House of Ivy & Sorrow

THIRTY-NINE





Our attic has never been so crowded. I make Dad carry Nana up, though I don’t let him stay. The thought of a man reading about our past is too much even for me. I open dozens of histories, and I hand each person a stack. If I can’t think of a way to beat this Shadow on my own, then I will rely on my Hemlock ancestors for help.

“We need more power, so let’s learn everything we can,” I say. “There has to be something in here, somewhere, about the oldest of old ways, before the spell books were written.”

“And what would you have us do when we find something?” Prudence asks from the nearest desk, where she already has her first book open.

“Read it out loud, I guess. Anything you think is important.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gwen holds up her monocle, and her smile widens. “Wow! That’s amazing.”

“That’s what I said.” Kat sits next to her on the couch, and I love the sight of the two of them together, here with me. Same with Maggie and her mother, cuddled in the window seat. And Nana, head still held high, as she reads in the plush chair. Somehow it fills in a little part of what I’ve been missing all these years. Having the house full makes me realize how empty it was before.

I put my hand over my heart, its warmth overwhelming. Despite the world caving in around us, I haven’t felt this whole in ages. Not since before Mom died. My skin prickles with the realization:

Now is the time.

I rush to Mom’s history. Its gold lettering glitters in the last slivers of evening sun, and I hold my breath as I put my hand above it.

“Josephine . . .” Nana says quietly, her voice reeking of pain, as if she doesn’t want me to be disappointed if it doesn’t work.

“It’s okay, Nana. I . . .” Mom’s pendant is warm on my skin, and her memories swirl around me like wisps of lavender. She’s never been gone—not really. Her mark lingers on everything in my life, and it’s not a mark of sorrow, but one of love and life and perpetual sunshine. “I can do this.”

Slowly, I lower my hand toward the book. Tendrils of lightning meet my fingers, but what was once a shock is now a tickle. I close my eyes, focusing on the spell she placed on her book. It wants me to do something, but I can’t quite catch it. My fingers are going numb. This is the trap now, not the repellent for those unprepared to read. The tingling slowly travels up my arm, will continue if I don’t figure out how to open it soon.

It’s not a reagent. I know that for sure. The puzzle hums through my brain as I detangle the magic. Not an action or gesture. I try to shake out the needling sensation, but it only makes it worse.

Not a spell.

No . . . a password.

Great. I have no idea what it is, not even a good guess. I don’t dare say anything, since the spell might punish me for uttering the wrong words.

The numbness is almost to my shoulder, making it difficult to keep my hand over the book. I can’t lose now, not when I’m so close. All these years I thought that if I was ready it would be easy to open. Stupid me. Mom was an incredible witch—she even made things not in the spell books, like her pendant.

The answer is right there, like a word on the tip of my tongue. I can almost feel Mom scowling down at me, because I’ve forgotten something. What is it? Racking my brain, I go through every memory I have of her. There’s no way I could have forgotten her giving me a password—I’ve worked so hard to remember everything about her. I pause, realizing there’s one thing I try to forget:

The moment she died.

Pain fills my heart as the memory floods my mind. I can almost see it, and I can certainly feel it. Her bony arms encircled me, and I clung to her as if that could make her stay. She smelled of lavender and death, but her touch was still the most comforting thing in the world.

“Don’t die,” I whispered to her.

“Shh.” She kissed my head. “I’ll always be here, even when you can’t see me. You know why?”

“No.” My voice cracked on the word.

“Because when you truly love someone, it’s forever. They never leave you, because they’re part of you. Love is forever, sweetie.” She squeezed me as tight as her arms could. “Say it for me.”

“Love is forever,” I cried.

“Don’t forget it. Promise me.”

I nodded into her chest, and I listened as her heart slowed and finally stopped.

I gasp at the pain, raw and new all over again, but I know these are the words I must say. “Love is forever.”

The numbness is gone immediately. I look down, and there on the black leather is my hand. I move my fingers across the soft grooves, savoring the feel. The spine cracks as I lift the cover, a satisfying sound.

“Josephine, you wonderful girl.” Nana’s voice is reverent, and she pushes to get out of her seat.

