Sisterhood, Tales of the Coven Vol 1

Introduction

2019-08-22T14:10:00.000-07:00

This is the story of two witches: Agnes and Sylvia. The story focuses primarily on Sylvia, as she grows up in a household of witches and then develops powers herself. She, Agnes, and their sister Sophie struggle to learn their abilities and find their place in the world. Through it all, Sylvia and Agnes find out that their bond as sisters is stronger than anything.

Please enjoy "Sisterhood"...

REWRITE!!!

2011-07-25T09:31:00.000-07:00

OK, so let's do a fantasy story!

Long, long time ago in a galaxy far away (or whatever) there's Aggie and her teenaged sister Sylvia. Aggie is a good and proper young woman most of the time, although somewhat naive and emotional. Sylvia is a tomboy who enjoys riding horses and tramping through the woods. They're pretty well-off on a nice estate with their parents.

But when we begin Sylvia wakes up to the house on fire. It's being raided by the local priests and their minions, who think Sylvia's mom is a witch. Their father tries to intervene but he's cut down and then their mother executed. Aggie gets Sylvia out of there, where they flee into the woods.

A few weeks later they arrive at a new town, shabby and in poor spirits. They go into the marketplace to beg, but aren't getting far. Then a wealthy merchant named Alejandro shows up. He invites the girls back to his home, where he puts them up in some spare rooms.

Aggie and Alejandro start spending a lot of time together. Sylvia would like to spend time with Alejandro as well, but she's too young so that he doesn't notice her in that way. But she does make friends with a young stable boy named Henri, who soon becomes her best friend, though she doesn't think of him in a romantic way, much as he might want her to.

Aggie and Alejandro announce they're getting married, which bums Sylvia out. She tries to put up with it for as long as she can, but the day of the wedding she can't face a future of seeing Alejandro and Aggie together, so she decides she'd be better off back in the wild forest. As she's running away, Henri intercepts her, trying to convince her to come back. She refuses and gives him a punch in the nose. He decides to come with her because of course he's secretly in love with her despite that she's still mooning over Al.

They survive in the wild forest for a few months and start to get much closer. Then it starts to get cold and she isn't prepared for the conditions. She's rescued by an old woman, who turns out to be a witch. She tells Sylvia that her mom really was a witch, part of a secret order who have preserved the secrets of magic from the old times. While Henri goes to work on the witch's farm, Sylvia learns about potions and spells and whatnot. At nights, after the old woman goes to bed, Sylvia and Henri make out and start thinking about a life together.

Sylvia is feeling good and starting to forget about the pain of Aggie/Alejandro when the village and the old woman's farm come under attack from vampires! The witch dies to save Sylvia and Henri. They escape into the forest, but before they can celebrate, Henri is taken by one of the vampires and dragged away.

Sylvia survives and hangs out in the woods for a while until she runs into a not-as-old witch who's tracking the vampires who killed her mentor. Sylvia joins up with her and learns about hunting vampires. They find a nest of them somewhere and avenge the old witch, but Henri is nowhere to be found. Sylvia assumes that he was eaten by the vamps.

The witch introduces Sylvia to the rest of her coven and she joins up with them, becoming a freelance witch/vampire hunter. A few years go by until she's near her old home. She finds out from the locals that Aggie is about to give birth to a second child. Sylvia decides to go home and reconnects with her sister. Even though she's 18 or so now, Sylvia still feels like a lovesick girl when she meets Alejandro again.

The night the baby is born, Sylvia and Alejandro are waiting outside and end up kissing. A few days later, they screw in the forest. Sylvia makes an excuse later to get out of there and go back to being a freelance vampire killer/witch.

Over the next few years, Sylvia and Alejandro rendezvous on the sly without Aggie knowing about it. Sylvia and Alejandro go to some big city and have an especially romantic weekend. About five months after that, Sylvia realizes that she's pregnant! She talks with her mentor witch about it, who says Sylvia should get rid of the baby (abortion or adoption--her choice!) because witches aren't supposed to have kids or husbands or anything. That was what got Sylvia's mom thrown out of the coven.

She arranges to meet Alejandro, hoping that he'll have some better ideas. He suggests that she have the kid and then after a few months give it to him. He'll act like he "found" the baby abandoned somewhere and give it to Aggie to raise. Sylvia could still see the kid as the aunt. Sylvia doesn't want to go along with that. She tells him to screw off and then goes to hide out somewhere.

She has her daughter without incident and settles in to live as a hermit. But after a couple of years, her mentor witch shows up and says that a massive group of vampires attacked the place where Aggie and Alejandro lived and made off with just about everyone--including Aggie and Alejandro and their kids!

Sylvia makes the tough decision to leave her daughter with some priestesses or something and then goes off to track down the vampires, hoping she's not so late that her family are dead or turned into vampires.

She finds their mountain fortress or whatever and then breaks inside. Inside she finds that the leader of the vampires is an undead Henri! He tries to convince her to become a vampire too so that they can be together forever, but she refuses. They fight and she summons some kind of really powerful magic to transform Henri back into a normal person. The cost of it is that for the moment at least Sylvia's magic is drained so that she's a normal person as well.

She frees Aggie and the others and takes Henri with her. Later she confesses to Aggie that she and Alejandro had an affair and produced a daughter. Aggie is angry but forgives her. Sylvia leaves them back at home, saying goodbye to Alejandro.

She talks with her mentor about what she should do now. Her mentor says that Sylvia should do what she thinks is right. So she and Henri go to the temple or whatever and rescue her daughter. The three of them leave to go find somewhere new to live as a family.

Yay, a happyish ending!

Epilogue

2010-09-13T06:37:00.003-07:00

Epilogue

When Aggie and I return to the estate almost thirty years later, the place is a disaster. It looks as if it’s been through a war, which is accurate. The Great War, at least that’s what they call it in America, though I don’t know what’s so great about it.

The gates are off their hinges, so that we can just walk right through. I can see Aggie shiver as we go around a crater left by an artillery shell. At least there aren’t any dead bodies along the path.

The house itself has a few windows broken, some stone chipped, and a handful of bullets embedded in the walls. I go up the steps first, reaching down to the holster at my hip for the revolver Colt gave me almost eighty years ago. Though Aggie and I are witches, I just feel better having the pistol in my hand.

“It looks deserted,” Aggie says.

“Yeah, looks like,” I say. Aggie has always been too trusting. The war has only been over for a few weeks; there might still be deserters or scavengers holed up in here.

I go in first, sweeping the foyer with my gun. Aggie stays behind me as we shuffle along the hallway. I peek my head into the parlor, wearing my nightcrystal glasses for the first time in years so that I can see in the darkness. There’s no one in here, but from the debris on the floor and the broken furniture it’s obvious someone was here.

Aggie gasps and I realize why as she runs over to the mantle. Someone has run a sword along the length of the portrait of her family, cleanly slicing through the faces of her sons. “How could someone do such a thing?” she asks.

“Foot soldiers aren’t always the brightest people. You should be glad they didn’t use it for kindling.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Aggie mumbles, though I know she’s still devastated.

We should have taken the paintings and furniture with us to Rampart—recently renamed Rampart City. But Aggie wasn’t sure how long she would be staying and didn’t want to disturb her old house. After a while we both just forgot about it, taking for granted that the house would remain untouched whenever we chose to visit.

I put a hand on Aggie’s shoulder and give it a squeeze. “We can have someone fix it.”

“I know.” The rest of the bottom floor is in a similar state. The books in the library—most of them still Sophie’s books—have pages torn out, probably for toilet paper. A few have lewd images drawn in them and captions in German that cause Aggie to blush. “Animals.”

Upstairs isn’t much better. We start with the master bedroom, where Aggie and Alejandro used to sleep. Someone has taken a knife or sword to the mattress, splitting it open. The gutted mattress lies propped against the window, no doubt from someone looking for a hidden stash of money left behind.

It’s the same in the other bedrooms, including mine. Some savage has even torn the heads off of my old dolls. I almost step on the shattered remains of the redheaded doll Alejandro gave me for Christmas. Bending down, I scoop up the pieces, tucking these into a pocket. Like the painting, maybe I can have someone repair it.

“What a mess,” Aggie says.

“It sure is,” I say.

“I suppose most of it we can throw out. The rest we ought to put into storage before the next awful war.”

I nod at this. You don’t need to have feelings like Aggie to know another war will come along; they always do on this continent. “Let’s get to work.”

The rest of the estate isn’t in much better condition. The vines have withered away from a lack of attention. I’m not a farmer by any stretch, but I know the entire vineyard will have to be replanted; we’ll have to start from scratch. It’d probably be easier to plow the whole thing under and sell it to someone else, but Aggie and I have already agreed that we won’t give up this property under any circumstances.

I’m relieved that no scavengers or vandals have desecrated Mama and Sophie’s graves. Of course Sophie’s grave is just a tombstone, but it’s still a reminder of how much we cared for her. I kneel down in front of Mama’s grave, brushing some dirt away from the stone. “It’s me, Mama,” I whisper. Mama probably wouldn’t recognize me now that I’ve let myself get old, though I can still take down men a quarter of my age. “We’ll make this right,” I promise her.

The stables where I first met Henri and later David have all but burned to the ground. There’s only a few bits of charred wood and stone left to indicate where it ever was. There probably won’t be much need for a stable now, not with all these motorized machines like automobiles and airplanes.

I find a broken scythe blade that I use to hack through the brush of the old forest paths. Despite the pain in my old joints, I keep swinging the rusty blade to make my way along the path. I have to know if my special place is still there.

It’s been over a century since Alejandro and I last fucked there, but I still remember how to find the little clearing. I part the brush, half-expecting to find a deer standing there. But there’s nothing, just an empty bit of grass. I lie down on this, putting my ear to ground and closing my eyes. If I listen hard enough, I can hear Henri’s voice tell me that he loves me.

Four hundred years and the pain is still as fresh as when I first found him with the wound in his chest. Love doesn’t die or fade away; if it’s real love it will always be there. Though I’m now sixty instead of sixteen, tears still dribble down my cheeks, onto the grass. “I’m sorry, Henri,” I whisper. “I wish I could have saved you.”

I lie there until I hear Aggie’s voice. I open my eyes and for a moment I expect to see Alejandro lying next to me. There’s no one. I groan as I get to my feet and then limp out to the cleared path, where I find Aggie waiting for me with a look of concern. “I thought you’d gotten lost,” she says.

“No, I knew where I was going.”

“I remember this place,” she says. “I used to make out with boys here.”

“So did I.”

We share a brief laugh at this and then I take Aggie’s arm to walk back to the house.

It’s a laborious process for two old women—even two old witches—to clean up the house. I do most of the manual labor, having far more experience at it. I haul the broken furniture out to the ruins of the stable, where I pile it up to burn later.

Aggie focuses on tidying up the kitchen and then the library. The books too badly damaged or defaced she puts into a bin to be destroyed. I can only imagine how much this would pain Sophie. The rest Aggie puts into neat stacks to be boxed up.

On the second day of this, I see a man coming up the path. I take out my pistol, leveling it at him. The closer he gets, though, the more familiar his face seems. Though we haven’t formally met, I know this is one of the Devereaux clan. I shove the pistol back into its holster.

“It’s good to see someone cleaning this place up,” Mr. Devereaux says.

“Yes, it is.”

“May I ask your name?”

“Sylvia Joubert. My sister and I own this estate.”

“Oh.” Mr. Devereaux stares at me, probably trying to figure out why he’s never seen us before.

“We’ve been in America for a while. Once we heard the war was over, we decided to see what happened to the old place.’

“I’m afraid it’s in very bad shape.”

“I noticed.”

To my surprise, Mr. Devereaux bursts into tears. “I’ve failed you!” he wails. “My family has worked this land for centuries, nurtured it, but we could not stop the soldiers—or the tanks. Those metal monsters came rolling through here, flattening everything in their path. And the noise they make!”

I put a hand on Mr. Devereaux’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I understand.” I force a smile to my face. “You and your family are welcome to come back now. There’s a lot of work to be done to rebuild the place.” I motion to the vineyards. “We really need your expertise in the vineyards.”

“They’re a complete loss, I fear.”

“I fear that too, but we can replant.”

He finally smiles back at me. “Yes, we will rebuild.”

“That’s right. We’ll rebuild it to last a few more centuries.”

Mr. Devereaux and I exchange ideas for a while. His family has been hiding out nearby and he’s more than anxious to bring them back here. I have little doubt that Aggie will agree to give them the same autonomy as before in managing the estate. I can’t imagine that she will want to try living here again. For better or worse, Rampart City is our home now.

Once Mr. Devereaux leaves to tell his family the good news, I go inside to relay our conversation to Aggie. I find her still in the study, which is mostly cleaned up now. A painting stands in front of her. As I step into the room, she turns the painting so I can see it’s the portrait Mama had painted of us when we first came here.

“It’s hard to imagine we were ever that young,” she says.

“I know what you mean.” Back then we were just children, especially me. Now there’s only two of us left and we’re tottering old women. “What should we do with it?”

Aggie considers this for a long time. The way she stares at the painting, I worry she might finally figure out what Sophie discovered over two hundred years ago. If she does, she gives no sign. “Those days are over,” she says.

I nod to her and lay the portrait in the crate with the others to be stored. Before I close the lid, I look at it one last time. Sophie was right that we look nothing alike, but from the love in our eyes, it’s clear that we’re a family.

I shut the lid and then go back to work.

[END]

Chapter 35

2010-09-13T06:36:00.009-07:00

Chapter 35

The golden age of the American frontier is nearing its end. Thousands of people are being let into Oklahoma to snap up land for homesteading. Between these homesteaders and the railroads, there’s not much wild left to the wild frontier.

It’s about time I hang up my hat and spurs, though never my six-shooter. That’s just as well as I’m getting too old for all of this riding around on horseback and sleeping on the ground. When I came back from Alejandro’s funeral I made myself young again on the outside, but I still felt old inside. It’s been forty years since then, though I keep myself in my mid-thirties, just spry enough so I can keep doing my job.

I suppose connecting with Aggie’s grandchild Lise is what made me feel so old when I came back. Or maybe it’s just the weight of all these centuries pressing down on me. Or maybe it’s the steam engines, railroad tracks, and homesteaders that make me feel more and more like a relic every day.

The last time I felt young and energized was during the Civil War. I of course took the Union side, selling guns to the North. I even cut my hair and joined a unit sabotaging Confederate supply lines in Texas and farther west.

As the war wound down, it became like the early days of Revolution again. Lincoln was assassinated and all hope for anything good to come of this faded away. They say slavery is over in the south, but that’s only in name. In truth most of the black men and women are still economic slaves, like Henri and so many others were in feudal times. The Indians have fared even worse, being driven from their land and slaughtered if they don’t abide by the bogus treaties. There’s so much promise for this country, but the goal keeps slipping farther and farther away.

With the war over, I got back in my saddle. Only now instead of staying around a ranch, I could drive the cattle from Texas all the way up to Kansas to be loaded onto trains bound for Chicago. As back in Texas, I found this work easy enough. Still, the age I feel in my heart kept me from enjoying the riding, roping, and drinking as much as I used to.

Even that’s going to be gone before much longer. If the Civil War really did anything, it showed where the future lies. It’s not riding around on a horse, roping cattle. It’s in factories, in cities, and on the railroads.

That’s why for the first time in thirty years I’m wearing a dress and standing in an empty house. There’s a man with me, a little man named Harlan Earl. We stand in a space about half the size of the living room back at Aggie’s house, which Harlan calls the parlor. I try to imagine a sofa, chairs, and other furniture in here. Making a noncommittal grunt, I turn to the window. The block is lined with other houses similar to this one, along with maple trees that are beginning to turn yellow.

“If you’ll follow me, Miss Joubert, I’ll show you the kitchen.” Harlan is a nice man and trying hard, but he annoys me like many Americans by pronouncing my last name as “Jew-Bert.” In his good-natured way he probably wants to show me the kitchen because he thinks I’ll be spending a lot of time there, cooking for my eventual husband—if I can find one at my age.

I try to make impressed-sounding noises as he opens the various drawers and cabinets and shows me how to work the stove. I’m not sure why I’m at this house; like Connor’s in Edinburgh it’s much too big for me. Still, it’s about time I settle down and just as industry is the way of the future, so is America the place of the future. The Old World is just that—old and worn out from thousands of years of fighting.

“Would you like to see the basement?” Harlan asks me. I shrug, which he takes for a yes. We descend the stairs into the basement, where the coal furnace is kept. The rest of the space is cavernous, as big as the stables back home. “There’s plenty of room for storage.”

“Yes, there is.”

We go back upstairs, touring the three bedrooms and storage rooms. Harlan ends the tour in the master bedroom, though from his nervousness I doubt it’s because he’s flirting with me. “As you can see, this is quite a good house. Very sturdy and reasonably priced. It’s also in a marvelous neighborhood with excellent schools—”

“It’s a little big for me,” I tell him.

“Oh,” he says and his smile fades. It’s unlikely that he’s been on the job long and he probably was hoping for a sale.

“But I’ll consider it. Can you give me a couple of days to think about it?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, his face brightening again. He pats the pockets of his jacket until he finds a card with his name and address written on it. “Whenever you’re ready, you just get a hold of me there.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Like most major cities in America and Europe these days, there’s a foul smell hanging in the air of Rampart. It’s the odor you get from too many places burning coal in close proximity, along with human refuse. There’s talk of putting in a sewage system like in Paris or other civilized cities, but there isn’t enough funding for this yet.

I return to my hotel, where I’ve been staying for the last week while I evaluate opportunities here. Instead of going to my room, I go to the bar, which is empty at two o’clock in the afternoon. I’m on my third whiskey when Glenda sits down next to me.

She orders a whiskey for herself, gulping it down immediately. “This can’t be good,” I say.

“I’m afraid not. Lise died last night.”

“Oh. I see.” It’s been forty years since I last saw Lise; by now she’s probably a grandmother herself. “How’s Agnes taking it?”

“Hard, as you would imagine.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Aggie’s children have all died, Luc keeling over in the stables ten years ago. Zoe died five years ago in a house fire. That left only Lise as Aggie’s most immediate relatives, though she has a few great-grandchildren and probably great-great-grandchildren before long. She isn’t as close to them as she was to Lise and Zoe, or Brigitte before she died; at well over a hundred by mortal reckoning she’s too old for baking cookies and kissing boo-boos anymore. I try not to think of my daughter, who by now would be seventy-four, though more likely she’s long since died. “You want me to talk to her?”

“I think you should. She always listens to you.”

Glenda and I order another drink each and gulp them down at the same time. “So how did Lise go?”

“In her sleep. Very peacefully.”

“Like her grandfather.”

“I suppose so.” Glenda drinks another whiskey and then says, “I hear you’re retiring from the cowgirl business.”

“The business is going to retire me before much longer, so I might as well beat it to the punch.”

Glenda considers this for a moment, staring at me. “There’s something different about you. Let me get a look at you.” As in the archives so long ago, she tilts my chin so she can look me in the eyes. “I’ll be, it looks like you’re finally a grown up.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean that as a compliment.”

I can imagine Hisae saying that I’m not longer young in my heart, which is how I’ve felt for most of the last forty years. “I guess I’m finally getting old.”

“We all do eventually.”

I slide off my stool and then leave some money for the drinks. Before I can leave, Glenda catches my arm. “When you see Agnes, don’t be too shocked by what you see.”

“You’ll see.”

With that ominous warning, I go out to an alley and vanish myself home.

The house has the feel of a museum. Not only the darkness, the dust, and cobwebs, but the smell of it. Unlike all the years when the house was occupied by Aggie, Sophie, Mama, and I and then later by Aggie’s family, the house has a certain dank aroma, as if it’s rotting away. The only person downstairs is the latest Mrs. Devereaux, a rotund woman with a pleasant face.

