it when there was a human girl trussed up before the crowd—so why do the Joywood want their supposed friend and coven mate to just...lie there like that? Forever?
Meanwhile, the clock is ticking down to midnight, to Samhain, to the decision that will be handed down once witchkind casts their choices. I know the Joywood have certainly backed themselves into an uncomfortable corner with some people—threats against children and pregnant women, insults against anyone with human blood, snide mentions of Zelda and the confluence that everyone knows almost drowned the town, when the Joywood helped with that not at all . All these things have undermined the power they’ve wielded for so long.
I know too well there is also a contingent here that doesn’t care what the Joywood do as long as it means nothing will change. For them. Just so long as the people who’ve promised them personal prosperity are in power, they’re good.
That means, though, that there’s a middle ground person we have to reach tonight. Emerson has been painting a picture of a future worth fighting for rather than a threat worth hiding from—but sometimes, people need specifics. The Joywood have made promises that we can’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t offer some options. When the Undine turns to us again, I speak in my coven’s heads.
My turn on this one, okay?
I can feel a little surprise from them, but Emerson nods.
I can’t move forward, what with still being tied up and all, so I have to send out my voice loudly. First, I drop the glamour that’s kept the truth from them.
There’s not just my tied-up pregnant belly to deal with, which I’m glad they’ve been able to see this whole time. Now I show them my eyes. Violet and sapphire.
A sign of a great power, whether they understand what it means or not—and a gasp goes through the crowd.
“The Joywood have tried to erase our pasts,” I tell them matter-of-factly. “They’ve poisoned Summoners, killed Zelda Rivers, and tried to kill part of the high school graduating class at Litha only a few months ago. Emerson, Warrior that she is, leader that she is, wants to focus on the positive, on what we can accomplish, rather than childish name-calling and middle school clique bullying. She’s right to do that, but I don’t mind telling a few hard truths.”
I let that settle in those who know I can’t lie and those who believe that we did a ritual to break that curse tonight, because either way, my eyes tell a story that’s far more compelling than my word against the Joywood’s.
I can feel those Revelare eyes shining as I continue. “This is what I know. They’ve tried to erase my kind—not just Goods, not just half witches or Summoners, but the ancient witch designation that came before Summoners and Diviners were separated. When we were one, wielding both the past and future. A Revelare.”
Something thunders in the distance, and I can swear I hear a distant crow sound. Like a sign from Elizabeth and Zachariah. That’s what I choose to believe it is.
I don’t let that sense of loss overwhelm me.
“I am a Revelare,” I tell the crowd. The world. “One with the past and one with the future. Not bound to look forward or backward, but able to do both.”
Another great murmur erupts through the crowd, but I’m watching the Joywood. Because while they look shaken, I don’t see shock.
They knew this could happen. I can see it clearly. All their talk of weak half humans my whole life, but they knew Goods were Revelares way back when.
This is why, once they decided that the Riverwood could be a threat to them, they came for me. This is why I was such a target.
Why we’ve all been targets. They knew what we could be and so they’ve tried to take us out, one by one, for our whole lives. Belittle us, scare us, demonize us. Memory-wipe us, exile us, target us.
We’re still here.
I look back out to the crowd. It’s habit to look for my mother, and this time, when I find Mina in the audience, Mom appears beside her and gives me a nod.
Your sister is safe , she tells me. Ruth is watching over her.
This is not the time to tear up about the fact she was the one who made sure Sadie made it home—a home and family Bill made with Stephanie when he was still married to my mother—when that had to be one of the last things Tanith wanted to deal with. This is not the time to reflect on the things my mother taught me my whole life—like it’s okay to be petty to those who deserve it, it’s okay to lose control—as long as you apologize and do your best to fix what you broke—and when it matters, when it’s right , you step up. Even if you don’t want to.
I nod back.
Then I spot Jacob’s mother and sisters. They look pale and exhausted after doing hard work out there while we’ve been playing games with the Joywood. Maureen’s smile is bright, and she lifts her hand as if to say we did it .
I know I’m not the only one who feels relief wash through me. The Summoners are safe. My blood has given them strength against the Joywood’s poison.
