Season of the Witch Read online

  Still, there are children who come first in Hilda’s heart, and who have nobody else to care for them. She never expected that for herself. Zelda is the one who obsesses fiercely over babies, who decided (she’s always deciding things for Hilda) that they would become midwives. Every baby they delivered, Zelda would touch with possessive love.

  Hilda’s the Spellman who was always a bit of a disappointment. Sabrina’s father, Edward, was magnificent. Her brother always seemed so big, his shadow swallowing Hilda whole. And Zelda is the example Hilda can’t manage to follow, unyielding in all things, especially in her commitment to the Dark Lord.

  Hilda has no problem with Satan, or magic, or the thrill of woods or fresh blood. But sometimes she envies the mundanes, many of whom take faith easily, who go to their church and worship their false god. Some of them don’t have faith at all. It seems terribly comfortable, not to have to believe and serve so intensely. She’s never said it, but somehow the coven looks at her and just knows. Edward knew, and Zelda knows, and Father Blackwood, the current head of the Church of Night … he definitely knows.

  Since she wasn’t going to make her family proud like the others, Hilda was expected to make herself useful. So she (usually) does what Zelda says, and she (usually) tries to be a good member of the coven, and she cares for the Spellman orphans.

  When witch-hunters and tragedy struck Ambrose’s family, Hilda was there in England to pick up the pieces and look after the child.

  She remembers little Ambrose years and years ago, toddling across cobblestones that Hilda’s long dress and petticoats swept over. He would dash fearlessly out into any danger, and she fretted constantly that he might be run over by a rattling carriage or drown in a duck pond. But she could never leave him behind, even when she went out on an errand, could never resist his huge, beguiling eyes or the little hands lifted entreatingly up to her. Auntie Hilda, pick me up, take me with you, Auntie Hilda, carry me! Ambrose liked to be perched in her arms, held up high to see everything that he possibly could. Your eyes are too big for your stomach, mortals say about little ones who want to eat more than they can manage. Ambrose was always greedy for the whole world.

  She remembers Sabrina, saved by a miracle from the devastating crash that killed her parents. Sweet baby Sabrina, her tiny face framed by ruffles and ribbons, rocked in midair by magic as Hilda sang a witch’s lullaby.

  “Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetops

  When the wind blows, the cradle will rock

  When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall

  Baby flies over a village and curses them all.”

  Hilda’s heard the mortal version. She thinks it’s barbaric. There will be no fall for her darlings.

  Hilda has always been the least important of the Spellmans, but to a child with nobody else to look after them, you can be the most important person in the universe.

  But she couldn’t seem to do anything right. Even caring for a child, Hilda got terribly wrong.

  You spoiled Ambrose, and look what happened, Zelda told her when they decided to take Sabrina in. You ruined that boy. You will not make the same mistake with Sabrina. I will take the lead with Sabrina, and I will make her a shining darkness for the Spellman family. Try not to get in my way and wreck everything again.

  Ambrose doesn’t seem ruined to Hilda. He’s still her sweet boy, who teases her and makes her laugh and takes her part against Zelda. But there are no two ways about it: He committed a crime against their kind and was sentenced, bound to their house for “conduct unbecoming in a warlock.”

  Zelda says he’s disgraced their family. Hilda wouldn’t mind that, but her Ambrose, who wanted to eat up the whole world, is trapped in their house. He tries to laugh about it, but she sees his mouth quiver even as he laughs. She knows he must feel as if the walls are closing in. Hilda sometimes feels that way, and at least she can go to town and have a browse through the bookstore. The bookstore owner is rather a dashing man.

  She worried that Ambrose would be jealous of Sabrina when Sabrina came to live with them. But Ambrose always treated the baby with careless affection, as though she were a pet. When Sabrina was small enough to carry about in Hilda’s arms, Ambrose would kiss her little gold head as he flittered by in his restless hummingbird way. Sometimes Sabrina would catch at his clothes or his ringed hands with her tiny fists, relentless even then, and Ambrose would seem amused as he allowed himself to be held.

  But these days Sabrina has a whole life outside the Spellman house. When she breezes out, Hilda catches Ambrose’s gaze fixed on the door in a way she doesn’t like. These days Ambrose doesn’t wear rings, or dress as if he might leave the house at any moment.

