Page 14 of A Lullaby for Witches

“You came to me asking the impossible, and I told you what would be required to achieve it,” I hissed at her, aware that Molly was probably still listening on the other side of the door. “Did you think that it would be easy? Did you think that I would only have to snap my fingers and restore her to you?”

Mrs. Hough gave me one last fearful look over her shoulder before plunging back out into the rain.

After she had left, I returned to my bed, tired and restless. It gave me no pleasure to deliver such a grim verdict to a desperate mother. It gave me no pleasure to know that the girl would most certainly die. But there are prices to be paid for such magic, and balances to be kept.

8

Augusta

Chris’s hands were heavy on Augusta’s shoulders, and everything was dark. “Where are we going?” she asked him for the hundredth time.

Behind her, Chris guided her down the apartment building steps and outside. When she’d come home that evening, he’d instructed her to put on a blindfold and prepare to be surprised. It was so out of character for him that she had been immediately suspicious. Was he playing some sort of joke on her? Or had Doug gone on one of his redecorating rampages and Chris was afraid to let her see? But now, as he helped her navigate the stairs, she could practically feel him vibrating with excitement.

“You’ll see,” he said. A few more steps in the darkness and they came to a stop. “Okay...open them!”

Augusta fumbled to remove the blindfold, and then blinked against the late evening light. They were standing in front of the apartment, facing the street. All that she saw were the usual things: parked cars, kids kicking a soccer ball in the park across the street, tomorrow’s trash sitting in garbage bags on the curb. “What exactly am I looking at?”

Grinning, Chris pointed. “Right there.”

She followed his finger. Parked right in front of her was a forest green station wagon. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s a car. For you.”

“You...you got me acar?” Chris didn’t get her things. Or rather, he didn’t make grand gestures. Early on in their relationship he’d gotten her flowers a couple of times, and occasionally they exchanged presents for the holidays, though never anything too pricey. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. He’d gotten her a car. Granted, it was a little dinged up and looked to be at least ten years old, but it was a car. No more early morning bus trips to work, no more being dependent on other people to get around. Tears stung her eyes.

“Do you like it?” Chris asked, apprehension in his voice. “I know it’s not brand-new or anything fancy, but now you won’t have to take the bus to work anymore. It’s all paid off, you just have to get insurance and keep the tank full.”

She nodded, unable to speak. All those times she’d questioned if she and Chris were meant to be together faded away. He wasn’t good at telling her how he felt, but he was showing her now, and that was all that mattered.

The next day, Augusta woke up feeling light, optimistic. Abundant sunshine poured through the windows, and a crisp blue sky promised a picture-perfect autumn day.

“We should go somewhere today—I want to try out my new car,” she told Chris over breakfast. “I was thinking we could go apple picking or visit that new pumpkin patch in Danvers. There’s that little breakfast place right down the street.”

Chris barely glanced up from his phone. “I think Doug and Gemma were planning on going for a hike. There’s a cool abandoned settlement right outside of Tynemouth with tons of trails. Might be fun? Besides,” he said, finally looking up and patting his nonexistent belly, “we could use the exercise.”

Augusta deflated. She didn’t have the greatest relationship with Gemma, and her relationship with hiking and the great outdoors even less so. Gemma had gone to school with Doug and worked with Chris, so every time they all got together, she, Chris and Doug all talked about stuff that Augusta had no knowledge of, or interest in. But if she didn’t go it would mean Chris would just go without her, and she would be the odd one out later when they all came back.

So that’s how she found herself behind the wheel of her new car, headed to Tynemouth on a Saturday, Chris in the passenger seat, and Gemma and Doug in the back.

They pulled into a gravel parking lot and parked among a handful of other cars. Dog walkers congregated and chatted at the trailhead, and a couple carried a kayak under their arms as they walked toward a sign for a portage. Stepping out of the car, Gemma stretched, her crop top riding up and showing off a generous breadth of creamy skin. Tall, dark-haired, with the statuesque body of a model, she was Augusta’s polar opposite. Jealousy wasn’t an attractive quality, Chris had told her on more than one occasion, but it was hard not to be jealous, especially when Gemma and Chris spent so much time together at work.

