Chapter Twenty-Six
Soul Transplants & Impossible Things
“You’re right,” Sabbath admits, eyeing Soren next to me. “I’m surprised.”
I roll my eyes at the suggestive smile she gives me as we make our way across the château with the others.
Finding ourselves in front of the tapestry that conceals the storage room, I swipe my hand across the air. The knitted loops that make up the horse and his rider ripple from one side to the other. As the piece of art vanishes, we hurry through the door.
“This time we brought the muscle.” I wiggle my eyebrows at Sab.
“We can just use magic—”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “I would like to watch the young men use their hands. They hang out with us so much, it’ll be good for them to remember their more masculine qualities. Please move that shelf, boys,” I say to Nik and Soren, pointing at the shelf in question. “Carefully.”
It’s just as nice as I expect, making Soren red in the face. When the shelf is out of the way, I take the lead, skipping down the steps to the place where the Good Witch School keeps its dead body parts.
“Ewww,” Tu crinkles her nose when the candles spit light up into the darkness.
“Skeeve city,” Tomorrow whispers in reverential awe.
Nik leaps back as the eyeballs swivel in their jars to peer at him. “Yeah, this is just as gross as I expected.”
A few of the hearts sputter on the shelf, but they’re pretty much all dead in the gross water.
“Grab one and let’s go,” Soren orders, looking around.
Sabbath obeys, picking an especially hiccupy heart, and we rush back up the stairs, shoving the shelf back in place. With an inconspicuous glance back out into the hallway, I motion to everyone and we file out quickly. Sabbath hugs the gross jar to her own heart.
We’re on our way to the stairs when approaching footsteps ring through the hall. I’d know the formidable click-clack of those heels anywhere.
“Go, go! Classroom!” I mouth just as Sabbath’s hair disappears around the corner. We won’t make it unless—"
“Diversion,” Soren urges. He’s right. The two of us can give the others enough time to escape with the heart if we take the fall.
I nod and he pushes me roughly against the wall, placing an arm on either side of me. This is definitely not the type of diversion I was thinking of. Maybe something more like standing awkwardly in the middle of the hall, very far away from each other.
“What’re you doing?” I hiss.
He leans frightfully close. Close enough that I feel his breath wipe across my face. “Better this than thieves,” he whispers, making my skin tingle.
“Cain. Carrow.” Thorncaster’s voice slices through the moment.
Thank the Seers! I duck under Soren’s arm, trying to look as innocent as I actually am—when it comes to Soren’s strategy, at least.
“Why are you up here?” she barks. Her eyes narrow, calculating the level of damage we could have caused as she looks between the two of us, and then over at the tapestry.
I open my mouth with a frown, willing an excuse to come to my lips.
Any excuse, Mika.
“I... really loved this tapestry, Professor. Soren is a big art aficionado, surprisingly.” I look over to him, but he nods unconvincingly. “I just thought, like, no better way to welcome him to Spellfall this year than to show off our great taste in magical art.”
Believable? No. Better than admitting to the theft of a human heart? Still arguable.
Thorncaster’s eyes move between our empty-handedness. “Turn out your pockets, Cain,” she barks.
“My dress has pockets, too,” I point out, flipping them out for her. I can’t help but brag.
When this doesn’t betray our motives, our professor flashes her hand through the air, the horse galloping madly across the lawn. She plunges into the storage room, performing some sort of incantation, and finally storms back out.
“I don’t know what you two planned on doing in there, but cavorting around in this area of the school is forbidden, as is pilfering from our magical supplies. Now, the two of you will stay here during the break and help tear down the decorations to prepare the château for the coming term.”
“But it’s Christmas!” I protest.
A brow lifts, daring me to test her further. “An astute observation, Miss Carrow. One you should have considered before you stole away into the night to show Mr. Cain... art. I will be writing to both your guardians first thing in the morning.”
Thorncaster storms down the hall and I look over at Soren glumly.
“Come now,” she calls brusquely. “I’d prefer not to have to escort you like children back to the festivities.”
