Witches of Ash and Ruin Page 4

  Bronagh, the oldest Callighan, and their coven leader, winked at Dayna before plucking a scone off the plate in the center of the table. Bronagh’s curly red hair was shot through with gray, and she had a shriveled-apple face and an easy laugh. She always wore outrageous floral patterns and knitted shawls, clunky costume brooches and pearls.

  Personally Dayna suspected the grandma disguise might be a kind of ruse to lure her prey into relaxing.

  “You’ve got the tea?” Bronagh inquired around a mouthful of scone, and nodded with satisfaction when Dayna slid the satchel across the table. She wasted no time ripping open the bag and dumping the contents into her mug.

  Faye wrinkled her nose. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Grandmother.”

  Bronagh ignored her. “The other coven is on their way, invitation or not. I suspect it has something to do with those damn birds.” She dipped her scone in her teacup, and Faye looked utterly horrified. “Oh, stop, girl. It doesn’t affect the reading.”

  “Grandmother, haven’t you had enough sweets?”

  “Sod off.” Bronagh moved on to her second scone, ignoring her granddaughter’s disapproving scowl. “Reagan and Dayna, did you do your assignments for the week?”

  “Oh yes.” She’d nearly forgotten. Dayna leaned over to dig into her bag, bringing out the witch’s ladder. She set the knotted strand of wool on the table, and Bronagh nodded approvingly. This spell had been more complicated than the last, but she’d still finished it the first night. “For luck.”

  “And how did it come off, love?” Brenna leaned over and took it from Bronagh before passing it to Yemi, who nodded her approval.

  “Good, I thought”—she grimaced—“until the whole raven thing.”

  “Ah, but from what I hear, you’re one of the few who came out of the incident without a scratch.” Faye raised a brow at her. “Had your spell in your pocket, did you?”

  Dayna nodded slowly, gaze drifting back to the yarn talisman. It was true, she was one of the only students who hadn’t been scratched or battered by the charging ravens.

  “We’ll have to do something more complicated this week.” Bronagh glanced over at Reagan’s talisman, which had been artfully crafted out of leather cord. She’d even added a silver bead on the end. “For prosperity, I see. Very nice.”

  “Beautiful knot work, and how did the spell go?” Brenna said.

  “Well, Auntie.” Reagan beamed, turning out her pocket to show off a handful of coins. “Been picking them up off the sidewalk everywhere I go this week.”

  “Very nice.”

  Dayna eyed her friend’s work, feeling envious. Not only did Reagan read voraciously in her free time, she’d been homeschooled, which meant learning the craft of magic as an elective to her coursework, and so she seemed to Dayna to be leaps and bounds ahead.

  “Where are they coming from, the other coven?” Reagan tucked her witch’s ladder back into the book she’d been working on for the last two weeks, a hefty text on astronomy. This was merely the top of the pile beside her left elbow, which was stacked with titles like A Brief History of Time and The Fabric of the Cosmos.

  “Limerick,” Bronagh said shortly, and then she murmured to Brenna beside her, “Perhaps our next lesson will be another round of protection talismans. It may be necessary.”

  “Speaking of homework, do you have any for the summer?” Faye gave Dayna a stern look. “Don’t think we’ll let you get away with only doing your spell work while you’re here. It’s just as important to get into a good university after graduation.”

  Bronagh made a harrumph noise at this, and Faye scowled. “Witchcraft doesn’t pay the bills, Grandmother. You think she can walk into a grocery store and trade that luck talisman for food? We don’t work on the barter system anymore.”

  “Land sakes, girl,” Bronagh grumbled. “How old do you think I am?”

  Reagan grinned. “Well, you did just say ‘land sakes,’ so…”

  “Honestly, the sheer cheek.”

  Faye was still looking at her expectantly, and Dayna cleared her throat, pocketing her spell. “Uh, I don’t have too much homework. Just some reading.” She was dying with curiosity and here they were talking about homework. “Who’s the one that used to be in your coven?” She noticed Reagan sat up a little straighter beside her. The Callighans had been very close-mouthed about their past. She knew they’d belonged to another coven when she and Reagan were little, but that was it.

