House of Ivy & Sorrow

SIX





My phone’s chirping wakes me the next morning. I grasp at my nightstand, wondering who in the world would text me at this ungodly hour. Especially on a weekend. It’s barely daylight—like, daylight happened thirty seconds ago—and I’ve told Gwen and Kat they will suffer if they wake me up before ten. Gwen had a very awkward rash the week after she woke me up just to say some boy kissed her at summer camp.

I squint at the screen’s brightness.

Still alive? It’s Winn, btw.

Well, maybe I won’t curse him.

Yes, but I don’t remember giving you my number.

Almost immediately, my phone chirps again.

Asked Gwen. Figured it’s OK, since I’m doomed already.

I squeal into my pillow. This can’t be real.

Except don’t text me this early. Gosh.

Early? I’ve been up for over an hour.

I laugh. Winn’s family owns one of the biggest farms in the area, and like most farm kids he’s always up before the sun doing chores.

I feel so lazy.

You could come help.

Not that lazy.

Ha. Gotta go. Field-plowing time. Call me later?

Of course!

Nana knocks at my door. “Josephine? Are you up?”


“No.” I put my phone on vibrate, cursing myself for not thinking of it sooner. No doubt she has a lot of work for me to do, and it probably involves dead animals.

She opens my door, the light cutting a sliver through my dark room. “I heard the phone chirp. Was that your boy?”

“He’s not my boy, at least not yet, thanks to you. Last night barely counted as a first date, so please don’t give him warts.”

“I was thinking more like permanent bad breath.”

“Nana . . .” I whine. “I really like him, and you know he’s a good guy. You’ve probably been stalking him since I mentioned we were in art together.”

She sits at the end of my bed. “I keep forgetting how old you are.”

“Yup, turned seventeen last week, remember? I think it’s high time I be allowed to date. Kissing and all.” I let out a long sigh at the thought, which sounds far more dreamy than I expected.

“He is quite handsome. Lovely smile.”

“I know, right?” I say. Nana, despite the evil streak, does have a kind heart. And a soft spot for good-looking men.

“He reminds me of a young man I used to go out with, when your great-grandmother Geraldine still ruled the house. I was living in Rochester at the time.”

I give her a surprised look. “I didn’t know you lived in New York.”

“Only for a summer. I spent some time with the Crafts; we’d grown to be good pen pals.”

The Craft witches are probably our closest allies, for lack of a better word. Since Mom died, they’ve been the only family Nana has allowed in our house. Maggie Craft is a year younger than me, and she’s visited off and on over the years to learn from Nana. “Is that how we became so close with them?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, no, we’ve watched out for each other since the crossing. After the fiasco in Salem, we both went over to New York in search of magical places.”

“I see.” Lots of witching families left Europe to escape the Curse, us and the Crafts included. Many settled in Massachusetts, since there was a huge well of magic in Salem, but fights broke out and the Curse followed. Our families headed to New York. The Crafts have remained safe there, but the Curse found us again. Now we’re in Iowa . . . and hopefully we can find a way to survive.

Her hand comes down on my leg gently. “I’m getting off track, like always. I meant to talk about Winn.”

“Please don’t make me give him up. I promise to be more careful. I’ll protect him and us.” I cross my heart. “I swear.”

She snorts. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

I tilt my head. “Then what?”

Her sigh is heavy. “I wish I could tell you this will be easy, dear, but you are too smart for that. You like him. If I let you be more serious with him, you may come to love him. But there is a part of you that you cannot share, a secret you must always keep. Someday, you will have to say good-bye. It is our way. Don’t ever forget that.”

A lump forms in my throat. I can’t think about it right now. The present is what matters, as Nana always says. Always enjoy the time you have. Don’t mourn over things that haven’t happened yet. There will be plenty of time for that later. “So you’re saying I’m allowed to date? You won’t interfere anymore?”

She tries not to smile. “For now. Be careful, though.”

I sit up and put my arm around her bony, yet strong, shoulder. “Careful? But I should probably get on with making you some great-granddaughters. . . .”

She digs her knuckle into my leg.