We hurry after her, my cheeks flushed. Soren and I, assumed to be caught in the throes of passionate hate-making by our professor? I’m sure there’s no worse punishment in the world than this.
As we cross the courtyard back to the banquet hall, I see a flash of red. Amandine is hanging by the door with Cecily, watching Soren and I tromp after Thorncaster. She cocks her head and gives me a cruel little smile, her eyes stealing a disappointed glance at Soren’s.
On second thought, I really hope she thinks the two of us got caught getting down and flirty. Better me than her.
* * *
We stay another ten minutes at the ball, long enough for Thorncaster to think we’ve disappeared back into the fray, and then sneak out a side door, running up to the classroom. The moon is whole and stunning outside the window, making the wardleweed Tuesday’s braided into her hair glow.
“What took so long!” Tomorrow complains.
“Thorncaster caught us.”
“Thought we were stealing at first, then, well... you know. Because that would happen,” I roll my eyes and laugh, but Soren gives a noncommittal smile.
“So, where were we?” Nik asks as Soren and I join their circle. The others have the ingredients on hand, and Tuesday consults a sheet of paper where she’s scribbled the spell’s instructions.
“First, we put in a heap of graveyard dirt,” she says, “then the oil and unicorn hair.”
Tomorrow dumps the dirt into the cauldron, and we go around the circle, each of us tossing in an ingredient.
“There’s a rhythm to the ‘gathering of five’,” Soren explains to Nik, his face looking gaunt and chiseled in the candlelight. “It’s almost like its own type of magic.”
“Coven magic,” Sabbath agrees quietly. “Mimicking the role we each have to play, infusing the work with the power of each brood. It makes a spell infinitely more powerful. It’s called plenam potestatem.”
“Last but not least, the heart.”
Sabbath unscrews the jar and scoops up the organ, murky water sloshing onto the floor.
Tomorrow’s gaze focuses on the heart longingly. “I’ve always wanted to hold one.”
I must admit, that sight would make far more sense. As it is, Sabbath’s looking pretty wholesome for a girl cupping a human heart between her hands. The heart gives one last pathetic squeeze and then stills entirely. This is going to be problematic.
“I can’t restart a heart. We don’t learn isolation techniques for the body until tenth year—”
“Breathe, Winters,” Soren instructs. “You don’t need to isolate it. It’s been isolated for you.”
“Yeah,” I say helpfully, “by being cut out of someone’s chest already.”
“Omens, I wish we could get extra credit for this,” Tomorrow mutters.
“But I don’t know what to do!”
“Of course you do, Sab. Close your eyes. Use your instincts.”
“Breathe,” Tuesday reminds her.
Sab’s eyes flutter to a close, her breath steadying. Slowly, her grip on the heart becomes more purposeful. Ribbons of red slip from her nose, but she doesn’t break concentration, and soon the heart begins a dull thump in rhythm with her breath.
“Sabbath,” I say gently, not wanting to startle her from her meditation. “It’s working.”
She looks down in awe, the heartbeat growing bolder by the second. Our gazes fix to it in reverence, giving it a few seconds to throb in the silence.
“Now you need to suffocate it,” Tuesday instructs.
“What? I just resurrected it, now you want me to kill it?!”
“I’m not sure this qualifies as killing...” I muse, but Sabbath ignores me.
Her eyes drop back to her hands. She looks pained, but taking a deep breath, she sinks her fingers into the meaty organ. A squeal escapes her lips as she clamps her eyes shut. For a moment, the heart pulses faster, and I can imagine the feeling of it, slimy and frantic in her fists.
Finally, it collapses between her fingers, puncture marks where her nails dug into it. She gasps and tosses it into the cauldron, disgusted with herself. As she swallows thickly, we all watch her with careful eyes.
It occurs to me that this year may be the end of Sabbath as she knows herself.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I didn’t like doing that. It felt like I was actually killing something.” Realizing she’s the center of attention, she blinks uncomfortably. “Let’s just move on.”
Reluctantly, Tuesday looks down at her page. “Blood of the Broods.”
