“Oh, Ilikeyou.” She cackled as her head burst from the drooping petals of a willow tree a few yards from where I was tangled with her garden. I startled, instinctively reaching for the blades at my belt.
“This way. Wouldn’t want you to spear yourself on my lancefronds, as funny as that would be!”
I kept my teeth set to hide the nervous laugh bubbling in my chest. She backed into the willow, leaving her golden-brown hand exposed to beckon to me. I changed course to follow and drew aside the tree’s branches. As soon as I was under the willow’s canopy, light and warmth flooded over my clothes. I squinted as my eyes adjusted.
Amongst the drooping emerald leaves sparkled tiny lights bobbing and swaying to every kiss of the breeze in this haven the witch had shown me to. The air smelled only of willow flowers and freshly tilled earth.
The grass was cropped in a neat manicure in a semicircle of space that ended at the tree’s massive trunk. She perched like a queen on a bench carved from the tree’s living wood.A curve of the trunk was carved down to its delicate whitish center, creating a scoop that served as a backrest for the witch.
She was not the disgusting hag I was expecting. The opposite, in fact. Her strong, feminine features belonged to an aristocrat a fraction of her rumored age. I would dare to call her beauty imposing with her dark, pin-straight hair and bronzed skin. Her dress was made of woven grasses,still green and fresh, with pieces of bone braided into the intricate plaits that covered her body. Her feet were bare and dirt-kissed.
“Sidney Redgrove. I’ve been excited to meet you,” she said in a warm, smooth voice.
I stopped myself from cringing out of sheer willpower. Everyone else who knew my last name also knew not to use it. “Oh?” I simply asked.
“You’ve fed Nemea Redgrove to the worms. It’s a shame you didn’t bring her body here. Terrigana would’ve loved to punish her.” She made a gesture as she spoke, and the ground trembled. The dirt and grass parted like a ripped seam, and up from the roots emerged a carved wooden table and a second bench. “Have a seat. We have much to discuss.”
I tried to brush a dense layer of dirt from the bench, gave up, and sat across from her. She turned her head and ordered the air, “Fetch the tea.” Without waiting for a response, she turned back to me. “The temple informed me that you wish to change your identity.”
Were she anyone else, I would’ve said I didn’t have time for tea. “That’s right. Temporarily. I’ve brought you her body.”
Her bright green eyes rolled upward. “Is this a meeting or a seduction?”
“A meeting,” I said coolly.
“Alas. You seem so tense,” she cooed, though I suspected she was teasing. “Well, on to business, then. Are you aware of how witch magic works?”
“If I knew, I’d be creating this spell myself.”
Her lips curled upward at my stiff response. “Magic takes its own due, and unlike us, it can’t be financed with coin. Some creatures pay for theirmagic with their bodies and blood. Others with the sacrifice of time and effort to learn spells. Witches are less limited. As long as the Dark Mother approves of our work, she supplies the magic. We pay her back with souls—those belonging to the ones who cross us. Do you understand?”
“So, the payment for today’s spell will be…” I let the question drift off meaningfully.
“The soul of the one whose identity you’re taking.”
I shrugged. “Fine by me.”
“I give the souls, who pass from my hands to the Dark Mother’s, exactly what they deserve. Isn’t that right, Cris?”
She directed the question at a creature shouldering through the willow’s fronds. At a glance, it was a rabbit, but only if some deranged artisan had stitched together the hide of an albino hare, stuffed it beyond reason, and set it upright to prove that rabbits could, in fact, walk on two legs.
The thing stood at nearly two feet tall, its bloated frame swaying with an unsettling wobble. Yet despite all appearances, it carried a tea service in its front paws with practiced care, the porcelain gleaming in the dappled light.
“Cris was a human?” I asked.
“Once, yes.” The witch took the tea service and started pouring. “Sugar?”
“No. What did he do to deservethis?” Try as I might, I couldn’t keep a measure of disdain out of my voice.
The witch’s smile seemed to contain extra teeth. “That is between us. In Terrigana’s ways, I do not get to keep him forever, but I do get toborrowhis soul for as much suffering as I can inflict.” She giggled like a child as she slid a teacup toward me. “Give that a sip.”
I accepted the cup, and its heat soaked into my fingers. The steam curled upward, carrying an herbal sharpness mixedwith something I couldn’t quite name. I sniffed the vapor, then tilted the cup as if to set it down.
“It’s not poisoned,” the witch assured me. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as I remained frozen. “And it won’t alter your form or promise your soul to Terrigana.”
I reluctantly lifted the porcelain to my lips. The first sip carried an earthy sweetness.
“It’s my favorite brew,” she added. “Eyestalk of newt and frog’s weed.”
