House of Ivy & Sorrow

TWENTY-SEVEN





The waffles my dad makes aren’t as bad as I thought they’d be, but I still can’t bring myself to eat more than a few bites. When I woke up this morning, I tried to convince myself that last night was a dream, but it definitely wasn’t. My dreams were worse—Winn drenched in blackness like Levi, losing our ivy-covered home, dying of the Curse like my mom.

“I really don’t think Winn is bad,” Maggie says through a mouthful of charred bacon. “There has to be another explanation, because I saw him and he felt totally normal to me, too. You can’t hide magic if you have it.”

I fight to keep my face from cracking. I cried enough last night. “But then how’d they get bound to the house, and not Agatha? Seriously, the spells over there have lasted over a hundred years, and they’re still so strong. I can’t imagine normal Phillip and Cordelia Carter just strutting in there on their own.”

She frowns. “Then she gave it to them?”

“It’s not impossible.” Nana pulls a pudding from her fridge, which means this is a disaster. She’s usually a no-pudding-before-noon person. “If Fanny was dying from the Curse and didn’t tell Agatha, the hunters must have found her. Perhaps she bound the Carters to the house so whoever was hunting her couldn’t have it.”

“That’s true! I could see that!” Maggie says.

I sigh. “Maybe.”

“No use fretting when we don’t have all the details, dear,” Nana says. “As far as magic is concerned, Winn doesn’t possess any. So he is not a direct threat. We’ll find the answers in time.”

“Yeah, because we have so much of that lying around.”

My dad pats my hand. No words, just this simple gesture of understanding. I offer him a small smile and force myself to move on. “I guess there’s nothing we can do but keep trying to stop our hunters. Since Levi has refused to help us and Winn is up in the air, we need to focus on our one actual lead—Stacia’s mom in Georgia. We should pay a visit.”

“I agree.” Nana licks her spoon, her eyes rolling back slightly. That’s what I call the Pudding High. It’s pretty disturbing. “The only issue is getting there.”

“Right.” I purse my lips. Can’t teleport to a place I’ve never been, and we have no door connections in the area. “Are we really gonna have to drive or something? Lame.”

Maggie raises her hand. “Thanks to Aunt Pru, I actually know a door in Georgia. So no road trip necessary.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You speak as if Georgia is as small as Rhode Island. Your door could be half the state away from Blossom Ridge!”

She tips her chin up. “Better than half the country!”

I lean back. “True.”

“Even though Anastacia should be a friend, I still want you to be extremely cautious. Don’t let anyone know how much trouble we’re in.” Nana crunches her pudding cup like a beer can and, shockingly, goes for another. “What do you plan to bring as Stacia’s possession we claimed to have?”

“I . . . forgot about that.” It will have to be something that belonged to Mom, and I don’t love the thought of parting with her things.

Nana gives me a knowing look. “I will find something. You and Margaret should locate this Blossom Ridge on Joseph’s fancy computer.”

He stands. “I’ll go get it.”

“Thanks.” I put my plate in the sink, and Maggie and I rush for the TV. As two teens who’ve been deprived of media for all time, we’ve spent every free minute in front of the big screen. Seven hundred channels! Infinite, mind-numbing glory.

Maggie gets the remote first, and she turns on the Disney Channel. It’s totally cheesy and should be too lame for us to watch, but we both love it. The utter non-reality is strangely soothing. The fake audience laughs. The hokey jokes and slightly oblivious characters. I could watch this all day, pretending that my problems could be resolved that easily.

“Here we go.” Dad sits next to me, handing over the laptop.

I search for Blossom Ridge in Georgia. Of course, it appears to be completely out of the way, surrounded by orchards and not a major city in sight. “Where’s your door, Mags?”

She leans over to see. “It’s in Dublin. Aunt Pru had . . . a friend there.”

“She has friends?”

“Ha. Ha.” Maggie points to a dot I wish were closer to Blossom Ridge. “It could be worse.”

“I guess, but we’ll still have to take a bus or hitchhike or something.”

“Whoa, there.” Dad holds up a hand. “You are not hitchhiking. I can rent you a car, okay? There’s no reason to get reckless.”

I laugh. Because this whole venture is so safe. “Can you even do that? Don’t I have to be like twenty-five?”

“We’ll . . . bend some rules. Just this once. You can fake your ID with a spell, can’t you?”

“Yeah, but did you seriously just tell me to fake my ID?” I can hardly believe I’m hearing this from my father, who just last night freaked about me going on a date.

“Better than hitchhiking!” He finds a rental place in the area, and we’re set to go in an efficient thirty minutes. Before Maggie conjures the door, Nana takes my hand. Something cool hits my palm. I look down to find a familiar pendant. Intricately carved gold surrounds a glass ball filled with swirling violet smoke. It was one of Mom’s favorites.

