Nor wasn’t sure if she was more surprised to find her mother sitting at one end of the dining room table or to find Judd sitting across from Fern at the opposite end. It was an unsettling and incongruous pairing. Judd’s mouth was hardened into her usual scowl. Her calloused hands were wrapped around a teacup, the grip so tight Nor could already see cracks beginning to form in the delicate porcelain. Judd still had on her work boots, and a dusting of dried mud and grime and who knew what else had sloughed off onto the floor under the table.
Nor cringed when she saw the provocatively fitted suit — the same sickly green color as the car parked outside — her mother was wearing. The jacket flared at the hips and was unbuttoned just enough to expose the edges of a see-through bustier. She had on four-inch heels, the bottoms of which appeared to have been dipped in red. It was the same red as on her nails and lips. Jewels hung from her ears and sparkled on her fingers. Delicate fern tattoos wound around her wrists and fingers. They spiraled over her ears and across the tops of her breasts.
Catriona sat to the right of Fern. She was shockingly thin, skeletal even. Nor could hear the grinding sound of bone on bone when she crossed her legs. Catriona, too, had a fern tattoo, one that coiled up her right arm like a snake. Something red was splattered across that tattoo. Nor swallowed hard. It looked a lot like blood.
The scars on Nor’s wrists started to throb. She clung dumbly to Pike as he led her toward the table. He peeled her trembling fingers from his arm, then joined Sena Crowe to stand against the wall.
“Sit down, girlie,” Judd said to Nor. Her voice was composed, but judging from the look in her eyes, Nor’s grandmother was feeling anything but calm. The dogs seemed to agree; Antiquity was hiding under the table, her hackles up, her ears back. Bijou was glued to a spot by the front door.
“Nor,” Fern purred. “I’m so glad you could join us.”
She held out a hand so unnaturally white it was as if embalming fluid coursed through her veins. Nor wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. Kiss her hand? Bow? Instead, she mutely sank into the chair next to Apothia. Nor’s scars were screaming so loudly, she could barely hear anything else.
“Just breathe,” Apothia muttered, leaning toward Nor. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Of course we’ll be fine, Nor thought, momentarily reassured. We have the Giantess.
“All right, Fern,” Judd said. “Cut to the chase. What’re ya doing here?”
Nor breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she heard the fierceness in her grandmother’s tone. All Nor had to do was hide in the safety of Judd’s shadow, and the Giantess would take care of everything else.
Fern feigned hurt and surprise. “Why, you are my family.” She opened her arms wide in an exaggerated gesture of amiability. She turned to Nor and, in a voice dripping with honey, said, “I’m here to visit my lovely daughter, of course.”
It was the way she said my lovely daughter that made the hair on the back of Nor’s neck prickle. Fern stood, and her tattoos began to writhe. They slithered from her skin and skulked across the table toward Nor, and Nor eyed them nervously, feeling like a flower about to be plucked, an animal about to be butchered.
“So, tell me, Nor,” Fern said, “what Burden did our great matriarch bestow on my offspring?” She laughed at Nor’s answer with a shrill cackle. “I suppose we heard right,” she said to Catriona. “She really isn’t any threat, is she?” A vine lashed out suddenly and latched onto Nor’s arm. Like a stretching cat, it unfurled its spiny fronds and clawed at her sleeves.
Judd stood abruptly, which sent her chair skidding across the floor. At her full formidable height, Judd towered over her daughter by at least a foot, even with Fern’s four-inch stilettos. “Fern!” she commanded, her booming voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “You let her go!”
“Mother, please,” Fern said with a yawn, “we’re just having a little fun. Besides, we both know you can’t control me any more now than when I was younger.” To prove her point, she gave a flick of her tongue, which had the effect of slamming Judd to the ground and trapping her there. The Tower rattled with the force of her fall. Antiquity skidded out from under the table and stood over Judd protectively. The dog bared her teeth and growled, a low rumble that shook the windows like thunder.
“It is a shame,” Fern said, turning to Nor, who was struggling against the fern. “It’s almost as if no magic courses through your veins.”