I hold up my hand. “Don’t get up. I’ll read it out loud.”

Mom wrote a lot. I had no idea how much would be in here. She has pictures glued in—her and the Crafts, Nana, Great-Grandma Geraldine, Stacia, Dad, and little baby me. There are locks of hair and pressed flowers and postcards, letters and sketches and newspaper clippings. Her entire life: she put it in this book.

“What are you looking for?” Maggie asks as I flip through the pages. I wish I could read each one, but there’s only one thing that matters right now.

“Here,” I say, my hand running over the page. “When she noticed she was Cursed.”

I read it, my voice surprisingly steady:


Something is wrong. I can’t keep magic inside me like before. One little spell and it feels as if I’ve used my entire store. I have to fill up more often than I used to, and leaving the house is like leaving my life source.

I asked Mom if this was something that came with age, and she gave me one of those suspicious looks. I think she knows I’m keeping these worries from her, but I still don’t want to admit what I did. I never should have gone. I am sure it happened when I went to San Francisco. How selfish of me, to have put us all in such danger because I couldn’t forget him.


I stop. “Maybe I should go back one.” I look at Nana. “I was like three when she wrote this. Did you know she went to San Francisco?”

She shakes her head. “She never told me.”

I flip back a few pages to the previous entry.


I can hardly believe what I did today. Everything started out normally, and as I sit here now it all seems like a dream. This morning, I made Jojo pancakes. That girl could eat pancakes for every meal if I let her. She was so excited she kept saying, “I love you, Mommy! You’re the best Mommy! I love you!”

It killed me. I couldn’t stop thinking about my other Joe, how much he would have loved this little girl of ours. Sometimes she’s so much like him that it takes my breath away. I ache to my soul, I miss him so badly.

I had a momentary lapse in judgment. It didn’t seem fair to keep them apart. He should know he has a daughter. So when Mom went out to collect rodents, I took Jojo to San Francisco. I wanted to show her where we fell in love, where we would have lived if things were different. More than that, I wanted to relive it, to be in the places that hold some of my most cherished memories.

We had gelato, which Jojo loved. And we walked through Chinatown. I bought her a little doll, and by the afternoon she’d already lost it. It didn’t matter, though. I was having the time of my life. We both were.

And then I did it. I went to our old apartment. Tears streamed down my cheeks when I saw him through the lighted window. I couldn’t believe he still lived there, as if he was waiting for me to come back to him. And here I was, more in love with him than ever, so desperate to touch him that I could barely contain myself.

I carried Jojo across the street, since she was tired and a little cranky from the long day, and the second I touched the curb something strange happened.

All my magic—it was gone. This darkness encircled me like death, and I was stranded with no way to defend myself. I looked in every direction for something threatening, but there was nothing, at least that I could see. But I felt it watching me, waiting for what I would do next.


I couldn’t see Joseph now. I cried, knowing I shouldn’t have tried to meet him at all. It was a sign—this is why our traditions exist.

If it weren’t for Jojo, I don’t know what would have happened to us. She still had her magic, and I quickly explained to her how to make a teleporting spell. She did it! I know she’s only three, but she amazes me with her abilities already. She knows magic. It’s in her heart and mind and soul, as natural as breathing. She saved us tonight, and she will probably never know until she reads this history.


I barely catch my tears before they hit the page. I can’t believe I was there when it happened—I have no memories of it—and it breaks my heart that she missed Dad so much.

“If only I’d welcomed Joseph into our house eighteen years ago,” Nana says. “She would have never gone. We would have all—”

“Don’t start that.” I refuse to even think about what could have been. “Now we know. Jeff must have been waiting for her; sounds like she set off some kind of alarm when she went there. He knew them, how much they loved each other, and he used it against us. First to get Mom, then me. He will have hell to pay for—”

Nana’s eyes fill with horror, and she puts her hand to her neck like she can’t breathe. I run to her side. She trembles as she takes my hand, and tears spill from her eyes. This scares me more than anything, because Nana doesn’t cry.

“What is it? Are you in pain?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “He’s coming. I can feel his presence at the town’s barrier.”