Page 16 of A Circle of Uncommon Witches

FOURTEEN

The wind whooshed past Doreen as she and Margot moved deeper inside. Slowly its whistle gave way to a low hiss. The cave was dry and warm, and not as dank as she’d assumed it might be. The floors were sand, and the walls had carved notches in them for torches and lanterns. As they walked, one lantern lit, and then another. It looked as though someone walked up and down these pathways often. Doreen did not linger over the modern features. She walked straight through after Eleanor, turning left and then right. Huffing as they shuffled Ambrose with them.

“You’re sure we should trust her?” Margot asked, straining for breath as she tried to whisper.

“I do,” Doreen managed, thinking back to the shimmer of Eleanor’s soul, how pure it had been. “But even if I didn’t, we don’t have a lot of options.”

Eleanor led them to the wide mouth of a doorway where they could look out and see the ocean. No rain fell on this side of the cavern. A fire was burning by the ingress; it was the third one they’d encountered in the caves. This one competed with the light outside and it was doused with a wave of Eleanor’s hand.

“So magic works in hell?” Margot asked, grunting and shifting her weight yet again under Ambrose’s heavy form.

“Yours does,” Eleanor said, looking over her shoulder. She had changed out of her green dress. No longer looking ready for battle, Eleanor was now in a white dress, her hair woven into an intricate set of knots. She was also a good handful of years older than when Doreen last saw her.

“You’re looking pretty fancy for a cave,” Doreen said, once she and Margot had laid Ambrose on his side.

His breathing was good, and his color was slowly seeping back into the surface of his skin. She both wanted to sigh in relief and kick him hard in the side.

“I was not expecting this outing,” Eleanor said. She let out a loud sigh that echoed the wind. “I should have tried harder to sway you to take the other route.”

“If I had done that, I wouldn’t have gotten to explore yet another dank cave with zero chance of spelunking,” Doreen said, unable to quench the urge to joke. She was overwhelmed, angry, and scared.

“What was the other route?” Margot asked, giving Doreen a gentle rebuke with her eyes.

“The easy way,” Eleanor said, before flashing Doreen a hint of a smile. “She chose the hard way.”

“I chose saving him,” Doreen said. “I could have left him here and gone on.”

“Not if this is part of the trials,” Margot said.

Doreen turned to Eleanor and raised a brow. “Good point.”

“A variant of this would still have presented itself, only you would have gone through it alone.”

“So the trials aren’t set?”

Eleanor shook her head. “They are set within the rules of this world. If you, a MacKinnon witch, forsake one of your companions, the trial will alter itself to be just for you. If you have a companion, it will be for you both. You saved him, with your strength of character and will. If you had left him, you would have had to save yourself with your strength in another way.”

“I saved him,” Doreen said, her eyes returning to Ambrose.

“Yet again,” Eleanor murmured.

“So it’s not just me focused on that point,” Margot said.

“I didn’t know he had tricked me into being here,” Doreen said.

“He didn’t trick you,” Eleanor said. “He can’t break the curse unless he chooses to die.”

Doreen’s eyes widened as she stared at Eleanor. “Wait, what? He has to choose to die?”

“A heart for a heart,” Eleanor said. “If he breaks it, he will break himself.”

“How can you be sure?” Margot asked.

“Because I am.”

“And if these were the real trials,” Doreen said, “and he was able to transform?”

“He could save himself from death and still break the curse. Or he could kill you and your family. Who knows which he might choose.”

“Good goddess,” Doreen said, falling to a crouch and dropping her head into her hands. “This curse gets more and more fun.”

Eleanor nodded, and her form flickered. She shifted in and out, from black-and-white to Technicolor. Once, twice, three times.

“What was that?” Margot asked.

“Are you okay?” Doreen asked Eleanor, who blinked, as though trying to clear her vision. “You did that before, at your house.”

And Sinclair, in the castle—she had frozen and shuddered in a similar way.

Eleanor flickered again, and this time her outfit flickered as well. Technicolor Eleanor wore a deep-green dress with her hair down, and black-and-white Eleanor the white dress. Her face shifted from serene to fearful and back again.

“Did she do that before too?” Margot asked.

“No,” Eleanor managed once she stopped in Technicolor, wheezing in a breath, her eyes flashing. “Listen. She’s not going to stop, and you’re in danger. You will never get out unless you find the truth kept in the apprentice’s chapel. Use it to get out and stop her. You must, or we’re all doomed. Please, go before—”

She flickered again and was back in the white dress, her gaze on Ambrose, who had awakened and muffled an involuntary gasp. He stared; his face transformed into a look of devastation.

“You never were very comfortable with the truth,” Eleanor said to him, her face shifting into an overwide serene smile. “The truth won’t hurt you, Ambrose MacDonald. Not when you’ve experienced so many lifetimes of pain.” Her smile shifted then, into a soulful upturn of the lips. She focused on Doreen, fluttering into Technicolor once more. “Now is the time for you to change your fate. Find the truth. Go. ”

Then she was flickering like a faulty light switch, moving away into the shadows as Ambrose staggered to his feet and cried out.

