Ellie changed into the fresh clothes, pausing to take a deep sniff of the lavender scent that seemed to permeate everything Prospero touched. Then she went downstairs to find the woman herself.
After a few missteps, investigating rooms that were empty of witches, Ellie found her. Although Prospero was lovely, she had a drawn look to her face, as if her slumber had not been long or deep.
“You gave me your bed,” Ellie accused.
“Yes.” Prospero currently sat at a desk with open folders, notebooks, an honest-to-history quill, and a cup of half-consumed tea. “Are you feeling more together, Miss Brandeau?”
Ellie shrugged. “Still game to figure out how to help you. Still think kissing you sounds great. Still plan to go home after this whole magic college business.”
Prospero gave her an unreadable look. “I see.”
Feeling rather pleased by her uncharacteristic boldness, Ellie snatched a piece of toast with jam from a plate at Prospero’s elbow. “What’s the plan?”
“It is the middle of the night, Miss Brandeau,” Prospero mused as she stacked her papers together and tidied her desk. “If you feel quite well enough, we will experiment a bit. Or go over to your original world and see if anything seems to draw your attention.… Prophecies can be muddled things, so a bit of a walkabout seems wise.”
“So… more law breaking?” Ellie teased.
Prospero’s cheeks pinked slightly. “A bit.”
“Excellent.” Ellie, rule follower extraordinaire for as long as she could recall, was excited to try on this new version of herself. “Show me what it means to be a witch.”
After a few preparations, Prospero held out a hand. “I can take us to the rift first. Best not to walk about town, though. We ought to go there directly.”
Ellie laced her fingers with Prospero’s. “Do I need to do anything?”
“Hold tightly to my hand. Teleportation can be dizzying.” Prospero’s grip tightened, and then Ellie’s world went blurry, as if the room and space itself had compressed and folded. Ellie had the general image of being a dot on a piece of parchment that was origami-ing around them.
She drew a sharp breath and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, they were standing alongside a series of gashes in the earth. The moonlight illuminated them, giving it an eerie cast. The ground looked as if giant claws had rent it, and as Ellie looked closer, she saw that the gashes had sunk deep through sod and soil.
Within the fissures were rock and an oozing, purpling substance.
“That’s not natural.” Ellie squatted next to it. She wasn’t a geologist, but it didn’t take much to realize that whatever the problem’s source, it wasn’t naturally made. “Magical?”
Prospero pressed her lips together as she nodded.
Ellie stared at the rows of gaping openings in the ground. The stench filtering out of it was stomach-turning. “Why not patch it?”
Prospero sighed. “It doesn’t work. We’ve tried.”
The futility of the moment washed over Ellie like a wave, and she thought back to the serpents she’d accidentally made. She glanced around her at the trees that were darkening near the opening—and she had an idea. Foolish? Maybe. She still wanted to know if it would work.
How did I make the snakes?
Honestly, she wasn’t sure. She’d been angry, frustrated, and suddenly there had been snakes made of asphalt. What if she had known they were real and had tried to control them? What could she have done? The thought of it made her stomach squirm with anxiety and excitement.
Ellie closed her eyes and imagined caging that ooze, sealing it, covering it with a coiled tree, poised like the asphalt serpents. She stumbledslightly as she imagined the ground roiling, and then rising to fill that oozing fissure.
“Miss Brandeau!”
Ellie didn’t open her eyes. She pictured the tree curling on itself, coiling like a serpent about to strike. She envisioned branches shifting into a jaw with sharpened teeth. She saw in her mind the fangs jutting from that wood-woven jaw.
Her knees faltered.
“Ellie!” Prospero’s arms went round her as Ellie wobbled like a toddler trying to stand on unsteady legs.
Ellie opened her eyes to see a tree-wrought serpent curled over the fissure. Purple liquid pooled in its jaw, as if the foul goop was forcing itself through the wooden coils. “It looks like it’s drooling.”
