“Itis.Usually.I...I don’t know what happened.The sky went out.That’s never happened before,” I babbled, attempting to get my thoughts in order.“Edmund twisted his ankle.Maddox, find Alexander.We need to help him back into the house.”I crouched and slung Edmund’s arm over my shoulder.The weight nearly sent me back to my knees.
“I’m right here,” Alexander said, appearing from my right.He blinked rapidly.“Christabella?”
A relieved smile came over Christabella’s face.“Alexander!I’m glad you’re alright.”
I grabbed Alexander’s shoulder—this was not the time for awkward lovers’ talk—and ordered him to help Edmund up.After he took my place under Edmund’s arm, he and Maddox heaved the emissary to his feet.The three of them lumbered toward the house like some sort of five-legged beast.Edmund favored his left leg, his right hardly skimming the ground.
He must have twisted it badly.
Around us, witches talked in loud, worried voices, all asking the same questions, several tinged with panic.
“How has everything gone so horribly wrong?”I said aloud, more to myself than anyone else.
“This seems serious,” Christabella murmured.The sky wasn’t dark, like it would be at night.There was no sky at all.Nothing but a pitch black expanse.
“It’s a disaster,” I moaned, dropping my head into my hands.
“You know what this means.Family has to stick together during times like these.”
I looked up, dreading the meaning behind those words.“What?”
“You’re coming back home!”
14
On the autumn of myeleventh birthday, I sewed my first dress.It was originally a hemp bedsheet, sky blue with narrow pin stripes.I had made the pattern by laying down on the fabric, tracing around myself with chalk, and cutting out the rough shape.I stashed the pieces underneath my pillow whenever Ma entered my room and asked what I was doing.
“Nothing!”I’d say, standing from my bed, Grandma’s needle and thread behind my back.
Ma tutted and shook her head.“You should help your grandmother in the kitchen.You’re old enough now, Giselle.You can’t expect us to do everything for you forever.”
The lecture was unwarranted, but I went down to help Grandma anyway.Pa was snoring away on his chair as I passed him on my way to the kitchen.The aroma of cumin and star anise wafted from the room, sending my stomach growling.
Grandma was chopping vegetables, her back facing the door.Her jars of spices were scattered around the countertop in shades of red, yellow, and umber.They were her most treasured possessions and made our food taste thrice as flavorful than the typical village meal.She had bartered tirelessly for them at the Witch Market.
“I don’t need any help, Nasha,” Grandma said without turning around.