The thorns of the vine burrowed into Nor’s arm. The pain was white-hot and impossible. Fern was just playing with her now, causing pain simply because she enjoyed it, simply to remind Nor that she could.
Nor screamed, and Pike and Sena Crowe leaped into action. Sena Crowe hacked at the stalk with his knife until just a part of the hilt remained in his hand. The rest of the curved blade was now stuck fast in the thick, unyielding stem. Pike grabbed the vine with both hands and tried pulling it away from Nor’s skin.
Fern sighed and leaned into Nor. “You know they’ll only succeed if I decide to let them,” she said. Her breath was sickly sweet, like overripe fruit. “I won’t, but it is fun to watch them try.”
Fern laughed as Sena Crowe began to wheeze, and Pike’s grasp on the fern weakened. Apothia’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped over. Fern’s power was thick like sludge. Nor waited for the nausea to hit her, that blurred sense of intoxication, the loss of focus, the difficulty breathing. But it never came. Nor could feel her magic pushing against Fern’s. And for the first time, instead of giving in to her fear — the kind of fear that used to make Nor want to slide a sharp object across her skin — she gave in to her own power.
Nor’s magic coursed, unharnessed, through her veins. It was a raging fire, a wild animal, an impenetrable shield. Fern’s control slid off her like dirty dishwater.
Nor’s eyes fell on Sena Crowe’s knife, still lodged in the vine. Nor tugged it free, then started swinging. She hacked at the thick stalk wrapped around her arm until it finally stiffened and dropped to the table, a withered husk. Fern had stopped laughing.
Pike and Sena Crow recovered their breath and gasped. Apothia opened her eyes and coughed. Judd, no longer under Fern’s control, rushed to her side, but Apothia waved her off, then poured herself a cup of tea with trembling hands. Catriona gaped at the shriveled fern.
Fern stretched her arms over her head in an attempt at nonchalance, but her anger was palpable, a bloated behemoth that she couldn’t hide from Nor. It was in the clench of her jaw, the pulsing vein in her forehead, the bloodied half-moons she’d gouged into her own arms.
She stared at Nor and the dead vine, then silently stormed out of the Tower. Catriona stumbled in her haste to follow.
As soon as the door closed, Nor sank back into her chair. Her hands were shaking.
Judd pointed at Sena Crowe and Pike, both battered and bloodied. “Go,” she said, coughing. “Make sure she isn’t coming back.”
Sena Crowe and Pike both nodded and quickly disappeared through the front door.
Judd sat down next to Nor and examined her injuries. She ran her calloused palm against the abrasions on Nor’s collarbone and the scratches on the side of her face. The wounds started to heal, and so much steam was in the air that Nor could barely see Judd’s face.
Judd then pulled Nor’s foot into her lap and probed the deep gash. Nor winced. A viscous substance overflowed Judd’s palms and spilled onto the floor.
“Now,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “lemme see about that last bit.” Nor’s arms looked as if they’d been wrapped in barbed wire. When Judd pulled her hands away, long quills came with them.
“That was a mighty stupid thing to do, girlie,” Judd said to Nor when she was finished. “If Fern was, as she said, here to see you, then you certainly gave her something worth seeing. In fact, I can bet that you’ve piqued her interest now.”
“What do you mean?” Nor examined her foot. No blood, no cut, no scar.
“You ruined her fun,” Judd said. “And you fought back. You fought her off.” She eyed Nor with interest. “Not many can do that.”
“It’s possible that she regards you as a threat now, dear,” Apothia added.
“A threat?” Nor balked. “I’m not a threat!”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Judd replied. Nor shifted uncomfortably under her grandmother’s gaze.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Judd asked.
Nor quickly shook her head.
“So we’re just chalking it up to dumb luck, then? Fine.” Judd grunted. “If that’s the case, as soon as Pike and Sena Crowe return, I’m having them haul your ass up to the Coldwater place before that luck runs out.”
“If Fern returns —” Nor started.
“If Fern returns, then I guess we’ll just have to hope that dumb luck of yours rubs off on the rest of us.”
