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The thought of all that had occurred since the solstice morning I stumbled onto Ginny’s corpse nearly made my head spin. I could barely wrap my mind around it. How could it have only been this last summer that I doubted my feelings for Peter and believed myself to be in love with Jackson? That this counterfeit emotion could have seemed real enough to me to send me out to Jilo’s crossroads to seek a conjure to turn my heart away from Jackson and back to Peter? Now I knew it had all been part of an elaborate lie, and the love I felt was not for Jackson, but for the magic that had been denied me. Maisie had fed Wren on my magic, helping him to grow and evolve until he could take on a new guise, that of Jackson. I had sensed my connection to this misappropriated magic and interpreted it as love for the man.
Even though the line had helped me bring Maisie home, she had not returned in good shape. Physically she was fine, but still she had spent several days in a coma following her return. Abigail had advised caution, since we had no idea what state of mind she would be in upon waking. So in much the same way that Ginny had diverted my power away from me, we—my aunts, my uncle, Abby, and myself—siphoned away Maisie’s magic until we could determine the lay of the land.
Even after Maisie awoke, she remained still and unspeaking. Abby spent a few more days alone with her, commencing a course of treatment that we all hoped would provide a lasting cure. Abby started by leading Maisie in guided mediations, then moved on to good old talking once Maisie found her voice. It was only in the last few days that Abby felt comfortable allowing Maisie to reconnect to her powers, so we unkinked the hose a tiny bit, allowing Maisie’s magic to begin to return to her in a slow and controlled flow.
None of us even knew how much of her own power Maisie actually had. Even before the two of us were born, Ginny had begun stealing magic from me and feeding it to my sister. My gut told me that my great-aunt’s goal hadn’t been to strengthen Maisie, but rather to weaken me; Ginny only intended to use Maisie to prime the pump, until she could manage to pull away my magic. Her goal was to feed it into the neighboring plane and ground it there.
There was evidence that Ginny realized the process didn’t work entirely as planned, that even though the bulk of my power did pass harmlessly through Maisie and into the realm where Ginny grounded it, a good portion of it fed directly into Maisie. The rest of us had believed Maisie had been born a magical wunderkind with a dud for a sister. The truth was the energy was overwhelming her, destroying her from the inside. Ginny evidently realized she couldn’t undo the attachment to Maisie without breaking the flow and returning my power to me. Whatever Ginny believed about me, she believed it strongly enough to risk destroying my sister.
Perhaps it was poetic justice that Wren killed Ginny. Ginny stole from me and damaged Maisie. Regardless of the source of Maisie’s problems, she used the stolen magic to feed the monster that killed Ginny. God help me, I hated the old woman. Perhaps even more than Emily. I couldn’t help but wonder if Ginny’s evil had somehow infected my mother as well. Still, I had no idea why my great-aunt had hated me so, had feared me enough that she would attempt to strip me entirely of magic, and risk Maisie’s well-being by force-feeding it to her.
The line itself put an end to all that. That day. The line claimed me as an anchor and returned my own magic to me. Now, the only power Maisie had was what naturally belonged to her. Yet even running on partial steam, it seemed, that magic was formidable. In just these few days, under Abby’s guidance, Maisie progressed from zero to creating temporary miniature worlds where she could begin to work through her issues. The same issues that had driven her to offer me up as a sacrifice in an attempt to take over the full power of the line. It was intensive magical therapy, and frankly, when Abigail was through helping my sister, I intended to ask her to help me work on some issues of my own. God knows lately I’d been racking up issues like an overeager Girl Scout collects insignia badges.
“I think I’d like to stay also,” Ellen said, pulling me from my thoughts. I noticed that she looked neither at Abigail nor myself, but to Iris for permission.
“We should perhaps have this conversation as a family—” Iris began.
