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I recognized John Kerrigan, the head of the family, which would make the other two his wife, Melinda, and his son, Cameron. McGavock children whispered about the Kerrigans as if they were bogeymen, the baby-eating ogres who made us check under our beds. But up close, they didn’t seem so threatening. They were just like me, with an essential part of them bound up and unhappy about it.
“No more tricks,” John grumbled. “No more false hope.”
“Oh, trust me, John,” my mother purred. “I’m about to make you very happy.”
“So this is the famous Nola,” Melinda said, sniffing and running her dark, empty eyes over me. “I don’t see what’s so impressive.”
“I’m tied to a tree,” I pointed out. “You try looking your best when you’re tied to a tree.”
“You have them here?” John asked, ignoring me.
My mother smirked and unveiled the Elements with a flourish. It was like the prize showcase on a witchcraft game show. John stepped forward, his hand hovering over the case reverently. My mother cleared her throat. “If you’ll recall, we set a price of two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“A fair price, to be sure,” John Kerrigan said, while his wife’s mouth twisted into an unhappy line.
“Well, that was before my expenses and the unfortunate emotional trauma of having to strike and truss up my own offspring. So the price has doubled.”
“Doubled?” Melinda spat.
“We’ll pay it,” John said absentmindedly as he pored over the detailing on the bell. My mother made sure to stand in John’s immediate line of sight. Melinda Kerrigan hissed indignantly while my mother preened. The reality of what I was witnessing hit me full-force. I’d lost the Elements. Centuries of heritage and tradition were at that moment slipping right through my fingers. Because I sucked at scavenger hunts. My family had only a few minutes more as viable witches. I would lose my magic. Permanently this time. That strange, occasionally annoying energy that I’d taken for granted for so many years would be gone. I would be able to adjust, but what about the others? Penny, Seamus, the cousins who hadn’t come into their talents yet—they would lose everything. Silent tears began to slip down my cheeks, soaking my collar.
“Why did you bring me here, Mom?” I asked as John Kerrigan closely examined the candle. His son looked mildly bored, and when I questioned the necessity of my being present, he shot a commiserating look my way. “You could have just left me at the shop.”
“I didn’t want you to miss this,” she said, sneering. “And neither did the Kerrigans. They wanted to do the binding right away. They need you here for that. You are, after all, the McGavocks’ representative.”
“You realize that they’ll bind you, too,” I told her.
“When you have money, you don’t need magic,” she said.
“You never knew how to use it in the first place,” I muttered, before getting another taste of my mother’s backhand. Frankly, I was lucky she hadn’t used the hand that was holding the athame. My lip split under the blow, and the hot, coppery taste of my own blood filled my mouth. The tears stopped. And misery made way for the cleaner burn of anger.
How dare my mother do this? How dare she put me through this, have me thinking she was dead for so many years because she was too selfish and too lazy to be a decent human being? She’d terrorized me, belittled me, stolen from me, for most of my life. Why was I letting her get away with it again? Why was I just sitting there like a lump?
From the eastern edge of the clearing, something was tickling my brain. I shook my head, wondering if I was imagining it. The nudging turned into all-out poking. Impatient and persistent. Jane. My friends—the supernatural cavalry—were here.
I opened my mind fully, letting Jane see everything that I was seeing—the number of people, their placement, a special admonition not to hurt the boy, and my suspicion that there could be more Kerrigans hiding in the woods. I would apologize for the headache this gave Jane later. The nudging retreated, and I looked up at my mother, looking so smug and sure of herself while she sold out her family.
I felt Jane’s mental nudging again, closer this time. The head poking was more urgent now. What would she want? Would she want me to shut up? To stop provoking my mother? Unlikely. If anything, she would probably want me to cause distraction. She and the others would want the Kerrigans and my mother distracted so they could sneak up on them.
Magic had to work for me this time. Forget the binding. Forget inconsistency and random explosions. I was more powerful than Penny’s binding. I was no longer ambivalent about my own talents. It simply had to work. There was no other option.
I focused on the energy around me, the light and heat coming off the campfire. I drew that into my mind, focusing on the nerves and muscles of my hands. I pictured a spark growing between them, the heat traveling along my fingertips and feeding that spark until I could feel the flame glowing pleasantly against my skin.
“Mom!” I called out while she flirted shamelessly with John in front of his wife and child. I called louder. “Mom!”
She turned her attention to me, exasperated. “What?”
“There’s something I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time,” I told her.
She simpered, as if this was some warm Hallmark moment between mother and daughter. “And what’s that, darling?”
“You were never a proper mother. Despite having the best example in the world, you never managed to learn about loving someone or caring for someone more than you cared for yourself. You’re selfish, cruel, and unable to see anything past your own wants and needs. You were never a mother to me. And you were never the daughter Nana Fee deserved. You want to know why you were never Nana’s heir? It’s because you’re weak. Your soul is weak, your spine is weak, and your magic is weak. You feel so little emotion, so little real energy for anything except for what you think you’re missing out on, that you’re barely human enough to qualify as a witch. I think that’s why the magic seems to have passed you by. It’s a living, breathing thing, Mom, and you can’t be trusted to care for a goldfish.”
“Shut up, you little bitch!” she hissed, her grip tightening around the blade in her hand.
“You forgot about me.” I chuckled, squirming against the tree in an attempt to stand, to no avail. “All those years when I thought you were out there trying to fix your problems so you could come home to us. You’d just conveniently forget about the fact that I existed, until you needed money, of course, or something from Nana Fee. You forgot that I needed you, that I loved you, that I would have forgiven you anything if you’d only asked.”
“Cue the violins,” Melinda Kerrigan huffed. “We’re on a schedule here, John.”