  Brenna and Bronagh exchanged a look, and then Bronagh sighed. “I daresay you’ve heard rumors of the King Witch.”

  “What?” Reagan leaned forward, nearly knocking her stack of books over. “The infamous King Witch, destroyer of worlds, devourer of man-parts? You can’t be serious.”

  Dayna blinked around at the Callighans, who stared back at the two girls, straight-faced. They were joking, weren’t they? The King Witch was practically a fairy tale, something Yemi had warned them about to scare them off black magic. A witch who had gone bad, whose magic had turned her cannibal. “Are you seriously saying she was in your coven?”

  “Aye, and now she’s coming back into town.” Bronagh was still staring into her teacup. “I said no thank you, but she wouldn’t be budged. Seems to think she has something important to do here.”

  “Why keep her here if you don’t like her?” Reagan darted a look at her mother. “Have her stay at the hotel. She can buy her own jam tarts.”

  “If she’s here, we can keep an eye on her,” Faye said sternly.

  Dayna tried to suppress a grin. “What if she gets snacky while she’s here?” She nudged Reagan, who laughed. “I’m very attached to all my fingers and toes.”

  “Don’t worry. I bet you don’t even taste good.” Reagan leaned sideways in her chair, snapping her teeth.

  There was a sharp crack from across the table, and Dayna and Reagan both jumped. Bronagh had slammed her cup down, and the table was dotted with drops of tea. “That’s enough,” she said, and her expression was dark. “There will be no joking about black magic in my coven. It is not a laughing matter.”

  Dayna exchanged a look with Reagan, brows raised. They’d asked about black magic before, but it was something that didn’t get discussed at their lessons. Yemi had given them a very short explanation—evil gods equal evil witch—and left it at that.

  Bronagh’s reaction was…unnerving. Dayna shifted in her chair before standing up, using the excuse of getting more milk from the fridge. The situation suddenly didn’t seem the slightest bit funny, and she felt she had to move, just to work off some of the nervous energy.

  Yemi sank down into her seat. Her hands trembled as she picked up her teacup and then, apparently realizing it was too hot, set it back down with a rattling clank.

  Dayna peered over the door of the refrigerator, her stomach twisting at the grim looks on the Callighans’ faces. “What do they want from us?”

  Brenna stood, toying with one of the feathers in her hair as she moved into the kitchen to rinse out her mug. “We’ll know in about…five minutes.”

  “I have so many questions.” Reagan’s easy grin had returned almost immediately. She leaned back, propping her feet up on the chair beside her, ignoring a pointed look from her mother.

  Brenna paused by the fridge, squeezing Dayna’s shoulder gently. “All right, love?”

  Dayna nodded quickly and slid the milk back on the shelf, following Brenna to the table.

  “How many of them are there?” Reagan asked.

  Brenna shrugged as she sat back down, her many bangles and bracelets jingling. “And how would I know?”

  “You could use your magical inner eye, abi? Or, you know, you could have asked on the phone.”

  Brenna shook her head, clearly trying to repress a smile, before returning to her cards, muttering something about “cheek” under her breath, and Reagan grinned and rocked back in her chair, legs akimbo. She was wearing leggings under her many-layered skirt, so the position was not as indecent as it m
ight have been. She folded her arms over her chest. “They’re late. Can this King Witch person not keep track of time?”

  Her voice was casual, and Dayna was grateful she was trying to defuse the tension. She didn’t like how Bronagh kept glancing warily at the door, and the worried looks Brenna was shooting her tarot deck were almost as bad. The tension in the room was starting to make the air feel thick, harder to draw in and out of her lungs.

  One breath in, long and shaky. Back out. Two, three, four.

  Stop that.

  Yemi sat back in her chair, cheeks still rosy from running about the kitchen. She fanned herself with one hand, shaking her head reprovingly. “Quit your sass and drink your tea.”

  “That’s part of our charm, though. I’m the sass and you’re the tea. Besides, I’ve had five cups and I’m ready to burst.”

  Yemi opened her mouth, and Reagan visibly braced herself for the lecture that was coming, a look of amused contrition on her face.

