The Hawkweed Prophecy (14 page)

Later, when Leo was gathering bits and parts he could use or sell, Ember linked her arm through Poppy's.

“A boy!”

“I know.”

“A real-life boy.”

“There are lots of them out there.”

“Not like him.”

Not like him
, Poppy thought, watching Leo as he worked, his hands deft, the sinews in his arms straining as he took apart the
machinery and broke off the pieces he needed, his face so concentrated and serious.

“Will you tell me?” Ember asked.

“Tell you what?”

Ember giggled in a way that Poppy had never heard her do before. “Tell me what he says about me.” Poppy raised her eyebrows and Ember quickly added, “I'm a silly thing. I know.”

Poppy wondered what a tough and flinty boy would do with a girl as soft as gossamer. Then she felt bad and said, “Of course I'll tell you.”

“You never mentioned him before . . .” Ember said with a hint of complaint.

Poppy looked away from her. “I haven't known him for long,” she explained.

Ember must have caught the wistfulness in Poppy's voice, for she suddenly stiffened and Poppy detected a hint of fear in her voice as she asked, “He's not . . . he's not your”—her voice dropping reverently—“boyfriend, is he?”

“You are silly,” Poppy replied, and with those three small words, she gave away all hope.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

T
he shock stabbed Sorrel like a splinter in her palm. She wasn't sure why seeing the boy hurt so much. She had been expecting him, after all. But a boy being there, in the flesh, touching her cousin, smiling at her, laughing, holding her in his arms before they parted—this was something she could never have imagined. He was a good deal taller than Ember and the other girl. His head was shorn so he had a toughness that belied the gentleness he displayed in his gestures and his mannerisms. His skin was warm colored like honey. He was lean, though, his cheeks hollow and arms wiry.
If you sliced through him, there'd be no fat on the meat
, thought Sorrel.

She had watched from the top of the dell, her eyes fixed on the boy—the way he moved, long legs climbing surely over the broken wares; the way he tilted his head before he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners; the way the hair grew sleek and smooth on his arms; the way his voice carried low and rich like the dark, damp earth deep beneath the surface. When Ember or the other girl spoke to him, he looked at them so intently as though he was truly listening, as though they were important.

Sorrel wanted him to listen to her like that. She wanted such a smile. She wanted someone—him—to hold her arm to make sure she did not fall. No one had ever shown her such consideration, nor had she needed them to. In the coven she was able and strong. She was independent. Now she felt weak with confusion and longing. Ember was supposed to be the feeble one, but all of a sudden her cousin had something Sorrel didn't. And Sorrel hated her for it.

The other girl looked as Sorrel felt. Confused, hurt, angry. She hid it well, though, from both of them. Sorrel wasn't even sure what that girl was doing there.
Had the boy brought her? Why?
He left with her too, but the girl kept her distance, and Sorrel felt the wall she'd built around her. Ember had no such barrier. Her emotions lived on her outer edge and she offered them out for all to feel, no matter the bruises or the knocks. For those who had the sight, Ember's new elation was like a mist rising around her, the colors of a sunrise. Sorrel possessed just enough power to behold it, but for those without, it could be sensed.

The boy felt it for sure. Sorrel saw how he was drawn to Ember, how when she hugged him, he hugged her back, her light rubbing onto him. Yet when Ember touched the girl, the light deflected back as though she was impenetrable.

Poppy kept a gap between herself and Leo as they walked back through the night, the trees silhouetted against the blue-black sky. She didn't even look at Leo, not that much was visible now, only
the shapes of things, not the details. The murkiness seeped inside of Poppy. She had lied to Ember, and now she would lie to Leo. Her body seemed to rebel against the notion, as she didn't sense the broken branch and her foot tripped over it. She would have fallen to the ground but Leo caught her arm and held her up.

As she grasped onto him, Poppy wondered if she'd get to touch him ever again. Blinded by the blackness of the night, all her other senses were on alert and she could feel Leo's energy. She could smell him, hear him breathe, hear his heart beat. She knew he was about to speak.

“Your friend—is that why we came up here?” he asked. He had a backpack full of stuff on his shoulder, but he held Ember's clock in his hand.

“I wanted you to meet her. She's the best person I know. I . . . I would never do anything to hurt her.”

Poppy started walking again, more quickly this time. But a couple of steps and Leo was level with her, tugging on her arm to stop her.

“You had something important to tell me, when you came to find me. I know you did.”

His voice in the darkness was rough and urgent. All Poppy could feel were his fingers on her sleeve, nothing else. All she could see were the whites of his eyes. The rest was lost in the night.

I am a witch
, she remembered.
I am a witch.

She shut her eyes and breathed deeply until she was ready. She felt the magic stir inside of her, tingling under her skin, rising up through the pores, and caressing the hairs above.

“I want you to be happy,” she whispered. “Remember that.”

An owl was circling above their heads, its wide wings beating the air, slower and slower and slower. She heard the owl call to her and she answered its call.

“She'll make you happy,” she invoked. “She is good and kind, and she will love you and look after you. Remember that.”

Leo was still, silent, but Poppy knew he'd heard her. Somewhere in his mind he'd heard her and the magic had touched him. She opened her eyes and time began again. The owl fluttered away to a tree and the clock in Leo's hand gave a tick, then a tock. The tiny wheels were whirring. Tick tock. Tick tock.

