House of Ivy & Sorrow

SIXTEEN





I don’t bother going to school Friday or the following Monday. I can play the sick card until my voice comes back, and Nana needs my help fortifying barriers and tracking down Stacia Black. That, and Maggie needs supervision. I love the Crafts, but I’m sure Tessa and Prudence left her behind to “help” so they could get some peace and quiet back in New York.

“So there’s this boy at the community center in the town an hour from our place, and he’s the cutest guy in the whole wide world, but every time I think he’s going to ask me out he swipes my pass and says, ‘Have a great workout.’ What’s that supposed to mean anyway?” She dips her quill into the potion and continues writing. “At least you kind of live in a town—I’m in the freaking middle of nowhere. This is the closest interaction I’ve ever had with a boy.”

The Crafts’ house is in upstate New York, where the forest is so thick it’s suffocating. But the magic there is rich and vibrant, like the leaves in the fall. The first time I visited their place, my head wouldn’t stop spinning because it was so different from our land.

“I just want a boyfriend, you know? They tell us we’re responsible for preserving the bloodline, and then they refuse to let us date! What the crap?” Maggie is home-schooled, which might be why she can’t get enough of being around new people.

Try as I might, I can’t bite back the smile as I think about Winn.

She stops writing. “Wait, what’s with that goofy grin?”

I wave it off, though I can feel my face warming.

“Josephine Hemlock!” She shoves me so hard I have to grab the kitchen table to keep from falling off my chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I give her this look that I hope says, “Hello? Can’t talk here.”

Maggie mock glares. “Fine, I’ll let it slide as long as I get to meet him.”

I nod, dipping my quill back in the potion. Nana gave us a list of witches to send letters to. We have no idea where Stacia is, which means we can’t send our words directly to her. Much like the door spell, we have to know the location in order to send or go there. Either that, or we need to have met the person recently to tap into their wavelength.

The letters are all the same:


Dear Friend, We are in need of assistance, if you are able. Having finally gathered the strength to go through my Carmina’s things, we’ve discovered that she has something that belonged to her close friend Anastacia Black. We have not had contact with Ms. Black since before Carmina’s death, and are unaware of her location. If you know where she is, we would very much like to return her valuable possession. Sincerely, Dorothea Hemlock


I don’t like lying, but Nana said if other witches find out that the Curse is after us they might be too afraid to affiliate with us at all. And if we mention we think our hunters are men? Everyone would write us off as crazy.

Nana’s cane clicks down the stairs, and when she appears she looks absolutely haunted. “Forgive me, Josephine, but I still can’t do it. I can hardly touch the cover.”

She leans against the wall, spent, and I know exactly what she’s been trying to do—read my mother’s history. Each book has its own unique enchantments, but every single one is made so that you can’t open it until you’re ready to face what’s inside. And since Mom should still be alive and writing in her history, Nana and I haven’t been able to break past that spell. It would bring too much sorrow, and thus Mom’s book remains clamped shut.

I was okay with that up until we needed the information inside.

Nana sits at the table, and I give her a hug. She pats my arm, leaning her head against mine. “How are the letters going?”

“We have . . .” Maggie scans the list. “Twelve down, eighteen to go. But my hand is killing me so can we please take a break?”

“Two more from both of you. I’ll make an afternoon snack.”

Maggie groans as Nana heads for the fridge, but we both get back to work. The faster we write, the faster we can find Stacia. And then we can discover if she has any bit of information that could crack this mystery and save Nana and me from my mother’s fate.

My phone buzzes, and Maggie practically mauls me to see the screen. “Is that your boyfriend?” She frowns when she sees the name. “Just Gwen. Boo.”

I roll my eyes as I open the message.

Tell me you’re better. We need to hang out asap. I miss you!

I’ve only been sick 4 days! I’m that important?

Yes Btwn Winn and this you’ve disappeared. Can I at least come visit?

Talk about a stab to the heart, but it’s true. Gwen, Kat, and I usually hang out every day. I didn’t see much of her last week, and I’m willing to bet Kat didn’t either since she’s here half the time. Gwen must be bored out of her mind.

I don’t want u to catch this. I’ll call u 2 nite, k? I should have my voice back by then.

You better. Or I’ll be forced to seek comfort in Adam’s arms.

Is that a threat?

Shut up.

Fine :P

I close my phone, locking away the guilt over lying to her. I’ll make it up to Gwen the second I can.

“What’d she want?” Maggie asks, scribbling furiously.

I shrug. Picking up the quill, I finish off the letter I was working on. It’s for Lorena Starr, one of Nana’s friends from her childhood. I remember stories about how Lorena would visit here, and she and Nana would curse the boys who picked on other kids. Now Lorena is the head of her house, tied to her home and the responsibility of protecting it. They are the keepers of knowledge that younger generations need. I might be important for preserving the Hemlock bloodline, but Nana is just as vital. Without her, I’d know nothing.

I watch Nana as she stirs soup at the stove, an unsettling feeling coming over me. I push it back. Worrying will get us nowhere. We both know the risks of seeking out this dark man and his magic, but there’s no turning back. Like she said—it’s us or them.

But the feeling won’t go away. My heart pounds too fast, and my hands are so clammy I wonder if I really am getting sick. Then I freeze, realizing what’s going on. It’s not Nana I should be worrying about. It’s Kat. The panic hits me like ice water.

Something is after her.

My chair crashes to the floor when I stand. I rip out a handful of hair and close my eyes, picturing Kat’s room—the black-and-purple bedspread, the punk posters, the glow stars on the ceiling. My fingers go numb as the magic pulls me to her house. I can feel myself shifting planes, and when the hair in my hand turns to ash, I’m there.

But Kat isn’t.

I say her name, though nothing comes out. The house is completely silent, since her parents both work at the town hall. I swear the bus would have had her home by now, and it seemed like my gut was saying to come here.

Glass shatters downstairs. As I run for the kitchen, I know what Kat meant when she said it was like she was having a heart attack. It feels like my chest is about to explode. It feels like I’m going to die. And if I feel like that . . .

Kat stands in the middle of the room, swatting at something on her face. When she turns I see what it is—a bubble of water covering her mouth and nose.