I take a deep breath. Emerson has stated the Riverwood’s case, but I want to show it, and I only have five minutes till Samhain.
“Ask me anything about what a future looks like with them running it versus us running it,” I invite the crowd. “Ask me anything you like, with the time we have left. I’ll show you what could be.”
“You can lie!” someone—one of those conveniently unmuted Joywood supporters—shouts from the crowd. “Maybe that’s a glamour!”
“I can’t lie,” I say. I don’t know how to prove it to them. Any attempt to lie and my inability to get it out could be seen as acting. But isn’t that true with everything? Isn’t that kind of the point of all of this?
The Joywood lie constantly . Some people believe them. Some people are too scared not to. Some, I have to assume, don’t care either way.
It’s up to each individual to decide what the lie is, and then decide what they can live with.
“You don’t have to believe that I can’t lie. You get to choose whatever reality you want.” I look at Carol and Maeve, and I know it’s my eyes that put fear in their expressions, because they know it’s no glamour. Good. “ That’s what ascension is supposed to be about.”
The Undine turns to look at me then, her eyes glowing almost bright enough to beat mine. “Time runs short, and the trials must end so the ascension choice can commence. There is time for one question,” she intones.
She does not say choose your question carefully , but I feel like that’s implied. When I look out at the audience, no one moves. I don’t know if it’s because they can’t , or they don’t believe me, or it’s just that no one has a decent question to ask.
“Ellowyn.” It’s Elspeth Wilde who steps forward. I brace myself. She’s been a supporter, she showed a moment of kindness to Zander and our child, and still I can’t fully believe she’s going to keep doing those things after nearly thirty years of her doing and being the opposite.
“I want you to show us the confluence in the future,” Elspeth says firmly. “Since it nearly flooded the town and killed us all this year, it’s important to know. What will it look like under the Joywood and the Riverwood?”
I nod, but before I can sink into my magic, Zander speaks.
“You have to untie her,” he orders the Joywood.
It’s not a request. His voice is little more than a rasp, and I feel it like my own pain.
I shake my head. “No, they don’t. The Joywood can hold me back in all the ways they’ve been doing most of my life. They’ve tried belittling me, poisoning me, you name it, but they can’t seem to stick the landing. Let them keep me tied up. It doesn’t change what I can do.”
Or who I am. They’ve never been able to change that, even when I gave them the power to make me doubt myself.
Never again.
I breathe deep and tilt my head back to soak in that moonlight Carol so helpfully trotted out for us. I speak the words that come to me from deep inside, as if they’ve been there all along:
“Ancestors in the past. Descendants in the future. Revelare power deep inside, be with me, guide me, show them.”
Then I let what comes to me, come.
An image appears, and I project it out to every witch in St. Cyprian and beyond. A knowledge that must have been buried in me, passed down generation to generation, until the Revelares rose again. Until me .
The first image is dark. Oily. It’s the confluence, but it takes me a minute to figure that out because the river isn’t high this time like it was earlier this year. It’s nearly dry. Scraggly river birds poke at the bones of fish long dead. I can practically smell the decay. The confluence is a ribbon of black, no sparkles of gold.
But there is gold. Magic sparks up above the confluence, where a huge castle sits on the bluff. It’s the least Midwest thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s a stark contrast to the death and desertion below.
The image moves in close, and the Joywood are clearly visible through the window—sans Happy Ambrose—eating a giant feast beneath tapestries that show all manner of witch scenes and magical creatures.
“This,” Frost says coldly, though all I see is the spell, “is what immortality looks like.”
I can feel the heat in my eyes, and I can hear it in my voice when I speak. “The Joywood’s rule brings nothing but darkness to St. Cyprian.”
I know the Joywood are shouting and arguing then, but I’m in the spell. It’s like being rolled up in cotton. If I focus on the Joywood, I’ll lose what’s next: the Riverwood’s future, which is what I want to see anyway.
So I stay in the spell, and the picture begins to fade, morph. Then it shows the same scene, but it’s bright. A sunny day with the ferries running back and forth on a full river. I see Zander and Zack piloting, and a little girl on the ferry deck.