  Perhaps Ambrose is jealous now. Hilda understands the feeling of wanting your own life so much you hate everyone else for having theirs, but Hilda is afraid of the dark passions in other hearts. She didn’t know Ambrose was plotting a crime once. She knows, now, that she can never be sure of what Ambrose might do.

  If she’d said no to Ambrose more … But she can’t say no to Ambrose now. She can’t say no to Sabrina. All they have to do is look at Hilda and her heart melts, soft as butter in hell.

  Zelda says no to Sabrina all the time. Sabrina seldom listens. Hilda worries that is her own fault too. That she really is ruining Sabrina, that Sabrina and Ambrose would both be better off without her.

  But she couldn’t bear to leave them. Not any of them, even Zelda. Sometimes Hilda has the oddest notion that her sister is even more afraid than she is, and that is why Zelda clings to her and then shoves her away so hard. It makes Hilda want to be gentle, even when Hilda is most frustrated with her. And Hilda wants to be there for Ambrose and Sabrina, to comfort them and stand up for them. That’s always been her place.

  Death makes you so tired. The earth weighs heavy on her eyelids, sealing them shut. Every time she dies, Hilda feels more tempted to stay in her grave. Living her own life is too hard. Dying her own death might be easier. Hilda could keep her eyes closed, and stay here, be only her own and dream new dreams as tree roots twine through her hair.

  My children, Hilda thinks. She opens her eyes, though the earth falls into them and makes them sting. She claws her way upward into the air and the light.

  She receives her reward immediately. Sabrina is perched on a nearby gravestone, waiting for Hilda to wake, eating a peach. She swings her Mary Janes against the tombstone. Hilda blinks the grave dirt out of her eyes and watches Sabrina’s white teeth sink into the tender flesh of the fruit.

  “Why did Aunt Zelda do it?”

  Hilda shrugs. Hilda doesn’t remember what she said wrong this time, only that she was feeling that itchy, irritable feeling of wanting to be free of Zelda. She snapped at Zelda, and the next thing Hilda knew, her sister was walking toward her with her face white and set, brandishing a knife. There’s no sense upsetting Sabrina by discussing the whole ugly business. Hilda just smiles and makes sure Sabrina takes death lightly, and does not consider the consequences.

  “No harm done, love.”

  Sabrina hovers by Hilda’s elbow as Hilda makes her way back into the house. After Hilda is washed up, Ambrose and Sabrina circle around her like attendant birds intent on cheering her. Sabrina is talking about school, Ambrose is telling jokes, making even Zelda rest her chin on her hands and smile. The stove is warm, and the lamps shine behind stained glass. At moments like this, Hilda thinks she has a lovely home and a lovely family. She’s very happy here, sometimes.

  If Zelda ever struck down Ambrose or Sabrina, no matter if Zelda brought them back the next minute, Hilda thinks she could show the steel and fury people expect of a Spellman. She would know the blood hunger of the tigress in the long grass, whose cubs are under threat. She would pick up the knife or the shovel or the damn axe, and swing.

  Who knows what it would do to Sabrina? She is half mortal, half sweet Diana. Hilda never blamed Edward for loving Diana. Hilda loved Diana too. She kept secrets for Diana that nobody knows, and Hilda hopes n
obody ever finds out.

  Diana died. Mortals are always doing that. But superb, unconquerable Edward died with her. Both Sabrina’s parents, mortal and warlock. Maybe there is no way to keep yourself safe from heartbreak.

  Nobody has ever heard of a half witch, half mortal before. The Church of Night talks about little else besides Sabrina’s coming, Sabrina’s dark baptism. The coven hushes when Hilda and Zelda enter. Hilda is so afraid that something might go wrong. She’s afraid the world might hurt Sabrina, as it hurt Ambrose, as it destroyed Sabrina’s father.

  Zelda has never harmed a hair of Ambrose’s or Sabrina’s heads. Zelda would never do it. Zelda loves the children too, Hilda tells herself. Especially Sabrina, the golden apple of Zelda’s eye. Zelda will help Hilda protect Sabrina, and Sabrina will come through her dark baptism and be a shining darkness. Sabrina will make the whole family proud, as Hilda never could.

