Chapter Twenty-eight
L ise and I sat in Old Man Thurston’s office. I didn’t want to take her to my living room upstairs. Even with the curtains pulled shut, knowing Sam was sleeping just across the garden was too much to bear at that moment. My kitchen, although on the other side of the house, was cramped.
The office was cozy and dim, and I felt Old Man Thurston’s hardworking energy here, even if he wouldn’t recognize the room now.
Someone, likely Mona, had turned face-out a handful of children’s books featuring cats.
The books murmured sleepily as I lit a candle.
Electric lights would feel too harsh after the night’s magical upheaval.
“Tell me,” Lise said. “What happened back there?”
“Lise,” I told her, “you’re a witch.”
If I was expecting shock or glee, I was disappointed. She sat calmly, as if she’d been waiting years for this explanation. “I see.”
“Leo was right,” I said. Rodney jumped on the desk between us and offered his head to Lise to pet. “I’m a witch, too, but I’m relatively new to my magic. What you saw out there was me making a gigantic, horrendous mistake.”
“You released the magic in someone else.”
I nodded. “When I released her power, I must have released yours, too. She’s my great aunt, and a powerful witch on her own.
She’s not a good person, though, and she uses her magic to ruin lives.
” Out of respect for my grandmother, I didn’t go into details.
“My grandmother cast a containment spell to limit her power. Unfortunately, I broke that spell.”
And signed my own death warrant. I was under no illusions now. Beata would spend a few hours drunk with her new energy, but it wouldn’t be long before she’d return to finish me off.
“How do you feel?” I asked. “This must all be overwhelming.”
Lise nodded slowly, but she hadn’t needed to tell me she was swimming in a world of questions and unusual sensations. Her intent yet distant stare said it all.
“It’s like someone turned on the lights,” she said, “when I hadn’t even known I was living in the dark.”
Boy, did that sound familiar. “How is it expressing itself? For me, it’s about books. I’ve always loved reading, and the source of my magic is books.”
The books sighed and washed me with energy when I mentioned them.
“It’s smell,” Lise said.
This was an odd one. “Smell? You mean, you smell things?”
Lise’s brows drew together. “I think so. I think that’s it. I’ve always loved scent—not that I smell things like a bloodhound might, but I can parse smells.”
Rodney leapt to my lap, and I absently dropped fingers to his back. He seemed unusually comfortable with Lise. “Tell me more.”
“For instance, this house.”
“Old wood and books,” I said promptly.
“Yes, that for sure. Yesterday, I would have smelled how the heat lifted an almost bitter, leathery smell from the wood, and the books would have smelled like vanilla and must. But now”—her voice rose and expression became more animated—“it’s really strange.”
I didn’t reply. She needed to figure this out on her own.
“It’s like I’m smelling history.” She rose and circled the room. “Here, for instance. I smell pipe tobacco.”
As far as I knew, no one had smoked here for dec ades. She must be picking up on Old Man Thurston. “What else?”
“The sweet smell of children, like candy and milk.” She touched Puss in Boots , proudly displayed cover out. “Duh, I guess you might say. We’re in the children’s section. But I smell something more.” She stopped and turned to me. “Is it possible to smell emotion? I smell . . . frustration. Anger.”
That would be Wanda. Part of the frustration was mine, for sure.
“More than that, though, I smell something tarry— something old and dark, on the verge of rotting.” Her voice softened. “You’re terrified.”
The truth in Lise’s assessment caused my stomach to rise. I breathed slowly to calm it. “Yes. We’ll get to that.”
“Take your time,” Lise said.
I had been so wrong to suspect Lise could be a facet of Beata. She held so much innocence. When I regained some of my composure, I said, “I discovered I was a witch only a few years ago, when I moved to Wilfred. Does the magic run through the women, like it does in mine?”
She dropped into her chair. “I don’t know. I was adopted. That’s why I’m here. I want to know where I came from.”
Again, I let her talk. Tonight would be another long one. My body was exhausted, but my brain hummed with energy.
“I always knew there was something different about me. Not just different from my family—they’re scientists—but different from regular people.
” Her words came faster as she let out thoughts she’d clearly harbored for years.
I understood. “I felt like such a weirdo. An outsider. I’ve always been drawn to otherworldly things. Does that sound strange?”
“You’re asking me?” I said.
“I’ve tried tracking down my biological family, but my adoption was . . . informal.”
There was more to that story, I was sure, but I let her continue.
“I’ve sent my DNA a few times to one of the big companies, but something always went haywire.
Once the results came back that I was one hundred percent Chinese.
Another time they said I’d sent in the saliva of a squirrel.
” She sighed. “I took a summer job at a new age shop in Astoria, thinking I’d get some kind of insight on who I am.
” She frowned. “It didn’t work, but I met Leo that way.
When he mentioned you, I felt I had to see you.
Maybe, somehow . . . you would understand me. ”
“I’m not an expert, and I haven’t had a real life mentor, but I can tell you a few things about magic.”
“I’m listening,” she said.
“As far as I’ve been able to figure, witches each have an ability to tap into a particular energy.
For instance, I love reading and adore books.
This gives me the ability to tap into the energy authors and readers have poured into books—the plots, imagination, the hours they’ve spent with their eyes on the page and the stories coming to life in their minds. It’s a massive power source.”
She nodded. “I’ve always been sensitive to scent.
When my parents had parties, I would bury my nose in the coats they tossed on the bed and smell the women’s perfumes and the men’s soap and the wool of their jackets.
I swear I could even smell illness on some people’s skins.
But it’s gone wild since then.” She shook her head in bewilderment.
“Now, as I said, it’s like I can smell emotion. ”
“You mean, each emotion has a scent? How does that work?”
“You, for instance,” Lise said. “Besides fear, I smell regret. It’s a mixture of sadness and shame.”
“What does it smell like?”
“Violets.” She nodded. “Yes. You know how some flowers seem to give up their scent just before they die? Like that. Violets in water that should have been changed days ago.” Lise took a moment to digest her discoveries.
“Out there in the woods. Beata. Could she be my mother—or yours? You heard her. Was she playing with you?”
“My grandmother told me Beata had a child who would be about our age. That’s all I know.
” There was a sympathy between Lise and me, a vibe that could be explained by DNA—or simply by the fact that we both had unearthly abilities.
“I wouldn’t believe anything she said.” I drew a deep breath.
“But I wouldn’t not believe it, either.”
I’d unleashed Beata’s full power, and Lise’s.
As the image of my aunt crossed my mind, the house’s windows shook and walls whistled, as if a powerful wind had encircled the mansion.
Eyes wide, Lise grabbed the edge of her chair.
The books hummed in bass notes and whispered warnings, and a chill like a December ice storm dropped over us.
Beata would destroy lives now that her magic’s potency had been restored. My throat tightened as I understood that my life would be the first. There was no way she’d let me go free. I had the power to release her magic, yes, but I also had the power to bind it again, and she knew it.
Lise sat back, her eyes closed, probably lost in the world of her own new abilities.
“Lise,” I said, “I need you.”
“I know.”