My heart nearly stops, and I find myself zooming in on her. This little girl with my eyes and Zander’s dark hair. But there’s more—Elizabeth’s nose, Zachariah’s ears.
Zelda’s necklace and my mother’s smile.
Our daughter.
For a moment, I’m so struck by the image that I don’t know what to do. It’s like I want to live right here, stuck between the moment we’re in and the moment I’m witnessing, forever—
Then Zander’s hand is on my back. His voice is in my head.
Breathe, baby , he says.
I can hear it in his voice. He sees her too. He knows her too, as well as I do.
I suck in that breath. I want to revel in her , but we have to get there first. All of us. This isn’t about me , it’s about St. Cyprian. It’s about the confluence—that’s the question Elspeth asked, and it’s a clever one.
St. Cyprian exists because of the three rivers that flow together here and give this place its power. The health of the confluence is the health of witchkind.
I pull back, zooming the image back as best I can so we can look down the river to the place where all three meet. I feel the sigh of the crowd, or maybe it’s just in me, that low sound of deep approval. Because the confluence is gold and bright, and the magic it makes is like a song, singing into the three great rivers and out into the world.
There’s nothing special about the scene except in contrast to the dark Joywood one. This could be any average day in St. Cyprian. Isn’t that what we all want?
Not castles. Not power.
Our lives, as happy as we can make them.
I know Elspeth didn’t ask, but I zoom out farther. So that the people can see a bustling Main Street. Emerson meeting with business leaders on the stage on the green. Humans and witches alike buzzing in and out of stores.
I can still feel the heat in me when I speak, but this time, I want to bask in it. “The Riverwood’s rule is community. Family. Love. Light.”
“She lies! Isn’t it obvious she lies?” It’s Maeve losing her shit over there, which kind of makes me smile.
Because it doesn’t matter what Maeve thinks. It doesn’t even matter what I think.
It matters that I know who we are. I know what we’ll do. Even if the Joywood win this, we’ll find a way to keep fighting.
No fate is set in stone.
“Look into your hearts, witchkind,” I say, not even pretending to give Maeve the time of day. “What do you believe to be true?”
Somewhere far away, or maybe right here from within the Undine, something begins to chime.
Twelve times, loud and long.
It’s midnight.
The trials are over. Now it’s time for choices to be cast.
The Undine’s eyes are so bright I can’t even look her way. She seems to grow, become huge there before us.
“Samhain is upon us,” she booms out, so that her voice seems to spill out of all of us. Then into us again, fusing us together and yet tearing us apart. “The ritual comes to an end. The choice is between the Joywood or the Riverwood, according to all the old laws. Make your choice. Make it now.”
It is not a request. It’s as if we are all gripped in her stone fists. I feel my feet leave the ground as she holds on, lifting me up, as if she intends to squeeze the answer out of me—and it’s clear that she is doing the same thing to every witch in my vicinity.
Every witch in the world, then, as magic hangs heavy in the Samhain air around us. The veil is thin, and spirits begin to whisper. I listen hard, hoping for a glimpse of Elizabeth or Zachariah, but I don’t hear them. I can’t move, but I can feel my coven all around me. I know where everyone I love is, like points of light I can see with my heart. I can feel Zander and my child wiggle there inside me.
I saw a glimpse of my daughter born, who she could be. Dark-haired and violet-eyed. Happy in a world we helped make safe for her.
I think then that I will do anything to make sure she gets that future. Anything at all.
I don’t care what happens to me.
The grip on me from the outside demands a choice. Riverwood. I make it, with everything I am. This is my choice. My future.
Once I choose, that stone grip releases me. My feet hit the dais, and Zander is already there, his arm around me, muttering the words that release my bonds at last. The ropes fall away, and I turn in to him.
Around us, the rest of our coven have chosen too, and we link our arms together. We connect. We hope. We look out at our community, and we see so many faces smiling at us, believing in us.
All around us, feet hit the earth, and it’s as if I can feel an earthquake wrapping all around, witches everywhere forced to choose and then choosing in a great, fast wave—
Then the Undine—huge and bright and loud—holds out her marble arms.
“The choices have been cast. Your future has been decided.” She turns away from us. Toward the Joywood. We all hold our breaths. “Joywood, kneel before me.”