Always a Witch

  "Ouch," he says, shaking his fingers.

  "You shouldn't have scared me like that," I hiss, expecting at any moment my mother to come charging down the hallway and order us all back to bed, where if she had her way we'd have pleasant dreams as well.

  "Sorry." Gabriel shrugs. "I was awake and I saw the lights go on in the library and then I saw your parents at the window, so I came over to see what was happening."

  I nod. Gabriel must have been staying at his mom's apartment. Ever since Aunt Lydia returned from California, she's been living in the apartment over the barn.

  "What's happening? Why are you awake?"

  "Bad dreams, and then they came true."

  "What? Tam, you're not making any sense," Gabriel adds as I remain silent. He shifts to lean against the wall.

  "Listen, it's late and..."

  Gabriel folds his arms and gives me an overly patient look.

  "Okay," I sigh. "It seems we had a visitor. Who has the Talent to jump into other people's bodies."

  Gabriel takes a second to digest this. "How'd you find this out?"

  "I—" I cast another look down the hallway toward my parents' room. A light suddenly snaps on underneath the doorway. "My room," I whisper.

  "He was in your room?" Gabriel says, loud enough to wake up the whole stupid house.

  "No," I hiss. "Let's go to my room now."

  "Tamsin, I thought you'd never ask—" Gabriel says in an entirely different tone.

  "Oh, shut up." Wrapping my hand around his elbow, I tug him down the hallway and into my room, then close the door with a soft click. I listen for a second but hear nothing before turning back to Gabriel, who is now staring at my feet.

  "What are you—oh." Blushing, I kick off my pink bunny slippers toward the bed.

  "Tell me about this visitor," Gabriel says.

  "I woke up from a..." I swallow.

  "The usual?" Gabriel asks, and I nod. He reaches one hand out and with his long fingers, kneads the back of my neck.

  "So, I went downstairs and I saw Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Morris in the parlor." Closing my eyes briefly, I add, "Only it wasn't Uncle Morris." Quickly, I fill Gabriel in on the rest of the evening, including what I didn't tell the rest of my family, that I can no longer throw fire.

  "Why would he say that? 'Your young man put up a good fight.' You've never met him." We're sitting side by side on my bed now.

  Gabriel shakes his head. "I don't know. But if I do see him again I'll be putting up more than a good fight." He drums his fingers against my knee until I put my hand on his. Probably should have omitted the part about the kiss. We hold hands in silence for a few seconds until Gabriel says, "So, it seems like we're headed back to 1887. If we want to stop this before it starts."

  I swallow, then tug my hand away gently. "About that. I think you—"

  "Don't even think about it," Gabriel advises, his eyes intent on mine.

  "What? All I'm saying is that you should—"

  "Not happening."

  I roll my eyes to the ceiling before looking back at him. "Would you just let me fin—"

  "No," Gabriel says. "You're not doing anything alone. You hear me?"

  "I—"

  "Do you hear me?" he repeats, his voice completely calm and even.

  But just then my bedroom door is flung open. "What is going on here?" my mother says, bursting into the room. She is flourishing a candlestick through the air.

  Even though absolutely nothing is going on, Gabriel and I both dive to the opposite ends of my bed, our gazes pinned to my mother, who is turning the exact same shade as my bunny slippers.

  "Tamsin Greene," my mother begins, slowly lowering her arm. "I specifically told you to go to bed." Then she turns on Gabriel. "And you, Gabriel Snowe. Out. Now." She cracks the words through the air like a whip.

  Gabriel gives me one burning glance and says, regardless of my mother, "It's not like you can go anywhere without me anyway."

  "Good point," I say. Not true, but I'm not going to mention that now.

  Apparently, my mother doesn't like what she's hearing. "No one is going anywhere tonight except to bed. Now."

  He bolts off the bed and ducks past my mother, one arm over his head as if to ward off a blow from her candlestick.

  My mother draws in a deep breath, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for anyone else I may be hiding in the closet before looking back at me. "Bed," she says, apparently determined to speak in one-word directives. With her arms folded, she waits until I actually climb under the covers.