We follow the same procedure, each contributing a single drop of blood in the order established by the circle. The potion fizzes and whistles as it swallows each bead of magic found in our bloodstream. When I peer over the rim of the cauldron, I discover a sticky-looking purple concoction that smells like rot and sulfur. It has an unpleasantly filmy surface, like a moldy plum.
Let’s hope this thing brews and stews into something more palatable.
“Okay, now for the bleached cord,” Tuesday directs. “Do you all know the verses? ‘By knot of one, the spell’s begun—'”
“No,” Nik admits, and Tuesday grabs a scrap of paper, quickly scratching words onto it.
“These...” she begins, concentrating on the task, “are... the words I read earlier in the Shadekey... I think they are more powerful... than the basic cord incantation we all learned. There are six of us though, so I made up a new line. Here.” She slides the paper to us. “Soren, I think we should start with you since it’s your spell.”
He picks up the cord and begins tying a knot at one end. “‘By knot of one, our will be done.’”
Tomorrow loops one tightly on the other side. “‘By knot of two, ready our brew.’”
We continue passing the cord between us, tying knots and reading off Tu’s incantation.
“‘By knot of three, our wish we decree,’” Sabbath recites, handing it to Nik.
“‘By knot of four, we open the door.’”
“‘By knot of five, might true power arrive.’”
I take the cord into my own hands, tying a knot next to Soren’s. “‘By knot of six, the soul we’ll transfix.’”
As Soren wraps the cord around the cauldron, Tuesday sighs, satisfied.
“We need to untie a knot every three days,” Tuesday instructs. “Someone will have to stay during the holidays.”
“Well,” I sigh, “that won’t be a problem for us. Soren and I have been punished with the Christmas teardown. It’s okay.” I shrug, looking over at Soren. “Clearly, it’s for the best.”
“Alright then,” Tomorrow stands. “Nice, nasty magic. Shall we all let it do its thing, then?” She holds out a hand to her sister, who grips it, standing.
I hang back, waiting for Soren as everyone else shuffles toward the door in their regal attire. “Do you think it will work?” I ask him.
“Haven’t the slightest idea,” he answers, marking the inside of the door with the same rune he used on us when we fled Spellfall for the Grimoire du Mage. It will keep the room hidden from wandering eyes.
“Are you afraid?” I don’t know why I haven’t thought to ask this before. Now that we’re so close to accomplishing the task—or failing miserably at it—I wonder what he’s thinking.
Hesitant, Soren looks at me. “Of course I’m afraid, Mika. I don’t know what I’ll do if this magic doesn’t work.”
Shutting the door behind us, we join the others. The six of us stand awkwardly in the dark corridor, unmoving.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight,” I admit.
“Me neither,” Tuesday agrees, brightening. “I’m usually the only one who recites my own spells! Watching you guys perform that incantation gave me a rush of adrenaline.”
“We could hang out,” Sabbath suggests, “before we all leave tomorrow.”
We share a significant look with one another. All of our gatherings up until this point have involved some element of scheming, and this would be like admitting we are actually friends.
“We can go to my room,” Soren offers, surprising us. “If anyone wants to.”
“His palace, he means. And yeah, I’d like that,” I decide.
Tomorrow shrugs. “Sure.”
The school is peppered with loitering classmates who aren’t yet ready to wind down as the festivities wrap up for the night. We blend right in as we amble across the courtyard, looking as exhausted as if we’d danced the night away.
When the six of us get to Soren’s room, each of us finds a cozy place to collapse. Soren loosens his bowtie, flinging it aside and cracking his neck. Tomorrow sinks into the couch, propping up her feet on the coffee table while I take some big pillows and settle onto the floor by the fire with Sabbath.
Tu turns to Nik, curiosity twinkling in her eye. “Is a vegan really a unicorn enthusiast?”
She’s startled when he busts out laughing. He tries to explain, but his words keep rolling back into laughter. “No, but I guess the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Tu looks between the rest of us so earnestly that I can’t fault her for how ignorant she is when it comes to the enchantless. “What is it, then? A magical status?”
“It should be,” Nik says. “A vegan is someone who doesn’t eat meat or use animal products.”