“Tell her Carmina intended to give it back to Stacia, but then they lost touch and after the Curse it was impossible,” Nana says.

I wrap my fingers around it, wanting to keep the precious token for myself. “I will.”

Maggie conjures a boring, gray door that looks like it belongs to an apartment complex. Sure enough, when we go through, the place is tiny and messy, but there’s magic there nonetheless.

A ragged witch sits on the couch, smoking a cigarette. She doesn’t make a single move as she eyes us. “That you, Maggie?”

“Hi, Nicole.” Maggie looks at her shoes. “Sorry for the intrusion. We needed to go to Georgia, and this was the only door we knew. I know you probably—”

She waves her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Just because Pru and I aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean you’re not welcome here.”

My eyebrows raise. I’m surprised a dictator like her would have dated someone who seems a little haggard and lazy.

I’ve never seen Maggie look so uncomfortable. “Okay, well, we better get going. Sorry to bother you.”

“Not at all. Safe travels, ladies.”

As we walk to the rental place, Maggie is so quiet I’m not sure what to do. She seems upset, but I’m not sure why. “I’m not embarrassed,” she finally says. “My mom told me about Aunt Pru when I was like four. It’s just . . . they had a really bad breakup. Epically bad. I feel awful for showing up like that.”


“I’m sorry.”

She nods. “But this is important, too, right? Your family is at stake, and that’s basically saying my family is. We’d hate to lose you guys.”

I nudge her, grateful for the support. “Right.”

Georgia is beautiful and warm. There are trees everywhere—so many that sometimes it’s like we’re driving through tunnels carved right through them. It’s almost suffocating, like the corn gets in late summer. Finally, we find Blossom Ridge, which is the complete opposite of what I expected.

Basically, it looks like a rainbow threw up all over it.

As we get out of the car, I can’t get past the multicolored picket fence. Something that bright and friendly shouldn’t have such a menacing barrier spell on it. I stare at the pink plantation home, in awe of its similarities to a Barbie dollhouse I once had. If this is anything like our house, the barriers should warn someone that we’re here, so all we have to do is wait for them to let us in.

A woman emerges from the house, her white hair the only plain thing I’ve seen thus far. The closer she comes, the more I see that her outfit makes up for it. Red polka-dot dress with a bright teal belt. Yellow stockings and purple shoes. Green and orange jewelry. She’s a walking bag of Skittles.

“Hello there, darlings,” she says in a sugary-sweet way, as if we’re in preschool. “Are you looking for something?”

“Someone, actually,” I say. “Sylvia Black?”

She puts her hand on her ample chest. “Why, you’re looking at her.”

Yes, yes, I am. I can’t look away from all the color, in fact. “I’m Josephine Hemlock. You sent Rose to tell us about finding Stacia?”

“Oh, yes! Of course.” She unlatches the gate. “So nice to meet you. I remember how much Stacia would talk about Carmina. They were so close.”

“Really?” For the first time in a while, I feel hope. If there are answers anywhere, they must be here.

“Come on in.” Sylvia heads back up the path, which is lined with cheesy garden sculptures. Mostly bunnies. “I’ll see if I can get ahold of Stacia for you. She’s been traveling a lot, so it might take some time to track her down.”

“We’re fine waiting,” I say, my heart pounding with excitement.

The house is as strange on the inside as it is on the outside. A large chandelier of glass eyeballs dominates the entryway. They stare down at me not in a creepy way, but as if they’re curious. Everything seems to be made from eccentric components like this—a side table with taxidermy animal legs, a rug of what I’m sure is some kind of hair, and mosaics very much like the one I saw in Fanny’s house.

“The kitchen is right through there,” Sylvia says. “I’ll go upstairs and see what I can do about tracking down Stacia. Have whatever you’d like to eat. You must be hungry from your travels.”

“Thank you.” I head to the kitchen, Maggie right on my tail. I try to stay on my guard despite the fact that Sylvia seems like your average head of house, complete with strange hobbies and appearance.

The kitchen is tiled with old glass bottles, their bottoms colorful and bumpy underfoot. We sit at the table, which is weathered wood with a sheet of glass over it.

“What do you think of her?” Maggie whispers.

I shrug.

She bites her lip. “That’s the craziest getup I’ve ever seen!”

I restrain a laugh. “I know, right? But hey, if she’s willing to help us, I don’t care what she wears while she’s doing it.”

Maggie nods, and then we sit there staring at the clocks on the wall. Hundreds of clocks in all shapes and sizes. Only one of them ticks—a small brass one with black numbers.

We jump when a door slams beyond the kitchen, down a dim hall. Footsteps come closer, and I feel like a fool for not realizing someone else would live here. Maybe another daughter or a granddaughter my age.

The person appears, half dressed and hair messy. When our eyes meet, Levi looks truly surprised. My heart sinks, along with all my hope.