  "Good night, Mom," I say meekly. She snorts, flicks off the light, and closes my door.

  I blink through the minutes until the darkness has faded from the corners of my room. Then I tiptoe to my door and listen. I wouldn't put it past my mother to be waiting outside. Easing the doorknob to the left, I pull the door open and glance down the hallway in both directions. Nothing but the usual shadows. Reminding myself that I have very little time left, I slip out of my room for the second time that night.

  Good thing my family never seems to throw anything out. I spent the past half-hour stumbling around the dark attic, rummaging through box after box. Now I stare down at the items I've finally chosen. One long black skirt, two semi-tattered lace-covered petticoats, one black long-sleeve button-up vest bodice thing with a hole under the right arm and grayish stains on the cuffs, and two black shoes, the kind with hooks and laces. The heels are worn, but otherwise they seem in good shape. I slip them on, wiggle my toes, and begin the process of doing up the laces. They're slightly too big, but I'll live. I hope.

  Next, I pick up the skirt and shake it out. Dust motes glitter and swirl in the early-morning light of my bedroom. Sneezing, I lace myself into the petticoats and then the skirt, spider web lace brushing across my bare legs. Then I stuff myself into the bodice, doing up the horn buttons while dealing with another sneezing fit in the process.

  Finally, I confront myself in my bedroom mirror. I look like I just escaped from a mental asylum that doubles as a nineteenth-century thrift shop. Sighing, I pin up my hair in what I hope is a respectable-looking knot. Then I can't put it off any longer.

  I slide open my top dresser drawer and sift through my extra socks and underwear until my fingers just brush against a thin chain. My stomach flips once, then settles, and I curl my thumb and forefinger around the metal and pull the object into the light. My clocket, as I used to so fondly refer to it. The locket flashes its silver face at me as it swings in the air like a pendulum. Eventually it stills and I regard the closed lid with trepidation.

  Maybe because I've slept all of three hours, the soft click of my door opening is not enough warning. "I knew it!" my sister hisses.

  Startled, I drop the locket. At least she has the consideration to shut the door before advancing on me. Then she stops and takes in my outfit. Her lip wrinkles up in what seems like the start of her trademark sneer, but the effect is immediately ruined by her fit of coughing as she inhales a cloud of dust. "Where did you get that outfit, anyway? The Sneezation Army?"

  I give her a look. She knows I particularly love shopping at the Salvation Army. "The attic," I mutter.

  "You can't seriously be thinking what I think you're thinking?"

  "Oh, you think?" I respond politely, but she ignores me.

  "You're not going back."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I say. I crouch down, my new/old skirt bunching around my legs, and pick up the locket between careful fingertips. I set it back on my dresser, all too aware of my sister's scrutiny.

  "What did you and Grandmother talk about after I left?" Rowena asks while winding the sash of her cream-colored robe around her fingers. I study my sister for a few seconds in silence. With her pale hair and skin, you'd think she'd be totally washed out in a cream-colored robe, but no, as usual, she looks dazzling. Her complexion has taken on an extra smoothness and luster; her eyes are burning.

  I shrug. "Nothing important."

&n
bsp; "Oh, really? Then you won't mind telling me, since it's nothing important," Rowena persists. "You know Mom's going to ask you just as soon as she gets up again, and—"

  "Mom doesn't want to know anything, Ro. She doesn't want to face what's happening."

  "And what exactly is happening?"

  I shake my head. "Nothing. It's late. I'm tired. You're tired. Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep? You know, the big day and all."

  But now my sister's eyes flare wide open, an angry-cat green. "Don't think for one second that just because you've discovered that you have Talents that you can treat me like..."

  I stare at her. "Like what?"

  "Fine," she snaps. "I'll find out on my own."

  "What—" I start, and then stop as she whirls out of my room. I follow her to the doorway, watch as she charges down the stairs. "Where are you going?" I hiss after her. The soft thunk of the library door closing is my only answer.