  A sharp rap cut the conversation off and made Dayna jump. The knocking came a second time and then a third, and Bronagh sighed, dusting crumbs off the front of her shawl.

  “They’re here.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MEINER

  The woman who welcomed them in filled the doorway, her colorful dress a cheerful contrast to the dark and drizzly weather. “Hello, hello!” She peered past them at the gray sky, waving them in. “It’s wetter than a damp cat out there. Hurry in, the lot of you!”

  Meiner forced a smile. “You must be Yemi. I’m Meiner and this is Cora.” She took a breath, forcing herself to keep her hands at her sides instead of reaching into her pocket. She’d taken a pill that morning; she was fine. “This is my grandmother, Elizabeth King. You spoke on the phone.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Elizabeth…” Yemi faltered, focusing on Grandma King’s face. Meiner cringed. The drive over had not gone well. Grandma King had unraveled bit by bit as they drew closer to the coven house. Now she was staring around the place—a vestibule with racks of boots on either side—with a confused and irritated look.

  “Where the devil have you taken me, Stephanie?”

  Meiner flinched. This was not the first time Gran had mistaken her for her mother, but it hurt every time the name came out of the old woman’s mouth. She didn’t remember Stephanie King, but it didn’t mean she wanted to be reminded of her.

  Yemi smiled, covering her surprise gracefully. “Why don’t you all come in? I’ve the kettle on for some nice hot tea and we’ll do introductions all round.”

  Meiner nodded, grateful, and they followed her into the kitchen. Even Gran went without protest, seemingly soothed by the promise of tea. They passed through a short hallway, the walls of which were covered in a variety of pictures. There were family photos, Yemi and a girl who was obviously her daughter, posing for their portraits, and several pictures of a group of Black girls in football jerseys on the field, arms around one another as they grinned at the photographer.

  But the picture that really caught her eye was of a group of women sitting on a checkered blanket spread under an apple tree, faces turned up to the camera. Just behind them, clear in the photo, was a makeshift altar under the nearest apple tree, incense burning in the center.

  Was that their coven? She tried to imagine a world where her coven picnicked on sunny days in apple orchards or took family portraits together, and completely failed. It was a ridiculous image.

  They moved into the kitchen, and Cora stopped abruptly. Meiner, who had been glancing back at Grandma King to make sure the old woman didn’t wander off outside, nearly walked into her. When she looked up her mouth dropped open. It was not the cluttered but homey kitchen or the giant, faded tapestry on the wall that caught her attention…

  It was her.

  Meiner couldn’t look away. The wide blue eyes, the silver nose ring, the dusting of freckles across her pale cheeks…

  The girl from Sage Widow sat at the kitchen table, blinking at Meiner in surprise. She seemed frozen, a teacup halfway to her lips, staring with wide eyes. Meiner opened her mouth and then shut it, unsure what to say.

  Finally Cora said it. Loudly enough for them all to hear. “Whoa, it’s Tea Girl. That’s weird.”

  Tea Girl, for her part, blushed bright red and shifted in her chair. “Dayna,” she said. “And you’re Meiner, right?”

  Yemi was already beaming at them. “Oh, you’ve met before?”

  Dayna looked flustered. “Uh, at Sage Widow earlier today.”

  Oh no, she wasn’t about to get away with it that easily. “Yeah, that’s right, she practically stole the last satchel of tea out of my hand.”

  Dayna sputtered. “What? You know I had it first.”

  Meiner smirked, sinking down onto the seat across from Dayna. She couldn’t seem to help herself. The other girl was so indignant, it made her want to keep going. “Aye, that’s your official story, isn’t it?”

  Dayna flushed even darker. She looked fairly ready to burst, and then the girl beside her cleared her throat, flicking blue locs over one shoulder. “Not all of us know one another. Should we do introductions?”

  The red-haired woman across the table clanked her teacup down. “Yes, let’s get to know one another.”

