Anzan’s voice shook her from her reverie and Ladybug blinked, shocked to not be a panicking adolescent still, that she’d been narrating and not reliving the events.
“He did, eventually. He and Authricia threatened each other some more and she shooed him out the front door with her broom.” She laughed hollowly, remembering the way the cat man’s black claws had dug into the door frame. “She hit him right in the face. Knocked him out of the house.”
Anzan’s arm had come around her as she relayed the story, and she took the opportunity to snuggle a bit closer. They’d not built a fire that day and she’d had the thermostat set low, but the night beyond the window, she could tell, was cold.
“And that was that? Why has he returned now, do you think? Is that when your aunt passed, little bug? No, this is painful for you. I’m sorry. We can stop talking about it, if you wish.”
Ladybug shook her head, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. That was hardly the end. That same night that Holt had left, a car rolled into the driveway. Jack Hemming’s wife had given Ladybug what she suspected was meant to be a cheery smile, telling her to get her coat, that she was taking Ladybug and Trapp for ice cream.
Trapp Hemming was in her grade, and they’d shared a majority of classes since she’d come back to Cambric Creek. Trapp was popular with students and teachers alike, somehow managing to be both the class clown and teacher’s pet, but he’d always been kind to her. She wondered now, as an adult, if that had been because his father had directed him to do so, but anytime she ran into him in town, Trapp was still just as sunny, just as kind. It didn’t matter if he’d been told to be nice to her by way of a parental threat — he had been, treated her like a friend, saving her from a likely future of being bullied by others. She’d been bullied plenty in the junior coven, and not having to tolerate it at school had been a blessing.
She’d done as she was told that night, fetching her coat and shoes. Trapp’s father passed them in the doorway, saying nothing as he walked to the back of the house, and her aunt’s sobs had begun anew before they’d even left. That time, there was no holding back. No equanimity for the sake of an adolescent niece or bravery for a departing companion. Telling her oldest friend in the world that she was dying was not a time for composure, and Ladybug had been glad for the escape.
Death could be beautiful, she knew now. It could be peaceful and merciful, but the ugly emotions that preceded it never were. The goodbyes and the grief that followed were weights, tangible and heavy, and she knew that she would carry them forever.
“No, that wasn’t the end. Holt left. He was assigned a new witch. Remember what I said about how witches get familiars? Well, we don’t know what happened with Bethany. She either came from a family who paid, or she had a natural aptitude that Holt crushed out of her. He contrived for her family to move here; can you believe it? Planted the idea in their head to pick up and move to Starling Heights so that he could be close to Willow. He came to visit her every week.”
She paused, not knowing if she ought to continue. For the first time in days, the house and the garden behind it were silent. Maybe he’s listening. He’s probably turned himself into a dust mote and is listening to the whole story.It was likely within his power. Ladybug decided she didn’t care. This was Anzan’s home, and he deserved to know the truth about the cat seeking entrance to it.Let him hear.
“Willow didn’t die. Not for years. She would make a small recovery, get better, stronger. It would last for a while. The cancer always came back, though, and it would take more out of her each time it did. Authricia thought—“ she broke off, closing her eyes, remembering her great-aunt’s fury over what she suspected. “He was keeping her alive. Willow. When he would come visit. He was using blood magic to keep her alive for years. My Aunt Authricia was sure of it. Then shedidbanish him. Didn’t let him come back until the very end.”
She let Anzan catch her tears again, dabbing her cheeks with a tenderness that belied his size and alleged bloodthirstiness. She remembered that day as well. Holt had not returned to their home with his occasional manic zeal, nor as an adversary. He’d been subdued, resigned, as if he’d already gone through his mourning. Ladybug sat there holding her aunt’s hand, and Holt had pressed his forehead to Willow’s as they counted down the minutes of her life.
I will carry you with me until there is nothing left in this world.
“Jack spoke at her funeral. It was very nice. The Hemmings and the Brackenbridges have always been close. After she was gone, Holt left for good,” she finished, wiping her face with her sleeve. “He didn’t even come to the service. And I don’t know why he’s back now.”
She looked up at last. Anzan was stricken, his chiseled face a misery.
“Little bug, I’m so sorry. You didn’t need to relive all that for—“
“It’s good to talk about them,” she cut him off. “They were real and they were here and they had full lives. And I loved them all so much. They deserve to be talked about.”
She went to bed that night with her head heavy from the tears she’d cried, but she didn’t regret telling him their story. She would carry her grief with her forever, but so, too, did she carry their love. They walked beside her still, and they always would.
Beyond the window, for the first time in a week, the garden was silent.
“She’shadquiteabit of work done. That porch is brand new, and I think the roof is as well. I can’t imagine who she’s hiring to do all this in the middle of the night, although I suppose that’s the only time she can trick someone into coming out.”
“Do you think maybe she’s going to leave on her own?”
It was odd, the way she was able to pick out and isolate voices when there was no other stimulus to overwhelm her senses. At any other time, Ladybug only ever heard a fraction of conversations, even and most especially when they were directed at her. Overhead lights and other patrons in shops, combined with her hyperarousal as she attempted to focus, meant the panic had a way of outrunning all else, superseding her attention and ensuring she heard nothing but her own inner monologue.
“You can only assume, right? Although Millie Tonguegrass said Ansleth was talking ordinances at the last meeting, so they might not have a choice.”
At that particular moment as Ladybug walked up her driveway, there was nothing to distract her at all. The visual stimulus of the women was hidden behind the tall, dense hedgerow of holly, leaving nothing to distract her but their words.
The voices belonged to the troll next door and Kestra Kittredge, a fox-tailed kitsune who lived across the street. Kestra was what Authricia would have called a professional busybody, with her nose in the whole neighborhood’s business and an eye on becoming chair of the town’s planning committee. Ladybug realized she was theshein question. The prickle of paranoia that had been itching beneath her skin since that day in the post office bloomed on the surface at last, and she wasn’t sure if she felt vindicated that for once her read of the social situation had been accurate or heartbroken that she’d been right.
They were talking about her. Her and Anzan.And they think you’re going to leave. That all of the work Anzan had been slowly doing to rehab the house was for the purpose of selling it, and not to ensure that it stood for another hundred-and-fifty years with Brackenbridge witches beneath its roof.What do they mean ‘ordinances?’
She had come around the side of the house from the garden, carrying a sack of green waste to contribute to the community garden compost bin, catching the conversation from the other side of the hedgerow. As she moved beyond the protective cover of the holly, Ladybug heard the two women shush themselves, locking bright smiles into place by the time she’d reached the end of the privacy hedge.
“Good morning, dear!” the troll called out sunnily. “Can you even believe this weather? I just told my husband this morning I wanted to get over to the garden center this week. May as well take advantage of the early spring and get the seedlings started!”
“This is the fool’s spring,” Ladybug answered, gripping her sack a bit tighter. “We’re bound to have snow at least twice more. That’s–that’s why it’s called the fool’s—“
“The fool’s spring,” the troll finished flatly, the levity in her voice vanishing. “I was just telling Kestra that you’ve had so much work done to the old girl this year. It’s really looking nice; the street value alone would sell it for you at this point. Are you looking for an agent? You know, Torvah and Norsh up the street are both in the business. I can tell them to stop by.”