  I lean against the doorjamb, frowning. Earlier, I had helped my grandmother back to her room before my excursion into the attic, so unless Rowena is preparing to consult the book again for a record of our conversation...

  I dash out of my room and down the stairs. At the foot of the steps, I stumble in my too-big shoes and crumple onto the landing, amid another cloud of dust from my skirt. Stifling a sneeze, I pick myself up and hurry toward the library, half expecting the door to be locked. However, the knob turns easily in my hand and I start forward, my eyes on the book, which is resting in its usual place on the blotter. But the book is closed. My eyes dart to my sister, standing with her back to me in front of the fireplace as if contemplating the dying flames.

  Then she lifts her hand in a graceful gesture and I freeze as a yelping voice reaches my ears. Words are pouring out of the china dog statue's mouth—my words. "Still, if I ditch Gabriel, it's going to be impossible to Travel back anyway. We only Traveled twice, so I don't have that power."

  I stare at the dog statue standing to the right of the fireplace. Its jaws are open now, trembling slightly, even though its glass eyes are as flat as ever.

  "What—" I hiss, and step forward, but then the dog statue on the left answers in a deeper growl of a voice. "Of course, there is another way."

  "How?" the first dog asks again, and then gives a mournful bark.

  I reach out with my mind and the dogs fall abruptly silent, their jaws freezing back into place, their voices stilled in their china throats again.

  Rowena turns slowly and faces me, drawing the lapels of her robe closer to her throat. "How indeed?" she says softly. "I knew you weren't able to Travel on your own," she adds.

  "Yeah, congratulations. That's really important in the grand scheme of things."

  She looks at me thoughtfully. "It is, isn't it? I mean, if you ditch Gabriel as you said earlier, how will you get back to 1887?"

  "I didn't say that's..." Then I pause as something clicks into place. "Who else can Travel in this family?"

  "What?"

  "Who else? Who else has or had that power?"

  Rowena shrugs. "Apparently, no one's had it for generations and generations."

  "And what about in the Knight family? Did anyone have it there?"

  "Well, obviously that man, that stranger tonight did, or—"

  But I've stopped listening to her because the growing suspicion in my mind is too overwhelming. What if he didn't have that Talent? Or rather, what if he didn't come by it naturally? What if—

  "Tamsin," my sister snaps, and I start out of my reverie. She steps forward, her face looking suddenly tired in the pale morning light. "Tamsin, you may not realize this, but I want to help you. I want to come with you."

  "No," I say immediately, my mouth dry. "Don't you remember what happened to you the last time you met Alistair?"

  My sister's lips tighten briefly. Rowena had spent seven miserable days under a love spell, if you could call it that. A spell that Alistair had made with her own blood, which forced her to do his bidding. My family had watched her grow weaker and weaker, powerless to stop her from running back to Alistair every chance she could. Only when Alistair had vanished through the doorway of the clock in Grand Central Station had the spell been broken. "What if you come back with me, and we see him, and the spell reactivates or something?"

  "It doesn't work like that," she says exasperatedly.

  "Sorry," I say blandly. "Considering I've spent most of my life thinking I had no Talent at all, I'm doing my best to catch up here."

  Anyone else would have the decency to act faintly embarrassed, especially if they played a part in keeping that information from someone. Not my sister, though. Instead, she presses on with "Which is exactly why you need me to come with you. You'll need help, Tam. You can't do this alone."

  "I can—"

  "Nobody could do this alone."

  "I—"

  "What's your plan, then?" she challenges me. "Are you going to knock on La Spider's door and set the house on fire? Oh, wait, I forgot, you lost that Talent already, haven't you?"

  I glare at the china dogs, wishing I had smashed them into smithereens before they revealed that part. "I have a plan," I say.

  My sister raises one eyebrow, and then when I don't answer, says, "Well? Enlighten me."

  I shrug. "I need to go back and warn our family that the Knights are going to attempt to control them through blood spells. And that Alistair is going to help make that happen and make it impossible to stop the Knights unless our family acts sooner than our history says they did. And I'll tell them that the Domani they're supposed to make isn't going to work forever, so they need to remake it. Better. They need to make it stronger..." I add, my words trickling off lamely.