“Mrs. Chiostro is napping,” she says as she boils some chicken broth.

“How is she feeling?”

“She only feels bad when she remembers. That isn’t often these days.”

“Oh,” I say, unable to think of anything else.

“Are you one of Mrs. Chiostro’s great-granddaughters?”

“Yes. My name’s Sylvia.”

“Sylvia? I think Mrs. Chiostro had a sister named that. No one’s seen her for a long time. They say she was a very peculiar woman.”

“She probably was.” With a nod I take my leave of Mrs. Devereaux and start up the stairs. My footsteps echo with each step and I feel a growing cold lump in my stomach as I think about what I’ll find up there.

I tap on the door to the master bedroom, but there’s no answer. I finally turn the knob and slip into the room. It’s as dark as it was the last time I was in here, after Alejandro died. Only this time Aggie is lying on her back, sleeping.

She looks almost like Mama in her final days. Her white hair is thin to the point of her scalp being visible. Her cheekbones are pressed close to the surface, so close that they seem ready to tear through her skin. The withered hands on top of the blankets are curled into claws, probably from arthritis.

I hesitate for a moment to make sure that she’s still breathing. Then I reach out to gently shake her shoulder. “Agnes?”

“Mama?”

“No, Agnes, it’s not Mama. It’s Sylvia. You have to wake up now.”

“I don’t want to study. I don’t want to be a witch.”

“Agnes, wake up.”

“I don’t care about the coven.”

“That’s fine, Agnes. I don’t care about them either.”

“I want to kiss boys.”

I can see this isn’t getting anywhere, so I try changing tactics. “A proper young lady does not lie in bed all day,” I say in my best imitation of Mama. “Now get up at once.”

Aggie sits up as if fired out of a cannon. When her eyes open, I see they’re as rheumy and unfocused as Mama’s before she died. She looks around the room, waving her hands around. “Mama? Where are you? It’s so dark.”

I lean close to her so that one of her hands can touch me. “I’m right here, dear.”

“I don’t feel good, Mama.”

“That’s all right, dear. Mama is going to help you. But first we’re going to do a little magic practice. Can you handle that?”

“I suppose.”

“Good. Now, I want you to think about what you look like. Concentrate very hard on this. As you do, I want you to say, ‘Bazzo Grinick Noram Alkun.’ Can you do that?”

Aggie nods. She closes her eyes and then repeats the magic words. I worry that her magic might be too weak to work at this point, in which case I’d have to ask Glenda about an Inner Child potion. But as I watch, Aggie’s hair thickens, her face becomes chubbier, and her skin turns smooth. Her hair goes from white to gray to silver and then back to its natural gold.

When Aggie opens her eyes again, she’s a sixteen-year-old novice. Her eyes are clear again, the bright eyes of a young girl. That is until she looks around the room. She holds up a hand, staring at it for a moment. Then she finally settles her gaze on me. “Thank you, dear,” she whispers. “I suppose I let myself go too long this time.”

“It’s all right. You’re fine now.” I bend down to put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes. They’re all dead now. Only the great-grandchildren are left and they’re afraid to see me.” Tears sparkle in her eyes. “They think I’m just a withered old hag.”

“You’re not—anymore.”

She slides over a little so that I can sit next to her on the bed. She stares down at her feet, making no effort to wipe her tears away. “Glenda was right,” she says.

“About what?”

“When I married Alejandro, she said I would receive my punishment. Now I realize that this was it, watching them grow old and die. My beautiful babies. My grandbabies. Alejandro.” She shakes her head. “They’re all gone now.”

We don’t say anything for a minute. I’m not sure what I can really say at this moment to comfort Aggie. Alejandro and the others aren’t ever coming back; her family is gone forever. She surprises me by wiping at her cheeks and smiling. “I don’t regret it, though. Not a bit.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I have ninety years of such beautiful memories. I remember the first time I kissed Alejandro. Standing at the altar with him. Holding Mathieu, Marcus, and Luc after they were born. Baking cookies with Zoe. Showing Lise how to sew. Reading to poor Brigitte. No one can take that away from me.”

I nod at this, thinking back to my own treasure trove of memories from over the years. Most of these involve Henri and Alejandro, but there’s also Connor, David, Rachel, Frau Braun, not to mention Mama and Sophie. There’s all those spectacular sunrises and sunsets I witnessed on the frontier. Lifetimes of memories stored away in my mind. “I guess you’re right.”

“I suppose now the only question is what I do now,” Aggie says. “I don’t want to just putter around this old house for another hundred years.”

“Come with me to America,” I say.

“America? I don’t know, isn’t that a little uncivilized?”

I think of the house Harlan Earl showed me with its tree-lined street. A house with too much room for one person, but just enough for two. “Not anymore.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you.”

“It’s not an imposition.” I give her shoulder a squeeze. “You’re my sister.”

“But what would I do in America?”

“Whatever you want. It’s the land of opportunity.”

Aggie turns to me with a shy smile. “I suppose we could give it a try.”

Chapter 34

2010-09-13T06:36:00.005-07:00

Chapter 34

The house is the same as when I left, at least on the outside. It seems that time never changes the grounds of the estate or the vineyard. Time only seems to change the people who live here.

I can’t help feeling self-conscious as I shuffle up the front drive. I’ve never been this old before. I never realized how annoying it would be: my back aches, my feet throb, and my lungs burn just from the effort of walking from the gate to the house. I have to clutch my hands together to keep them from shaking.

As I’m about halfway, I hear a man call my name. The sound of his voice is enough like Alejandro’s that I flinch. Alejandro is supposed to be dead! Glenda wouldn’t try such a horrible ruse to make me come back, would she?

Except that it’s not Alejandro approaching me. It’s a man who looks far more like Aggie with golden hair and a slight, almost girlish frame. I recognize him as Luc, who I had last seen at five years old. “Aunt Sylvia!” he calls again and breaks into a run.

Despite that he’s about forty years old now, Luc shows no embarrassment in hugging me. Seeing him up close, it’s obvious that I was right when I first saw him; he did indeed turn out to be a very handsome man. I free one of my trembling hands to pat him lightly on the back. “Hello,” I say. “How did you know it was me?”

He smiles up at me. “No other woman I know would be dressed like that.”

My face turns warm as I realize I’m still wearing men’s pants and a flannel shirt, both of these stained with mud. “I’m sorry. I came straight here when I heard the news.”

“Heard the news? Papa only died last night.”

I feel even more embarrassed at this, realizing my blunder in coming here straightaway. “Yes, well, I was in the area.”

Luc takes this at face value, probably having inherited his mother’s trusting nature. “The rest of the family will be delighted to see you.”

“I hope so.” Like a gentleman, Luc takes me by the arm to help me up the rest of the drive. Ordinarily I would insist that I could do this, but at the moment I feel my age.

I’ve never seen Aggie’s grandchildren before. They’re both in the parlor, sitting demurely on the sofa. Like Luc, they have Aggie’s blond hair, blue eyes, and delicate bone structure. They look so much alike—they even have their hair in identical curls—that they could be twins, though in reality they’re cousins. The older of the two, Zoe, glares at me. “Who’s this? One of Grandmama’s friends?”

“This is your Aunt Sylvia,” Luc says. “She’s been gone away in America.”

“Why’s she dressed like a peasant?” Zoe asks, still glaring. If I were younger, I would teach the girl some manners, or if I could use magic in front of these mortals.

“Behave yourself, Zoe,” Luc says. “Go and fetch your father and uncle.”

Like Aggie’s grandchildren, her two other sons could also be twins. The only difference is that Mathieu is balder and Marcus is heavier. They both still look too much like Alejandro for my taste. Unlike Luc, they don’t hug me; Mathieu shakes my hand while Marcus only nods to me. Once all of the introductions are made, I ask the most important question, “How is Agnes?”

“Mother is feeling out of sorts, as you’d expect,” Mathieu says.

“She still won’t see any visitors,” Marcus adds.

Lucs nods sagely at this. “She’s been up in her room ever since they took Papa away. We’ve all tried to convince her to leave. Even the priest came by to reason with her, but she refuses to budge.” He squeezes my arm. “Perhaps you can get through to her.”

“I can try.”

Before I go to the master bedroom, I find that my bedroom is still the same as the last time I left it. The doll Alejandro gave to me for that first Christmas is on the shelf, dust on its hair and dress from over the years. Everything in here is as dusty as my house in Edinburgh. Did Aggie stop having anyone dust the place out of respect for me? Maybe she wanted to preserve everything the way it was, thinking I would never come back.

In the closet are a couple of old dresses, including the ones I wore as a child. Despite that it’s been almost three hundred years, the dark green dress with gold trim Aggie made for me to wear to the archives is still hanging up. It’s a tight squeeze now that I’m sixty instead of sixteen and looking in the mirror, the effect of it is macabre. I take this off in favor of a rough brown dress that is bulkier and thus more flattering to my elderly body.

With the silver hairpins Mama gave me so long ago, I pin my hair out of my face. I still look terrible, but not as if I’ve been toiling in a stream all day. I wonder if Aggie will still recognize me looking this way; she’s never seen me so old before.

Instead of knocking on the door and trying to plead with Aggie, I simply vanish myself into the room. It’s dark enough with the curtains drawn that for a moment I can’t see Aggie at all. Once my eyes adjust a bit, I can make her out lying on the bed, her back turned to me. From the way her body trembles, I’m sure that she’s still crying. “Agnes?”

She doesn’t turn to face me, but she does mumble, “Glenda told you, didn’t she?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“I know. Thank you.”

There’s no point in asking if she’s all right, because the answer to that is obvious. I’m more concerned that Aggie might do something to herself, that she might try to kill herself so she can join her husband in the afterlife. I slowly make my way around the bed to see that she has nothing in her hands, no knives or pistols or potions. Though with her knowledge of magic, she didn’t necessarily need a weapon.

What’s most disconcerting are her eyes, which are glassy, not just from crying. How long has she been lying here? Luc said since they took the body, which could be as long as twelve hours ago.

I bend down so that Aggie can see my face. “Everyone’s downstairs. Your whole family. Don’t you want to let them in?”

“No. I want to be alone.”

“They’re worried about you. So am I. This isn’t like you.”

“I’m glad that you came, but you can leave now. I’m not going to hurt myself.”

“That’s good. Could I at least get you some water or maybe some bread? You have to keep your strength up.”

“Why?”

“Don’t talk like that, Agnes. I know you loved Alejandro. He was a good man.” I reach out to touch Aggie’s hair, which has gone completely white. As far as her family knows, she’s seventy years old, ancient by mortal standards. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He would want you to be strong and take care of his family.”

“They don’t need me anymore. They’re all grown up.”

“You can’t just lie here forever.”

Before I know what’s happening, Aggie has used a Static Charge spell to hurl me back into the wall. I lie there in a daze, hoping I didn’t break any of my brittle old bones. For her part, Aggie stays on the bed, her eyes looking more intense as she stares at me. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just want you all to leave me alone.”

“You know running away isn’t going to do anything. I’ve been doing that for over three hundred years now, ever since Henri died. You need to go down there and face this with your family.” I manage to get on my knees and crawl back to Aggie’s bedside. She doesn’t react when I put a hand on her. “They all love you—except maybe that little snot Zoe.”

Aggie finally cracks a smile. “She is a bit of a pill, isn’t she? Probably because her grandmother spoiled her rotten.”

When Aggie sits up, I climb onto the bed next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. It seems odd that after all this time we’re sitting in her bedroom, a couple of old ladies now. Despite everything that has changed, we always seem to end up back here.

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Aggie says. “First Brigitte died and then Mathieu’s wife—she was such a lovely young woman. Now Alejandro’s gone too. It won’t be long until they’re all gone, is it?”

“Yes.”

“I shouldn’t have married him. Mama always said I shouldn’t get myself involved with mortals. I suppose this must be why.”

“I think you’ve been pretty fortunate. You were married for fifty years. You had three children and grandchildren. Henri and I never even got the chance to get married.” I don’t tell her about my daughter, who at this point is almost thirty-five years old; by now I could be a grandmother as well. “You’ve had a good life here, haven’t you?”

She thinks about this and then smiles at me. “Yes. I just wish it didn’t have to end.”

“But at least you’re not alone. No matter what happens to your children and your grandchildren, you’ll still have me. You’ll still have Glenda and the others too.” I give Aggie a hug; she clings to me for a few minutes, crying into my shoulder. I simply stroke her hair and let her cry.

Once she’s exhausted herself, Aggie gets up. She throws open the curtains to let light into the room. Silhouetted in that light, I can see that despite the wrinkles, the white hair, and the added weight, she’s still the young girl I remember—she’s still my sister.

Before we go downstairs, she takes my arm. “Sylvia, could you do me a favor?”

“What is it?”

“Could you braid my hair? Like you used to do?”

“Of course.” She sits down and I get to work. It’s a bit tricky at first after so long and with these unsteady hands, but as always, I soon get the hang of it—we’ve had centuries to practice this.

Despite my feelings about the Church, I go to Alejandro’s funeral at the local cathedral. He’s going to be buried in the church’s cemetery, where his granddaughter Brigitte is already buried. I ride in the carriage with Aggie, wearing a new black dress made for me by her granddaughter Lise, who sits beside me in the carriage. Aggie sits across from us with Zoe pressed against her, almost protectively. Zoe continues to glare at me even as Aggie strokes the girl’s hair.

Aggie’s sons arrive ahead of us in a separate carriage. Luc helps me down and then waits to help his mother as well. I’m not sure it’s an act when Aggie leans against Luc for support. She’s wearing a black veil so that I can’t see her eyes, though I suspect she’s been crying ever since we set out from the estate.

Lise hasn’t said anything in my presence since I arrived, but now she takes my arm. “Aunt Sylvia, could I talk to you for a moment?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” I let her guide me to the side of the cathedral, away from the cemetery. Lise leans against the wall, tears sparkling in her eyes. “What’s wrong? Is this about your grandmother?”

“In a way. I’ve done something very bad. I don’t want Grandmama to find out, though. It might kill her to hear such news.”

“Your grandmother is a very strong woman. I’m sure she can handle it.”

The girl begins to sob and falls against me. I pat her back, wondering what could be so terrible, though I should already know. “I’m with child,” she whispers in my ear.

From the way Lise is crying, I assume this isn’t a planned pregnancy or a wanted one. I think of my own daughter, who could be just about anywhere by now, or might even be dead. I’m the last person in the world then who should be giving advice to this girl. “Does the father know?”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Who is it?”

“A boy in my village. If Papa finds out, he’s going to thrash me. And Grandmama—she’s suffered so much as it is. I don’t want to hurt her again.”

“I understand.” I put a hand to Lise’s stomach. From the feel of it, she can’t be more than four months along; she’ll probably start to show in a couple more months. “Do you love this boy?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell him about the child. If he wants to marry you, then you can both go to your father.” I smile at Lise, but she doesn’t smile back. “Don’t worry about your grandmother. She’ll be able to handle the news when the time comes.”

“What if he doesn’t want to get married?”

“Then you can raise the child on your own. Your grandmother and I will help you if your father won’t.” My smile fades and I look into her eyes, turning deadly serious now. “Whatever you do, don’t do anything to hurt the baby—or yourself. You make sure you never let that child go. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Thank you, Aunt Sylvia.”

Lise takes my arm, leading me into the church. I’m glad for her support once I see Alejandro’s casket. He’s much older than I remember, his hair as white as Aggie’s, though not much of it remains, and his face heavily lined. The mortician has arranged him in an unnatural pose, with his hands folded on his chest. Closing my eyes, I think back to when we were both much younger, making love in the forest.

I have to turn away from the casket, before I lose control of myself. Lise seats me next to Aggie, whose face is still unreadable because of the veil. Sitting next to her, though, I can hear her sniffle every now and then. I want to say something comforting again, but my throat is too choked by my own sobs, so that I can only reach over to take her hand.

We sit there, hand-in-hand, while the priest goes through the ceremony. Aggie’s entire family is there in the front row: me, Lise, Zoe, Mathieu, Marcus, and Luc. Alejandro’s cousins, nephews, and nieces are in the pew behind us, having made the trip from Italy. There’s only one person missing: Alejandro’s daughter. Wherever she is, does she know that her father is dead? No, not so long as her adoptive parents never told her about her true origin. Someday—I hope not too soon—perhaps Alejandro will finally get the chance to meet her.

When it’s over, Alejandro’s sons and some of his nephews take the casket outside, to the grave where he’ll lie for the rest of time. I keep hold of Aggie’s hand, the two of us leaning against each other, mutually keeping ourselves upright as we shuffle outside. There are more prayers in Latin, a language I’ve never bothered to learn and don’t feel like using a spell to learn now.

Though there probably are caretakers to fill in the grave, Aggie’s sons insist on doing it themselves. She has to turn away, resting her head on my shoulder as the casket is buried. “He’s gone,” she whispers to me. “He’s really gone now.”

“I know,” I say to her. “But we’ll always remember him. Just like Mama and Sophie.” I mentally add Henri, Connor, David, Rachel, Andre, Frau Braun, and many others to this list. I wish I could add my daughter, but I never saw her.

After the grave is filled, we file slowly back to our carriages, to return home—a home that will be much emptier now for Aggie.

Chapter 33

2010-09-13T06:36:00.001-07:00

Chapter 33

I try to vanish myself back to the town where I left Smokey only to find that my magic is gone. I’ve finally got my wish and become mortal. With a sigh, I turn away from the crater and limp north, back to Texas.

The heat of the desert soon becomes unbearable. I take off my jacket, but this doesn’t help much. What I really want is a nice, cool glass of water. The thought of water draining down my parched throat keeps me staggering forward for hours.

The afternoon sun beats down on me, the heat rising to well over a hundred degrees. There hasn’t been a river, stream, or even a cactus anywhere for miles. There’s nothing in this wasteland except for me. The thought gradually pops into my head that maybe this is my afterlife. Maybe this is what the Christians would describe as Hell. For my lifetime of sins, I’m doomed to wander this burning wasteland, alone. I’ll never see Henri or my sisters or Mama or my daughter or anyone else I love.

This thought is enough to bring me to my knees. I drop onto the ground, face first. What point is there in going on? I’m dead and this is my punishment. I might as well just stay here until the vultures pick me clean—if any vultures bother coming by here.

I’m only vaguely aware of someone rolling me over onto my back. The water I’ve longed for pours down my throat. I blink my eyes and see a young woman with black hair whose skin seems to be glowing white. Her teeth are equally white when she smiles at me. It’s an old woman’s voice that comes from her throat, though. “Sorry to be late, but you handled things splendidly,” Glenda says.

“Sophie. She’s dead?”

“Let’s hope so.”

I want to refute this, but my mouth is still too dry. Sophie may have tried to kill me, but I can’t forget her sitting beside my bed, teaching me to control my magic. In her way, she loved me. I manage the strength to shake my head. “My sister.”

Glenda nods at this. “I know. But you had to kill her. There was no choice.”

“No.”

“She was out of control with her delusions of grandeur.” Glenda helps me sit up. “I always wondered in the end which side you would choose. You chose well.”

I find the strength to snort at this. I didn’t choose Glenda’s side or the coven’s side. I chose the side that would save my daughter, Aggie, and the other people I care about. “I can’t vanish,” I tell her.

“You’ve just overexerted yourself. It’ll come back in time.”

“Right.”

“Are you strong enough to travel?”

I consider this for a moment. Thanks to the water Glenda gave me—at least I hope it was just water—I feel strong enough to stand on my own again. I get to my feet, wobbling a moment before steadying myself. “Let’s go.”

