When Nor arrived back on Anathema Island, she wasn’t sure if whole days had gone by or merely hours. Sunlight sparkled off the water, and the ocean lapped softly against the shore. Nor tied up the dinghy, grateful the old boat had managed to stay afloat.
The island’s plant life seemed to be recovering. New buds and leaves bloomed where once there had been only thorns. For Nor, however, it wouldn’t be that easy. No amount of soaking her clothes would ever completely lift away the stains of her mother’s blood, her own blood, the blood of her friends. Some things could not — would not — be washed away.
Nor made her way down Meandering Lane and stopped at the island’s small cemetery. Kikimora, the cat, was sitting outside the black iron fence. She stared at Nor and then padded through the open gate. Nor followed.
Most of the graves were old, their epitaphs worn smooth with age. Nor walked to Rona’s headstone. Though there had always been much speculation surrounding Rona’s death, the truth was that she had died of natural causes. According to the diary she kept, Rona never cast another spell after her daughter, Hester, was born. Perhaps out of guilt, or perhaps she’d simply had enough of the magic in her blood. Nor wondered if peace was something that she, burdened with so many “gifts,” could one day find as well.
Nor found a small piece of cedar plank on the ground. Using her fingernail, she roughly carved Madge’s name into the soft wood. After examining her work, she propped it up against Mara’s headstone and followed Kikimora back out onto Meandering Lane.
That evening Nor stood on the Tower’s front porch. Kikimora sat beside her watching the silvery flicker of fish swimming in a pond the storm had left in the front yard. The limbs of the apple trees hung upside down, like broken fingers; the pebbled walk that had once shone like a stream of molten lava was scattered across the lawn.
Nor made a mental note to rescue the fish trapped in the pond and realized that the beehive, the one that had sat along the side of the yard since the days of Rona Blackburn, was oddly quiet. Nor suspected the bees inside had drowned.
“Everyone’s looking for you,” Reed said, coming up behind her on the porch. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him.
A few moments before, Pike — his arm around Charlie, whose leg had been mended — and a newly healed Sena Crowe had proposed a toast in Nor’s honor. They had all somberly held up their plastic cups of frothy beer or tumblers of scotch, and Nor’s face had burned with embarrassment. It felt wrong getting credit for doing something she wasn’t sure she should have been able to do. Plus, there was no vanquished beast, no conquered villain to display.
Nor stared down at the blackbird tattoo etched onto Reed’s arm. She thought of the blood that had dripped from Gage’s ears and the puckered pink scar that would forever mar Pike’s face because she hadn’t been able to heal him. She thought of the inexplicable light that had poured from her hands, and the way her mother had unraveled before her eyes.
Above them, two blackbirds fought over a strand of algae tangled in the branches of an apple tree. “I should get Grayson home,” Reed said after a moment. He leaned down to kiss her. She raised her lips to his and wondered if he knew, like she did, that it was likely for the last time. She had to break up with him. Like it or not, whatever path she was on would continue to be a dangerous one. He deserved to be protected from her, from what might yet come.
Nor watched him leave, prepared to bite her tongue hard to keep from crying out. But though it felt like her heart had been punctured, she was startled to find she no longer felt the impulse to spill her own blood or to taste it. Even the scars on her wrists, ankles, and arms were silent.
This pain seemed content to remain where it belonged.
Inside, Nor found an idyllic scene, so contrary to the mess still left outside. In the parlor, Dauphine and Everly shared the last few pulls from the bottle of scotch. Wintersweet sat next to the fire crackling in the hearth, quietly combing burrs out of Burn’s thick pelt. Gage and Reuben sat on one of the tufted Victorian couches with their muddy boots propped up on the coffee table.
“You missed some when you washed up,” Apothia said, reaching over to wipe a bit of blood from Nor’s cheek with the sleeve of her sweater. She motioned upstairs. “Your grandmother wants to have a look at you.”
Nor climbed up to the Tower’s second floor. Along the walls hung portraits of the Blackburn daughters. Nor felt their scrutiny and imagined their gazes alternating between pride, sympathy, and disappointment.
As revealing as portraits could be, there was also much they could conceal. The color of Greta’s wild red hair was lost in her black-and-white photo. In a Kodachrome snapshot, Fern looked like a nice girl without a care in the world. Nor wondered what her own portrait might hide from the innocent viewer.
She stopped into the bathroom and splashed cool water on her face. She looked in the mirror. Her hair was tangled and singed. She tried to pull her fingers through the knots, but strands broke off and fell to the floor like dried straw.
She gathered her hair — what was left of it — against the nape of her neck and began rifling through drawers until she found what she was looking for.
“Are you sure you want to chop it off, just like that?” Gage was standing in the bathroom doorway.
“Yes, I am,” Nor said defiantly, then reached back and hacked through the thick ponytail with the scissors. Triumphantly, she held it up, then dropped it into the sink. She turned her head and examined her handiwork. The left side seemed to be a bit shorter than the right, but it would have to do for now. At least Judd couldn’t accuse her of hiding behind her hair anymore.