  My sister raises her other eyebrow now. "Brilliant," she says succinctly.

  Somehow I get the feeling she's being sarcastic.

  "All right, well—"

  "That's brilliant. Warn our family. Especially in 1887, when Traveling is forbidden and they're really likely to believe you. And then you're going to tell them that something they haven't done yet, and haven't even thought about doing yet, is not going to work anyway in the future so they need to do it better. That'll really go over well."

  "Doesn't anyone read the book in their time? Won't they be able to read the future and understand what happens?"

  Rowena stares at me. "Wow. You really know next to nothing about how the book works, don't you? You don't just flip open the book and read the future like you're reading a recipe. Besides Talent it takes strength to even ... wrestle a few of the words onto the page. They're ... slippery at best. If you're lucky you get to see phrases, glimpses of what may come to pass. It's not all laid out there like a newspaper article."

  "Thankfully, we have you," I mutter. "I suppose you're amazing at it."

  My sister regards me coolly. "I'm not, actually. But I'm the best besides our grandmother, who's most likely the best this family's ever seen. And even she couldn't prevent all this from happening. So, that should tell you how hard it is to understand the book. And how do you plan on finding them, anyway? Our family in the nineteenth century?"

  I shake my head at her. "What do you mean? The house on Washington Square Park—"

  "Was bought by our family in 1895."

  "Oh," I say.

  "It's not like you can just head back there and look them up in the phone book, okay? They didn't have phone books then, you know."

  "Gee, thanks for the tip." I cross the room, rubbing my arms against the cold air that's seeping through the cracked window. "You know, I think I can manage this. I mean I did find the Domani, after all."

  "Yeah, and look how well that worked out," Rowena mutters. Then she shakes her head, "Besides, you had significant help. Gabriel." She circles the room once, then again, the hem of her robe swirling around her calves. Other people's robes would just flap, but no, not Rowena's. "So just how are you planning on getting back without him? You can't..." Then she nods her head once as if confirming someth
ing. "The Domani. You're going to use it."

  I swallow. Only my grandmother and Rowena know that I'm the current Keeper.

  "I'll only be gone for a couple of days. Long enough to find our family and warn them, then I'll come back. Just in time for your wedding." I try to smile, but my sister stares at me.

  "Even if you manage to get there using the Domani, you do understand that it won't work again to get you back. You'll have gone back to a time when there is no Domani, so how are you going to get back?"

  Somehow I know my blithe answer of I'll figure something out isn't going to work on Rowena. My other answer of I'm probably not going to make it back isn't something I even want to think about. "Give me three days, Ro. I'll find them, I'll warn them, and then I'll find a way to get back. Just tell Mom I went back to the city to pick up the dress. That I felt so guilty—"

  Here my sister snorts, something that would seem inelegant when done by anyone else. "She'll never believe it."

  I shake her grip off. "Make her believe it," I say.

  My sister turns pale. "I can't use my Talent on Mom."

  "And Gabriel," I add.

  "I can't use it on either of them. You—"

  "You used it on Silda," I say.

  "That was different. That was about a dress. This is just a little more serious." She holds her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart.

  "Please, Ro. I need a time to try and do this on my own. I don't need anyone else getting hurt. You heard what the stranger said tonight. Don't be angry with your young man. He did put up a good fight. Don't you get what that means?"

  My sister starts to shake her head, and then her eyes widen. "He Traveled here. Using Gabriel's Talent. Which means Gabriel Travels to the past and—"

  "And they get him. Somehow. But that doesn't have to happen. That can all be changed."

  But my sister gives my wrists a little shake. "Three days. You're coming home. No matter what happens. Three days, Tam, and then you'll find a way home, no matter what. Promise."

  "I promise," I whisper. "In time for your wedding."

  I've never felt so bad lying to my sister.

  "There," Rowena says, pinning the last of my curls into place and turning me by the shoulder to face the mirror. "You look somewhat respectable."