Glenda takes my hand and in a flash I’m back in Edinburgh, in my old bedroom. She helps me over to the bed, but I insist on taking off my boots myself. The blankets are a bit dusty, but the bed feels soothing after lying in that desert. “My horse,” I say.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. You just rest.”

Before Glenda can go, I reach out for her hand. “Don’t tell Agnes.”

“I won’t. She already thinks Sophie is dead.”

“Not that. Don’t tell her I’m here.”

Glenda sits down beside me on the bed, brushing back my hair the way Alejandro used to do. She isn’t about to kiss me, though. “Sylvia, you have to stop running from this. Agnes will forgive you. She loves you.”

I’m not worried about Aggie forgiving me. What I’m most worried about is whether or not she’ll forgive Alejandro. I don’t want to destroy their marriage, their family. They’ve been married now for nearly forty years; they have grandchildren. “I’ll tell her. When I’m ready.”

“Just don’t wait too long.”

“Thank you,” I say as Glenda stands up and readies herself to vanish.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. The coven owes you a debt.”

“If you really want to repay me, then let me go. I don’t want to kill monsters anymore.”

“I understand. In time you might feel differently. Until then, I hope we can be friends. I’m sure the same would apply to Hisae and some of the others.”

“Sure.”

“Good. I’ll be back later to check on you. When you’re feeling better, we’ll have a drink.”

“You’re buying.”

“Of course.” Glenda winks to me and then she’s gone. I lean back against my pillows and then finally fall asleep.

I stay in Edinburgh for the next six months. Over that time, I wait for my magic to return. Given the way it’s come back the previous two times, I figure I should go find a handsome boy to kiss. Glenda continues to assure me that it’s just a matter of time before it returns. As on Frau Braun’s farm, I start to hope that it won’t, that I’ll finally be able to live a real life.

There’s nothing dramatic when it finally does come back. Glenda and I are drinking at my table, something we’ve taken to doing almost nightly as I recover. I feel the tingling in my foot and I know that it’s coming back. This tingling continues for two days, spreading to the rest of my body. I wait for an explosion or for my chamber pot to turn into a bird and fly away. Nothing like that happens.

“Of course not,” Glenda says. “You’re an adult this time. Your magic isn’t unstable.”

“Oh.”

Once the tingling has stopped and I can use my magic again, Glenda says, “I left your horse with the blacksmith in that town where you were. I told him you’d be back for it in a few months.”

“Aren’t you going to try and convince me to stay and rejoin the coven?”

“No. I think you’ve done enough—for now.”

We share one last drink at my table. “Did you really have the key to the birthplace of magic?” I ask her.

“Yes.”

“Did you ever go inside?”

“We were all inside there at one point.”

“What was it like?”

Glenda considers this for a long time. She’s probably the only one left who can still remember that far back. “It was like being born again.”

I smile slightly at this. That’s the kind of cryptic answer I would expect from Glenda or Hisae. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Go ahead.”

“I saw the pictures on the wall. Sophie said those were records of when we were born.”

“And you want to know about yours?”

“Yes. Why was I younger than the others?”

Glenda shrugs at this. “All of us heard it at a different time.”

“Heard what?”

“The music. That’s what led us there. I was nursing my daughter when I heard it. I knew I had to follow it.”

“You had a daughter?”

“Oh yes. We were all mortals once. Those of us who heard the music, though, we were able to become something else.”

I close my eyes, trying to see myself as a teenager in some ancient village. But I can’t. There are no memories left from back then. There’s nothing left of that young girl who wanted to become a witch. Would she have made the same choice if she knew how things would turn out?

I don’t realize I’m crying until Glenda puts a hand on my shoulder. I wipe at the tears with my napkin. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I shouldn’t have told you.” Glenda sighs and again I see how truly ancient she is for just a moment. “That’s why you and Agnes wanted a new life, why they all did eventually. It’s such a burden to remember all of those people we left behind.”

“How do you live with it? By giving yourself to the coven?”

“Yes. I have forty-seven girls to look after. You’re not the only one who needs me.”

“What about Hisae? Or Regina? Do they need you?”

“Sometimes. We all have bad days.”

The obvious question is who Glenda goes to on her bad days. Maybe that’s why she’s been spending so much time drinking with me. Maybe even an ancient witch needs a friend. “Thank you for being here for mine.”

“It’s all right. I told your mother I would look after you if she died.”

We toast Mama and then I shake Glenda’s hand. “Don’t be a stranger,” Glenda whispers into my ear.

“I won’t.”

I go out to the alley and vanish. As Glenda said, the blacksmith in town has my horse. I pay him for taking care of the animal. Then Smokey and I ride from town, back onto the range.

It’s almost nine years before I see Glenda again. I’m in California, wading in the middle of a stream with a dish to search for gold. I have more than enough gold back in Edinburgh, but it seemed like a new challenge when I first heard about it in Kansas. Smokey managed to make it all the way here before she finally died, collapsing in her stall that first night. I cried like little David did when his Smokey died. Then I used an Ashes to Ashes spell to destroy her body. The ashes I scattered in the river to be carried away.

Prospecting isn’t as much fun as I thought it might be. It’s the kind of repetitious, patient activity that Sophie or even Aggie would be better at. I start thinking about leaving this place after the first week. One of my fellow prospectors has said there’s work to be had for the railroads, constructing new lines out here in California. That seems like something I might enjoy more. Really I’d rather just go back to Texas, but I’ve stayed away from there since supporting Mexico in their brief war against the Americans. It wasn’t that I really believed the Mexicans could win; I just wanted to help them avoid being completely slaughtered.

As I’m shuffling around the water, I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I figure it’s one of the other prospectors until I hear Glenda hiss, “We need to talk.”

Turning, I see Glenda has made herself young again, at least for the moment; it would probably be bizarre for the mortals to see an elderly woman wading around here. We wade out of the water, Glenda taking my hand to keep from falling down. I show her to the shack I’ve been sharing with a half-dozen prospectors, all of them men. They learned after I kicked one in the crotch hard enough to cough up blood to keep their hands off of me.

As soon as we’re alone, Glenda turns old again. She probably feels more comfortable that way after all of these years. I have a hard enough time being middle aged. “What’s wrong? More vampires you need killed?”

“No, nothing like that. This is very sad news.” She sits down next to me on the bed, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’m afraid Agnes’ husband has died.”

“Alejandro? Dead?” I shouldn’t be surprised since he would have to be about eighty years old by now; most men die long before that.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know you both cared about him very much.”

“Yes.” I stare at my feet, unable to cry just yet. “When did it happen?”

“Last night. He died in his sleep. He didn’t suffer.”

I should want him to suffer after what happened between us, but I don’t. I still love him, even now. “That’s good,” I say.

“As you can imagine, Agnes is quite upset. I think you should go to her.”

“I’m not sure—”

Glenda lifts my chin to look me in the eye, glaring at me. “Don’t be selfish, Sylvia. Your sister is in a lot of pain. She wants you there.”

“She told you that?”

“She didn’t have to. I know her—and you.” She continues to look me in the eye even when I try to look away. “Whatever happened between you is over now. Go to her and make things right.”

“It’s been so long.”

“That’s not going to matter. She loves you. And you love her.”

“I know.”

“So go to her.”

I nod slightly and then get to my feet. There’s a small mirror hung on one wall for the men to shave with. I stare into the glass and concentrate. Silver creeps into my hair, starting at the roots and then working its way all the way down to the ends. The lines in my face deepen, new ones cropping up. The skin around my neck becomes loose, though not quite looking like a turkey’s wattle yet. I look down at a liver-spotted hand, blue veins visible against my skin.

Turning to Glenda, I ask in a scratchier voice, “How do I look?”

“Very handsome.”

I smile slightly, knowing that “handsome” means I look old. I don’t feel old, though, at least not yet. “Are you coming with me?”

“Not yet. You should do this alone.”

I nod to her and then I vanish back home—to my sister.

Chapter 32

2010-09-13T06:35:00.003-07:00

Part 6

Chapter 32

In America I find a new occupation that I take to immediately. Herding cattle on the broad American frontier is the best job I’ve held since I left Frau Braun’s farm some thirty years earlier. For one thing, I get to work with cattle again, although these are beef cows, not the dairy ones like back in the Black Forest. The other is that I get to wear my gun and crossbow while doing it.

The crossbow is what takes the other cowboys by surprise. Most of them simply rely on a rifle and maybe a pistol. These rifles are still the awkward kind that require too long to reload for my taste. I can fire and reload my crossbow six times while they’re still trying to reload once. A demonstration of this and they shut up about the crossbow.

Some of my comrades stay at one ranch or another, while I prefer to roam from one to another, wherever an extra hand is needed. The money isn’t much, but I’ve got more than enough that I don’t need to worry about this. The biggest problem always comes in convincing the ranchers that I can handle the work. When it comes to their attitude about women, Americans aren’t much different from my French countrymen. A demonstration of my riding and roping skills and they’re more than happy to have me, though they usually try to pay me less than my male counterparts, claiming I’m not as experienced.

Roping is something I’ve never done before I get to the frontier. I’ve done enough work with knots, though, that I find the rope a natural fit in my hand. I practice on my own until I’m good enough to demonstrate to a rancher looking for an extra hand.

When I can’t find work on a ranch, I’m content to just wander this wild new land on my horse. As far as horses go, it’s not much to look at, just a plain black mare with a white patch on its nose. I call the horse Smokey, though it looks very different from David’s horse from long ago. I bought Smokey in New Orleans, where I landed in the New World from London.

While in New Orleans, I passed through the French Quarter, where Andre and Rachel have a restaurant. I walk past the restaurant and see a gray-haired woman with spectacles wearing an apron waiting on a table. It takes me a moment to realize this is Rachel, whom I hadn’t seen in twenty years. I’m tempted to go inside and make up a story about being Suzette’s niece or cousin, but then I force myself to walk on. I don’t want to get involved in any mortal lives, not anymore.

The American frontier is a great place to not get involved with anyone. Smokey and I can ride for days without having to say a word to anyone. I sleep on the ground, using my saddle for a pillow and watch the brilliant sunsets. I’ve never seen sunrises or sunsets like these, so bright and vibrant with color. I stare at the sky until I inevitably think of my daughter and wish she could be here to see this with me.

By now my daughter is fourteen. At that age I was developing into an apprentice witch. I’m not sure what happens with the child of a witch, though I assume since she’s half-mortal, she wouldn’t have any magic. She’s probably an ordinary girl, like I always wanted to be. In a couple of years she’ll probably start courting some nobleman’s son and begin her own family. With a sigh I roll over and close my eyes to sleep.

In the morning I ride into some small town in what is now the Republic of Texas. I don’t catch its name, but then again there are towns like this springing up all over as people flood into the new country. It’s just the usual: a general store, a bar, a post office, a hotel, and a church. There’s probably not more than thirty people who live here.

I tie Smokey to the post in front of the saloon. Then I head inside to get a drink or four. The American whiskey isn’t nearly as good as the stuff I’m used to drinking in Edinburgh, but at this point liquor is liquor. As long as it gets me drunk enough that I don’t have to think about my daughter, Alejandro, or Aggie then I don’t care what it tastes like.

I’m on my third drink when a man sits down next to me. Unlike everyone else in there he’s wearing a suit. Also unlike everyone else, his suit isn’t covered in a layer of dust and grime. He probably hasn’t been here long; he probably just road in on a coach this morning. The man orders two drinks, one he downs immediately.

“Rough day?” I ask him, always more talkative when I have a few drinks in me.

He nods at this. “I’ve been on the road for a week and haven’t made a sale.”

“What do you sell?” From the look of him, I figure he sells some kind of “medicine” that has more alcohol than this whiskey.

To my surprise, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. It’s a weapon unlike any I’ve ever seen up close before: a silver pistol with a chamber in the center that spins around so that five shots can be fired without a revolver. “I’m selling my new revolver. It will change firearms forever—if anyone ever buys any.” He holds out a hand for me to shake. “My name is Samuel Colt.”

“Sylvia Joubert.”

He stares at me for a moment with the same look as ranchers when I first show up. With my jacket covering my breasts, most of them at first think I’m just a boy with long hair. I push aside the jacket so he can see my breasts. “Yeah, I’m a woman,” I tell him. I reach for my drink, gulping it down. “You can stop gawking.”

“I meant no offense, Miss Joubert.”

“If you want to make it up to me, explain to me how this works.”

“Well, Miss Joubert, perhaps it would be better to show you.”

After we pay for our drinks, he takes me outside. It doesn’t take us long to reach the outskirts of town. It’s much harder to find something for him to shoot at. Colt finds a scrub tree and then motions for me to stand back. Most of the town has followed us, sensing that something interesting is about to happen.

“It’s very simple. You aim at the target, cock the hammer back, and then fire.” The sound of the revolver isn’t much different from any normal pistol. What is different is that Colt can fire five shots even quicker than I could do the same with my crossbow. All five of these shots hit the tree, spraying bark on the ground.

“That is amazing,” I tell him. The townspeople show their appreciation with polite applause. I think of what Connor said so long ago, that whoever finds a way to make a gun that can reload quicker will become a millionaire. Colt has done this and yet he isn’t rich. “Why isn’t anyone buying these?”

“That’s hard to say. Maybe they’re afraid of change.”

“Well I’m not. How much do you want for it?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Joubert, but—”

“But you don’t want to sell to a woman, is that it? You think I can’t fire your precious gun?” I spit on the ground at his feet. “I’ll bet you that I can fire that gun better than you.”

“Now see here—”

“What, you’re afraid? You don’t think you can beat a girl?”

“I do not make wagers against women,” Colt says.

“That’s a convenient excuse.”

“Madam, I am trying to be patient, but—”

“The only woman I see here is standing right in front of me,” I say. “You’re nothing more than a yellow chickenshit coward.”

Colt’s face turns red, but he manages to keep from shouting at me as he says, “Very well, Miss Joubert. I will accept your challenge.”

The local merchant donates six burlap sacks that are then filled with dirt. These are set up in two columns and three rows, each row approximately fifty yards apart. Someone has helpfully drawn a crude bull’s-eye on each sack.

The townspeople stand behind us, ready to watch the spectacle. I’m sure a good number of them have money on the outcome, most of it I’m sure going against me. After all, I’m just a woman; I couldn’t possibly know how to handle a weapon.

I gulp down another two whiskeys before our shootout. For a mortal this would be a bad idea, but I have enough experience—and a strong enough tolerance—that it doesn’t affect me much. Mostly it provides a calming effect so that I can put everything out of my mind except this contest.

Colt motions for me to go first. I shake my head. “Ladies first,” I say.

He growls something under his breath that I can’t hear. Then he holds up his revolver. He sights it as he did with the tree, cocks the hammer, and fires. The bullet puts a hole squarely in the center of his first sack. The townspeople cheer at this.

“Very nice—for a girl,” I tell him. He’s given me one of his revolvers, which is mine to keep if I win this contest. The revolver feels heavier than a traditional pistol from the extra bullets. I weigh in my hands for a minute just to get a good feel for it. Then I step up, cock the hammer back, and fire without aiming. My bullet leaves a hole in the center of my first bag.

The townspeople gasp at this, a couple of them groaning as they sense they bet on the wrong marksman. The second bag goes the same way. We both hit the center of our respective targets, me without needing to aim. I’m not using any magic at all to assist me; I’ve simply been firing weapons long enough to know what I’m doing.

For the third sack, Colt takes longer to aim his pistol. He wants to make sure this shot is perfect. I resist the urge to try and distract him or otherwise throw him off; I want people to think this is a fair fight. When he fires, his aim is about a half inch left of the center.

I snicker at this. “Nice try,” I tell him and see his face turn red. I don’t really need to aim, but I take a few seconds to do so anyway. There’s no point in making a mistake now. I cock the hammer back and then pull the trigger. Before it’s hit the target, I turn to face the townspeople. The look of shock on their faces is enough to tell me I’ve won.

I turn to Colt, who’s equally dumbfounded to be bested by a woman. “This is a damned fine weapon you got here.” If I were still actively in the arms business I could probably help Colt sell some of his guns. Maybe the word of mouth from this duel will be enough to help him. After all, if a mere woman can use his gun, it has to be good. “I’ll be looking to buy some bullets later.”

The townspeople let me stagger through their midst on my way back into town. I shove the revolver into a pocket; I’ll have to make a new sling for it later. As I near where I left Smokey tied up, I’m certain the alcohol has gone to my brain. There’s no way I can be seeing what I’m seeing. There’s no way Sophie can be standing next to my horse.

But it certainly sounds like Sophie when she says, “Hello, sister. I think it’s time you and I had a talk.”

We go back to the saloon. Sophie orders a sarsaparilla, not wanting to cloud her mind with alcohol. I order the same to help me sober up. “You’re supposed to be dead,” I tell her.

“You really think a bunch of silly mortals could kill me?” She clucks her tongue. “I thought you knew better than that.”

“Glenda said she gave them a charm.”

“She did, which is why I left before then.”

“But they said you were dead.”

“It was someone else.” Sophie pats the gray bun she still wears at the nape of her neck, as she has since she was nine years old. “It wasn’t hard to find another woman who looked similar to me. Similar enough to fool the stupid mortals.”

I consider reminding her that we’re sitting in a saloon full of mortals, but think better of it. Sophie would only tell me that as witches we don’t need to be afraid of them. “So how have you managed not to be found by Glenda or the coven?”

“It’s simple enough in this place. The coven doesn’t have a presence here—or it didn’t until you came here.”

“I’m not working for the coven.”

“You have, though. From what I hear, you’re an exceptional vampire killer.”

“How did you hear that?”

“From young Rebecca in the archives. She was more than willing to talk in exchange for a cure to the Weight Gain spell.”

“Which you probably used on her.”

“Of course not. The poor girl was merely careless.”

“And you were there to take advantage.”

“If I hadn’t, she would be dead by now instead of expecting her second child.”

“So you went to the archives and they still haven’t found you?”

“Why should they? They think I’m dead. It’s the perfect cover.”

I can’t help blubbering like a baby sister at that moment. “Why didn’t you tell us? Agnes and I thought you were dead.”

Sophie reaches across the table to pat me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. You know I couldn’t tell Agnes. If I did, she would have told Glenda.”

“You could have told me. I wouldn’t have told, not if you didn’t want me to.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have betrayed me. You’ve always been a loyal sister.”

“Then why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because I needed time to find what I was looking for.”

I dab at my eyes with a bandana. “The birthplace of magic?”

“Yes. I’ve found it. At last.”

“Are you sure? Glenda said it was a legend.”

“I’m positive.” She takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I want to take you there, Sylvia. I need your help.”

“Where is it?”

“Mexico. A little place known as Tabla Diabla.”

I consider this for a moment. “There’s one thing I need to know first: did you kill Mama?”

“Glenda tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed her?”

“It made sense.”

She gives my hand another squeeze and then takes off her spectacles so that she can look me in the eye. It’s been so long since I’ve seen those eyes, those steely, overly serious eyes. “I loved our mother, Sylvia. I would never hurt her.”

“But you knew she wasn’t our real mother.”

“That didn’t matter to me, just as it didn’t matter to you.”

I want to trust her. After a hundred fifty years, I desperately want Sophie to be alive and for the two of us to be happily reunited. Maybe then I don’t have to be alone anymore. We’ve never been extremely close, but maybe this time we can fix that.

As if she can read my mind, she says, “I know how difficult it’s been for you. I know what Agnes did to you, how she made you a child so that she could marry that mortal.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways.” She smiles at me. “I know about your daughter. I’ve seen her. She’s so much like her mother—”

“Shut up! Don’t you dare tell me about her.”