  Meiner looked around the table. The teacup-smashing woman was pale, thin, and waspish. Her narrow glasses and tight bun at the top of her head gave her an angry librarian vibe. The woman sitting next to her looked related, though, judging by her warm smile, she was a good deal more cheerful. She also had an assortment of black feathers and silver beads in her hair, and parts of it were braided, apparently at random. An older sister or mother of the angry librarian, maybe. The woman on the other side had to be as old as Grandma King. She wore a blue knitted shawl with a clunky costume brooch pinned to the front. She was busy peering into her teacup, as if it were far more interesting than the other coven.

  Then there was Yemi, their hostess. Judging by the warning look the older woman gave her, the Black girl with the blue hair and the stack of books was her daughter.

  So, this was the other coven it was so vital they meet. She wasn’t sure what to think.

  Introductions began and ended, and Meiner tried to keep her eyes in the right places and not stare at Dayna, who she was very aware was still scowling at her.

  “You’ve quite a bit of luggage with you, King.” The old woman, Bronagh, placed a wrinkled hand on the table, spreading her fingers over the cloth. “Exactly how long are you planning on staying?”

  Meiner’s brows shot up, and she swiveled in her chair. If Gran was offended by the sharpness of the question, her face revealed nothing. For a moment, the old woman simply stared, and Meiner sighed, about to explain they might not get any sense out of her, that today had been one of her bad days.

  Grandma King leaned forward, taking her teacup. Her hands were suddenly steady. “As long as it takes, Bronagh. We’re going to need to pool our power. You don’t have enough on your own, and there’s nothing but hedge witches for miles.”

  Meiner blinked, feeling a bit of whiplash at how fast this version of her grandmother had returned. On top of that, it seemed she and Dayna weren’t the only ones butting heads. No surprise that Grandma King had bad history with her old coven.

  Grandma King leveled a pointed look at the other woman. “I think you know why we’re here.”

  “I’m loath to admit it.” Bronagh stared down at her teacup, a reluctant frown etching deep lines across her weathered face. “But yes…all my readings have been terribly dark lately, and none of them clear.” Her eyes went narrow. “But that doesn’t mean we needed you, King.”

  “You will,” Grandma King said. “Something is waking.”

  “What is it?” Reagan asked. “What’s waking?”

  The blue-haired girl looked at Grandma King, her expression critical.

  Instead of answering, the old woman began to turn, eyes fixed on the window. After a moment she spoke again, and her voice was
a low mutter. “Where…where’s the light?”

  Meiner’s stomach sank. “She’s gone again, sorry. She…hasn’t been herself lately.”

  For a moment they watched as Grandma King hobbled over to stare out the window. There was a beat of silence as the other coven exchanged looks with one another, and Meiner’s nerves began chewing at her insides. Then everyone except Bronagh jumped as Brenna slammed one hand on the table in exasperation. She’d been shuffling through her cards for the entire conversation. “Again! It keeps coming up.”

  Faye, who’d been lifting her cup from her saucer, looked down at her plate, which was now full of tea. “What,” she said sharply, “keeps coming up?”

  Brenna jabbed her finger at the card in the center of her spread. “That.”

  The card Brenna pointed to was framed in smudgy black swirls. In the center, a crumbling brick building was bathed in flames, which were creeping up the base, licking at the windows. There was a black silhouette in the air halfway down, arms outstretched, legs splayed. Falling.

  “The tower,” she said. “No matter how many times I lay the cards out.”

  The tower. Change. Destruction.

  Meiner bit the inside of her cheek, stomach twisting uneasily.

  The others were silent, and then Brenna looked up from the cards, eyes round. “It’ll be the death card next, mark my words.”

  “It’s rarely in the literal sense,” Faye pointed out, though she didn’t look certain.

  Meiner cleared her throat. “Uh, I’m afraid it might be this time. Gran had a premonition about a murder specifically. The murder of a witch. That’s why we’re here, because she thinks we need to stop it from happening again.”

  She saw Dayna’s brows shoot up, and the Callighans exchanged a look between them. Slowly Faye said, “Again?”

  Cora leaned forward at the table, expression eager. “We saw it on the way here, in—”

  “The stone circles.” Meiner shot her a dark look. She wasn’t about to let Cora dominate the conversation the way she always did. Not here.