“Lenora,” he shouted, his voice cracking on the word. “No, Lenora, I’m sorry. Please, please don’t leave me again.”

Then he was stumbling after her, smacking into the wall as she faded into it. He scratched the surface with hurried fingers as his body trembled, until he collapsed into heaving sobs.

Ambrose didn’t speak after he fell apart. It had been, Margot thought, like watching hope die. He’d gone from stupefied to desperate in the beat of a heart, and then splintered into broken chambers. Margot didn’t know what that sort of heartbreak felt like, and as she watched him, she realized she’d been fooling herself to think she ever could.

Dean would never leave her. Never shatter any part of her soul. He was safe, and while she loved him, she could never touch the emotion that Ambrose was drowning under.

He sat against the side of the cave, saying the name Lenora over and over as if in prayer. Doreen sat beside him, her eyes shuttered.

She was not speaking, though Margot knew her mind was busy—she wore the same expression she’d had the summer Margot discovered there were spell books in the attic of her mother’s house, ones kept under magical lock and key. Doreen had plotted, and once she had a plan, she and Margot had worked together with Margot creating the spell that would enable Doreen to get into the attic and steal the books.

It was a spell they would use many times while researching how to break the curse and grow their powers. Doreen the mimic, able to duplicate any spell, and Margot the creator, capable of crafting any charm from thought.

“Dore?” Margot finally whispered, when she could no longer tolerate the silence—save the occasional whimper from Ambrose.

“I’m here,” Doreen said.

“Eleanor… she’s Lenora?”

“It would appear so.”

“His dead girlfriend.”

“Yes.”

“And she is trapped in this prison world.”

“Seems so.”

“And has been helping you.”

“Yes.”

“And told you to leave him.”

Doreen blinked up at her. “You are asking questions you already know the answer to.”

“Villainous.”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you know what the apprentice’s chapel is?” Margot asked.

“We passed a chapel on the road from the castle,” Doreen said, frowning. “I’m not sure how we get there, considering we’re in a cave in a cave, or if we should go there.”

“Do we have other options?”

“Not especially.”

“Is this chapel a part of the trials?”

“Everything might be a part of them.”

“Hmm,” Margot said. She tilted her head. “And what precisely do you mean a cave in a cave?”

“I had to jump down a well to get here. Now we’re inside another cave. I’m getting far too familiar with them, and I don’t have a clue how we go up when all I want to do is go home.”

“Ah,” Margot said. “Remember how the aunts bespelled you and Jack and you almost married him?”

Doreen narrowed her eyes. “Hard to forget.”

“At times like this, when we’re trapped in hell with a grumpy witch and untrustworthy ghosts, and we’ve been excommunicated, do you ever wonder if you might have grown to not hate him for leaving every cabinet door open in the kitchen when he got a glass of milk.”

Doreen let out a short laugh, and it seemed to jump-start something in her. She checked on Ambrose before scrambling up and starting to pace. “Even now I could never tolerate Jack and his randomly opened cabinets.”

“Didn’t he clip his toenails at the dinner table too?”

“He pooped once with the door open.”

“No!”

“He also told me that my orgasm was my problem.”

“We should have known then that the aunts cursed you.”

A weak smile flitted across Doreen’s face. “I never told you because I was so embarrassed, but I knew a few months before I told you.”

“You did?”

Doreen nodded. “It was easy, being with Jack, even when it didn’t feel right. It sounded harder to not be with him, and craving him was fun—though I didn’t know then that it was fake. I liked that he craved me—I’ve always liked it when anyone I want craves me—and being able to give in to it was a relief in so many ways.”

“I understand that,” Margot said, her voice soft.

“Dean?”

“Yes.” Margot wanted to say more, but her heart hurt too much to think about it any longer. She gave Doreen’s shoulder a squeeze before she walked to the entrance of the cave and looked out. “We could walk until we find a way?”

“Sure.”

Margot glanced at Ambrose’s folded-up form. “I don’t know if he’s capable of moving.”

Doreen’s eyes narrowed in response. “I’m not leaving him.”

Margot bit back a smile. “Okay.”

“Jack… it didn’t ever hurt to lose him or think of losing him. Though I was terrified that I hurt him as much as I did. That I could.”

Margot nodded.

“Ambrose. His heart is really hurt.”

“Doreen,” she said gently. “He’s the reason we’re cursed.”

“And the one who can save us.”

“With a mighty cost.”

“I know.” Doreen paused. “I won’t hurt him either.”

“Did I ask you to?” Margot said.

“No, but you were thinking it.”

Margot snorted. “I was thinking how jealous I was of him.” She stared at Ambrose, how he curled in on himself. “It’s like you said—it’s real, what he feels. I didn’t understand the extent of how false what I have is until this, seeing him get turned inside out.”

Doreen looked down at Ambrose. “Though this may be too real.”

“Do you still want it? That feeling now that you see it in action?”

“I do.”

It was Margot’s turn to nod, but she was nodding because she thought, perhaps, Doreen no longer had a choice in the matter. Not that she would say so out loud.