“I’m sorry, Sylvia. I’m merely saying that I understand the pain you’ve endured. I want to help you get over it. Come with me to Mexico and we can start a new life—together.”

I think about this for a minute. As relatively happy as I am riding the range, it still pales in comparison to being reunited with my long thought-to-be-dead sister. Chances are this “birthplace of magic” is a bunch of nonsense anyway. What harm could come from going out there with her to look at it?

“All right,” I tell her. “I’ll go.”

I leave Smokey tied up at the general store while we vanish to Mexico. Sophie has to hug me and vanish us together since she’s the only one who’s ever been to Tabla Diabla. There’s a flash of light and then we’re gone.

We reappear in front of a hill of rust-red stone. Around it there’s nothing for miles except some scrub brush. Despite this, Sophie smiles from ear-to-ear, which is unsettling given how stoic she usually is. She motions to a hole in the side of the hill. “It’s in there.”

We both use Glow in the Dark spells to light our way inside the cave. We get about a hundred feet when I see the first crude drawings along the walls. These depict a group of people, who have the figure of women. In another drawing lightning seems to come from the hands of these women, driving animals away. Farther down the cave, a third drawing shows the women standing over other people, who are kneeling before them.

“You see what this means? We were once worshipped like gods by the mortals.”

“Then why aren’t they still worshipping us?”

“Because of Glenda. She wanted to control not just us, but all magic. That’s why she made the coven.”

I say nothing to this, not quite ready to believe Sophie’s theories about Glenda and the coven. I’ve seen that Glenda has power beyond what she usually shows—my right arm can attest to that—but I’ve also seen how tender and caring she can be. I remember what Hisae told me back in Florence, that Glenda isn’t a monster, that what she’s done, she’s done for the greater good. I’m just as skeptical about this as I am of Sophie.

We continue along the cave, more drawings scattered at random intervals. These are far less crude depictions of faces—all women’s faces. They glow with blue light as we get near them, as if they’re alive. I lean closer to one and gasp as I recognize Hisae’s face. “What—”

“That’s a record of Hisae’s birth. We’re all here: you, me, Agnes, Mama, and even Glenda. Every time one of us was born, her face was drawn on the wall to record it.”

I continue to study Hisae’s face. This isn’t Hisae as a baby or even a little girl; it’s Hisae just like I saw her in Florence. “But if that’s a record of her birth, why is she an adult?”

“Because we weren’t birthed like mortals. We sprang fully formed, like Athena.”

“Who?”

“A Greek goddess. Don’t you remember the Argonautica?”

“Vaguely.”

Sophie clucks her tongue; if she had her baton she would probably hit me with it just like when she was trying to teach me the language of magic. “Come. What you really need to see is at the end.”

We continue to pass the record of faces. Sophie is right that we’re all here, including me. My face is a bit chubby and dotted with pimples, which means I was born a teenager. I think again of what Hisae said about my young heart; maybe that explains it—I was born as the baby of the coven, the runt of the litter. Aggie’s isn’t much older; neither is Sophie’s. Mama’s is almost unrecognizable because she’s so much younger than I ever remember her, a young woman in her late twenties, though with the same stern eyes. As for Glenda’s, I caught a glimpse of it when she broke my arm; hers is of a woman also in her late twenties with long black hair and furious eyes that seem to scream at me to turn back.

The cave ends abruptly in a solid wall. There are symbols carved into the stone, which I recognize as magic runes. “This is it?”

“No. This is the door.”

“How do you open it?”

“We can’t. Not yet.” She gestures to the bottom right of the wall, where a portion of the rock has been broken away. “Glenda took the last rune. Unless I find out what it is, I can’t open the door.”

“So how do you know this is the birthplace of magic? How do you know there’s not just a bunch of bat guano back there?”

“What else do you think Glenda would go to such lengths to protect?”

“Are you sure Glenda did it?”

“Who else would?”

“Maybe it was an earthquake.”

“An earthquake that destroyed just one rune?”

This does seem pretty farfetched. “Well, fine, let’s say you’re right: what do we do now?”

“We go to Glenda and confront her.” Sophie lays a hand on my shoulder. “Together we can overpower her.”

I think of Glenda in her true form again and have my doubts whether two witches would be enough to do it. “And then what?”

“We force her to give us the rune and then we open the door.”

“And if we find the birthplace of magic, what are you going to do with it?”

“We’ll give birth to a new coven. A coven that will reclaim our rightful place.”

I think back to the first drawings we saw. “You mean to enslave the mortals?”

“Why not? The mortals are inferior to us. They should worship us instead of their feeble, invisible gods.”

“What if the rest of the coven doesn’t want to go along with this? You’re going to kill them? Hisae, Tabitha, Sabrina, Agnes. You’ll just kill them all?”

“If we must.”

“They’re our sisters. Our sisters in magic.”

“If they resist us then they’re traitors to magic. And so are you if you refuse to help me.”

A gleam of madness enters Sophie’s eyes. She’s spent the better part of two centuries looking for the birthplace of magic. She’s given everything, including her life, to find it. Now that she’s so close, she isn’t about to let anyone stand in her way now.

Yet I have to stand in her way. Glenda was right about at least one thing: a war between witches, between the old coven and the new coven, would be disastrous for the mortal world. I think of my daughter, just an innocent teenager somewhere in France. What would happen to her under Sophie’s new order?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t let you—”

That’s as far as I get before Sophie lunges at me. She hurls me against a wall hard enough that I hear bones snap. My head rings from what’s probably the beginning of a nasty concussion. I groan, my vision turning red as blood drips into my eyes.

Sophie stands over me, her body glowing with the same white light as Glenda’s did when she broke my arm. Sophie’s eyes glow with blue light, which somehow seems to radiate hatred. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, Sylvia. Now I’m telling you: you will help me destroy Glenda or you will die—you and your daughter.”

“Don’t you dare touch her.”

“You’re such a waste,” Sophie says with revulsion. “You could be as powerful as Glenda if you wanted to be, if you ever stopped being a child. If you ever grew up and realized these mortals are nothing more than our playthings.”

“They aren’t,” I say, thinking of all the mortals I’ve cared about over the years from Henri to Rachel to Alejandro to Jaida. “They’re magical too.”

Sophie shakes her head. “I had hoped you would be reasonable. Now I see that once again you’ll have to be taught your lesson the hard way.” Her smile is sickening as she adds, “Maybe when she gets to the afterlife, your daughter can say hello to Henri for you.”

“No!” As I lunge at Sophie, my body is glowing white just like hers, just like when I first kissed Henri so long ago.

I manage to catch Sophie by surprise and fling her into the wall with the runes on it. The stone cracks but doesn’t shatter. Before Sophie can recover, I launch a fireball at her. This doesn’t have any effect on her. She counters with a Static Charge that sends me flying backwards. I land on my rear, but quickly get to my feet. I’m fighting for not just my life, but my daughter’s as well.

Before Sophie can hit me again, I use a Pile Driver spell to bring part of the ceiling down on her. The chunks of rock don’t hurt her, but they distract her enough for me to lunge at her again. This time instead of throwing her against a wall, I hold on to her. She tries to break my grasp, but I refuse to let her go.

I’m not sure what exactly is happening to me, but I can feel my power growing stronger by the moment, as if I’m feeding off of Sophie. The white glow around my body becomes so intense I can’t see anything. I can only feel that I’m still holding on to Sophie and that my entire body is vibrating. I hear the same music in my ears that I first heard when I gained my powers, when I kissed Henri. Only now the music is deafening.

I fix Henri’s image in my mind, certain that I’m going to see him soon enough in the afterlife. Maybe there we can finally be happy.

I feel the explosion and I feel myself flying through the air.

When I wake up, I’m staring up at a blue sky. For a moment I think it must be the afterlife, but then I sit up and see the rust-red Mexican desert around me. I’m still wearing the same clothes as when I vanished to Tabla Diabla, complete with Colt’s revolver in my jacket. Touching my face, I don’t feel any cuts.

Rising to my feet, I see the smoking crater where the cave used to be. The birthplace of magic is gone—and so is Sophie.

Chapter 31

2010-09-13T06:34:00.001-07:00

Chapter 31

I bring Jaida and her family to Paris with me. It’s a tough adjustment for them since they can’t speak French, but at this point Jaida is about the closest to a friend I have who isn’t in the coven. I make sure to compensate her handsomely and to bring in a tutor for her and her children so they can learn the language.

The closer it gets to the blessed event, the more I have to rely on Jaida. By then I’ve taken her around the city enough that she knows where to buy food, clothes, and other essentials. Besides not speaking the language, she finds it difficult to go shopping in a city that doesn’t believe in haggling like back in Cairo. “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I have plenty of money.”

With two weeks to go, I retire to my bed and don’t get up again for the rest of my pregnancy. Jaida becomes my nurse, feeding and bathing me and taking care of my waste. This probably isn’t what she signed up for, but she doesn’t complain. I’m probably the closest she has to a friend in this city as well.

It’s stupid to give birth in Paris, the city I fled from just fifteen years earlier. Alejandro and Aggie are just a couple hundred miles away. I know that they sometimes come into the city so that Aggie can examine the latest in fabrics and patterns. When the children aren’t away at boarding school they bring them along too, taking them to the Louvre and parks so that they children can be cultured—so they won’t end up like their wild Aunt Sylvia.

It’s when I go to the park that I know what I have to do. Watching happy families like Aggie’s, I know that my daughter and I will never be like that. We’ll be on our own, just the two of us. I could probably tell her that her father died in an accident like Mama told my sisters and I when we were growing up.

That’s not what I want for her. I want her to have a mother and father who love her. I want her to have sisters and brothers to play with. I want her to have a complete family, so that she can be happy. I can provide her with a house, toys, and even a horse if she wants one, but I can never provide her a real family—or a real mother. Remembering what Hisae said, I know that I wouldn’t be a real mother to my daughter. I’d just be playacting. She deserves better.

When I tell Jaida what I intend to do, she is shocked enough to voice her disagreement for the first time. “Why would you do such a thing to your child, Madam Joubert?”

“Because I can’t give her a real family,” I explain.

“It’s not the number of parents who matter. It’s how much you love the child.” Jaida of course believes this since she raises her children alone. But she didn’t have a choice, not like I do. I can make sure my daughter has a real family.

“She deserves better than my love. She deserves a real mother like Agnes.”

Jaida still isn’t convinced, but in the end it’s not her decision. It’s my child and therefore my decision to make about her future. Alejandro should be part of this, but he already told me what he wanted to do. I’d rather my daughter grow up with strangers than to have to watch someone else raise her.

Since the coven already knows about the baby, I send word to Sabrina to deliver my child as she did Agnes’ boys. She takes up residence in my apartment two weeks before I’m due, just in case I go into labor early. Jaida watches Sabrina suspiciously, as if the older woman is an intruder, a con artist waiting for an opportunity to make off with my silver and money.

“Are you sure you don’t want Agnes here?” Sabrina asks me not long after she arrives.

“No. I don’t want her to know about it.”

“Why not? She’s your sister.”

“It’s complicated.”

“You mean because the baby’s father is her husband?” Sabrina snickers at this. “I’ve seen much worse in my time.”

It still disturbs me when Sabrina talks like this, as I can remember her when she was a baby. Now she’s going to be delivering my baby. Maybe it’s not smart to ask a woman who once tried to kill me to help with this, but from what I’ve seen, Sabrina remembers nothing of her old life. In her mind she’s always been Sabrina, a witch who specializes in being a midwife and bending dreams.

I’m dreaming when it happens. In my dreams I’m standing on a beach, watching a girl swim. She’s not more than ten years old and I know she’s my daughter; she looks just like me with the same red hair and green eyes, only her skin has a bit of Alejandro’s Mediterranean tone. My daughter splashes happily in the water while I watch her and sigh with joy. This joy is short-lived when I see a wave coming up. The wave is taller than the highest building in Paris, like a mountain of water heading for us. My daughter is oblivious to this, continuing to frolic in the water. I scream for her and then dive into the water, trying to swim out to her to grab her before the wave drowns us both. But I know I’m too late; the wave is coming down—

I wake up with my sheets stained as if I’ve wet the bed and a sharp pain in my midsection. Before I can scream for help, Sabrina is already running into the room, Jaida just a few steps behind. I try to sit up, but Sabrina pushes me back down. “Lie still,” she says. “It’s time. Your water’s broke.” She puts a wooden spoon in my mouth for me to bite down on.

I thought I had a good idea what to expect from having watched Aggie give birth to Luc. It’s much worse when I’m the one feeling the pain. The contractions start far apart, at more than an hour apart. Just when I’m relaxed, the pain will come again, my scream muffled by the wooden spoon in my mouth.

My labor drags on for more than a day. I manage to keep down some food and water, but after sixteen hours I want nothing more than for my daughter to be gone from me. “What’s taking so long?” I ask Sabrina through a haze of pain.

She mops my forehead with a damp cloth and then flashes a nearly toothless smile. “Some take longer than others, dear.”

“Don’t call me that!” I snap, thinking of Mama and Aggie. Those are the last people I want to think about at a time like this.

“I’m sorry, Sylvia,” she says. Then she looks down between my legs. “You’re getting there. Slowly but surely.”

Jaida brings me a special treat: a bag of sweetened dates she found while out shopping. She pops a few of these into my mouth between contractions. “You’re going to be all right, Madam Joubert,” she tells me. “You are a very strong woman.”

“Call me Sylvia, please,” I tell her. I reach for her hand, giving it a squeeze. I don’t need a servant right now.

“Of course—Sylvia.”

It nearly makes me cry that Jaida is the one holding my hand, not Aggie or Alejandro—or Mama, Sophie, Henri, Rachel, Andre, Frau Braun, Connor, and so many others. So many people have come and gone in my life and yet in this moment when I need someone the most, all I have is a servant to take my hand and reassure me. My life is so empty—and soon to get emptier.

The contractions continue to become closer together, the pain so intense, worse than anything I’ve ever felt before. I look over at Jaida, who smiles reassuringly. “Am I hurting her?” I ask, thinking of how Aggie had nearly broken my hand.

“I am fine,” she says. “You must not worry about me and focus on your baby.”

“It’s time,” Sabrina says. “I want you to push when the next contraction comes.”

I nod and then turn to Jaida again. “In the nightstand is a blindfold. Put it on me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. Just do it,” I snap and then feel bad for it. Jaida has shown me an abundance of kindness, much more than I deserve.

The blindfold is made of black silk that I bought before I became bedridden. Jaida ties it around my eyes, making sure that it’s tight enough so it won’t fall off. The silk is comfortable against my face, while at the same time it renders me blind. I won’t be able to see her now. I’ll never see her.

The next contraction comes and I push hard enough that I feel like I’m going to split in half. I think of the chicken I cut open to determine that I was pregnant and imagine myself splitting open in the same way. With the blindfold on, there’s only darkness and pain.

And then it’s all over. I hear Sabrina shout, “She’s out!” A few dreadful seconds later, I hear her cry. My daughter is crying. The sound of it makes me want to tear off the blindfold, to grab her and reassure her that everything is all right, that Mama is here. But I know I can’t; that’s my gift to her.

I don’t give her a name. Jaida urges me to reconsider this, but I refuse. A name would make her into a real person and then I’ll never be able to let her go. “It’s unlucky not to name a child,” Sabrina says.

“I don’t care. She’ll get a name when she’s in her real home.”

I keep the blindfold beside my bed, putting it on whenever it’s time to feed the girl. I try not to give in to the temptation to stroke the down along the girl’s head, to show her any affection. I’m not her mother, I keep telling myself. I’m just her wet nurse.

“I wish you would look at her,” Jaida says. “She looks so much like you.”

“Don’t tell me that! I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see her.”

That she looks like me only deepens my resolve to carry through with my plan. I want her to have a better life than I’ve had, to have the sort of life I wanted when I was living with Frau Braun—the sort of life Henri and I would have given our children. I wait until the girl falls asleep to give her back to Jaida. Once I’m sure they’re gone, I lift the blindfold.

Perhaps sensing my lack of attachment, the girl doesn’t put up much of a fuss. She never wakes me up by crying in the night. Sometimes Jaida gets up in the night just to make sure that the girl is still alive. “It’s the strangest thing,” Jaida says. “She doesn’t even cry when she’s wet or when she’s hungry. She just lies there.”

I want to tell Jaida that it’s because she’s my daughter. Like her mother, she tries to appear strong, even if inside her little heart is breaking. Again I want to abort my plan, to try raising her on my own. Then I remind myself that I can’t, that I’m doing this for her.

This goes on for five months. By then I can feel that the girl has grown, that she’s healthy and strong. When my hand inadvertently brushes against her head, I feel the wispy curls that are probably red, though a lighter red than my hair. Tears stain the blindfold as I imagine braiding her hair the way I used to braid Aggie’s. I see her in a French braid, a ponytail, pigtails, and even looping braids like I wore to the spring festival in Frau Braun’s village. I want to be the one who styles her hair, who sends her off to school, who takes her to play in the park.

“Jaida!” I scream.

“Is something wrong, Madam Joubert?” she asks an instant later, as if she’s been standing here the entire time. “Would you like me to take the blindfold off?”

“No. Take the girl to the nursery. I’m going out.”

As soon as Jaida and the girl are gone, I get out of bed. My legs are still weakened from so much time in bed, so that I have to put a hand to the wall to support myself as I walk. From the closet I pull out a dress and slip into it. I don’t bother with my hair or makeup, unconcerned with how I look at this moment. I’ve lost enough weight now that I can fit into my jacket again and can comfortably fit a pistol inside of it. I’ll need this for where I’m going.

I’ve waited too long already to do this. I have to put things in motion or I’m never going to be able to go through with it. Gripping the railing of the stairs, I make my way down to the street. My feet grow stronger with each step, becoming more accustomed to working again.

Having spent so much time in the shadowy world of selling guns, I’ve spent enough time in seedy bars to have overheard plenty of rumors—such as where to find a lawyer who arranges adoptions. His office is near the Place Pigalle. This area features two kinds of scum: prostitutes and artists. I’m not interested in either one, only in the lawyer’s office above a café.

Edward Souray reminds me of Mama just before her death: thin to the point of bones visible against his wrinkled skin and nearly hairless. His black suit hangs off him as if he’s shrunk three sizes since putting it on. When he speaks, his voice is a low whisper I have to strain to hear. “You want to give your child for adoption?”

“Yes. But I want her to go to a good home. I don’t want her to go into an orphanage.”

“I think that can be arranged. There are a number of wealthy families who are looking to adopt a child for one reason or another.”

“I’d prefer it if they don’t tell her that she’s adopted. I’d like her to think that she’s their natural daughter.”

“We can make that part of the agreement.”

“And I don’t want to know who adopts her. I don’t want to know where they live or what name they give her.” I stop to wipe at my eyes with a handkerchief Souray offers to me. “I’ll have my servant bring her to you.”

“If that’s what you wish.”

“How long before you can find a home for her?”

“It should only take me a week or two to make the arrangements. I have one family in particular in mind. The wife recently had a stillborn child. They’re quite wealthy and with an excellent reputation.”

“I don’t want to know any more!”

“I’m only trying to assure you, Madam Joubert, that they will provide a suitable new home for your daughter.”

“I understand. You aren’t going to tell them who I am, are you?”

“No. That will remain in strict confidence.”

“Good.” I reach into my pocket to produce a sack of coins, enough to buy this entire building. “There’s one more thing: if an Italian man comes around asking about me, or a middle-aged blond woman, you aren’t to mention anything about this to either of them.”

“I understand. I assure you that this will be confidential. You have my word.”