“Why don’t you go pack up a few things?” Apothia said, gently pushing Nor toward the stairs. “Maybe take a shower while you’re at it.”
Nor reached up to touch the gash on Apothia’s cheek. How much worse might it have gotten had Nor not reached for that blade?
“You should ask Judd to heal this for you,” she said, but when she took her hand away, the wound was gone, and her own fingers were covered in glossy strands like spun sugar. Apothia raised her hand to her healed cheek, but didn’t say a word.
Bijou followed Nor into the bathroom. Nor shut and locked the door, and Bijou curled up against the heating vent in the wall. Years ago, Astrid, the fifth daughter, had paneled these walls with cedar, but the room had long ago lost that clean and woodsy scent. Now it had a musty odor that clung to the towels and to Bijou’s fur when he spent too much time sleeping against the vent.
Nor peeled off her torn clothes, tossed them into a corner, and stepped into the shower. She washed her hair twice, combing out the burrs with her fingers. She sank to the bottom. The scalding water poured over her and rinsed all the blood and grime down the drain.
She got out and wiped the fog from the mirror. Her skin was red and blotchy from the hot water. Her hair dripped down her back.
“What did you do?” she muttered at her reflection. She could feel her magic still pulsing under her skin like a heartbeat. Her hands shook with the power of it. What would happen if her mother returned? Could she fight her off again? Nor wasn’t sure. Was she strong enough to carry all these Burdens on her own?
Or would they swallow her whole?
In her bedroom, Nor stuffed some clothes into a duffel bag. After hearing someone on the staircase — probably Pike or maybe Sena Crowe — she quickly slipped on a pair of jeans and put an old army jacket on over her damp skin. She grabbed her phone — dead, of course — and her necklace with the crow’s claw off the top of the dresser, scooped up Bijou, and clomped down the stairs in her combat boots.
Sena Crowe was waiting for her in the stairwell at the second floor. Without a word, he reached out and took the duffel bag from her shoulders. “You good?” he asked. She nodded. They both knew she was lying.
Judd was sitting in a chair by the window, smoking her pipe. Nor needed her grandmother to be formidable and fearsome. She needed the Giantess, not this worn-down woman staring out the window.
“Here,” Nor said awkwardly to Apothia, trying to hand Bijou off to her. “He throws a fit when I leave him behind.”
Apothia kissed her cheeks and pushed Bijou back into Nor’s arms. “Then you should take him with you.”
Nor nodded. She glanced at Judd one last time and then followed Sena Crowe. Outside, the naked trees shuddered in the wind.
Pike turned the key and — after a few false starts — the engine of the yellow Jeep sputtered to life. It gave a lurch, and soon the three of them were bumping down Meandering Lane. The cold seeped in through the Jeep’s open doorframe, and Nor pulled her jacket tighter. The Sweet and Savory Bakery was empty. Outside the Willowbark General Store, a discarded umbrella swung forlornly from the porch railing. It seemed only the Witching Hour was still open, though there didn’t appear to be any customers inside. Or anywhere for that matter.
They came to a stop before turning onto Red Poppy Road. Nor couldn’t hear any birds chirping or leaves rustling. Bijou whined softly; he didn’t like the unnatural quiet. Neither did Nor. It felt as if the entire island was holding its breath. As if, like Nor, it too was trying to determine if the danger had passed.
They continued driving in silence. At one point, Pike suddenly veered, taking the Jeep off road. Nor clung to the sides of her seat as they bounced over the rough terrain. Branches whipped at her face and arms. And just as Nor was beginning to think the island was far larger — and wilder — than she’d ever known, the trees finally gave way to a large circular clearing.
Pike parked along the perimeter. He grabbed Nor’s duffel bag, swung it easily onto his shoulder, and motioned for her to follow him and Sena Crowe toward the largest of the fifteen or so houses scattered throughout the area.
Most of the houses, while well kept, looked as though they were originally built a century ago, with lacy peaked roofs and pointed windows and doors like those of a cathedral. Equal parts sparse and elaborate, the houses brought to mind a gingerbread house. The kind of house a fairy-tale witch might live in.