“Hey, Poppy! Look at that!” Leo stared at the clock in his hands in amazement. Then he grinned. “Wait till I tell Ember!”

Leo, Leo, Leo
, thought Ember. She wanted to say it, sing it, write it, over and over. When they said good-bye, he reminded her about fixing the clock. She ran and fetched it for him, and their hands touched as he took it from her. She watched him walk away with it, carrying it so carefully, carrying a piece of her with him. She hugged Poppy close, trying to convey through her arms how thankful she was. Then she hugged Leo too, impulsively, and he laughed and she felt his body shake.

“Whoa, you're strong!” he said, and then, “It was nice to meet you, Ember.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” Ember returned, speaking each word as if she really meant it.

Leo looked from her to Poppy and back again. “You know, it's strange,” he said, “but
even though you look like total opposites of each other, there's something similar about you, too.”

Ember gasped. “It's true!” She looked at Poppy, but Poppy's eyes were on Leo.

“Maybe it's because you're both so different from everyone else,” he suggested.

Poppy gave a scoffing noise that made Ember flinch.

“What?” she exclaimed. “You know it's true.” Ember quickly turned to Leo. “You're right. We might not look it but we are the same.” She tapped her heart. “In here.”

Poppy was staring at her now, and Ember knew she shouldn't have protested so much. She wished Poppy would just agree with her and then the moment would be over and another gentler one would take its place. In the end, it was Leo who agreed instead.

“Rare. That's the word.”

Rare. That was good, wasn't it?
He'd made it sound like it was. Like a rare bird or flower. Ember loved spotting those.

Poppy's voice came unexpectedly. It was small and quiet but sounded utterly sincere. “If I'm similar to you, that makes me better than I thought I could be.”

And Ember nearly cried as she hugged Poppy close.

After Leo and Poppy left, she returned to the woods. She was so lost in thought that she didn't feel the ground beneath her feet, or the chill in the air, or sense her cousin's presence by the chestnut tree.

Sorrel stepped into the path and Ember almost skipped straight into her. It took a few moments for her to remember to
shield her happiness from Sorrel. Then she noticed the harshness in Sorrel's stare and the rigidity of her stance.

“Where've you been, cousin?”

“To the river.”

Sorrel kept her eyes fixed on Ember's. “The river's that way.” Her arm moved; the rest of her was hard like granite.

“I was just walking.”

“That so?”

Ember felt her head begin to itch. She tried to ignore it and focus on Sorrel, but her hand went to her scalp of its own accord. Once she started itching, she couldn't stop.

“No, Sorrel. Please.”

“I think you have lice, dear cousin.”

Ember cried out. She felt them now, each one of the thousands of them crawling through her hair. She looked at her hands. Her nails were black with them. She started to weep, a downpour of tears. “Why, Sorrel? Why?”

“Because you think you're so fair. The fairest of them all.”

Ember started to run, away from Sorrel, to the safety of her mother.

“Thank your stars it wasn't leeches,” Sorrel shouted after her. Then, in a lower voice that Ember couldn't hear, “See if he'll think you're so pretty now.”

Sorrel gathered her long skirts and ran to tell her mother that she'd been right about the boy. With the utmost caution, she answered Raven's
questions about him. One hint at her own befuddlement would be a catastrophe. Any of her coven would feel great shame at being interested in a male, but for her, the future queen, it was unthinkable. So Sorrel stuck coldly to the facts, watching and waiting for her mother's reaction. She was expecting Raven to be pleased. Sorrel even hoped she might receive some praise for her work. But none came. Instead, her mother's lips pursed with dissatisfaction and lines of irritation crossed her forehead.

“A boy,” Raven repeated. “This was all for the sake of a boy?” She shook her head, then scratched at the back of it in puzzlement.

“She may run off with him,” Sorrel added, but it was like trying to light a fire with wet kindling.

“Let her go,” Raven spat. “You think I would mourn her departure? You think any of us would?”

“She could tell our secrets,” Sorrel sparked. “It is forbidden for any of our clan.”

“Pffhh!” Raven huffed dismissively. “Omens predicting misfortune and disaster. The great yew fallen. For this?! For such a one as she, and for a boy?! It cannot be.”

Sorrel let a moment pass, then spoke quietly. “Perhaps the boy's companion will do her harm. She seemed aggrieved about the boy's interest in our Ember.”

Raven spun round. Crouching low to where Sorrel was sitting, she grabbed Sorrel's chin within her bony fingers. “She? Who is this ‘she'?” she snapped.

“A girl. Nobody,” gulped Sorrel. Her mother's eyes blackened until the pupils were lost inside the darkness. Despite the pressure of the eyes, the fingers, the breath on her face, the body
coiled and ready to spring, Sorrel continued bravely on with her testimony. “She was just someone the boy brought with him. She didn't do or say much. She only waited there and watched them.”

Raven pulled herself up to standing, and as she did so her body elongated, her limbs stretched and spiked, all branches and twigs, until she towered over Sorrel. A bonfire, she was, all ablaze, her features fiery, a ferocious energy crackling within her.

“And you mention her but now?” Raven's voice burned, and Sorrel flinched and shrank from the roasting.

“It's the boy Ember's involved with. I tell you, she couldn't shift her eyes from him.”

“And
your
eyes, you fool? It was the
girl
you should have been watching.”