Page 2 of A Witch’s Guide to Love and Poison

2

D isaster did not strike until two weeks later.

The first week was spent in a mourning period; the treehouse was quieter than it had ever been, and a somber mood filled the air. It took the girls some time, too, to remember to call Bisma ‘Baji’.

There were chores to be done and lessons to be learned, and Bisma was in charge of all of it. There was no one above her; the responsibility was hers and hers alone.

Slowly, Bisma began to understand why Eva had been sad but hopeful on her last day; why the Unwanted Girls had to leave the Enchanted Forest when the next girl came of age. It was so they could become something more than a caretaker, so that they could live lives of their own.

To be the Baji forever was untenable. As much as she loved them, in a way, Eva must have been glad to move on to another adventure. To live a life that was entirely her own.

It was all-consuming, looking after five girls, but such was the role of the Baji. Bisma would do what she needed to do, just as she always had, just as Eva and the bajis before her.

Deeba needed constant attention, and the older girls took turns with her.

‘Why does she always need a diaper change during MY shift?’ Azalea asked. Wrinkling her nose, she held Deeba at arm’s length. Deeba giggled.

‘Give her here, I’ll do it,’ Mei offered, holding her hands out for Deeba. Though she was three years younger than Azalea, she was far more responsible. Azalea went to hand Deeba off, but Bisma gave her a stern look, making Azalea stop in her tracks.

‘Azalea, it’s your shift and so it’s your responsibility. I didn’t hear Luna complaining when Deeba threw up on her.’

‘ I did!’ Azalea whined in outrage. ‘Luna was being a big baby about it.’

Bisma narrowed her eyes. She tried to keep her voice level. ‘Still, Luna took care of it. Just like you will.’ Azalea rolled her eyes, muttering to herself. ‘ Without attitude,’ Bisma added.

Azalea scoffed loudly. ‘Oh, so now I can’t even have an attitude!’

‘Keep complaining and you’ll be cleaning the chicken coops tomorrow,’ Bisma warned.

Azalea promptly shut her lips tight, but not before giving Bisma a long-suffering look.

Bisma’s heart twinged; she hated to be the bad guy, but she would need to grow used to disciplining her sisters or the entire house would fall into disarray.

There were a million things to do and manage that she had not realized, and at the end of each day she felt she had missed something (or twelve things) and ruined even more. Then, the next day, it would start all over again.

The chickens and goats needed tending to, the house needed to be cleaned, there was food to be cooked, dishes to be washed, fruits and vegetables to be picked, clothes to be stitched, pottery to be made, lessons to be taught (not to mention manners and etiquette!), furniture to be mended, and the Forest knew what else!

Of course the work was divided among the six of them—well, five, since Deeba was a baby, and honestly, she was a task on her own to be taken care of—but to organize the tasks and divide them fairly was the Baji’s job— Bisma’s job.

She had never realized how much finesse it took to keep a household running smoothly! If even one day Bisma forgot to remind one of the girls of one of their tasks, it upended the careful balance of the entire day, giving them all headaches and terrible moods.

In a house full of girls, bad moods were to be avoided at all costs if they were to survive, otherwise their quaint, cozy little home would soon become a butcher house.

That day, Luna sat at a table in the main room, painting the dried pottery she’d made recently. The first floor of the treehouse consisted of the kitchen, their dining area, and the living room, and it was where they spent most of their time.

The rooms were stacked above, and because they were small, they each had their own rooms, except for Deeba; she rotated rooms, since a two-year-old couldn’t be left alone for the entire night.

Sunlight streamed in through the open windows, carrying in a soft breeze and the scent of pine and blossoms. It was the beginning of autumn, but warmth still remained in the air when the sun was out.

As Luna painted, and Azalea watched Deeba, Bisma was tasked with teaching five-year-old Nori how to read, and neither of them were enjoying it one bit. There was a school for the villagers’ children in Old Town, but the Unwanted Girls were not welcome there, so they taught themselves.

‘Sound it out,’ Bisma begged, reaching out to tuck Nori’s blonde hair behind her ear. ‘Cat. Cuh-Cuh-Cuh—ah-ah-ah—tuh-tuh-tuh.’