The thought struck Nor as extremely funny. She started to laugh, but then composed herself before Pike and Sena Crowe could decide she’d gone completely crazy.
They passed by a grandiose fountain in the shape of a woman holding a giant bowl above her head. It was more than double the height of even the tallest of the houses. Water spilled from the bowl onto the woman’s breasts and into the basin at her feet. She wasn’t the only statue on the compound. Each house also had its own wooden sculpture. Most were beasts — a mix of real and imaginary: a bison with the wings of a bat, a brown bear with ox horns, a wild cat with the barbed tail of a dragon and the forked tongue of a snake, a horse with the head of an eagle.
The creepiest was what looked like a woman with abnormally long legs and arms that hung all the way to the ground. Her clawed fingers were curled as if awaiting something to grip or to strangle. This one was faceless, its features charred as if they’d been burned off.
“They’re supposed to be frightening,” a voice called.
Charlie was making her way toward Nor from across the compound. To Nor’s dismay, Gage followed closely behind, a scowl on his face.
“At least, that was the intention,” Charlie said, coming up beside her. She patted the leg of the statue fondly. “Rona called them our aegises.”
“Aegises,” Nor mused. “That’s from Greek mythology, isn’t it?” She was ignoring Gage’s dark look, the one burning a hole in the side of her face. Even if her hair caught fire, she would not turn her head. It’s not my fault I’m here, she wanted to say. It’s not like I was given a choice. “The aegis was the name of the shield that protected Athena,” Nor said instead. “She was the goddess of wisdom and of warfare.”
Charlie nodded. “And just like the aegis was made to protect Athena, Rona made our aegises to protect us.”
“She made them to protect herself,” Gage grumbled. He gestured with his cigarette. “That we also benefit from their protection was just an accidental but fortunate by-product.” Angrily, he stabbed out his cigarette on the statue’s leg. Almost as an afterthought, he brushed off the ash before storming away.
“I always feel better about my place in the world after talking to him,” Nor said.
“It’d probably be best to ignore him today,” Charlie said. “He’s pissed off that Dauphine still won’t let me or him join Pike and Sena Crowe on their patrols.”
“Patrols of what?”
“Well, you’ve noticed the change on the island, right? The plants and the weather and the whales disappearing? Whatever’s causing it — whether it’s your mother or something else — we’re betting isn’t anything benevolent or benign. For weeks now we’ve been sweeping the island to make sure we aren’t caught unaware. Did a whole lot of good, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“Your mom got on the island anyway, didn’t she?” Charlie pointed out. “But I guess that’s kind of her whole deal, huh? Getting people to do what she wants? She didn’t want us to know she was coming, so we didn’t.” She caught Nor’s arm before they went inside. “But hey, don’t worry. We were made for this. We keep the Blackburn women safe, even if it’s from another Blackburn woman. It’s our duty. Our —”
“Burden,” Nor finished for her.
Charlie shrugged. “Depends on how you look at it, I guess. Do me a favor, though, and try not to take Gage too seriously. He does enough of that all by himself. But like the rest of us, there is a part of him that’s glad you’re safe. Granted, it is a very small part,” she admitted, “but I believe it exists.”
Nor looked up at the monstrous figure looming over them. From this angle, the statue seemed to block the entire sky. “Sure it does,” she replied softly.
All too soon, Nor found herself cloistered in the finished basement of Dauphine Coldwater’s house. From the few windows that sat high along the basement’s walls, Nor watched night fall; every half hour or so a pair of feet passed along with the sweep of a flashlight.
Pike and Sena Crowe sat on the stairs, spitting sunflower shells into an empty Coke bottle. Dauphine’s wolfhound — whom they ridiculously referred to as Steve — was stretched out at the bottom of the stairs. To the common observer, the great beast appeared to be sleeping, but his ears were pricked, as if all his energy were being expended on listening.
The basement was crowded with old boxes and mismatched furniture. Worn couches were draped in colorful tapestries. There was a pool table, a rip in the center of its green felted top. A broken-down piano sat in a corner. A casbah lantern cast elaborate diamonds across the walls.