The word of a sleazy lawyer isn’t much, but at this point it’s about all I have. When I return home, I make sure Jaida has the baby put away before I slink into my room. After taking off my coat, I lie down on the bed and let myself cry.

As Souray said, he didn’t need long to find a suitable home. The family he had in mind during our meeting leaps at the chance to adopt a baby girl. They agree to the contract that they will not divulge to the girl that she’s adopted. There are also details given about me, so that they can’t ever contact me.

I don’t want my baby going to the Place Pigalle, though she’s far too young to know anything about prostitutes or artists. Instead, the meeting will take place near Notre Dame cathedral. Despite my hatred of the church, this is a well-known location easily accessible to both sides and completely neutral.

“Are you certain about this, Madam Joubert?” Jaida asks me.

“Yes. You have to take her there.”

“Me?”

“I can’t let them see me. They can’t ever know who I am.”

“I understand,” she says, though she probably doesn’t.

“Once you leave with her, you’re never going to see me again.”

“Madam?”

“I’m leaving. Tonight. I won’t tell you where.”

“I’m sorry, Madam. Did I offend you in some way? Have I performed inadequately?”

“No, Jaida. You’ve been exceptional.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not sure where I’m going and wherever it is, it won’t be the kind of place for you or your children.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I need to go somewhere far away, to make sure I don’t see her.” I look down sadly at my feet, wishing I could take Jaida just for the company, but I can’t. She has her own family to worry about. “You can stay here if you want or go back to Cairo. I’ll pay for it either way.”

“That’s really too generous—”

“You’ve earned it.” I give her a brief hug to show my appreciation. “I’m sorry about putting you through all of this. Just remember that I’m trusting you with her life until the exchange is made. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Madam. I will protect her with my life.”

Jaida leaves at sundown with my child. She makes sure to dress the baby in warm clothing, a bonnet covering the girl’s head. That bonnet and her jacket are all I can see of her as I follow Jaida. She has no idea that I’m following her, or at least I assume she doesn’t. I use Hisae’s training to stay to the shadows, to all but disappear.

In my jacket I have two pistols, my crossbow, and my knife. If there’s any problem at all with the exchange, I’ll be prepared to rescue my daughter. At that point Souray and the prospective parents will regret trying to cross me.

I’ve never gone to Notre Dame for obvious reasons. I’ve passed it a few times, so that I know where it is. I get there before Jaida, finding a place across the street where I can hide behind a barrel and watch with my nightcrystal lenses. Souray is already there, along with a carriage that will take my daughter away, out of my life.

Jaida comes into sight a few minutes later. She clutches my daughter to her chest, protecting the girl like her own child, just as she said she would. Even from my vantage, I can tell that there are tears in Jaida’s eyes. I hate myself for making her do this, but it’s the only way to give my daughter what she deserves.

There’s a brief conversation between Jaida and Souray. She hands over the child, hesitating for just a moment. The skeletal lawyer takes my daughter and for nearly the first time since she was born, I hear her cry. I can’t really blame her for crying at the sight of the lawyer.

There are a few more words before Souray hands the girl off to the people inside the carriage—her new parents. The lawyer then climbs up onto the carriage beside the driver, where he’ll probably hitch a ride closer to his office. Jaida turns in my direction and from the way she stares straight at me, I know she knows I’m there. She gives me a wave to say goodbye.

I’m not there when she returns home. I’m already on a carriage to take me north to England—and then to America.

Chapter 30

2010-09-13T06:33:00.005-07:00

Chapter 30

This is my first visit to Florence, which seems strange because Alejandro’s old vineyard—the one now owned by his cousin—is only twenty miles away. We’ve had plenty of opportunities over the years with the frequent visits he makes to help his cousin. That’s probably why we’ve never gone here, so that he won’t run into anyone he knows.

I’ve never been interested in museums, but for the week I’m in Florence before Alejandro’s arrival, I spend most of my time in the various art museums. The problem is that I can’t stop thinking about Alejandro, to the point where I see his face on Michelangelo’s David. I have to sit down then, feeling flushed as I think about the statue’s enormous penis.

As I’m sitting on a bench, I hear a little girl cry out. “I’m tired, Mama!” she screams in Italian. She pulls at her mother’s hand, trying to tug the haggard woman in my direction. “I want to go home!”

The girl manages to break free from her mother and dashes over to scramble onto my bench. She sits there with her arms folded in defiance. She has Alejandro’s complexion and black hair, a pure Italian. Still, with her attitude she could be my daughter.

The girl’s mother is trying to wrangle her three other children—all boys who are just as rowdy as their sister—leaving the girl to sit with me on the bench. The child looks up at me, her eyes focusing on my stomach. “How did you get so fat?” she asks me.

“I’m not fat. I’m pregnant.”

“What’s that?”

“It means I’m going to have a baby.”

“That’s a baby in there?”

“Yes. A little girl like you.”

“How’s she going to get out of there?”

“Well—”

I’m saved by the girl’s mother coming over at last to scold her for running away. “Stop bothering this poor woman,” her mother says.

“She’s not bothering me.”

“She’s not supposed to talk to strangers.”

The woman snatches her daughter’s arm, prompting the girl to squeal. My first instinct is to grab the woman’s wrist and snap it, but I tell myself that it’s her child. As she’s being dragged away, the little girl turns to wave to me. I wave back and then let out a contented sigh.

Someone else comes to sit down beside me, but it’s not a little girl. It’s Hisae, who looks even more out of place here than I do. I shouldn’t be surprised that she managed to sneak up on me—that’s one of her specialties.

“I see the rumors are true,” she says without preamble.

“What rumors?”

“You should know nothing is secret from the coven.”

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“Not me.”

“Then who? Glenda?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“So what do you want?”

Hisae shrugs slightly. “I only want you to consider what you’re doing to yourself—and your sister.”

“Aggie doesn’t know, does she?”

“Not yet. But even she won’t be able to remain blind for much longer.”

“So what does the coven want me to do? I can’t kill her. Not now.”

“I would never ask you to kill an innocent baby. You know that.”

“What about Glenda?”

“She’s not the monster you make her out to be. Everything she’s done has been for the greater good.”

I snort at this. “That’s the same thing Robespierre and the other thugs said when they sent people to the guillotine. Then Napoleon said making him the emperor was for the greater good. Every butcher and tyrant uses that excuse.”

“Glenda is not a butcher.”

“Just a tyrant.” I glare at Hisae for a moment, but her face remains damnably calm. “Do you remember how Glenda became head of the coven? Do you remember who elected her?”

“No one does anymore, now that your mother is gone. They are the oldest two.”

“Right, and they brainwashed all of us to think that Glenda is in charge and that we’re not to question her.”

“And you would seek to replace her? You would follow the same path as Morgana and Sophie?”

“No. I don’t want to run the coven. I only want the coven to leave me alone. This doesn’t concern them—or you.”

Hisae hardly blinks at this. “You are still so young,” she says as she did during our first time hunting vampires in Transylvania. “Perhaps after this ordeal, you will finally achieve the proper maturity. You and Agnes.”

“What ordeal? What are you planning to do to us?”

“We are not planning anything. The ordeal you face is the one you created with your lust. Both of you.”

“Well we can’t all be like you. Some of us are actually human.”

“I am as human as any of us, but I’ve learned to control it, to not give in to my baser impulses.” She puts a hand on my shoulder; I don’t try to shake it away. “When you end this petty feud with Glenda and give yourself to the coven, then you’ll find the peace that’s eluded you all of these centuries.”

“I’ve served the coven. I’ve done my part. What else do you want me to do?”

“You’ve served reluctantly, because you wanted to make your mother proud and later because you felt no choice. You’ve never done it because you truly wanted to.”

“Maybe I never wanted to,” I say, thinking of Henri. All I wanted was to marry him, to live with him and have his children. I put a hand on my stomach, on my child. “Maybe this is all I ever really wanted.”

“It’s what you think you want. But do you truly think you would have been happy with Henri? Do you really think you would have been happier as a mortal?”

I close my eyes as I think about this. I remember all those times I spent in the forest with Henri, how happy I felt when he said he loved me. I think then of Frau Braun’s farm, where again I was so content to think of myself as normal. “Yes. Yes I do.”

Hisae considers this for a moment and then shakes her head. “No. In time you would have chafed at bearing children and caring for livestock. I can see it in your eyes, the fire—the spirit of a warrior. A mortal’s life is not for you.”

“What does the warrior do when she’s tired of fighting?”

“When a warrior becomes too old for fighting, that is when she dies.”

“Is that a threat?”

Hisae’s laugh is more like a snort. “No. I would only do that if you ask. And I do not think you will ask so long as the spirit is in your eyes. When your eyes have turned dull, then you know it will be time.”

She stands up and then puts a hand on my stomach. She says a blessing in Japanese, a warrior’s prayer. “You will have a beautiful child,” she says. “She will be strong, like you.”

Then Hisae is gone and I’m alone again to wait for Alejandro—and our future.

The night before Alejandro is due to meet me, I can’t sleep. I lie in bed for hours, staring up at the ceiling. As if already attuned to my moods, the baby can’t sleep either. She kicks and seems to be doing somersaults in my stomach at times. I put my hand on my stomach and try to whisper reassuring things, but it doesn’t seem to help.

I can’t blame her for being excited to meet her father. I’m equally excited to show him my stomach—our accomplishment. He probably won’t be that excited, not after going through three pregnancies with Aggie already. He’ll probably be mortified now that I’ve ruined our neat little arrangement.

“It’s all right, baby,” I whisper. “Papa is going to love you—just like I do.”

I’m too nervous to eat much, so that I have to force myself to eat a piece of toast. Once I finish, I take another stroll around the city. I stay away from the art museums this time, not wanting to run into Hisae again. Not that it probably matters; the coven is always watching.

I don’t have any more appetite for lunch, so that I eat only a pastry with a cup of coffee. The baby continues rolling around inside of me, to the point where I start to wonder if I should go see Sabrina. The midwife could probably tell me if this is normal or if it’s a sign that I’m about to lose the child. That would certainly make everything simpler for all of us.

As I sip my coffee, I think back to what Hisae said. She’s right that I’ve never really wanted to work for the coven. I joined because Mama expected it of me, because I wanted to be like my sisters. Then I stayed because Henri died. I rejoined after meeting Alejandro and to give me a purpose while I avoided him. It’s never really been my choice.

I put a hand on my stomach. This is my choice.

The Boboli Gardens are immense, more than eleven acres of land. I wander along the paths, my heart aching whenever I see a woman pushing a baby carriage along or carrying a bay in her arms. I try to envision myself like that, taking my little girl for a stroll. The problem is that all of these women have husbands with them, while I am alone.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when I finally descend the stairs into the ancient amphitheater. On the way down, I search the rows of seats for Alejandro, but he’s not here yet. He might never show up here, at least not today. His coach might have been delayed or he might have already died on the way here. No, I would know if he was dead.

There’s nothing to do but to mount the white stone steps into the rows of seats. I stare at the grass field where plays and such were once held—and possibly still are held from time to time. The baby kicks again, becoming impatient. “Papa will be here soon,” I whisper to her.

An hour goes by without him showing up. Having not slept the night before and without an Energy Boost potion to help me stay awake, fatigue finally catches up to me. I stretch out on the stone seats, turning on to my side with my stomach hanging over the side. I use my hands as a pillow and soon drift off to sleep.

I’m still in this position when I feel a hand touch my back. “Mademoiselle Sylvia,” Alejandro says softly. “Wake up.”

My hands have fallen asleep, so that it’s awkward for me to roll my bulky body onto my back. When I do, the smile fades from Alejandro’s face. His skin drains of color, giving him a sickly pallor. “What have you done?” he whispers.

“It isn’t what I’ve done,” I say. “It’s what we have done. She’s ours.”

“No. That can’t be.”

“It has to be. I haven’t been with anyone else.”

Alejandro sags onto the bench beside me. He buries his face in his hands. “Are you trying to ruin me?”

“Why do you keep blaming me? I didn’t will this to happen.”

“Of course you did! You wanted to get pregnant just like your sister.”

“You’re being absurd. I didn’t will myself to get pregnant.”

Alejandro says nothing, but he refuses to look at me—or my stomach. “How old is it?”

“She is about six months old.”

“How do you know it’s a girl child?”

“I just know.”

“There’s still time to get rid of it,” he says.

I slap him across the face hard enough to leave red marks. “How dare you! I would never kill an innocent child.”

“Then what do you propose we do?”

I realize by looking in his eyes how stupid I’ve been. Of course he doesn’t want to leave Aggie for me. It’s futile to even suggest it. “Did you ever really love me?” I ask him.

He touches my hair, brushing it back as he always does before he kisses me. Only this time he doesn’t kiss me. He says only, “I do love you, Sylvia.”

“But not like how you love Agnes.”

“Agnes is my wife. And the mother of my children.”

“She’s a proper lady. And I’m not,” I mutter, thinking of Mama and how long she tried to make me into a lady without success.

“I am sorry, Mademoiselle Sylvia. I thought you understood. You and I can never be together in that way.”

I nod to him. “Some part of me probably did know.” Then I look down sadly at my stomach. My child will never have a happy family, at least not with Alejandro and I. “What do we do now?”

He thinks about this for a couple of minutes. Finally he says, “My nephew encountered a similar situation.”

“Must run in the family then.”

He ignores this, continuing, “He took the mother of his child to a secluded location and she gave birth to the child. When it was healthy enough, he returned and brought the child to his wife, claiming he had adopted it.”

“What happened to the mother?”

“She was well cared for.”

“You mean he bribed her.”

“If that’s how you choose to look at it. He could have easily left them both on their own to live in poverty, as outcasts, or to die.” He tries to take my arm, but I shake it away. “You can stay with my cousin at the vineyard. You can give birth there. Once the child’s old enough, I’ll take it home to Agnes. I’ll say that I’ve adopted it.”

“What about me? What am I supposed to do?”

“You can still see the child, but as her aunt.”

“You mean I can never tell my own daughter that I’m her mother?”

“Yes. Otherwise we will all be undone. Not just you and I, but Agnes as well.”

I stare down at my stomach again, putting my hand on where my daughter grows inside of me. Alejandro’s scenario makes sense from a practical point of view. Everyone wins: our child gets a good home, there’s no scandal to destroy his reputation, Aggie never has to find out, and I can still see my daughter. Except that I can never tell her that I’m her mother. I imagine her as a little girl, staring at me with a stranger’s eyes when I come to visit for the holidays and the two of us exchanging awkward, stilted pleasantries like strangers. I see her as a young woman about to give birth to her own child and taking Aggie’s hand while I have to wait outside while my own grandchild is born.

“No,” I whisper.

“Sylvia—”

I shake my head. “I’m not going to do it.”

“But you must. Or else—”

“I won’t ruin your precious reputation either.” I stand up and then glare at him as intently as I can, although the effect is ruined by the tears in my eyes. “You are never going to see our child or me ever again.”

“Sylvia, wait!” he calls after me, but I’m already running down the steps. I’m not all that fast in this condition, but I’m fast enough to get beneath the seats, where he can’t see me. That’s as far as I need to go.

I vanish myself back to the apartment in Cairo, startling Jaida, who’s dusting the bedroom. She barely suppresses a scream. “Madam Joubert! I did not hear you come in.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” I lie down on the bed, feeling the urge to sleep for a long time, to never wake up again. If Hisae saw my eyes now, she would probably be willing to oblige me.

“It’s just you and me now,” I whisper to my child.

Chapter 29

2010-09-13T06:33:00.003-07:00

Chapter 29

The good thing about hiding in a Muslim country is that none of the women are showing any skin. This makes it easy enough for me to fit in while wearing a loose black dress that does a good job of disguising my belly. The people are also respectful enough that even if they can tell, no one’s asking to touch my stomach and feel my baby kick.

I can feel her inside of me now. Any doubts I had were wiped away when I felt that first kick as I lay in bed here in Cairo, where I’ve taken refuge from the coven, Aggie, and especially Alejandro. The bouts of morning sickness, lack of a period, swollen ankles, and tender breasts I could try to write off with another explanation. I couldn’t once I felt that kick.

There is of course no way to know for certain that my child is a girl. Not even Aggie with her feelings can be absolutely sure until the baby comes out. My own feelings tell me that it is a girl inside of me—Alejandro’s daughter and mine.

I’ve spent many long days and nights trying to imagine what she might look like. Will she have Alejandro’s brown eyes or my green ones? Will her hair be black or red? Will her skin have his Mediterranean complexion or my pasty redhead complexion? I put the pieces together, sometimes giving her brown eyes, red hair, and olive-tinged skin and other times green eyes, black hair, and pale skin. I see her as combinations of tall, short, fat, and thin.

No matter how I see her, there’s one thing that remains constant: I want to see her smile. I want her to be happy all the time. I want her to laugh and play and dance. I don’t care if she’s a “proper” young lady or a vagrant. All I want is for her to have the happiness and contentment that’s always eluded me.

The problem then always becomes how I could possibly provide that. I have enough money to take care of dozens of kids, enough to buy a house with plenty of room for the two of us. I try to imagine myself changing diapers and cooking meals, but I can’t. The only cooking I’ve ever done is over a campfire, usually involving roasting the carcass of a squirrel or rabbit on a homemade spit. I could have servants do those chores as Mama did around our house; in that case, what will I do?

I know I can’t be a mother like Mama or even like Aggie. The first time my daughter throws a tantrum, what am I going to do, pull out my crossbow? Would I use all of those martial arts moves Hisae taught me on her?

I feel her kick again, so hard that I wince. I remember what Aggie said about Luc one day kicking right through her. Maybe that’s what my baby will do. “It’s all right,” I whisper to her, putting a hand on my stomach. “Mama’s here.”

There’s a knock on my bedroom door. A young woman shuffles into the room. Her name is Jaida and she’s been my personal assistant since I arrived in Cairo two months ago. I met her on the street, begging for money to support her family. Her husband died from an illness and left her and her three children destitute. I pay her a good wage and found a place for her and her family. In exchange, she does my shopping, laundry, and other routine things that have become increasingly more difficult the bigger I get.

Jaida looks down at the floor as she always does. “I’m sorry to intrude, Madam Joubert.”

“You’re not intruding,” I tell her.

“I was wondering if you require anything.”

“I would really like some of those sweetened dates. Do we have any around?”

“I do not think so, but I am sure I can purchase some.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

After Jaida toddles off, I lever myself out of bed with a groan. By the end I’ll probably be bedridden just like Aggie. Before that can happen, I try to move around a little, just some basic tai-chi that Hisae taught me. It’s supposed to relax my body and mind, though I’ve never really gotten the hang of that part. Mostly I do it just so that I can get some kind of exercise without straining myself too much.

I again can’t get my head into the flow of the moves to relax myself. Instead, I worry again about what will happen after the baby is born. I can’t go back to hunting monsters in godforsaken places like Transylvania. Nor can I sell guns anymore. Both of these professions are far too dangerous for a mother. The question comes again, as it has for centuries: what do I do now?

Settling down was much easier for Aggie. She was already used to a relatively sedentary existence. All she did before she married Alejandro was sew and brew potions. On rare occasions she would go out to search for new ingredients or to research a potion for a special case, like poor Rebecca in the archives, who at last word has ballooned up to two hundred fifty pounds now. Becoming a mother wasn’t much of a stretch for Aggie then.

And of course Aggie is married. What will I tell Aggie when the baby comes? If she looks too much like Alejandro, will I be able to explain this? I can say that I met someone else on one of my trips. I can say that the child is an accident, a bastard.