  Hilda ruffles Sabrina’s bright hair, resting her arms against the determined line of Sabrina’s thin shoulders. She presses her hand against Ambrose’s cheek, and he drops a quick kiss in her palm, and she smiles and ignores the grave dirt under her own fingernails.

  The fear that wakes her, even in the final darkness beneath the earth, means nothing.

  Her children are safe.

  Early the next morning, a truck pulled up outside my house. Ambrose and Aunt Zelda weren’t up yet, and I was sitting with Aunt Hilda eating porridge she’d made for me with honey and nuts and hopefully no dried newt eyeballs. Aunt Hilda insists they’re nutritious. I find them upsettingly crunchy.

  Aunt Hilda was drinking tea with herbs bobbing in her copper mug and reading one of her romance novels. A man with a mullet and a flouncy shirt was on the cover, along with a woman who seemed to be having troubles with her corset and her spine. The romance novel lady couldn’t be comfortable, bent over in her hero’s arms like that.

  “Good book?”

  Aunt Hilda beamed. “Oh, Sabrina, it’s a gripping read! It’s called Taken by Storm. The hero’s name is Storm.”

  “That’s … a wordplay.”

  I didn’t say it was a good one.

  “He’s also referred to as Satan’s minion among the clubs of London,” Aunt Hilda continued. “But they’re only talking about all his gambling and whoring; he doesn’t actually worship the devil. Which was a little disappointing to realize, obviously, but it’s still a rattling good yarn! He’s a duke, you see, and the heroine is a fishmonger, and she accidentally hits him in the face with a fish. Which gets his attention!”

  “I see why it might.”

  Spiders were playing in Aunt Hilda’s hair, spinning cobwebs down to her shoulders and back again like eight-legged trapeze artists. Aunt Hilda’s familiars seem to like the romance novels too.

  “Finding a priceless ring in the codfish leads him to realize she is the amnesiac assassin who was hired by his greatest enemy! She begins to recover her memories and plot against him, even as Storm is plotting against her. Due to their mutual plotting, they turn from enemies to lovers back to enemies back to lovers again, and their fake engagement turns into an arranged marriage!” Aunt Hilda paused for breath, and beamed. “Also,” she added, “Storm is a duke.”

  “Right. I don’t know if their marriage is going to work out.”

  “Nonsense, Sabrina,” said Aunt Hilda. “True love means forgiving each other anything, including assassination attempts. Do you want to read it after I’m finished?”

  “I just don’t know that the book would live up to the experience of you telling me the story,” I told her, which was when I heard the truck.

  Hilda and I exchanged a curious look and went to the door together.

  It was Harvey. He wore an ecstatic grin as he bounded out of the truck to greet us.

  “Hi, Ms. Spellman! Hi, Sabrina! How are you even more beautiful today than yesterday? I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but you make the impossible true every morning! Tommy has a Saturday shift at the mines, and he said he’d drop us off at the fair. My two favorite people both with me. Isn’t that the best way to start the day you can imagine?”

  Harvey seized me around the waist and rained down light kisses all over my face and hair. I laughed, delighted but a bit embarrassed, and squirmed away.

  “Ah, Sabrina’s always been as adorable as a sweet little maggot in an apple.” Aunt Hilda smiled and waved toward the truck. “Hello, my dear.”

  She calls all my friends that. Not that Tommy is my friend, but as Harvey’s brother I suppose Aunt Hilda figures he’s close enough.

  Tommy took a hand off the steering wheel and waved back. “Hey, Miz Spellman.”

  Harvey’s brother looked like Harvey, but a less complicated and interesting version. There was nothing of the tortured artist about Tommy. His brow was clear, his voice a calm drawl, and his eyes light blue and laughing while Harvey’s were dark and frequently troubled. Not that I didn’t like Tommy. I did, even though I didn’t know him very well. Everybody liked Tommy. He was famously nice. More important than that, Harvey adored him, worshipped him with the hero worship of a younger brother who had never been disappointed in his idol. That was enough for me.

  As I hopped into the back of the truck with Harvey, Tommy gave me his usual friendly smile, and I returned it.

  “Maybe I wanted to get a look at the town’s latest celebrity,” he said. “Harvey couldn’t stop talking about you yesterday.”

  I felt my smile dim. Had he not talked about me before?