‘Uh, K? O? D?’ Nori attempted, getting it wrong for the seventh time in the past three days.

Bisma released a long breath.

Mei was in the kitchen, baking a pie for dinner, and the smell of potatoes, cheese, and thyme was making Bisma wish she was enjoying a nice meal out in the sun rather than suffering through a spelling lesson.

‘Cat,’ Bisma said again, looking into Nori’s blue eyes. Her hair was a mess; Mei had done it this morning but Nori had pulled it all out from the two intricate braids. ‘Come on, cuh-cuh-cuh …’

‘Baji, I’m hungry,’ Nori whined, throwing her book to the side.

‘Baji, I’m hungry, too,’ Azalea whined, joining them in the main room with Deeba on her hip. She plopped onto the sofa, lifting her feet up and balancing Deeba on her knees, bouncing her up and down.

‘Higher!’ Deeba cried, the word lispy.

Bisma got up and went to the kitchen to find some snacks. She looked around at the hanging pots of fresh herbs and glass jars overflowing with flowers to the stacks of mismatched plates and delicately painted teacups. Finding some fruit, she sliced and prepared fuzzy pink apricots and smooth green pears, licking the juice from her fingers. She brought the fruit to the table, and they all gathered round.

‘Hey, that’s mine!’ Luna cried, as Azalea swiped a pear slice from her hand and cackled.

Bisma gave her a stern look, and Azalea shut her mouth, though a smirk remained on her face.

‘Baji, my shoes,’ Mei said, coming over sadly with something in her hands.

Bisma set down her sliced apricot and held her hands open for the shoes, which she lifted to find that the fronts were broken through; Mei’s feet were too big for them now and she would need a new pair.

And that meant Bisma would have to go into town. She hadn’t been to town since Eva left. The realization startled her. The past two weeks had passed by in such a blur. It felt like only last night Eva had left them.

‘I’ll go to town and get you a new pair,’ Bisma said, standing. She groaned as her back cracked; she felt she had aged two years in the past two weeks.

There was no time to worry about her decaying bones; she needed to check the coffers to see how much coin they had. While the Unwanted Girls were mostly self-sufficient, they did need money for things they could not easily make, like shoes, or fabric for new clothes, or pans for cooking.

Bisma sold her poisons, and the other girls kept productive with what they could: Azalea sometimes did stitching, Luna would read to a kind elderly woman in town, and Eva used to sell painted pottery.

‘I can go!’ Luna said, brown eyes lighting up like struck matches. She jumped up. ‘I can stop by the bakery, too, and pick up some bread instead of baking a loaf.’

Bisma gave her a look, and Luna’s cheeks reddened with a blush.

‘Real subtle,’ Azalea cackled.

They all knew why Luna was so enthusiastic to go to town, and to the bakery, no less.

‘No, I’ll go,’ Bisma said. She needed a moment out, anyway. Besides, it was a good excuse to take her cart. Bisma was a skilled garden-witch and could grow a number of berries, leaves, and plants, and so she sold potions in town and earned a good bit of coin that way.

There weren’t many witches in Old Town, which helped her business, for it meant the vegetation she grew was not so easily accessible, and the potions she brewed were unique. Magic itself was special to the people of Fairendelle, the kingdom in which they lived, but—luckily for Bisma—it was not so rare as to be feared. In her home, at least, it was a delightful and pleasing rarity; Bisma enjoyed how her sisters squealed in awe whenever she grew a plant from the dirt.

In fact, most magic was not extraordinary; it merely helped people in their trade. There were some witches who excelled at cooking (kitchen-witches); some who were masters of stories (quill-witches); others who were good with animals (shepherd-witches); and so forth.

In the villages of Fairendelle, none were so powerful that it made them significant, though in bigger cities, such as Whitebridge, there were some quite powerful and famous witches, and in Castletown—the crown city—the most powerful witches served the king on a special council.

In Old Town, however, Bisma and the few other witches were not given such respect.