Gage flopped onto one of the ancient couches, and Charlie settled herself on one of the pillows littering the floor. She pulled out a deck of tarot cards from her pocket. The cards were soft with wear. With expert hands, she quickly shuffled the deck and then drew out three cards and set them in a row on the ground in front of her. “The first card represents what’s happening now,” she explained to Nor, flipping it over. “The Five of Swords typically points to conflict, tension, and betrayal. Sound about right so far?”
Nor nodded skeptically. Gage let out an exasperated sigh.
Charlie ignored him. “This one will tell us what we need to do about it.” She flipped over the second card and furrowed her brow. “Hmm, the Hanged Man is the willing victim. It typically represents self-sacrifice, but,” she was quick to add, “that shouldn’t be taken literally.”
She moved to the third card. “And this should tell us the outcome.” Charlie flipped over the card, revealing a picture of a burning tower. The color drained from her face. She plucked the cards off the floor and stuffed the deck back into her pocket.
“What is it?” Nor asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Charlie’s face had turned from white to pink. “It’s just a silly hobby. I obviously have no talent for tarot whatsoever.”
Something told Nor she did, but she didn’t push it. Whatever that card meant, Nor could bet it wasn’t anything good.
“But I promise you don’t have anything to worry about,” Charlie said to Nor, smiling. “You’re safer here than anywhere else.”
“Anywhere else on the island, you mean?” Nor asked.
Charlie waved her hand in the air. “I mean, anywhere else anywhere.”
“It’s charmed,” Gage explained. “Undetectable. Another gift from the benevolent Rona Blackburn.” The sarcasm in his voice was so thick, Charlie hit him with a pillow.
“If someone were to seek us out without having been invited,” Charlie continued, “they’d just drive around and around the lake until they mysteriously found themselves back on the main part of the island.”
“So even if Fern wanted to find me —”
“She wouldn’t be able to.”
“I gotta say,” Pike said from the stairs, “you gave her a good fight. Don’t you think, Sena Crowe?”
Nor thought of her magic guiltily. Though it seemed to be subdued for now, she could still feel it vibrating underneath her skin. Like the wolfhound, it too was on alert. Why Nor was able to resist her mother’s coercion was something she didn’t want to talk about or have examined too closely. Nor searched for a topic of distraction. She pointed at the wolfhound lying at the bottom of the stairs. “You do know that Steve’s not his name, right?”
Pike patted the dog’s large head. “Of course it is. We gave it to him.”
“What is it then?” Charlie asked anyway.
“Burn,” Nor said simply.
“Burn?” Pike repeated.
“Yes, Burn. He’s over a hundred years old, and you all seriously thought his name was Steve?”
The room was silent for a moment, then erupted in laughter.
“Burn. No shit,” Pike exclaimed. “Well, that is a lot better than Steve, isn’t it, boy? To Burn!” he toasted, holding the Coke bottle full of sunflower shells in the air.
“To Burn!” they all exclaimed.
“So what’s he thinking now?” Pike asked Nor excitedly.
“That you’re an asshole,” Sena Crowe answered. “You don’t need to be able to read his mind to know that.”
While everyone else in the room laughed again, Nor climbed into a musty-smelling sleeping bag and snuck a peek at her phone. She’d forgotten to plug it in. Of course. There was no easy way of getting in touch with Savvy. Or with Reed.
It wasn’t much later when the lights in the room went out. Charlie and Gage had both returned to their own houses to sleep in their own beds. Gage had left without saying a word.
Nor listened to the crunching of footsteps on the gravel outside the basement window and to the low murmurs of Pike and Sena Crowe talking quietly at the top of the stairs. Bijou curled up on Nor’s pillow. Nor rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Though she may have been safer here, she wanted to be in her own room. She wanted to be able to see the moon. All she could see here was a water stain that looked to Nor like a knife. She fiddled with the crow’s claw, slid it back and forth along its chain, and tried to remember a time when she’d felt more alone.