Page 67 of A Lullaby for Witches

Lightly placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided her around the puddles and up to the front door. His hand was probably steady, and Margaret could probably feel his warmth radiating through her clothes. She probably didn’t even care.

It must have been Leo’s sister, Lisa, who greeted them this time. A tall woman with a light brown bob and the same kind yet probing gray eyes as Leo’s. “Baby brother,” she said, giving him a side hug, “it’s been too long. This must be Augusta.” She gave Augusta an appraising look, that left her wondering if she was being tested, and if so, if she had passed the test. “Leo’s told me so much about you.”

“He’s too kind,” Margaret said, surveying the small foyer. “He’s told me all about you, as well.”

Most of what Augusta had gleaned from Leo about his sister was that she was older, lived in Portland with her fiancée and was a successful psychiatrist. Her wedding colors were going to be navy and silver, and she ran marathons.

“Lisa’s getting married in December,” he reminded her.

“Of course,” Margaret said. “How exciting. Congratulations to you and your lucky man.”

“The lucky woman, actually,” Leo said quickly, as Lisa pressed her lips together.

“Oh! How lovely.”

An unreadable look passed between Leo and Lisa. “Well, come on in,” Lisa said. “Mom is waiting for you.”

Leo installed her on the same sofa draped in quilts as last time. “I’m just going to go see if Lisa needs any help in the kitchen and then I’ll send my mom in. Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you.”

Augusta willed Margaret to look at Leo as he disappeared out of the room, but she seemed quite content to just sit there and study her surroundings. The cat strolled in, took one look at Augusta, hissed and then fled. A few moments later Ellen breezed in, wearing a silky caftan and dangly turquoise earrings.

“Augusta,” she said, extending her arms and pulling her into a motherly embrace. “So good to see you again, dear.”

Margaret was all manners and warm smiles. As Augusta watched her easily conversing with Ellen, she had to wonder: Was Margaret truly evil? After having experienced Margaret’s life and sorrows through her eyes, it was hard to label her as such. Yet she had stolen Augusta’s life, her body, her hope. It felt like the worst sort of betrayal after Augusta had done everything she could to learn about Margaret and tell her story.

Ellen arranged the folds of her caftan as she seated herself on the opposite chair. “You’re probably wondering why I invited you back to speak with me so soon after our last chat.”

Augusta was wondering. Ellen’s insight had been somewhat interesting, though clearly misguided. But Margaret only gave a little shrug. “You are a very gracious hostess, Mrs. Stone,” she said. “Besides, I believe I am here to see your daughter—Leo thinks that I am in need of a diagnosis.”

Ellen’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but Augusta caught it. “Thank you. As I said before, please call me Ellen.”

“Of course.”

“Do you feel that you need to see a psychiatrist? Last time you were here you seemed quite certain that what was happening to you was not something that could be treated by a doctor.”

Margaret just gave a shrug again. “If it will put Leo’s mind at ease then I suppose it is the least I can do.”

Though she couldn’t see him, Augusta could sense his presence nearby, and somehow it was comforting. She would have given anything to be able to feel the soft couch cushions beneath her, and to have Leo sit beside her, his leg brushing hers. Margaret was plotting something to do with him, to do with Jack. With the bones that still sat in her pocket. Augusta wasn’t sure how, but Leo was in danger and she was powerless to help him. She didn’t like the way Margaret watched him, appraised him. Just as she could sense Leo’s presence nearby, Augusta wondered if Ellen could sense that something was wrong with her, that she wasn’t herself.

“So,” Ellen said, leaning back into her seat. “Did you take my advice from last time? Did you try to initiate contact with Margaret?”

It seemed an eternity before Margaret spoke, though it couldn’t have been more than a fraction of a moment. “Yes, I did. It was very sound advice, thank you. She showed me just what I needed to know.”

Ellen’s response took even longer, and then all she said was, “Mmm.” Was it Augusta’s imagination, or was there something knowing in the older woman’s eyes? “I wonder,” Ellen continued slowly, “if that might not have been the best advice after all.”

Margaret held herself a little stiffer. “Why do you say that?”

“I was operating under the assumption that she was a benevolent spirit, that she only wanted her truth told so that she could move on. But maybe that isn’t the case.”

“What does her supposed benevolence matter? Perhaps she was wronged and deserves more than just having her story known.”

It was like watching a tennis match, Ellen scoring a point and then Margaret deflecting it, back and forth.

“A witch who practices vengeful magic invites that energy to come back to her. To avenge a wrong against a party that committed no wrong against you, well...” Ellen let her words hang. Her hand fluttered in a careless gesture, but her blue eyes were hard.

Margaret was perched on the very edge of the couch, her fingers tapping by her side. “Perhaps. But this is all hypothetical of course. We may never know what truly happened to Margaret or what she wanted,” she said with a sad smile. Point: Margaret.

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