In my fantasies, though, I imagine that our baby will finally bring Alejandro and I together. He’ll leave Aggie to be with me. She’ll be devastated by this, but Aggie will find a way to get over it. She’ll realize how much Alejandro and I love each other and then she’ll face the truth. We’ll go somewhere nice and secluded, where we won’t have to worry about the coven or anyone else bothering us. It’ll be just the three of us—at least until I give birth to a few brothers or sisters for her.

Even as I think this, I know it’s a lie. Whatever happens, there’s not going to be a fairy tale ending where Alejandro and I wind up Happily Ever After. This is the real world and the real world is very, very messy.

There’s another light tap on the door. Jaida comes in, bearing a bag of sweetened dates. I accept these with a nod. “Thank you,” I say to her. Before she can discreetly scamper off again, I ask, “Jaida, do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

She considers this question too long for my taste, probably trying to find a way to phrase it so that I won’t fire her. “You have shown such kindness to me and my family. I cannot help but think you will be equally kind to your child.”

“Thank you,” I say. After Jaida leaves, I sit down and stare out the window for a long time. The air turns cold as night falls. I sit there with my child and worry about the future.

Jaida brings me a letter a week later. Even before I open it, I know it’s from Alejandro. His handwriting doesn’t have the whimsical touches of Aggie’s. Like him, his handwriting is elegant without looking cute. Despite the envelope’s long journey from France to Edinburgh, and then forwarded to me by Captain St. Pierre, I can still smell Alejandro’s scent on it.

“Is that all, madam?”

“Yes, thank you.” Ordering a servant around is still unfamiliar for me; Mama and my sisters did most of that when I was growing up the first time and the second time more often than not I was the servant.

Once Jaida is gone, I lock the door, even though I know she wouldn’t dare to disturb me. Still, I want this moment to be private, just between the three of us: me, Alejandro, and our child. I tear open the envelope and shake out the single piece of paper.

My Dear Mademoiselle Sylvia, I hope this letter reaches you in time. It has been too long since I last saw you. My heart aches from the memory of our time together in Naples. I have told Agnes that I will be going to Switzerland to inspect boarding schools for Mathieu and Marcus. I should very much like to meet you again. I will be staying for three nights at my cousin’s vineyard. If you are able, meet me in Florence at the amphitheater of the Boboli Gardens on 23 July. If not, I will understand.

Yours Always,

Alejandro

When I read this, it’s July 10^th. That leaves me with almost two weeks to get to Florence. This shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. Of course I could simply vanish myself to Italy, but I’ve tried not to use magic since learning of my pregnancy. I doubt that vanishing could really hurt her, but I don’t want to take any chances.

The real question is whether I should go at all. If I go then I will have to tell Alejandro about our child. I’ve put this off for a while. First it was denial that I was really pregnant. Then I thought perhaps I might miscarry early on, in which case there was no sense getting him too excited. Now that I’m about six months along by my reckoning, it’s decreasingly likely that I’ll lose the baby without some kind of accident.

I have to go. I have to go and confront him with the truth. When I do, I have to force him to choose between a family with Aggie and her children or a new family with me and my child. Even if he wants to stay with Aggie, we have to find the best way to break the news to her gently. I don’t want to have to lie to my child about where she came from, not like how Mama had to lie to my sisters and I.

I push myself up to my feet and then call for Jaida. She opens the door almost immediately. “Is something wrong, madam? Did you receive troubling news?”

“No, not really. I am going to need passage on a boat for Italy. First thing tomorrow.”

“Of course, madam. Will anyone be accompanying you?”

“No. I want you to stay and look after things here. I should be back in a few weeks.”

After Jaida leaves, I begin packing up the tent-like dresses I’ve been wearing over the last month. My old monster-hunting jacket doesn’t fit anymore, at least not over my stomach. I shouldn’t need to kill any demons or vampires where I’m going anyway. But maybe I can finally kill some of those personal demons as Glenda said years ago.

With my bag packed, I lie down on the bed and put a hand to my stomach. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re just going to see Papa.”

Chapter 28

2010-09-13T06:32:00.003-07:00

Chapter 28

The arms trade hasn’t changed that much since the Revolution. It’s still about being able to make the right contacts and offer what they want securely and at a reasonable price. The only wrinkle is that some of my older contacts think Sylvia Joubert is about fifty years old by now. I could make myself that old if I want, but I don’t want to go back and forth with my age. Instead, I tell these people that I’m Sylvia’s niece Sandra. I use the same alias with my ships and crews, though it’s unlikely any will remember the old me.

The captain of the freighter bound for Egypt is named Jean-Paul St. Pierre. He knocks on the door to my tiny stateroom. “Are you all right, mademoiselle? Do you need any assistance?”

On any other voyage that’s my first time with a crew, I’m always eager to get on deck and help with the sails to prove that I’m not just some empty-headed girl. This time I’ve stayed inside since we left Edinburgh, most of that time spent throwing up into my chamber pot. Unlike Henri, I’ve never had a problem with seasickness, not even during the roughest storms.

“Mademoiselle—?”

I respond by throwing up again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’ve come down with a fever. I’m sure Aggie has a potion that would work on seasickness, or if not she could brew something up. That would mean I’d have to vanish myself back home and listen to another lecture about how I should choose occupations safer and more sedate. Mathieu, Marcus, and Luc would then burst in to hound me for stories and presents.

And Alejandro would probably be there as well. Two weeks should be more than enough time for him to get back from Naples—unless his ship ran into trouble. We would exchange pleasantries and then at the first possible moment we’d go out to the forest for another fuck.

This prompts me to throw up yet again. All that’s coming out now is yellow bile, since I’ve hardly eaten anything in two days. I find a towel that’s stained with bile and then wipe around my mouth as best I can. Forcing myself to my feet, I go to the door, not caring if Captain St. Pierre sees me in my nightgown and with my hair a tangled mess.

His eyes widen for a moment, but he quickly composes himself. “I’m sorry to disturb you Mademoiselle Joubert. Have you taken ill?”

“I’m just feeling a little seasick.”

“Yes, of course. Is this your first voyage?”

“No.”

“There is not a physician on board, but perhaps we could stop at the next port and find one for you?”

“No, let’s just try to get to Alexandria as quick as we can.”

“If you wish, but—”

“That’s what I wish. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my bed. Please don’t disturb me again unless you smell me rotting away in here. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle—”

“And address me as Madam Joubert, please. I’m not a child.” I shut the door in his face and then go to the window with my chamber pot to dump it over the side. I know I was too harsh with the captain, but at the moment I’m too tired to care. Sinking down on my bed, I turn to face the wall with the chamber pot pressed to my stomach.

I don’t feel much better over the next three days it takes Captain St. Pierre to get the ship to Alexandria. There are stretches—usually in the afternoon—where I feel only tired. I manage to nibble on some of the crusty bread Captain St. Pierre has someone slide beneath the door, as if I’m a prisoner. By the morning, though, I feel ready to die again, filling my chamber pot and staining the front of my nightgowns.

I’m too tired and nauseous to put up a fuss when the captain insists on having a boy walk me down the gangplank. I wait until the boy lets me go to turn and vomit into the harbor. I reach into a pocket for a coin to give the boy. “Call a carriage for me, would you?”

Ordinarily I would insist on walking to the meeting place, but there’s no way I can make it that far in this condition. Really I should just reschedule the meeting until I’ve had a few days to recuperate. But I’m still relatively new in the game—so far as people know—so that I can’t afford to delay any shipments. I consider having Captain St. Pierre handle things, except that he doesn’t have my experience in these matters.

Since this is a Muslim country, I’ve set up the meeting for a public place—the local marketplace. There a woman—even a pale, redheaded woman—shouldn’t look as out of place as at a café or other business. I ask the boy to come with me so that he can speak to the driver while I try to focus on keeping my stomach settled. Somehow I manage to keep from throwing up in the coach, which I take for a good sign that I’m recovering.

The boy takes my hand to help me down and I think of Henri helping me from our carriage when I first came to the family estate so long ago. This boy looks nothing like Henri, but he is kind enough to let me lean against him as we enter the bazaar. I try to take my mind off of my nausea by glancing at the various booths. There are all sorts of items from bananas to chickens to what are supposedly antiques from the ancient tombs.

The boy steers me to the northeast corner of the marketplace, where sacks of grain are piled up. This is where our meeting is to be held. I thank the boy and then study him. He can’t be more than ten, about the same age as Aggie’s middle son Marcus. His body is leaner and more muscular, though, from a life spent at sea. Still, I doubt the child will be much good in a fight if negotiations should break down.

I try to smile reassuringly at the boy. His smile is hesitant and wary. An orphan boy like him is probably used to disappointment. Maybe when this is over I could adopt him and give him a real home. I could raise him as my own son in Edinburgh. Aggie and Alejandro could come visit us with their children—

My stomach interrupts this daydream. I hop off the stack of grain to bend down in the corner. I reach for the pistol in my jacket as I feel someone pat my back. Turning around, I see an old Arab woman. From what I can tell, she’s not someone from the coven. “Who are you?” I say in Arabic.

“Relax, young one. I only wish to help.”

“I don’t need your help. Thank you.”

“Where is your husband? He should not leave a girl in your condition alone.”

“My condition?”

“You are with child, no?”

“No, I’m just seasick,” I tell her.

“Forgive me, young one. I thought—”

“I understand. Thank you for your concern.” The woman insists on giving me and the boy some sweetened dates to eat while we wait. I let the boy eat most of these, unable to digest more than a half-dozen before I feel another bout of nausea.

As we continue to wait, I try to think back to the last time I had my period. I’ve never been someone who keeps track of such a thing; it’s never mattered before. Was it a month ago? Six weeks? That seems right—and it would coincide with when Alejandro and I met in Venice.

Venice is a much better place to be when you aren’t hunting bogeymen. Alejandro took me there after I rendezvoused with him outside of his cousin’s vineyard in Tuscany. As far as Aggie knew, Alejandro was on his way back from a visit there. “What if she asks why it took you so long?” I ask him.

He only shrugs at this. “I can say we ran into bad weather or had a problem with one of the sales.” He leans closer to kiss me. “But she will not ask. She never does.”

Like many an addict, I’ve resolved time and again to stop seeing Alejandro. The longest I’ve managed was nine months about three years ago. Then Christmas came and Alejandro and I fucked three times in my bed while Aggie and the children were off shopping in town. By all indications, Aggie still has no idea about her husband’s infidelity or her sister’s betrayal.

Alejandro has come to Venice a few times on far happier missions than me. We cruise around the city in a gondola, from which he takes me around the old city. We eventually dismount to join the crowds seeing the sights. I pretend I’ve never seen these before; I haven’t at least from this level.

He insists on taking me to St. Mark’s Basilica. I’ve never spent much time here, given my hatred of the pope and his Church, which is centered a few hundred miles south of here. For Alejandro’s sake I try not to show any reluctance to this. He stops at a pair of magnificent bronze horses that make me think of young David and his love for the animals. “These were returned not long ago from your country,” Alejandro says.

The interior of the church is so gorgeous that even a nonbeliever like me is awed by it. I stare up at the mosaics lined with gold, unable to contain my wonder at this. Alejandro puts an arm around my waist to pull him close. Apparently the Christian god has no problem with an adulterer bringing his lover into the church as nothing happens to us as we walk around.

We stop to have coffee at a café, Alejandro taking his watch from his pocket repeatedly to check it. “You in a hurry?” I ask him.

“I’ve arranged something special for you,” he says.

“I don’t need anything special,” I tell him. “Just you.”

“Ah, but this is a tradition in Venice.”

“What is?”

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” he says with a wink. He pays for our coffees and then takes my hand to walk me over to another gondola. Alejandro whispers something to the gondolier in Italian that I can’t understand without using a spell.

We sit in the front of the gondola, me resting my head on Alejandro’s shoulder. With him is the only time that I’m ever comfortable being a traditional woman, in letting someone else take care of me. He strokes my hair, which I’ve kept loose because I know Alejandro likes it that way; he says that symbolizes my untamed spirit that he fell in love with years ago.

The gondolier mutters something to Alejandro in Italian. He says something sharp in reply. Ahead I see there are already a pair of gondolas approaching the enclosed bridge between the old prisons and the interrogation rooms of the Doge’s Palace. This bridge is called the Ponte dei Sospiri or later as the “Bridge of Sighs.” I probably could have walked the interior of the bridge if any authorities in Venice had ever caught me scrambling around the city and peeping into people’s windows.

“What are we doing here?” I ask Alejandro.

“It’s a local superstition that if you kiss beneath the bridge at sunset, your love with last forever,” he says.

“Did you kiss Aggie here?”

“No, but I want to kiss you here.”

The gondolier finds some space for us to park beneath the bridge. Though I know I shouldn’t, I turn around to face Alejandro. As the sun sets, we each lean forward to kiss. It’s a chaster kiss than we usually share, due to the presence of the gondolier and other lovers nearby.

We save the real kisses for later, back in our hotel room. Alejandro insists on carrying me over the threshold as if we’re married; indeed, he told the hotel manager that we’re newlyweds. I play along with this, reveling in the idea of being married to Alejandro, even if it’s only temporarily.

That is until he sets me down on the bed and says, “What would you like to do now, Mrs. Chiostro?”

I shiver as if he’s dumped a bucket of cold water on me. “Don’t call me that.”

“But that’s what you are—at least here.”

“Agnes is Mrs. Chiostro.” I roll over, turning away from him. “She’s your real wife. All I can do is pretend.”

He sits down on the bed putting a hand on my back. “Don’t cry, Mademoiselle Sylvia. I can’t bear to see you cry.”

I wipe the tears from my eyes before I roll over to face him. “How long are we going to go on like this? It’s been six years already. Shouldn’t we tell Agnes?”

“Is that what you want? You know how much that would hurt her.”

“But we can’t go on sneaking around like this, can we?”

He smiles at me, always having an answer to deflect my concerns. “What does it matter so long as we are together?” We kiss far more passionately than beneath the bridge and all of my doubts melt away.

We fuck twice that night. I’ve gotten far more adept that this since that first clumsy time in the forest. Alejandro and I have experienced each other enough that I know what he likes and vice versa. We’ve become able to make the experience last longer, drawing it out for nearly an hour before I finally come, unable to contain a scream that echoes off the vaulted ceiling of the room. As always happens, Alejandro comes a few moments later, his eyes looking into mine.

We part the next morning. Alejandro gives me a deep kiss in an alley, so deep that it takes my breath away. I’m still gasping for air when he says goodbye. He brushes the hair away from my face so that he can look me in the eye. “I’ll be in Naples in three weeks. Can you meet me there?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” I would meet him anywhere at all, even in the bowels of Hell.

“Good.” With another much shorter kiss, he leaves me there. I have to watch from a bridge as he boards his ship so that none of his crew see us together. It’s not likely they would be able to tell Aggie, but it’s because we haven’t taken such chances that we’ve been able to keep up our affair for so long.

I wait until his ship pulls away before I go back to the alley to vanish myself back to Edinburgh to begin counting the days until I can meet him in Naples.

Sitting on the bags of grain, I bury my face in my hands. That must have been when it happened. Really it was just a matter of time. It should have happened years ago with the way we made love, always so recklessly.

I’m still in this position when the buyers show up for our meeting. Like that long ago Frenchman at the start of the Revolution, they don’t realize that they’re supposed to be dealing with a woman. “You, woman, this is not a place for sitting,” one of them says in Arabic.

I look up at this and wipe the tears from my eyes. “You’re the ones who want to buy my guns?” I ask them in the same language.

“Your guns?”

“That’s right. If you have a problem with that, I can take them elsewhere. Maybe the French legionnaires would like them.”

They confer with each other for a few moments. In the end it’s just like Connor said: people will buy from anyone if they’re desperate enough—even a woman. Being Arabs and in a marketplace they want to haggle; since I have even less patience than usual, I pull my pistol out and fire it over their heads. They throw themselves to the ground while nearby there’s the sound of shouting. “Take it or leave it,” I tell them.

They decide to take it before I can get my crossbow from its sling to continue the negotiations. I give them the location of the ship. “Leave the money with the captain.” Before they can slink away, I aim the smoking pistol at them. “If you try shorting me, I’ll find you. Is that understood?”

They nod and bow before scurrying away. I manage to wait until they’ve gone to throw up in the corner again. Then I turn to the boy and say, “Go back to the ship and tell Captain St. Pierre that those men are coming. Be quick about it.”

“What about you, ma’am?”

“I have to do some shopping.”

I wait until he’s gone to duck behind the sacks of grain. There’s no one watching me, so I can vanish myself to the archives. I come in on the main floor and then climb down the ladder to the first floor.

There is of course a new girl working. Ingrid didn’t last long after Sophie’s death. Since then, Glenda has been a little more selective in whom she puts down here. The latest is a young girl who looks eerily similar to how I did as a milkmaid, except that her hair is dark brown and much straighter. Despite that there can’t be much to eat down here, the girl is still about a hundred eighty pounds at least. She makes no attempt to get off her stool as I approach.

“I need some information,” I tell her.

“What sort of information?” she asks in a shy voice. I wonder how long she’s been down here, though she might not even know.

“I need to find out if someone—a friend—is pregnant. Is there some kind of spell for that?”

“I can look for you,” she says. She reaches under her desk, coming back up with a book almost as wide as she is. The enormous book lands on the desk with a thud that kicks up dust. The girl opens it and I can see that it’s a ledger indexing the various spells, potions, and charms. She flips through page after page, her finger skimming along in search of the information. “Here it is. How to Determine Pregnancy. Do you want me to fetch the scroll for you?”

“No, I can get it.” To my surprise the girl begins to cry. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“You think I can’t do it because I’m fat, don’t you?”

“Of course not,” I say, though that was exactly what I was thinking.

“I’m not supposed to be fat. I wasn’t when I came down here.” She sniffles and I pat her back, trying to comfort her. “I went down into the vault and one of the stupid spells got out. Ever since then I’m hungry all the time, but if I eat anything I gain weight instantly. Glenda says she has someone working on a potion, but nothing has helped yet.”

I reach into my pocket for a handkerchief that I hand to her. No doubt it’s Aggie who’s supposed to be finding a potion to change this poor mortal girl back to normal. I only hope she doesn’t decide to show up with the potion as I’m here. Patting the girl’s shoulder, I say, “I know the witch she has working on it and she’s very good at what she does. She’ll find a way to help you.”

“No she won’t. No one cares about me! I’m just a worthless orphan they dumped down here.” The girl blows into the handkerchief, the sound like an elephant’s cry. She tries to give the handkerchief back, but I let her keep it.

Looking her in the eye, I ask, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Rebecca.”

“Why don’t you go fetch that scroll for me, Rebecca? Can you do that?”

She nods and then hops off the stool. She waddles over to the shelves, disappearing for a few moments. I wait anxiously, tapping my foot and turning to the ladder in case Aggie or anyone else shows up. It might be awkward to explain to them what I need this recipe for.

The girl’s face brightens and she practically skips over to me. “I found it!” she says.

“That’s good, Rebecca.” I take the scroll from her and read it a few times until I’ve memorized it. Then I roll it back up to hand to her. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome.” Her chubby cheeks light up as she smiles at me. “You’re the nicest witch I’ve met so far.”

“Thank you.” I see in that moment a way to use this to my advantage. “Since we’re such good friends now, can you do something else for me?”

“What is it?”

“Can you not tell anyone that I came here?”

She considers this for a moment and then nods. “I can do that.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. It was very nice to meet you.”

First I vanish back to Connor’s old house in Edinburgh, in the attic. There, in a trunk, I have some magical items—charms, potions, and ingredients—stored away. I sort through these until I find two round, smooth stones that are jade green, but with flakes of gold. These are elfstones, some of the rarest stones in the world. I drop these into my pocket and then seal the trunk again.

