Page 62 of That Ain’t Witchcraft

–Alice Healy

The front room of a rented house in New Gravesend, Maine

SAM WAS WAITING JUST inside the house. He wrapped his arms around me as soon as I was through the door, pulling me into a tight, borderline frantic embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said, voice muffled by my hair. “Cylia said it would be better if I didn’t go out, and I listened because I thought she might be right, but then you were there and I didn’t help, and I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He had my arms pinned against my sides. I squirmed until I could reach up enough to awkwardly pat his elbow. He didn’t let go. It wasn’t the most comfortable hug I’d ever experienced, but he was shaking and I couldn’t find it in myself to push him away.

Sometimes I felt genuinely bad about what being close to me was doing to the people I cared about. Not enough to want them to leave me. Just enough to not complain when they hogged more than their fair share of the popcorn.

The door closed behind James. Cylia locked it, glancing out the curtains one more time to be sure Leo was gone. I gave Sam’s elbow a final, awkward pat.

“It’s really okay,” I said. “I’m a big girl. I’m used to taking care of myself. And if he’d tried anything, I would have put a throwing knife up his nose. Now can you let me go before I need new ribs? I don’t want to fight the crossroads in a body cast.”

“Sorry.” Sam stepped back, tail curling anxiously around his ankles. He continued staring at me, surveying for imaginary injuries. “I’m going to kill that guy. I hope you’re cool with it because every time he messes with us, it gets a little more inevitable.”

“Just wait until we can make it look like a non-cryptid-related accident, please,” I said. “The last thing we need is the entire Covenant descending on our heads because we killed their fearless leader-to-be.”

“I swear joining you people has been like tuning in to a program already in progress,” muttered James.

“I’m sorry reality doesn’t come with a recap at the top of every hour,” I said, and slid my arms out of the straps of my backpack. It made an impressively loud thump when it hit the floor. “Fern?”

“Here.” The diminutive sylph appeared at my elbow as if by magic, although I knew it was much more likely to be connected to her fondness for lurking in corners and keeping out of the way when not actively involved in whatever was happening. “What do you need?”

“Clear the dining room table. Get notepads for everybody. We’re about to do a speed transcription project.”

Fern rushed off while Cylia turned to me, eyebrows raised. “I’m assuming there’s a reason for this, and we’re not just working on our handwriting?” she asked.

“James’ mom did most of her serious research in witchletters, and right now, he’s the only one who can make them appear,” I said. “It’ll go faster if he activates multiple books at once, but that means the writing’s going to start fading almost as fast as it shows up.”

“Meaning we transcribe as quickly as possible,” said Cylia. “All right, got it. Any additional complications?”

I opened my mouth and hesitated, looking around the group. Things were already so bad. Did they really need the added burden of knowing the crossroads could hurt me whenever they wanted to, possibly to the point of incapacitating me?

Hell, yeah, they did.

“If I leave the ghost wards James set up on the house—say, to go to his place, or to deal with the crossroads, or to buy a cup of coffee—Bethany can find me,” I said. “She found me at James’. And once she finds me, the crossroads can find me. It turns out they have ways of making sure people don’t back out on their side of the bargain.”

“Can they take back whatever you bargained for?” asked James.

“Thankfully, no,” I said. “Aunt Mary made sure of that during the negotiation process. Since what I bargained for was not drowning, and Sam not drowning,” and I was still sure, deep down, that he’d already drowned when the crossroads answered my request; that I’d lost him, possibly forever, before I decided to barter myself against the tempo of his heart, “they can’t take that back. They’re not allowed to kill me over a debt. But they took my magic as collateral against my doing them a favor.”

“Killing me,” said James.

“Yes, killing you.” I looked at him levelly. “I didn’t know when I made the deal that it would be a commitment to play assassination games, and honestly, I would probably have done it regardless, because I wanted to live. Where there’s life, there’s hope. Where there’s death, there’s … well, there’s still hope, if my dead aunts are anything to go by, but it’s a different kind, and not one that would have given my parents any comfort.”

“If I’d died in Lowryland, I’m pretty sure my grandmother would have gone into necromancy so she could bring me back and shout at me.” Sam paused. “Is necromancy real? Annie, is necromancy real?”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to know, and if people are raising the dead for recreational reasons, they need to stay way the hell away from me.”

Cylia put up her hands. “I feel like we’re getting away from the point again. Something we’re incredibly good at, especially when the point is unpleasant. What are you saying, Annie?”

“I’m saying the crossroads can force people who owe them to go along with paying our debts. They … hurt me.” I paused, feeling suddenly awkward. Words weren’t enough, and this whole thing sounded ridiculous. A bodiless force of chaos and capitalism hurt me? Sure it did.

Taking a sharp breath, I continued, “The crossroads used Bethany to pull me into the space they usually occupy, and they used my own magic to make every nerve in my body ignite at the same time. I can’t resist something that came from me in the first place. I don’t think there are any wards that could keep it from coming home—and once it does, it’s in someone else’s control, and it burns.”

God, how it burned. Like acid, like fire, like every regret in the history of the world all rolled up into a single striking sword, slicing through me over and over again without leaving any marks behind. It was the kind of pain that broke people. It could easily have broken me. If I had to experience it again, I was direly afraid that it would break me.