House of Ivy & Sorrow

THIRTEEN





There are two things I see as I step into the room. One, enough floral to suffocate a tenderhearted grandmother. Two, black smoke, curling and twisting in small plumes over a computer bag. It stops for a moment, as if it recognizes my presence, and I’m sure that’s where the letter is. Obviously, it still holds some of the spell it put on my father.

“Sure packs a lot for a guy,” Winn says as he goes to the biggest suitcase.

I nod, my attention locked on the blackness that seems to be looking right back at me. “He dresses nicely. I haven’t asked, but I think he’s rich.”

“Score.” Winn goes to the bed, where a smaller bag is laid out. The darkness bristles when he gets closer, this time uncoiling its tendrils toward Winn—at which point I practically lose it. I have to get him out and purge that spell; otherwise Winn will have to get a pearl to the eye, too. That would be fun to explain.

“Winn.” I put my hand on his back as the darkness inches its way over the bedspread. “How about you take those two down? I’ll take the computer and do a quick sweep to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

He turns around, his arm slipping around my waist. “The way you say my name . . . it kind of drives me crazy.”

“Winn,” I say without thinking, and he pulls me closer. The shadows reach out for his jeans, so I spin him around, attempting to remain flirty. “Seriously, we need to get out of here. I will not have this tacky room be the location of any significant moment with you.”

He laughs. “Okay, fine. Good to know location is important.”

“Very important.” I pick up the smaller suitcase on the bed, the black mist hissing at me. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He grabs the big bag, too, hefting it instead of using the rollers. “See you downstairs.”

“Yup.”

Once he’s out of sight, I shut the door and face the spell. All I can hope is that it isn’t as potent without a host, because I’m not prepared this time. I need to sacrifice something, and it’ll have to be big. Sight is out of the question—I need that. Hearing, too. Touch would be obnoxious. It’s so hard to walk when you can’t feel anything. Taste and smell aren’t enough unless I want to give up half a year.

There’s only one doable option.

I run to the bathroom, relieved to find an empty glass. Filling it with water, I squirm as the darkness slithers over the rug. It’s pissed. Not that hot, murderous passion that came out of my dad, but not fluffy bunnies by any measure. It wants to do as much damage as it can.

I pour water into my mouth until my cheeks bulge. Using every ounce of magic I have in my body, I push my voice up my throat. It tastes cinnamon sweet, like apple pie, as I let the magic do its work. My hand goes to the counter for support. Being totally empty of magic feels awful—especially without the willow for backup like last time—but I need it all. The spell must be gone before I touch that bag.

When the water is so sweet I can hardly take it, I let myself crumple to the floor. The darkness seems to smile at my weakness. It crosses the threshold to the bathroom. One tile. Two. When it hits the pink rug, I spit out the water. The spell squeals in pain, disintegrating like a lit fuse until it ends up right back at the computer bag.

I wait for a second, silently panting and praying it worked. Losing my voice for nothing would suck. The bag seems clear, so I take a few wary steps into the bedroom. I toss a pillow at it. No reaction. It’s gone. It has to be.

That doesn’t make it easy to touch. I keep imagining a black shadow jumping out the moment I take the handle. Counting to three, I force myself to do it. My heart races even though nothing happens, and I rush down the stairs as fast as my weakened state will allow.

Winn frowns when he sees me. “Is everything okay?”

I shake my head, patting my throat.

“Oh. You should have said something earlier if you were feeling sick.” He takes my arm to support me, which has me wondering how awful I look. “Maybe you caught what your dad has.”

I nod.

“Better get you home.”

As we drive, I already hate that I can’t talk. What a punishment. Even if it’s only a few days, it feels like torture. Winn helps me up to the door, and Nana opens it after one knock. No doubt she knows what happened. “Tsk. I told her she seemed flushed this morning,” she says. “On the couch there, Winn.”


“You know my name.” He sits me down, and I breathe deeply to get the magic into my body.

“Josephine and I are very close. I’ve known for a while how fond she is of you.”

I glare at her, wishing I could do more. This is not the time to be voiceless.

He smiles. “Really?”

“Yes, since she was—” I throw a pillow at her. She looks positively indignant, but thankfully she stops. “Anyway, if you could get the luggage, Winn, we’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

When he’s out the door, Nana sits on the coffee table. “That was some brilliant thinking, my dear. It would have been disastrous to let that letter be for one more hour. I hate to think about the Shirleys walking in on it.”

I give her a weak smile.

She pats my hand. “Soak it up. Once you’re full you won’t feel so awful.”

Being home does help. The magic in the walls is rejuvenating, like floating in a warm bubble bath. I don’t know how abstainers can go without refilling, but I suppose that’s because I’ve never had the option. Some witch families are big enough that members can choose to lead human lives. Even if I had that luxury, I can’t imagine never using what was inside me.

Winn tromps back in, the three bags in hand. “Where should I put these?”

“Second-floor hall would be perfect,” Nana says.

With all that luggage, it sounds like the staircase will buckle from the weight. I think Winn curses, but it’s hard to hear over the house’s protests. Then he reappears. “I’m pretty sure I almost died.”

Nana cackles. “I have some things to attend to, but I trust you’ll be responsible.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Winn kneels by the couch, taking my hand. It’s ridiculous how cute he is, looking all worried for me. There’s something in his eyes that changes their color from stormy to cloudy. “Feeling better?”

I move my hand, indicating so-so.

He smirks. “I guess that means no date tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

I frown and mouth, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’ll just do it next week.” He pushes back one of my curls, and my skin tingles. “I know we seem to have horrible luck, but I always have the best time when I’m with you.”

Eye roll.

“I’m serious.” He purses his lips, hesitating. “And you make the dullest stuff entertaining. I probably would have torn out all my hair in art if it weren’t for you.”

A new rush of excitement washes over me for where we could be headed.

He squeezes my hand. “I should let you rest.”

I shake my head, not wanting him to go. I’ve barely had a chance to be with him as it is, and now yet another day has been cut short by magic.

“That’s very considerate of you, Winn,” Nana says, having just entered the living room again. From the tone of her voice, I know she has something important to tell me.