I don’t return directly to the marketplace in Alexandria. Instead, I vanish myself into an alley, where it’s unlikely anyone will see me. This hunch proves correct, as no one does see me. I pause here to bend down and throw up, which I fortunately kept from doing in front of poor, fat Rebecca. Thinking of her, I remember how happy I was at Frau Braun’s, how happy I had been to look like a completely different person, an ordinary girl.

But I’m not an ordinary girl. No ordinary girl could vanish from Egypt to Ireland to Scotland and then back to Egypt within the span of an hour. No ordinary girl had possession of the valuable elfstones. And no ordinary girl could do what I was about to do.

Finding a live chicken in the marketplace is easy enough. Again not wanting to waste time by haggling, I simply toss the merchant a bag full of coins. I don’t bother to wait for him to count these before I snatch the chicken by its feet, holding it upside down. The evil creature stabs at me with its beak, the beak shredding my jacket. When it tries again, I seize its neck with my free hand. “That’s enough from you.”

The hotel where I’m staying overnight doesn’t have a problem with me carrying a live chicken through the lobby and up to my room. There I let the chicken’s feet go, its feet clawing at me as I lock the door. The feet don’t manage to do any damage before I grab them again.

I wish I’d bought a cage, but I’ll have to just make do with my hotel room. I have to let go of the chicken’s feet again as I reach into my jacket for my silver knife. After setting this on the table, I go over to the bed and fetch the chamber pot. This I take over to the table and then sit down. Glaring into the chicken’s soulless eyes, I say, “Now you get yours.”

It pains me more emotionally than physically as the chicken thrashes around while I slit it open from one end to the other. The old expression, “like a chicken with it’s head cut off,” is pretty accurate, as the chicken is still thrashing around even as its blood is draining into the chamber pot. The recipe from the archives specified that for it to work, I would need at least two cups of blood. It’s difficult to gauge this in the chamber pot, so I have to make a rough guess.

Once I’m satisfied I have enough of the chicken’s blood, I set it aside. Its body is still moving, though not as violently as it was. Ignoring the chicken, I wipe the knife clean for the next part of the recipe. This part is far more painful physically as I have to slit open the palm of my left hand with the knife. The recipe actually does specify the left hand for reasons I’m not entirely clear on; Sabrina would probably know.

Holding back a scream, I let my blood drain into the chamber pot just as I did with the chicken. Mercifully I need only a couple of teaspoons of my blood, not cups of it. Once I’m sure I have enough, I tear off a strip of cloth to tie around my hand.

With my uninjured hand, I reach into my jacket for the elfstones. This is the easiest part of the recipe. I simply drop them into the bloody brew and then wait for a reaction. From what the recipe said, if the blood boils then I’m not pregnant.

But my blood doesn’t boil. It congeals, becoming a gelatinous magenta-colored mass. I poke this with one finger as tears form in my eyes.

Maybe I did the test wrong, but I doubt it. I’m certainly not going to buy another chicken and even if I did, I’d need to ask another witch for more elfstones. I’ll just have to assume that I did this test right.

I’m pregnant.

Chapter 27

2010-09-09T18:38:00.001-07:00

Chapter 27

Despite the size of the estate, it’s difficult to keep from seeing Alejandro again. He’s sleeping just one room down the hall, in Sophie’s old bedroom while Aggie recovers from the baby. I nearly run into him the next morning when I emerge for breakfast. He nods to me and acts as if nothing has happened, saying, “Hello, Mademoiselle Sylvia.”

We eat breakfast in the bedroom with Aggie. The baby is taking his breakfast at the same time, suckling from Aggie’s breast. I turn my head away, not wanting to watch. “Don’t be such a prude, dear,” Aggie says.

“Your sister is only being polite,” Alejandro says.

I don’t want him to defend me. I don’t want him to act as if everything’s normal, as if nothing’s happened. At the same time, I know I can’t want him to kiss me again. I can’t want him to love me; not while Aggie loves him.

I lose what little appetite I have when Aggie passes Luc to his father. She leans in then to kiss Alejandro on the lips, just as he and I kissed last night. The kiss is far briefer, though, Aggie too tired for passion. She settles comfortably on her pillows, turning to me while Alejandro admires his new son. “How long are you going to stay?” Aggie asks me.

“I’m not sure. I might have to leave soon.”

“Where are you going to go this time?”

“I’m not really sure.”

“Wherever the wind takes you, I suppose. My adventurous sister.” Aggie sighs, probably remembering some of her own adventures when she was a young witch. “I hope this time you don’t stay away so long. The boys are dying to meet their aunt.”

“We’ll see,” is all I can say, looking across the bed at Alejandro. He looks up from Luc to flash me a smile that melts my heart. I have to turn away, gazing down at my feet as if I’m still an awkward teenager. In Alejandro’s presence I am.

Alejandro mercifully passes the baby back to Aggie and then excuses himself to take care of things around the estate. This leaves Aggie and I alone with her baby; Sabrina left sometime during the night to resume her other duties with the coven. “Do you want to hold him?” Aggie asks me.

I take Luc from her, noting how much more he looks like Aggie now that he’s cleaned up. I don’t need Aggie’s feelings to know that Luc is going to grow up to be very handsome. He’ll probably marry a beautiful woman just like his father did and produce his own beautiful offspring. Will he then risk that perfect life for his wife’s awkward little sister?

Luc begins to cry as if he can read my thoughts—being Aggie’s child he probably can. I rock him gently and try cooing comforting words, but it doesn’t seem to help. He continues to bawl until his face is nearly purple. “I’m sorry,” I say and then hand him back to his mother.

She only has to smile at him and he quiets down, soon falling asleep. Aggie continues to rock him while she looks up at me. “It’s all right,” she says. “You just need some time to learn the knack.”

“I wish I could, but I’ll have to go soon.”

“Come now, I’m sure Glenda can spare you for a few weeks.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to Hisae and Tabitha to make them do it all by themselves.”

Aggie nods, continuing to rock her new baby. Then she says, “Is it still because of Mama and Sophie? That was over a century ago.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Is it Henri? I know how much you loved him, but maybe you can find someone else—”

“I don’t want anyone else,” I say more to convince myself than Aggie. I had always told myself that I would love Henri forever, and yet now it’s Alejandro monopolizing my thoughts. It’s his smile I see when I close my eyes and it’s his lips I taste on mine. But then Henry has been dead for nearly three hundred years while Alejandro is still living and breathing, his scent everywhere around the house.

“You can’t be alone forever,” Aggie says.

“I have to be.”

“Sylvia—”

“I’m sorry. I’m going outside for some air.”

“Please don’t run away again,” Aggie says with a tremor in her voice as if she’s about to cry. The baby must sense this as he wakes up and begins fussing again. She tries to calm the baby for a few moments to no avail. “Could you be a dear and fetch a diaper from the nursery? Somebody’s had a little accident.”

The nursery used to be a guestroom, despite that we never had any guests in the house. The bed has been pushed to one side to make room for a crib, where Luc will spend much of his time once Aggie feels comfortable enough to let him out of her sight. On the changing table are some cloth diapers that Aggie probably made herself.

I stand in the room for a few moments, my legs feeling suddenly rubbery to the point where I have to grip the old bed for support. What brings this on is the thought of my baby in the crib—mine and Alejandro’s baby. I imagine that this is our house, where we raise our children and I’m his cheerful, eager young wife.

A few minutes later I come to my senses. This is Aggie’s crib, where her child sleeps. This is her house now, where she raises her family. There’s no place for me here except as a visiting aunt. That’s the only place in her life or Alejandro’s for me.

I grab a diaper and return it to the bedroom, watching her change Luc with the efficiency of someone who’s done this for years—and she has. I sit silently by the bed, knowing that I’ll never get a chance to become that proficient.

While Aggie and the baby take a nap, I slip into my room for my jacket. I’m tempted to just vanish myself back to Edinburgh, but from our earlier conversation, I know it’s important to Aggie that I stay, at least for a little while. I promise myself that I’ll stay until my sister can get out of bed, when she and Luc should be in the clear.

In the meantime, I slip into the jacket and head out to the forest. I take the crossbow from its sling and load it with a regular bolt. Maybe I can give Aggie some fresh venison tonight. Killing something—even just a dumb animal—should help remind me of what I am, and what I am not.

The paths in the forest are as clear as when I left them. Seeing a crushed cigar on the ground, I realize why: Alejandro has been out here. He’s probably taken his young sons hunting or riding along the paths. Perhaps Aggie’s sons have been scampering along these paths like Henri and I used to when we were small children. This thought is almost enough to make me turn back, but I continue deeper into the woods, telling myself that I won’t be intimidated. This is my forest, not Alejandro’s or Mathieu’s or Marcus’ or Aggie’s.

After years of hunting vampires, I’ve honed my tracking skills enough that I can recognize the deer’s tracks despite that they’ve been all but obliterated by human ones. I can trace the path it took along the path and can be reasonably sure that it’s a ten-point buck. I’ve also relearned what Hisae taught me about moving stealthily, so that I glide along the paths like a ghost.

I feel like a ghost as I part the brush and see the clearing where I first saw Aggie kissing—and where later Henri and I came for our own kissing sessions. It turns out that I’m slightly off: it’s a twelve-point buck standing there. I tighten my grip on my crossbow and line up my shot. I want to make sure that I kill the animal in one shot, so that he doesn’t have to suffer. I’d also like to preserve the head; maybe Alejandro can put it on his wall as a trophy and think of me.

This thought distracts me enough to spoil my aim. My shot goes wide, hitting the deer in the neck. The animal screeches with pain and then begins thrashing around, trying to shake the arrow out. For a moment I’m frozen with horror for what I’ve done. Then without thinking, I charge through the brush, into the clearing. The deer could take out my eye or worse from the way he’s shaking his horns around, but I don’t care.

I use a Speech With Animals spell and then put up my hands. “It’s all right,” I mumble to the deer. He turns his head to me, staring at me. He snorts and paws at the ground as I take a step forward, but doesn’t attack. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell him.

He lets me pull the arrow from his neck. I toss the bolt aside to examine his wound. It’s deep, enough that without a Restoration potion he’ll probably die. I look into the creature’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” I tell him as I slash my knife across his throat.

I’m down on my knees beside the fallen deer, weeping uncontrollably when he finds me. He doesn’t say anything right away, kneeling down beside me and putting his arms around me. “It’s all right, Mademoiselle Sylvia,” he whispers into my ear.

“I didn’t kill him cleanly,” I mumble. “I hurt him.”

“It’s just a deer.”

“It’s not just a deer. He was a living creature. He deserved to die with respect.” That is something Hisae told me during my training. Monsters like demons and vampires long ago forfeited that right, but animals are innocent and pure. Even the most violent predator is only following its instincts—just like me. I lean my head down, putting my lips to the deer’s velvety ear. “I’m sorry,” I say again.

Alejandro puts a hand on my shoulder. We sit there in respectful silence for a minute. Finally I stand up to go. Alejandro smiles slightly at me. “You’re not like any woman I’ve ever known, Sylvia Joubert,” he says. “Women like your sister are tame canaries. You are like a falcon—soaring wild and free.”

“My sister is a good woman. She loves you.” This is and isn’t true; Aggie doesn’t just love Alejandro—she adores him as much as her new son. “Please don’t make me betray her.”

“But you feel the same way I do. I know it.”

“I do care about you. I have for a long time.”

“Then why not give in to those feelings? Why should we deny what we both want?”

“Because I love Agnes. I thought you did too.”

“I do love Agnes, but not in the same way I love you. Agnes and I have become so familiar with each other. Sometimes we sit in the parlor and say nothing for hours.” Alejandro shakes his head sadly. “In many ways we have already grown old.”

He reaches out then to brush hair from my face as he did the night before. Again I make no attempt to stop him, though I easily could. “My love for you is raw, passionate, like a fire inside me that can only be extinguished by your kiss.”

Maybe these aren’t the most poetic words ever, but they’re enough for me. I let him kiss me. I close my eyes and kiss him back. Before I know what’s happening, he’s easing me onto the ground, beside the fallen deer. “Alejandro—”

“It’s all right, Mademoiselle Sylvia. I won’t hurt you.”

I’m three hundred twelve years old but I’ve never had sex before. I’ve never so much as masturbated. Sex wasn’t covered by Mama or by the coven’s training. I’m familiar with it only distantly, from stories I’ve overheard in bars and from the details Rachel let slip during the Revolution.

I do know enough to take off my leggings. Alejandro seems to sense my confusion as he smiles at me again. “It’s all right,” he says again. “I’ll help you.”

There’s not much for me to do that first time. Mostly I just lie back when Alejandro takes off his pants and enters me. I close my eyes, feeling him inside of me. I find myself seeing not Alejandro, but Henri in my mind. This is what Henri and I would have done had he lived. We would have come out here and we would have made love just like this, though probably more awkwardly. I reach out with one hand, touching Alejandro’s cheek and then his hair; in my mind it’s still Henri.

Like a gentleman, Alejandro lets me come first. The moment is almost like the first time my powers came to me; I hear music. With my eyes closed I see the music too. It’s so beautiful, so pure. I shriek like a dying vampire and hear startled birds scattering for cover. Then the music fades and I feel a tiny explosion inside of me. Opening my eyes, I see Alejandro with his eyes rolled back, his face captured in ecstasy.

We lie by the deer carcass for a while, Alejandro holding me and stroking my hair as if I’m a pet dog. Maybe I am his pet, but at the moment I don’t care. Alejandro loves me and I love him, though I know I shouldn’t.

“We can’t do this again,” I whisper to him.

“I understand. You love your sister.”

“She’s all I have.”

“No,” he says and smiles at me. “You have me.”

I kiss him, knowing I’ll never be able to resist him. I am as helpless as a deer with a bolt caught in its neck.

Alejandro and I make love eleven more times during the next two weeks. During this time, Aggie recuperates enough that she can finally get out of bed and walk around without any pain. I volunteer to get a Restoration potion, but she waves this idea away. “I didn’t need one for the other two,” she says. “Besides, Alejandro will worry if I’m unconscious for a day.”

I’m not entirely sure about this, but I don’t say anything. Aggie doesn’t seem to have any feelings about my betrayal. Nor does she seem suspicious of the fact that I can’t look her in the eye after that first time in the forest. To her I’m her supportive baby sister and Alejandro her magnificent husband.

Perhaps the worst part is watching Aggie eat the venison from the deer I slaughtered. I want to break down into sobs when she says, “That’s so thoughtful of you, dear. Some fresh meat would certainly be lovely.”

Alejandro gives nothing away, patting my shoulder. “Your sister has become quite a little huntress since last we met. She’s even promised to let me keep the antlers for the boys.”

“I’m sure they’d love that, but don’t you think those antlers are a bit sharp?”

“We can do something about that,” I say.

To help distract myself, I spend days stuffing and mounting the deer’s head. Aggie has some glass beads I can use for the eyes and Mr. Devereaux lets me use some of his tools. As I work, I try to think of a way to tell Aggie, to end this once and for all. I know she’ll forgive me eventually; I’ll have centuries to make amends.

Yet every time I’m alone with Aggie, I can’t bring myself to tell her what I’ve done—what I’m doing. I try telling myself that it’s because of her weakened condition or that I don’t want to ruin her reputation. In reality, I don’t say anything because I want to keep fucking Alejandro in the forest, desecrating the place where Henri and I kissed.

The last time Alejandro and I make love, as we’re lying spent in the grass, I say for what seems like the hundredth time, “We have to stop this.”

“Why? Agnes isn’t going to find out.”

“She will eventually. She’s not stupid.” No, Aggie isn’t stupid—she’s just trusting. She always has been. That’s why Sophie never told her about our true origin and why I haven’t either. That’s why she’s never put the pieces together on her own and has remained so loyal to Glenda through the years.

Though Aggie has lived a long time and seen the world, the vast majority of her life she’s spent here. She didn’t have her heart broken by the Revolution; she didn’t see the headless bodies driven through the streets. She hasn’t seen the grim underbelly of the world to understand what people are capable of—including people who love her. In that way she’s still as innocent and naïve as her newborn son.

I take Alejandro’s arm and look him in the eye, pleading with him. “When she finds out, it’s going to destroy her. That’s why we have to stop now.”

“Sylvia—”

“Now that she’s recovered and Luc is doing well, I’ll be going.”

“You can’t go now. The boys will be home in another couple of weeks. They would love to have you around. So would Agnes.”

“And you?”

“I think you know that already.”

I nod. It’s tempting to stay here longer, to meet Mathieu and Marcus, my other nephews. I could relate my stories of Transylvania and Romania and the Black Forest to them at night. I imagine their tiny faces flushed with excitement as they hang on my every word. We could go out into the forest and I could teach them how to track and hunt properly. Maybe that would give me a new sense of purpose. Maybe I could be domesticated.

But looking into Alejandro’s eyes, I know he’s the real reason I want to stay. I want to stay so that we can keep making love out here. When the weather turns cold, we can go out to the stables or somewhere else on the estate where Aggie won’t find us. But how long can we truly live like that before she finds out?

“It’s better for all of us if I go now, before someone gets hurt.”

“If you leave, you’ll hurt me,” he says. “And yourself.”

“I know, but this couldn’t go on forever. We both know that.”

I want him to deny this and to say that it could go on forever, that we could find a way to be together. Instead, he only nods to me. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He smiles again and puts a finger on my chin. “I’ll never forget you, Mademoiselle Sylvia. You are truly a wonder.”

“I won’t forget you either,” I say.

Aggie is of course broken up over my departure. “But why?” she says and the baby begins to wail, as if attuned to her moods. She picks Luc up and cradles him in her arms. More softly, she says, “I thought we were getting along so well.”

“We are. It’s just that I have things to do. I have my own life.”

“What sort of life is it? Killing monsters and selling guns? It’s dangerous.” There are tears in her eyes as she says, “You said how much you liked working on that farm in Germany. Why not stay here and work on our farm? We could buy some dairy cows—”

“Agnes, please.” I look down at my feet as I lie to her. “This isn’t my home anymore. This is your house. It’s your family’s house.”

“You’re part of my family.”

“No, not in that way. I need my own place. I need to be independent. You know that.”

“Yes,” she says in a tiny voice. “I suppose I do.”

She sets Luc down so that we can hug. “Can you at least come back for Christmas? I promise I won’t make you wear that red dress again.”

I can’t help but laugh at this, trying to imagine myself in such a dress with the stupid bow in my hair again. “It’s a deal.”

“Just don’t bring the children any weapons. Alejandro and I are trying to raise them to be proper young gentlemen.”

She sounds so much like Mama that again I have to laugh. “I won’t. I’ll bring them something nice and safe.”

We hug one last time. “Take care of yourself, dear. Don’t let Glenda send you anywhere too dangerous.”

“I won’t.” A half hour later I’ve packed up and go to the front door. Alejandro is there to kiss my hand as he did when we first met. I blush at this.

“Farewell, Mademoiselle Sylvia,” he says. “Are you certain you don’t need a ride into town? I would be happy to drive you.”

“I’ll be fine. I like to walk.”

“If you wish. We look forward to seeing you again for the holidays.”

“So do I.” I resist the urge to kiss him right there in front of Aggie. Instead, I only nod to them and then start down the path. At the gate I turn to look back and see them still standing there: Alejandro next to Aggie with the baby in her arms. They look so much like a happy family in a portrait.

I know I can’t come back for Christmas or ever again, not while Alejandro is still around. I have to protect that happy family—Aggie’s dream.

Chapter 26

2010-09-09T18:37:00.002-07:00

Chapter 26

When it comes to giving birth, a witch is like any mortal woman. Despite Sabrina’s century of midwife experience and Aggie’s extensive knowledge of potions, there’s nothing that can take away the pain as she gives birth—at least nothing safe. All Sabrina can do is give Aggie a wooden spoon to bite down on.