“No.” Abigail shook her head. “Maisie isn’t ready to talk to the entire family all at once. It’s Mercy she’s done the most harm. Let the girls have a chance to talk things through first, and then we’ll take it from there. You two go on to the store.” Iris and Ellen hesitated, a silent conversation seeming to go on between them.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said, “but Maisie tried to kill Mercy. You’re talking like they’ve squabbled over a stained blouse.” If anyone could understand the complexity of my feelings for Maisie, it would be Ellen. Emily, her sister and my mother, had faked her own death largely so she could invent new and creative ways to turn Ellen’s world into a living hell. I knew Ellen would never forgive Emily the harm she’d done. I didn’t blame her. I had come to realize that it is possible for someone to go too far to be forgiven. The best you could do was walk away and pray they didn’t try to follow you. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt my mother had stepped too far over the line.
Now that Maisie was back, cogent and willing to talk, I had to learn if the same was true of my sister. I had to know for sure that she felt true contrition. That she knew she ha
d done wrong. That she would never hurt me that deeply again. “It’s okay. If she’s ready to talk about what she did, I’m ready to listen.”
Iris looked to me. “Are you sure you’re up to facing this alone?”
“Really,” Abigail said, “things will be just fine here. Go on, get—”
A thought hit me and sapped my reserve. “Wait,” I said, my voice breaking. I felt guilty even bringing it up. I wanted to believe my sister was getting better; I wanted to believe in her. But I had been wrong before. “The timing of this breakthrough . . .”
Iris nodded and saved me from finishing my thought. “It gives one pause that it follows on the heels of her accomplice’s return.”
Abigail’s face fell. “Her accomplice?”
“Wren showed back up today,” I said.
Abigail’s face pulled into a tight-lipped grimace. “That puts a different complexion on things.” She tilted her head toward Iris. “It never occurred to you that perhaps y’all might want to share this tidbit with me?” Her face grew flushed. “Either I’m one of you, or I’m not.”
“No.” Iris stepped forward, attempting to draw Abby into an embrace, but Abigail pulled back. “It isn’t like that. Not at all. We would have told you—it’s only that it all just happened.”
“And you figured you’d catch me up right after you found the right turkey?”
“Really, Abby.” I crossed to her and embraced her. She accepted my show of affection. “Please don’t think we do not appreciate you.” For good or bad, my hormones decided to choose this moment to kick in, and hot tears fell from my eyes. “I am so, so grateful to you for all you have done to help Maisie. To help all of us, really.” I gave her a squeeze. “We’re all just treading water here. We had no intention of excluding you, we just hadn’t gotten around to including you.”
Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, but I could feel her sense of affront begin to fall away. “Fine, fine.” She patted my back and pulled a tissue from her pocket. “It’s clean,” she said as she dabbed at my cheeks. She stepped away from me, taking my aunts and myself into her gaze. Her expression had mellowed, but I could tell, although she may have forgiven me for the oversight, Iris and Ellen had not yet been cleared of culpability.
“Maybe,” Ellen said, “we should put this talk off until we have a better handle on what is happening around here.”
“No,” I said. “If Maisie needs me to help heal, I will be there for her.” I felt a thud in my chest. “But if she is still connected to Wren, I need to know it, so that I can deal with her.” I turned my focus to Abigail. “I want to do this. I want to talk to Maisie about that day.”
“Then there is no way you are doing this without us,” Iris said, emphasizing the “no.” Her tone left no room for debate.
Abby acquiesced with a nod. “All right then. She’s waiting for us upstairs. Let’s get this done.”
We found her in her room, sitting on the floor, cross-legged in the lotus position. Here was the sister who tried to murder me. The sister I had risked everything to give another chance.
Her silky blonde hair had been plaited into a French braid. Her eyes remained closed, her heart-shaped face smooth and composed. She seemed bathed in what I knew to be a hard-fought-for serenity. It’ll be quite a while before I’m able to pull that pose off again. The thought hit me from nowhere, but in the name of all that is holy, I could not understand why it would be the first thing to come to mind. Well, that wasn’t quite true. I knew it had already begun again. My insidious compulsion to compare myself with my sister. It was a lifelong habit, one I thought I’d kicked. I thought I’d grown up a bit over the last several months, but darned if I wasn’t standing there ticking off all the ways she managed to outshine me without even trying.