“Ow!” I say through my own budding cackle. “C’mon! Our babies would be beautiful!”

She waves her hands in the air, as if she’s trying to unhear what I said. “We need to work on the spells to free your father. Start defrosting the rest of the crows in the freezer. Then prepare them for an obliteration spell.”

I groan. Maybe I should have gone to help Winn with his chores.


It takes the entire weekend to prepare for the “exorcism,” and by Monday morning we are nearly finished. First come the amulets laced with lily nectar, dove blood, and our own eyelashes, to protect us from the dark shadows. They should repel the blackness and fear long enough to do our work. Then come the reagents to help free my father from the spell that has been placed on him.

My father. Joseph.

It’s strange, knowing Mom named me after him, like I had a piece of him all along. My mother never spoke of him, and I never questioned after she said, “Honey, our kind don’t know our paternal heritage. I don’t know my father either.”

But he’s family, and right now I don’t have much of that.

Even if it’s not traditional, part of me wants him to stay here and never leave. Though I love Nana, the idea of having a real live parent means more than I can describe. Then there’s the other side—the side that is terrified about what he’ll say about Mom. If this works, I’ll have to hear stories that will make my heart hurt all over again.

“Josephine,” Nana says. “Are you done with the measurements?”

“Almost.” I hold my breath as I count. I have to get the exact number of snake scales into this vial of crow’s blood. One over or one less will ruin the potion.

She grabs the first vial I’ve prepared—forty strands of mink hair mixed with minced crow liver. “Is something wrong? You don’t usually work this slowly.”

“I . . .” I feel stupid saying it out loud, but Nana and I have always shared our thoughts with each other. We’re all we have. “Do you think he’ll like me? My . . . dad?”

She laughs. “Of course. Who wouldn’t like you?”

I set the finished vial in its holder. “But he didn’t know I existed until a few days ago. Well, he still doesn’t know, exactly.”

“And look how intent he is on finding you.” She holds out her hand for the next reagent.

“That’s not the spell?”

“No, dear.” She slowly pours the crow and scorpion ashes into the mixture. “That is why whoever did this sought him out. Our hunters needed someone who cared enough not to give up at the first sign of resistance or strangeness, and someone who we would care about as well. As far as I can tell, what our hunters have done is turn him into a living video camera. He probably has no idea he’s cursed.”

I nod, a slight pang of guilt hitting me. It must have hurt so much, me yelling at him like I did. Here he’d just found out the love of his life was dead, and the girl who looks way too much like her refuses to speak to him for no reason he can see.

“I don’t get what these people who Curse us want.” I try to steady my hands, but it’s hard with how angry I am. “Why would other witches want us dead?”

“Is it not obvious?”

Sometimes Nana makes me feel really stupid. She assumes that I have all her wisdom. I think it’s her way of reminding me that I have a long way to go before I take over the house. “Not really.”

“What happens when we are dead?”

“Oh.” Duh. A witch Consumed by darkness wants as much magic as she can get, and that means she needs as many magical places as she can own. “That’s not fair. Why can’t they be happy with their own land?”

“That’s not how Consumption works, dear. You cannot comprehend what darkness you are capable of when you give in to magic’s call. Now, help me seal this concoction.”

Putting my hand over the cauldron, I channel into Nana’s spell to add my power to it.

I can sense each individual reagent, and I focus on weaving them together. As I draw the magic from myself, the ingredients swirl as much in my head as they do in the cauldron. This spell is strong—stronger than any spell we’ve worked on in a long time. My fingers tingle with the current. The power is intoxicating.

It whispers that I could be stronger if I let it fill me. It tells me I could solve all my problems, save my family, if I give in.

“Josephine,” Nana hisses. “You push too hard and this spell could kill him.”

“Sorry.” I square my shoulders and focus on controlling the magic. Control. Use the magic. Don’t let it use me.

The concoction stabilizes under our command, shrinking and shrinking until it’s the size of a pearl and just as iridescent. Nana plucks it from the cauldron’s black iron bottom and holds it out to me. “You know what to do.”

I nod, taking it from her as the school bus honks.