Doug was tucking his pant legs into his socks, even though Chris had assured him it was too late in the year for ticks. Augusta surveyed the area. The landscape looked mercifully flat, just the usual rocky New England terrain. Chris, sensing Augusta’s relief, patted her on the shoulder. “It’s a really easy hike—you shouldn’t have any problems.”

Biting back a scowl, she retied her tennis shoes and adjusted her thin socks. The group set out, Doug and Gemma laughing and chatting as they led the way, and Chris hanging back with Augusta.

The brilliant autumn forest welcomed them with gently swaying branches and an abundance of chatty birds and quarrelsome squirrels. Aside from the occasional stone foundation, overgrown and decaying back into the earth, no one would have ever known that it must have once been a bustling little settlement. Faded wooden plaques marked the trail loop’s miles and provided some sporadic information about the ruins. Despite the lack of hills and the cool, pleasant weather, about half an hour in, sweat started to slick her back, her leg muscles burning. Why exactly did people think hiking was anything other than an exercise in self-inflicted torture? Nature was meant to be enjoyed from a picnic blanket or well-lit patio with lots of cold drinks and easy access to indoor plumbing.

Chris had gradually caught up with Doug and, ahead of her, the sound of the group’s movement and laughter carried through branches. Bringing up the rear at least meant that she could ignore how small she felt when everyone else talked about video games or computer stuff she didn’t fully understand.

She’d just lost sight of Gemma’s bright pink leggings when the coffee she’d had on the drive hit her. God, if there was one thing worse than walking in nature, it was having to pee in nature. There had been a highly suspect port-a-potty back in the parking lot, but she wasn’tthatdesperate. Better to risk a few moments of exposure than whatever lurked in an unmaintained port-a-potty. She called for the group to wait up, but the wind carried her words away, and she didn’t feel like running over the uneven trail just to catch up and announce that she had to pee. With one more glance at where she’d last seen the group, she plunged off the trail in search of a private spot. With any luck, she’d be able to catch up to everyone else afterward.

Bladder finally, blessedly empty, Augusta took stock of the thick woods where she found herself. Above her, the orange canopy danced and flickered in a sudden rush of wind. Lifting her ponytail, Augusta let the cool air skim across her neck, grateful for the few moments of rest from the hike. It was only when she was ready to get going again that she realized she had no idea which direction she was supposed to be facing. Her sense of modesty had led her so deep into the underbrush that she had completely lost her bearings. By now she’d been separated from the group for at least five minutes. Had Chris even realized that she wasn’t with them anymore? She checked her phone, but she had no messages, and no reception.

Despite the abundant daylight and the sound of a dog barking not too far away, her body tightened with panic. What if she’d somehow stepped onto the wrong trail and couldn’t find her way back? What if she was still lost by nightfall? What if she wandered onto someone’s private property and was shot for trespassing? This was why sane people didn’t go into the woods for fun. She and Chris should have been at the apple orchard, enjoying a cup of fresh cider and taking photos of the scenery from the comfort of a picnic bench.

The sun slid behind a clutch of clouds and a chill raced across her skin. If not for the distant hum of traffic, she might have been the only person in the world. Except that she had a very real sense that she was not alone in this dense pocket of woods. Her neck prickled. It wasn’t that she felt like she was being watched, it was as ifshewere the one intruding. A thousand spirits seemed to crowd the air, pressing around her, making it known that she was on hallowed ground. What was it about this place, about Tynemouth in general, that seemed to speak to her?

One more gust of wind was all it took to send her blindly scrambling, hoping that she ended up on the right path. Every sinister tree and jutting rock looked the same, and her head spun as she tried to regain her bearings. Eventually the trees thinned, and sunlight began to peek through the clouds. A jumbled pile of rocks told her that she was at least back near the ruins, and, not wanting to risk getting turned around any further, plopped herself down to wait, her heart still beating fast. Chris and the others would realize soon that she wasn’t lagging behind—if they hadn’t already—and come looking for her. In the meantime, at least she could rest, give her pulse a chance to slow. Closing her eyes, she let the sounds and sensations of the natural world weave and swirl around her. The foreboding atmosphere had faded, a sense of serenity washing over her. Birdsong crisscrossed above her like far-flung telephone wires. Layers of scent—earthy dead leaves and sun-warmed stones—rose like baking bread.

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