House of Ivy & Sorrow

TWO





I slam the door behind me and lean against it. My heart pounds, though I’m not quite sure why. He didn’t seem like a bad person, but there was something evil with him. It was wrong for him to be here, to see me.

After I bolt the door, I head back to Nana. “Here are your spiders.”

Her white eyebrows furrow over her impossibly dark eyes. “What’s wrong?”

So much for hiding my panic. “Nothing. There was just a man at the gate. I sent him away.”

She goes to the window and pulls the green velvet curtain back, as if he’d still be there. “He didn’t come for a spell?”

I shake my head. “He . . . asked for Carmina.”

Her eyes snap to mine.

“He didn’t know she was dead.”

She shuts the curtain with far more force than necessary. “You are not to go out there again.”

“Wha . . . wait, what?” I didn’t expect her to be happy about the stranger, but this is harsh, even for her. “Why?”

“Not safe . . . not safe . . .” She goes to her cabinets, grabbing all sorts of eyes. Eyes—for which to see. Magic can be rather literal at times. “No good can come from those who seek the dead.”

“Would you mind explaining?”

No answer. She’s already in full incantation mode, the small cauldron heating on a Bunsen burner and all. Nana is an incredible witch. I watch in amazement as she goes through each phase at lightning speed, and by memory. I still have so much to learn from her. The liquid is almost finished by the time I realize what she’s doing.

I groan. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, child, before it’s too late.” She motions for me to come over.

I grab the small knife on her desk as I go. Payment. Always. I hold my finger over the bubbling liquid and cut. It doesn’t sting until the blood is already dripping. I watch, only because I have to know when to stop the flow. The concoction turns from green to autumn orange. I pull my hand back and search for a tissue.


“That’s it. . . .” Nana waves her hands over the baby cauldron. In an instant a ghostlike figure appears—the man, with his sad eyes and nice suit, right from my fresh memories.

“No,” she whispers. “It can’t be.”

I study her face, confused by her expression. I can’t tell if it’s horror or sadness. Then I look at the man again. He doesn’t seem to carry the evil in this translucent form, but I know what I felt. “Do you know him? He seemed . . . weirdly familiar, but not.”

She sucks in a breath and then waves the figure away. “I thought perhaps, but no.”

“It looks like you—” Her eyes flash, and I stop. “Okay, you didn’t.”

“Regardless, only use the Main Street door until I say so. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.” The clock chimes four, and she claps her hands together. “Time for pudding.”

I try to hide my smile. Nana loves her pudding. It’s one of the nicest-tasting toothless-friendly foods. She refuses to get dentures; she refuses most anything that comes from a doctor. But that doesn’t mean her teeth fell out. Nope. She’s pulled all but five herself—for what, I’d rather not know. Spells that use your own teeth aren’t exactly the nice kind.

“Time for homework, I guess, since we still don’t have TV,” I say. No matter how many times she says no to cable, I still hope maybe one day she’ll find my begging annoying enough to relent.

“Rots your brain!” she calls from the little fridge next to the normal one—the home of her pudding stash.

“I have plenty to spare!” I head up the stairs, which protest each step.

I glance at every picture frame on the way up, where the faces of my ancestors stare back at me. At least those who have lived here. When the Curse drove our family from New York, Great-Great-Grandma Agatha Hemlock put every penny she had into this house, knowing the magic here was too strong to leave. She put up crazy-strong magical barriers around the house and town. We thought we were safe—at least until the Curse found my mother.

My room is the second story of the tower, completely round and covered in floral wallpaper that I should hate, but don’t. It’s absolutely wild—big, bold flowers in faded blue and green. My cast-iron bed is just as ancient and cool. Most everything is white, since I figure the wallpaper has more than enough color. I flop onto my bed instead of heading to my desk. Reaching for the English book on my nightstand, I decide reading poetry is the least trouble.

But I can’t stop thinking about that man.

I know Nana was lying to me.

I won’t question her, though. We are blood, and that means so much more to us than to normal people. A witch’s blood is the source of her power—the mark of her power. All the Hemlock women bear the same magical signature. Nana, no matter what, has my best interest in mind. I am the only one who can preserve our family line. If she is lying, then she has a good reason.

My phone rings, and I dive for it. We may not have internet or TV, but my cell can usually eke out a few bars. It’s my one technological indulgence.

“Gwen! Please say you’re about to save me from doing homework on Friday night.”

“But of course, Jo. Are you sitting down?” Gwendolyn Lee loves to be dramatic, but in a town as small as Willow’s End we need it. Not sure what Kat and I would do without her.

“Lying, actually.”

“Winn came into the deli after school, and he asked about you.”

I sit up. “He did?”

“Yes. And he may have invited us to watch a movie at his house with some of his friends.”

It’s all I can do to restrain my squeal. So far we’ve only been hanging out at school, eating lunch together, stuff like that. I’ve been dying to go on a real date with him since I first sat next to him in art class eight months ago, but Nana’s always made sure to ruin any moment he tries to ask. Going through Gwen—brilliant. Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

“If you’re kidding, I hate you forever.”

“I’d never! I’ll pick you up at six. We’re doing dinner first.”

“Okay.” After hanging up, I head straight for the shower. Two hours is hardly enough time to get ready for the best night of my life.