  “Guess he’s looking forward to the fair,” Tommy continued.

  I forced my smile back into brightness. “I am too.”

  Harvey linked his fingers together with mine and gave me a shy smile, more like his usual smiles than the wide, sunny smiles of yesterday. I leaned into his side.

  “I have a surprise for you,” Harvey told me.

  I snuggled in. “Yeah?”

  “You remember how I stepped in last year to help with the kids getting their faces painted?”

  I remembered. Susie and Roz had gone off on their own, and I’d stayed by Harvey’s side and pretended it was a date like I wanted it to be.

  “The lady at the stall said if I’d take over face-painting duties, then me and my pretty girlfriend”—Harvey squeezed my hand—“could go to the fair for free. We can go on all the rides, play all the games, and even get free cotton candy. Pretty good deal, huh?”

  This year, it would be a date. And he’d called me his girlfriend …

  Harvey’s bright face expected an answer, and it was simple to give him the one he wanted. I cuddled up even closer and whispered: “It’s the best. So are you.”

  The red truck took a sharp curve through the road in the green woods. In the side mirror, I saw Tommy Kinkle’s little smile. I wondered if he thought we were dumb kids. My aunts and Ambrose don’t take Harvey and me seriously at all. I heard Aunt Zelda say once that many young witches have passing amusements. It wasn’t like Edward and Diana, she told Aunt Hilda.

  How could she be so sure?

  It was like Edward and Diana. At least, I hoped it was. I wanted to be like them.

  I cleared my throat and said: “I asked my cousin last night where he’d go, if he could go anywhere in the world.”

  Up front, Tommy huffed a small laugh.

  “Sounds like an interesting conversation.”

  “Yeah,” Harvey agreed.

  The single word came out small, just as the truck shuddered to a stop outside the fairground. There was a big white sign tied up between two oak trees with the words LAST DAY OF SUMMER spelled out on in pasted-on green leaves. Beyond that were throngs of people still dressed for summer in shirtsleeves or short, bright dresses.

  I climbed out of the truck, expecting Harvey to follow me. Instead he sat where he was, his head hanging. It was Tommy who jumped out of the driver’s seat. We exchanged a concerned look.

  “Where would you go, Tommy?” Harvey asked, his voice very low, twisting his hands together
. “If you could go anywhere?”

  Tommy reached over the side of the truck and grabbed Harvey in a bear hug, resting his forehead against the back of Harvey’s neck. I watched as Harvey’s melancholy expression brightened into a faint smile, and Tommy closed his laughing blue eyes.

  “I’d stay right here with you, Harvey,” Tommy murmured back. “You nerd.”

  There it was, the answer I’d wanted Ambrose to give. I turned away to face the school, ashamed to realize I was jealous. My chest felt uncomfortable, as if there was an animal coiled up around my heart and I could feel it uncurling as it woke.

  The sight of them didn’t hurt me, but it made me feel in danger of pain, as if the animal wrapped around my heart had claws that might sink in.

  Maybe part of growing up is realizing your heart isn’t safe.

  The Last Day of Summer fair was set up between Greendale and the neighboring town of Riverdale, though closer to our town, nestled up close to the woods and not too far from the orchard. There were blue-and-white-striped tents set up on a smooth expanse of green grass, and a Ferris wheel in which every carriage was wrought iron, painted white with fancy whorls and crimson velvet seats, like a fairy carriage Cinderella might take to the ball.

  The lady who ran the face-painting stall had set us up with stools and a glass bowl full of gumballs, twice as big as marbles and all the colors of the rainbow. She seemed happy to mostly leave Harvey to painting faces while she went off to enjoy the fair with her family.

  I perched on a stool, swinging my legs and enjoying the sight of Harvey being extremely adorable with the kids. He would pick them up and place them gently on a stool so he could reach their faces, then paint with careful tenderness. Sometimes he’d be silent, the tip of his tongue sticking out with concentration as he tried to paint exactly what each kid asked for, and sometimes he would carry on quiet conversations with them, his voice soft and teasing, sounding more like his brother’s voice than usual. There was no trace of shyness or hesitation when he talked to kids. Once Harvey was done, he’d take them in his arms and swing them down. The little kids’ faces shone with laughter and color.