“Isn’t there something else you can do?” I ask.

“I’m afraid not. Using any magic on her would be too dangerous for her and the child.”

Alejandro, like any mortal man at this time, has gone down to the living room to wait. I consider going down there with him, but Aggie reaches out for my hand, taking it in hers. “Please stay with me,” she whimpers.

I regret holding her hand when the next contraction comes and Aggie nearly breaks every bone in my hand. I have to bite down on my lip to keep down a scream of my own. Still I manage to keep hold of her hand throughout the process. “You’re doing fine, Agnes,” Sabrina says. “Everything is fine.”

It seems strange to me that Morgana, who tried to kill me over a century ago, is now Aggie’s midwife, saving her life and that of her unborn child. While I hold Aggie’s hand to reassure her, I keep an eye on Sabrina, just in case she starts to remember that old life and decides to get some payback. I wipe the sweat from Aggie’s forehead and then whisper, “You’re going to be all right—both of you.”

“I wish Mama and Sophie were here,” Aggie says.

“I’m sure they can see you from the afterlife.”

“You think so?”

“Of course.”

Another contraction causes Aggie to scream again. I’ve heard plenty of screams from dying monsters, but this is much worse because it’s my sister. I wish I could do something for her pain, to make this easy for her. There’s nothing I can do, though, except to keep holding her hand and try to reassure her. “You’re doing fine.”

“It hurts so much.”

“I know it does.”

“No you don’t! You don’t know anything!” Aggie shouts this as she writhes in pain again. After the contraction, she looks downcast at her stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right. I’ve never had a baby.” I look over at Sabrina, thinking of the dream Morgana had fabricated in the cave, where I was pregnant with Henri’s child. That was the life I had always wanted—the life Aggie now had. Thinking then of Frau Braun’s farm, I remember how happy I was as an ordinary milkmaid. Since becoming a witch all I’ve ever wanted is a normal life, a mortal woman’s life.

Aggie pants while she waits for the next contraction. “We’re almost there,” Sabrina says. “It won’t be much longer now.”

Aggie nods and then turns to me. “Sylvia, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s been bothering me for almost three centuries now.”

“What is it?”

“I was so terribly jealous of you and Henri. You loved him so much and all I had were stolen kisses with farmhands. When he died, there was a part of me that was happy that you wouldn’t be happier than me.” Aggie screams as a contraction comes on. After the pain subsides, she begins to sob. “I’m so sorry. It’s such a horrible thing of me to think.”

“No, Agnes, it’s all right. I know you didn’t mean it. Not really.”

She nods, looking me in the eye. “I don’t care what you do, Sylvia. I just want you to be happy. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. I know.”

“Good.”

Sabrina looks up from her position between Aggie’s legs. “Agnes, I’m going to need you to start pushing with the next contraction. Push very hard, just like when Mathieu and Marcus were born. You remember that?”

“Yes.”

“Ready…now!”

Aggie squeezes my hand even harder, until I hear something pop. At the same, she pushes, managing to groan and scream at the same time. When she can’t do either any more, she sags back to the mattress. I wipe her forehead and dribble a bit of water into her mouth. She accepts this gratefully, nodding to me. “When you ran away,” she says through panting breaths, “was it because of me?”

“No,” I say, which is true. I didn’t run from Aggie; I ran from Alejandro. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all my fault. I was young and stupid.”

After the next push, she asks, “Why did you come back?”

“I was just being stubborn.”

She cracks a smile at this. “You always were a headstrong little thing.”

I lean down to give her a brief hug around her shoulders. Then the next contraction comes and Aggie has to push with all of her might. “I see the head!” Sabrina calls out.

“You’re almost there, Agnes,” I tell her. “On the next one, push as hard as you can.”

She nods to me and as the next contraction comes on, she closes her eyes and screams loud enough to nearly shatter glass. “Go on,” I tell her. “Push!”

“He’s out!”

I turn and see Sabrina holding a blood-spattered infant. She slaps the child on the back and he begins to cry. It’s the most wonderful sound I’ve ever heard. I bend down to give Aggie another hug. “You did it,” I tell her. “You did it.”

Aggie sighs with relief and then sags onto the pillows. “Can I hold him?”

“Just a moment. We need to cut the cord,” Sabrina says.

“Allow me,” I say. I reach into a pocket and take out a silver hunting knife I used on vampires. This time it’s used for the much happier purpose of severing Aggie’s newest son from the umbilical cord. Sabrina holds the boy up so that I can slice the cord.

Only then does Sabrina wipe the boy off and wrap him in a blanket. This she passes to me. I hold the squirming child in my arms and looking down at his face, I see that he has his mother’s blue eyes. His tiny face turns red as he begins to cry again, wanting his real mother. I pass him to Aggie, who takes him gently, tears in her eyes. She smiles at her son and whispers, “Hello, Luc. Welcome to the world.”

I wish I could warn Luc of the dangers of this new world he’s entered, but I know he’ll find out soon enough.

Besides having Aggie’s eyes, Luc also has Aggie’s blond hair, a fact that becomes clear after Luc is cleaned up. Perhaps because of this—or because she knows this is her last child—Aggie refuses to give Luc up, except to let Alejandro hold him. The proud father rocks the infant in his arms and says, “He’s as beautiful as his mother.”

I have to turn away as he bends down to kiss Aggie. While I’m happy for them having a healthy boy, I still find it hard to see them together. I step out of the room, using the flimsy excuse that I need to help Sabrina clean up.

Sabrina is outside, burning the placenta and stained sheets so that they can’t be misused for any charms or curses. I sit on a log by the fire, staring into the flames. “She’s still doing fine,” I tell Sabrina before she can ask.

“She’s very strong.”

I nod at this. Aggie’s never been a warrior like me, but she’s strong where it matters—in her heart. She’s endured the centuries of loneliness and come out of it finding true happiness with her family. “Is the baby going to be all right?”

“They’re both very healthy,” Sabrina says. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.” I hold up my left hand. “My hand is a little sore.”

“You look tired. You should rest.”

“I don’t want to go to bed yet.”

“Then stay here and watch the fire. I’ll prepare some food for Agnes. She needs to keep her strength up.”

I nod and stay with the fire, watching the sheets burn. The closest I’ve ever come to a moment like in Aggie’s bedroom was helping Frau Braun with a new calf. Looking into those eyes that are so much like Aggie’s, I can’t help feeling a sense of awe, a magic greater than any I’ve ever known before. As witches we can turn people into toads or other animals, but we don’t really create anything. Mostly we end up destroying things—or at least I do. What would it be like to create a new life like that, to give birth to a child who will grow into a man and have children of his own?

I’m still thinking about this when I hear footsteps. I think at first it’s Sabrina, but then I turn to see Alejandro. He has a cigar clenched in his teeth; I can smell it despite the smoke from the sheets. “There you are, Mademoiselle Sylvia,” he says with a smile. He reaches into his pocket for another cigar.

“No thank you,” I say.

“Come now, it’s a tradition. To celebrate the birth of a new child.”

I shrug and then take the cigar from him. He shows me how to bite off the end and then I light it using the bonfire. The smoke enters my lungs and I double over as I cough. Alejandro claps me on the back, his laughter like music.

“They take some getting used to,” he says. He sits down on a log beside me, staring into the fire while my eyes water and my stomach churns from the cigar. “Another son. I am a fortunate man.”

“Yes,” I manage to whisper.

“Agnes is such a wonderful woman. An exceptional woman.”

“She is.”

He takes a puff of his cigar and then turns to me. “So, Mademoiselle Sylvia, how many suitors did you acquire on your journeys?”

“None.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

I look down at the ground, thinking of Uwe in Frau Braun’s village. “There was a boy, back when I was thirteen. He was very nice to me, but it didn’t work out.”

“That long ago?” He shakes his head. Time seems to stop as he brushes hair away from my face. “You poor girl. Such a beautiful young woman should be fighting off suitors with a rapier.”

“Stop,” I whisper as he bends down to kiss my cheek. “Please stop.”

“Since the moment I saw you, I wanted to do that.” He tosses the cigar into the fire and then smiles at me. “You’ve bewitched me, Mademoiselle Sylvia.”

I want to laugh at the irony of this, to tell him that I really am a witch and that if he doesn’t back off I’m going to hurl him into Paris. My body seems to have turned to ice, though, so that I can’t move or speak as his lips brush against mine. “You are beautiful,” he whispers.

He kisses me on the lips for the first time. I know I should push him away; I should knee him in the crotch and then threaten to tell Aggie what a cad he is. Instead, I find myself kissing him back. His lips still taste like the cigar, but I don’t care. I close my eyes and for a moment I’m sixteen again and kissing Henri in the forest.

When I open my eyes again, I remember that I’m kissing Alejandro—Aggie’s husband. Aggie, who just gave birth to Alejandro’s son, and still loves him like a newlywed. I finally, belatedly, gather the strength to push him away. He tries to put a hand on my shoulder, but I bat it away. “Don’t you dare touch me!” I hiss at him. “Or I swear I’ll make sure you never father any more children.”

He nods at this. “Forgive me, Sylvia. I was merely caught up in the moment. The excitement of having a child—”

“Don’t lie. I’m not a kid anymore. I know what you were doing.”

“What are you going to do now?”

I think about this. I should go upstairs and tell Aggie what happened. Then I think of her cuddling little Luc, her eyes filled with joy. I can’t spoil that happiness for her, not after what she’s just gone through. “Nothing.” I wag a finger at him. “But this can never happen again.”

“Of course. I am very sorry, Sylvia—”

“Save it,” I snap. I go upstairs, slipping past the master bedroom, into my room. After locking the door, I collapse onto the mattress to cry for betraying my sister. I know that while I didn’t say it, that Alejandro could see in my eyes how much I enjoyed that kiss.

And I know that if he tries to kiss me again, I won’t be able to resist him.

Chapter 25

2010-09-09T18:37:00.000-07:00

Chapter 25

Since, as Glenda said, I’m here to slay my personal demons, I wear my vampire-hunting outfit as I vanish myself to the front gates of our old home. The gate isn’t open, which takes me by surprise, as Aggie usually anticipates when I’m going to show up. It’s easy enough to the other side of the gate, though, and start up the front path.

The front of the house looks relatively unchanged since the last time I was here, except there are no decorations up this time for the wedding reception. I pause at the front steps, looking back towards the gate. There’s still time to vanish myself back to Edinburgh or Transylvania or anywhere else I want to go. Aggie’s already had two children without me; she doesn’t really need me here.

I’m still working up my courage when the door opens and I run out of time. My entire body stiffens when I see that it’s Sabrina—the former Morgana—at the door. She stares at me for a moment, trying to remember me; we’ve met only briefly since her trial and transformation. I’ve gotten about ten years younger and she about ten years older since our last meeting. Her hair is white, her skin wrinkled, and eyes hidden behind spectacles to leave no trace of the infant in the archives. “Sylvia?”

“Yes, it’s me. What are you doing here?” I stand on my doors to peek around her shoulder, into the foyer. “Is Glenda here?”

“No.”

I reach into my jacket to take out my crossbow. “Then why’s someone from the coven here? What are you doing to Agnes?”

“I’m Agnes’ midwife.”

“You?”

“Of course. That’s one of my specialties. Unless you would rather let a mortal do it.” She reaches out to put a withered hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about, young lady. I’ve already delivered her other children.”

Her voice sounds sincere and there’s nothing in her eyes to indicate that she means Aggie any harm. With a nod I stick the crossbow back into its sling. “I’m sorry about that,” I say.

“It’s perfectly understandable. You’re concerned about your sister.”

“I suppose I am. Where is she?”

“She’s in bed, resting.”

“How is she?”

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

“Right,” I mumble and then brush past her. The interior of the house has changed slightly, with some different paintings on the walls. These are landscapes depicting Venice, Naples, and Tuscany, which I assume are to make Alejandro feel more at home.

I stick my head in the living room and suck in a breath. The portrait of Mama, my sisters, and I is gone from over the fireplace. There’s another portrait of Aggie, Alejandro, and their two sons, who have Alejandro’s olive-tinged skin and brown eyes. The only difference is their hair is brown instead of black and they have Aggie’s finer bone structure. I find myself focusing on the image of Alejandro, who in the portrait at least looks just the same as I remember. The artist has even managed to capture the brightness of Alejandro’s smile.

I have to force myself to look away and go upstairs. The house is silent except for the echo of my footsteps. Where are Alejandro and the children? I should have asked Sabrina that when I came in. Maybe they’ve gone away on a trip back to Italy and haven’t returned yet. Maybe they’ll be delayed until after the baby is born. If I’m lucky, I might be able to sneak in and out of here without having to see him again.

I curse myself for my cowardice and then keep going up the stairs. I open the door to Aggie’s old bedroom, but she’s not in there. Instead, I see two smaller beds with a painting of a hunting scene over each bed. There are toy boats and soldiers on the floor to indicate this bedroom is for Aggie’s sons. I wonder if I should have brought them a present, but then I suppose vampire ashes wouldn’t make a very good gift.

I’m still standing in the doorway when I hear Aggie call out, “Sylvia?” I follow the sound of her voice to Mama’s old bedroom, which is now the master bedroom. My sister is propped up on some pillows, the covers pulled up so that I can only see the great hump of her pregnant stomach rising and falling.

The years have been kind to her. Her hair is still golden and still in a long braid over her shoulder, just like when we first came here. Her skin is paler than I remember, probably from staying here in the house the last few months. When she smiles, I see tiny lines around her lips and eyes. “I thought I felt you,” she says.

“You and your feelings,” I say, unable to resist smiling back at her.

“Come here so I can get a better look at you.” I do as she asks, stepping over to the side of the bed. I’m tall enough now that she can’t reach up to pinch my cheek or pat my head. Still, she makes me feel like a child when she says, “Look at you! So grown up now.”

“Thanks.” I push a chair over beside the bed so I can sit down and look her in the eye. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugs. “Pregnant. Very, very pregnant.”

“Glenda said it shouldn’t be much longer.”

“I hope she’s right.” Aggie sags back against her pillows. “This one has been so trying.”

“Well, you’re not as young as you used to be.”

“I’m only thirty. I’m not an old lady—so far as anyone else knows,” she says with a wink. Then she reaches out to take my hand. “So you’ve been killing vampires?”

“Glenda tell you that?”

“Sabrina mentioned it. You’d better watch out for her; she’s quite the busybody. I can only imagine what she tells the others about me.”

“So are you still a witch? Glenda didn’t make you give up your powers?”

“No, she’s never mentioned it.” We’re silent for a few minutes, both of us searching for the right words to say. Finally Aggie says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Then she falls asleep with a smile on her face.

I leave Aggie to sleep and go down the hall. My bedroom is the same as I left it. The dresses Aggie made for me hang up in the closet and the adorable bows are piled up on the vanity. I’d like to burn these reminders of those dark months I spent here as a twelve-year-old, but it would probably hurt Aggie’s feelings.

Taking off my jacket, I drape it over the back of a chair. I sag onto my old bed, letting out a tired sigh. The feather mattress is much better than the rough straw pallets—or hard slabs of rock—I’ve been sleeping on in Transylvania for the last five years. I reach beside me on the bed, where Aggie has left the doll Alejandro gave me for that first Christmas. Staring at the doll’s glass face is almost like looking in a mirror nine years ago. I think back to that day and how distraught I was when Alejandro gave me a doll while Aggie received a beautiful necklace.

I’m still thinking about this when I hear a man clear his throat. “Hello, Mademoiselle Sylvia,” Alejandro says. “Madame Sabrina said you were up here.”

The doll falls from my hands, onto the mattress. I can see then that the portrait did not do him justice. He looks even more handsome than last time I saw him, the few gray hairs at his temples and lines around his eyes giving him a distinguished look. My face turns warm as I realize what a sight I must look like in my dusty green tunic and leggings, with my boots still on, and my hair uncombed. “Yes, I’m right here,” I stammer, instantly becoming twelve again.

“You must be tired after your journey. Would you care for something to eat? I could have the cook—”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Perhaps some water? Or wine?”

“No, thank you. I’m just going to take a little nap.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive the intrusion.”

“It’s not a problem.” I smile weakly at him, feeling ready to faint when he smiles back at me. He nods and then backs out of the room. I wait until he’s gone to kick off my boots and roll onto my side, clutching the doll he gave me to my chest.

I lie on the bed but I don’t fall asleep. My mind is too busy repeating our brief encounter over and over again. I had hoped that after nine years and everything I’d gone through I could handle being around Alejandro again. It’s clear from what happened, though, that I can’t. Despite everything, my feelings for him still haven’t changed and I’m no better at handling them as when I was a little girl.

My instincts tell me to leave this place immediately. I should go before I get hurt again—or before I say or do something to hurt Alejandro or Aggie. I should forget about fighting my own personal demons and just slither off somewhere to hide until Alejandro is gone.

I know all of this, but I don’t. I think of Aggie down the hall, ready to give birth at any moment. I think of her smile and how happy she is to see me again. She’s my sister and she needs my love and support. Sitting up, I tell myself that I can handle being around Alejandro for a few days, until Aggie gives birth and I can leave again.

The problem is that I can’t seem to get away from Alejandro for long. Sabrina taps on my door to call me for dinner. She eats in the kitchen while Alejandro and I eat in Aggie’s room with her. Alejandro sits on one side of the bed and I sit on the other, both of us facing Aggie, watching her for any sign that it’s time.

Aggie grunts and then puts a hand on her stomach as the baby kicks her. “He’s a strong one,” she says. “One of these days he’s going to kick right through my stomach.”

“He must get his strength from his mother,” Alejandro says. He leans down to kiss Aggie’s hand. From the way she blushes at this, I know she’s still as madly in love with him as she was nine years ago. I have to turn away towards the window to hide my embarrassment.

“So, Sylvia,” Aggie says and I turn to face her, “what sorts of adventures did you have while you were gone?”

“Oh, well, it wasn’t too exciting. I just walked around. Did some odd jobs.”

“There must be more to it than that,” Aggie says. Glenda’s probably told her everything already, but she wants me to get it out in the open with Alejandro around.

“I spent the first few months in the forest in Germany. When it got cold I met this nice woman named Frau Braun. She had a dairy farm and she let me work there for a while—until I had to move on.” I have to be careful not to say anything about the reason I left, because I’m certain Alejandro doesn’t know the truth about his wife. I quickly run through some of the other jobs I held as I grew up again.

Alejandro listens with genuine interest, nodding his head thoughtfully at times. Once I finish, he asks, “What have you been doing lately?”

“Mostly I’ve been hunting. Big game. Bears and such.”

“That seems like a dangerous profession for a young woman.”

If one of those clods in Romania had said that I would have chopped their windpipe just to show them how vulnerable this “young woman” was, but not with Alejandro. With him I only look shyly at the floor. “It’s not that dangerous if you know what you’re doing.”

“Sylvia’s always been good in the outdoors,” Aggie says. “Ever since she was a little girl, she would go out into the forest on her own no matter how much Mama scolded her.”

“Not all women are meant to be domesticated,” Alejandro says, looking at me. I blush again and wish I could leave, but then Aggie groans.

She turns to me, trying to smile through her pain. “Sylvia, be a dear and fetch Sabrina. My water just broke.”

Sisterhood, Tales of the Coven Vol 1

Introduction

***REWRITE!!!***

Epilogue

Chapter 35

Chapter 34

Chapter 33

Chapter 32

Chapter 31

Chapter 30

Chapter 29

Chapter 28

Chapter 27

Chapter 26

Chapter 25

REWRITE!!!