After pulling my mates into my arms, relief washing through me at their touch, I stepped toward Priscilla and rested a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn’t pull away, her gaze still fixed on the house.
The house that had been her friend throughout her childhood. Her refuge from an abusive mother. And now, her savior.
I searched for something comforting to say and came up empty.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to. An impatient Creep appeared in the window again, her porcelain arm jerking in a sharp, irritatedFollow megesture.
All four of us exchanged a curious glance before doing as the doll bid, padding through the grass to Creep’s new position and heading into the house. The floorboards creaked merrily beneath our feet as Creep pitter-pattered ahead of us.
As she reached the glass door to the greenhouse, it swung open on its own, and she skipped inside.
And that was when we saw what had become of Isadora Raisin.
The tip of a foot—a red high heel dangling precariously from it—was suspended about a meter off the ground. The matching shoe lay discarded on the soft earth below, nestled among old bones and coated in a sheen of shimmering saliva. The rest of Isadora was encased within the pulsing petals of Mordi.
Caitlyn barked out a laugh. “Creep, you genius!” she said, scooping the doll up and clutching her to her chest.
Creep froze at the sudden affection, her body going momentarily limp against Caitlyn’s chest. Then her small porcelain arm lifted and gave Caitlyn a gentle, tentative pat on the shoulder.
A few seconds later, however, it seemed Creep had quite enough of the physical affection, because she began swatting Caitlyn in the face with surprising determination.
“Is she dead?” Priscilla asked, her tone wary as though she feared either answer.
“I shouldn’t think so,” Caitlyn said, placing a thrashing Creep to the ground before striding over to Mordi and tickling the bulging curve of a petal where Isadora’s knee would be. “Mommy fed you a leg of lamb the other day, didn’t she, baby?”Caitlyn cooed. The plant quivered in delight. “So she’s probably in there all cozy and unable to sing for a few days, isn’t she? You clever girl!”
As if on cue, Mordi’s petals peeled back just enough to reveal an ankle. It kicked wildly, sending the remaining red heel skittering across the greenhouse floor.
The petals snapped shut again, engulfing Isadora completely, and the thrashing ceased—her body once more suspended in whatever sleep-like state the plant induced.
“Well,” Caitlyn said brightly, clapping her hands together as she bustled past us, “let’s sit down, have some cocoa, and figure out what to do next.”
***
A low, impressed whistle echoed through the greenhouse as the Council investigator stared in disbelief at the bulging Mordi—Mordiflora dentata, or toothed death flower, as Caitlyn had explained with absolute pride—which was once more engulfing Isadora’s legs after successfully demonstrating that she was, indeed, still alive.
“So let me get this straight,” The Council investigator said, glancing between me, Caitlyn, Blaise, and Priscilla. “Your mom”—she pointed to Priscilla, then to the Mordi—“is a half-witch, half-siren who arrived at your coven”—she pointed at Caitlyn—“twenty-seven years ago while she was pregnant with you”—she pointed back to Priscilla—“who are a quarter siren and three-quarters witch.”
Priscilla nodded.
“But instead of just going about her business and trying to fit in,” she continued, “your mom decided to steal other people’s things. And then blamed her lack of acceptance on not being a full-blooded witch—in Briar Coven, a covenfamouslymadeup of part-witches, part-succubi—as ifthatwere the reason the magic refused to fully accept her into the fold.”
“It’s a good thing I only inherited her looks, not her brains,” Priscilla said in her usual cool tone.
A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth, and even Caitlyn seemed to be struggling to keep her face straight.
In the time it had taken the Council investigator to arrive, Priscilla had explained everything to Caitlyn.
She’d explained why she’d turned into a bully as a child, so her mother would believe she had no friends to invite over and compel. That Purdy-slash-Creep had been a gift from Ms. Cole, and how she’d come home from school one day to find the doll torn to pieces. How she’d run to the house in tears, where the magic had fixed the doll and had chosen to animate her.
She explained the years spent in secret friendship, and how Priscilla had never been trying to steal the recipes—she’d only wanted to visit her only childhood friend.
And how, even after her mother had been exiled, she’d never quite known how to shed the hard, steely exterior she’d armored herself with. It had simply been easier for everyone to keep hating her, just in case her mother ever tried to use her against them again.
Caitlyn had definitely softened a little toward Priscilla after that.
The investigator jabbed a finger back toward Mordi. “And nine years ago, she was finally exiled for attempting to usurp the head of the coven, but left you behind as a kind of spy,” she said, looking to Priscilla, who shifted uncomfortably.
“In name only,” Priscilla said, glancing at Caitlyn. “I neveractuallyspied for her. No one liked me enough to tell me anything important.”