Doreen scooted closer to Ambrose, crouching to whisper something to him. He sighed, his body shifting closer to hers.

“You think he can walk?” Margot asked.

“Yes,” Doreen said. “He just needs a bit more healing.”

“I don’t suppose you have any herbs on you.”

“No, but it’s sorted.”

“How do you mean—” Margot stopped. Doreen pulled out a small athame and cut into her palm. Margot stared in horror at the blood dripping from Doreen’s hand to the earth.

She pressed her palm to the dirt and smeared a line of brown and red, drawing a circle around herself and Ambrose. Margot’s mouth dropped. Doreen was using her own blood. She was giving her energy to fill him up.

“You’re exchanging your health for his?” Margot couldn’t keep the horror out of her voice.

“I’m doing what needs to be done,” Doreen said. “I know how to fill myself up when I’m drained now and he’s too weak to do it for himself.”

“You know how to refill your power?”

Doreen’s response was a shallow smile. “He taught me. One more thing the aunts kept hidden.”

Margot rubbed at the ache in her neck. “Yes, I think it’s fair to say they only trust themselves.”

“Clearly.”

“Dore. Do you trust him?”

“I spent too many years being in the shadows, Margs. Watching, observing, hoping. The first time I met Ambrose, he looked through me. His aqua eyes, ringed in black, and his stubborn brow. I thought he hated me.” Doreen didn’t hesitate. “He’s never tried to hurt me, though. He might seem pissed about it, but he’s only ever helped. I don’t think he can or will hurt me.”

Margot stared at the circle, at the determined set of her cousin’s mouth. “I trust you.”

Doreen’s eyes sharpened. “Even though I won’t leave him behind?”

“I always trust you, Dore.”

Doreen smiled, and Margot felt every bunched muscle in her back relax at the sight. They were still themselves—hell, even with a curse—and whatever it was between Doreen and Ambrose tethering a new binding in place.

“What are we going to do about Eleanor/Lenora?” Margot asked.

Doreen hesitated. “Eleanor has more than one face, so I think we have to be careful.”

“Did she flicker when you first met her? Donna Reed to Jessica Jones?”

Doreen shook her head. “No, she was pure Jessica Jones. Though to be fair, she gave off more Veronica-Mars-meets-Arya-Stark vibes.”

“I can see that.”

“What aren’t you saying, Margs?”

“The flickering… It was like she was being forced between two minds, two people.”

“Two faces. When I was at her cottage, she had a room of mirrors. She said it was where she kept her faces. How she couldn’t be all the pieces of herself at once. I didn’t know she meant it literally.”

“It’s odd,” Margot said. “She warned us about Ada, and the Order is known to have dominion over the living whom Ada possesses and their souls when they die. Maybe Eleanor is one of those souls.”

“That’s terrifying,” Doreen said. “Poor Eleanor.”

“Her name was Lenora,” Ambrose said, shifting upright, his gaze heavy, the intensity in his eyes causing Margot to lean forward, prepared to save Doreen if the MacDonald witch turned cruel. “That’s what she called herself. Your ancestors named her Eleanor, but she said it was never the right name for a woman like her. She was right. She was loved when others were not.”

Doreen reached into her pocket and pulled out a satchel. Ambrose’s gaze went to it, and he swallowed hard.

“She gave this to me,” she told him.

He stared, unblinking. “Her ogham.” He looked at Doreen, and his features shifted. The harshness of his gaze softened, and his fingers twitched at his side as the hair tucked behind her ear came loose and brushed against her cheek. “Did you throw them?”

“I did. I threw three. Beith of the birch, fearn of the alder, and nion of the ash. Eleanor said it showed love magic, wise counsel, and strong women.”

Margot cleared her throat. “Well, as a strong woman, I can say we need to get moving. Can he walk on his own yet, or do you need to drain yourself some more?”

He looked to the circle drawn around them, as though only now seeing it. “Damn it, Doreen.”

“Hush,” she said, standing. “I’m still livid with you.” She toed the line, then used her hand to rub it clean, erasing the circle. Brushed her palm over her skirt when she was done. “Not a fancy cleanup, but it works all the same.”

Then she walked toward the mouth of the cave, facing the sea. They had been in a forest, and now the ocean awaited. The world they were in was changing around them with every breath. One couldn’t expect to walk through one door and out the same door into the same place. The trials were setting them on the course it chose.

Ambrose lumbered up and staggered forward. Margot waited, watching. Ambrose and Doreen stood side by side, looking out. Margot thought of Dean once more, and of what it might mean if they succeeded at breaking the family curse.

She was scared to lose him, but she would not fall apart. Not like she would if anything happened to Doreen. She sighed and walked to join them.

“Shall we?” she asked, stepping between them and looping arms with Doreen and Ambrose.

She stepped forward, placing one foot on the beach, then the other. The two others followed. She lifted her chin and started to ask if they had any inclination of which way the wind might blow, when the sand shifted.

The beach sank beneath her feet, the sand falling down faster than an hourglass, and all three were sucked in and under.