The Jones twins are having a hard time wrapping their minds around this concept. “So... no bacon?”
“No cheese?”
“No animal sacrifices?”
“None of those things,” Nik agrees, and Tomorrow balks.
Soren grunts from his armchair. “Good luck surviving the witching world.”
“More importantly,” Sabbath adds, “how terrible to be in France and not enjoy the cheese!”
Nik looks between the twins, appalled. “How have you never heard of a vegan before?!”
“We’re Hedge witches,” Tomorrow shrugs.
“What’s that?”
“Hedges live solely in witching communities,” Sabbath explains. “They don’t coexist with enchantless culture. There aren’t a lot of full Hedge societies anymore, so usually it’s only the more established witching families who can get away with that kind of isolation.”
“Are the rest of you, uh, Hedges, too?” Nik asks, looking around.
Soren shrugs lazily. “I don’t like to label myself.”
Sab and I exchange a glance. “We’re, like, medium Fringe?” Sab answers. “Most witches grow up in witching families in enchantless communities, then get sent off to the boarding schools like Spellfall, where the human world becomes pretty irrelevant.”
“My dad was full Fringe till he met my mom,” I share. Part of the reason it’s hard for me to go home. Being back around soccer moms and touch screens is a strange sort of culture shock.
“Anyway,” I turn to Nik. “I think it’s cool you know what you’re about, even if that means you can’t enjoy French culture or the magical benefits of dead things. Clearly, it’s doable—I mean, look at Sabbath here.”
“Yeah, you’re... what was wrong with you again?” Tomorrow asks.
“I’m Catholic,” Sab answers. Luckily, she doesn’t take Tomorrow’s phrasing personally. Then again, maybe Sabbath’s just used to people thinking something’s wrong with her, the same way she thinks this about herself.
“Oh, that’s right. Religious Witch. Do you get to do any cool sacrifices or rituals?” Tomorrow leans closer. “I heard Amandine say once that Catholics are cannibals.”
“Well,” Sab shifts uncomfortably, “no, we’re not cannibals, but we have the Holy Eucharist. We eat sacramental bread and wine, and it becomes the body and blood of Christ, like, inside us.”
“That sounds like cannibalism,” Tuesday nods.
Based on the volleying looks of amusement and concern on Sabbath’s face, this isn’t the direction she saw this conversation going. She clears her throat. “Um, it’s maybe more like Transfiguration. Like what Tomorrow does, taking one thing and turning it into something else. Only it changes inside you, invisibly.”
Tomorrow pauses, contemplating this. Clearly, it isn’t as cool as she initially thought, but considering the fact that we’re all witches, I’d say this dialogue is going pretty well. “But there’s a sacrifice, right?” she insists.
The best way to evangelize Tomorrow Jones is obviously to talk bloody to her.
“Just the one. Christ died. But then he came back.”
“That sounds like a really big spell,” Tu leans in, enthralled.
Probably, Sab is not allowed to think her faith is like magic. But sacrifices, essences, and chanting to spiritual beings... we all seem to share some similar understanding of the world, deep down. Each of us puts hope in a mystery—magic, faith, science. I catch Soren’s eye. Soul transplants and impossible things.
“Mother went to church once,” Tomorrow announces, “as an experiment. She was curious whether or not she would burst into flames when she stepped foot on holy ground.”
“Those were dark times for her,” Tuesday nods.
“Happily, she survived the experience. But when she came home, she told us the church was haunted. Said the man at the front talked a lot about a holy poltergeist.”
It’s kind of cute how almost right they are, but I can’t say Sabbath agrees.
“It’s definitely not a poltergeist.”
Tomorrow shakes her head. “Omens would I love to get a pet poltergeist, though.”
“What do you believe about the world, Soren?” Tuesday asks.
“I think life finds a way to test all of the things we think we know,” he answers, bringing the picture of Sabbath suffocating that heart to mind. “And we’ll all be surprised to discover what truly lurks in the dark corners of the world.”
And inside ourselves, I think. I kinda want to add that the world is spherical, too, but I manage to let that one go.