“You should have asked Savvy to do it for you,” Gage said. “It looks like shit.”
“That’s possibly the rudest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Well, now I feel extra accomplished today.” He took a slight bow and smiled.
Nor thought of all the injuries he’d sustained trying to help her — the broken fingers, the burn on his arm. She thought about how he had trudged through that flooded room, had upheld his promise to get Sena Crowe and Savvy home safe. She thought about the smear of blood she had left on his neck, like a lipstick kiss, the remnants of a lovers’ tryst.
“Look, about when I kissed you —” Nor started.
“You thought you were heading to your death,” Gage cut in. “It was a natural reaction. It could have been worse. If I hadn’t been there, you could have ended up tonguing Sena Crowe instead.”
“I did not tongue you!” Nor insisted.
“There was some tongue.”
Nor laughed. “Shut up.”
Gage smiled, holding out his hand. “It didn’t count. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” They shook hands, and Nor was relieved that he let go first.
Across the hall, in Judd’s room, Nor found her grandmother standing at a window, smoking her rosewood pipe. The room, full of large masculine furniture and rich-colored fabrics — all dark greens and scarlet reds and chestnut browns — had always made Nor feel particularly small. Today was no different.
Nor’s grandmother led her to a worn leather couch. Nor sat down next to Antiquity. The old dog’s dream of running through the forest wasn’t quite as winsome as one of Bijou’s dreams, but it was a pleasant one nonetheless.
“Let me get a look at you,” Judd said in her gruff way. She gripped Nor’s chin with her large fingers and turned Nor’s head one way and then the other. She examined Nor’s hands, but nothing was left to heal. Those particular wounds had stopped hurting hours ago.
“I met my father,” Nor blurted out.
That caught Judd’s attention. “I suspected you might. Is he still alive?”
Nor shook her head.
“That’s probably for the best.” Judd grunted.
“Do you think she loved him?” Nor asked. “Do you think that’s what caused all of this?”
“Some hearts can’t do anything with love except turn it rotten. I think that was the case with Fern. She believed she loved him, but that love was a sour thing. Who knows what might have happened if you hadn’t been powerful enough to stop her.”
Nor gaped. “I’m not . . .”
“I think it’s about time we start talking truth, don’t you? Far as I can tell, you’re a very powerful witch, Nor. Though some lessons in the healing arts probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Nor blanched. “How did you —”
“I’d had my suspicions. It was seeing that fern, lying there like a dried-up tongue across the kitchen table, that solidified it for me. But at that point, I didn’t want to say anything out of fear that —”
“That I was somehow using black magic?”
“I should have known better,” Judd said. “You’re the eighth Blackburn daughter, girlie. I suspect these gifts have been yours all along. I’m sorry.”
Nor wasn’t sure what to say. As far as she knew, the Giantess had never apologized to anyone before in her life. “What does it mean, though?” she finally asked. “If I’m not like my mother, am I like Rona?” Nor wasn’t sure that comparison would be any better. She sure as hell didn’t want to be Fern, but following in their matriarch’s footsteps wasn’t very appealing, either.
“I think it’s safe to say you are something entirely your own.” Judd patted Nor’s back affectionately. “Now, I hate to bring up your mother again, but letting certain people know you had a hand in her demise might work in our favor.”
Nor let the shock of what her grandmother was saying settle over her. “What do you mean?”
“I think a lot of people are going to be very afraid of what people like your mother — like us — can do. And fear can make people act in all kinds of terrible ways.” She turned back toward the window. “For now, though, you might think about heading off to bed. You, girlie, look like you’ve been through hell and back.”
“I have.”
“It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a shower, too, then, would it?” There was a catch in Judd’s voice this time, causing Nor’s heart to leap up into her throat. Was it possible that being Fern’s mother had scarred Judd just as much as being Fern’s daughter had scarred Nor?
As Nor left the room, she looked back, but Judd’s face was obscured by the smoke spiraling from her pipe.
Nor climbed to the third floor as fast as her tired muscles would carry her. She found Savvy curled up on her bed, a blanket wrapped around her like a shawl. Bijou was asleep on Nor’s pillow.
“I like your hair,” Savvy said.
Nor laughed. “Gage said it looked like shit.”
“What does he know about anything? What a dick.” She paused, giving Nor a guilty look. “I mean, putting aside the fact that I’m pretty sure he saved my life, numerous times in fact, and that if not for him, I wouldn’t be standing here. So, I mean, as long as you don’t consider that whole mess then, you know —”
“He’s a dick,” Nor finished.
“Such a dick.”
“I’m having trouble believing it,” Nor admitted cautiously. “That she’s gone.”
“But she is,” Savvy said, then looked alarmed. “She is, right?”
“Yeah, she’s gone.”
“Well. Ding dong, then.”
Savvy moved over, and Nor climbed onto the bed. Through the skylight, they watched an array of colors arc over the moon like a twirling skirt: Aurora Borealis. The northern lights transformed the night sky with their undulating swirls of bright blues and yellows and greens. Nor rested her head on her best friend’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Nor said softly. “Ding dong.”