Bisma was struck by the realization that she hadn’t gardened since before Eva left. Good grief. She needed to get back to that. She didn’t have any open orders—she’d delivered all the ones before her birthday—but she needed to go to town to receive more orders to then make more money. As Baji, it was her responsibility to provide for the girls.

Finishing off her apricot, Bisma stood and brushed a stray curl from her face. ‘Alright, I’m going to town,’ she declared, making sure each of the girls heard her. ‘Luna, you can’t come because you are in charge while I’m gone.’

‘What!?’ Azalea groaned, huffing out her full cheeks. ‘Why is Luna always in charge?’

‘Because I’m the oldest after Baji and the most mature,’ Luna replied, lifting her chin. She twirled, her pink dress flaring out.

‘And because we like Lulu better,’ Nori said innocently. She exchanged a mischievous glance with Mei, who laughed. Even Bisma’s lips quirked at that, while Azalea was not the least bit amused.

‘Baji! They’re disrespecting me!’ Azalea said, turning to Bisma with her jaw dropped. Then a hard look entered her brown eyes. She turned back to the younger girls. ‘In six years when I’m Baji, I’m going to remember this.’

The girls hardly cared. Luna snorted.

‘Baji, I’m coming, too!’ Nori asked, scampering away to grab her little boots. She pulled them on, her hair falling in front of her eyes.

‘Those are on backwards, angel,’ Bisma said, helping Nori put them on correctly.

The girls did not go to town often, for it was not safe. The Unwanted Girls were treated like second-class citizens, if that. Many villagers regarded them like feral animals and avoided them as though they carried the plague. And so the younger girls especially were not allowed to go without an older one.

After sliding on her black boots and tying the laces tight, Bisma grabbed her leather purse, preparing to go. There was a slight chill in the autumn breeze, so she slipped on a thick cardigan as well, made of the softest yarn. This was her town cardigan; it was crow black. While Bisma adored all the wonderful colors of the Forest, when she went to town, she always wore dark colors as a sort of armor, to encourage the villagers to stay away.

‘Baji, I’m ready!’ Nori said, already having made quick work of putting on a sweater that looked too big for her.

‘Good job, sweet,’ Bisma said, pushing back Nori’s wild hair. They were all set to go. Leaving Deeba, Azalea walked them to the door of the treehouse, donning an innocent expression.

‘When am I allowed to go to town alone?’ Azalea asked, batting her eyelashes. ‘I’m almost thirteen. I think Luna went alone when she was thirteen.’

‘Nice try.’ Bisma gave her an unamused look. ‘You know you’re not allowed to go alone until you’re fourteen , and you are currently only one month past twelve.’

‘That’s basically thirteen, which is basically fourteen!’ Azalea cried.

‘Your math skills leave something to be desired,’ Luna sang from the table, while Mei giggled.

‘Luna,’ Bisma said, fixing her with a stern glance. ‘Behave. And take care of the others. We’ll be back soon.’

With that, she ushered Nori toward the stairs. Nori jumped from the highest step, her squealing laughter filling the air. A branch reached out to catch her as she went hurtling toward the ground. Bisma met her at the bottom, then walked over to the garden to grab her cart.

When she didn’t have orders to drop off, she went to town with her pushcart. She had ordinary potions, like peppermint tea for upset stomachs, or elderberry syrup for a cold, or lavender essence for an antiseptic, or dried white willow bark to chew on to relieve pain—but what she was really known for was her poisons.

There were sleeping drops—made of valerian, a pink flower that Bisma used magic to grow for the wives who did not like their husband’s advances in the night. (And if those husbands happened to pass in the night, well, that was none of Bisma’s business.) Then there was itching powder made of nettle and sumac; a hogweed spray to cause potential blindness; monkshood to cause numbness; yew-berry jam to cause discreet death; and a variation of other such products that sold quite well to the women of the village.

Of course they had to be discreet. Bisma had been notorious as ‘the Unwanted Witch’ or ‘garden-wench’ ever since she was ten and made her first potion—or, well, poison might be more accurate.

There were few witches in their area, and even fewer skilled ones, but Bisma was a truly gifted witch, her talents further cultivated by the Forest. She had always been talented at gardening, able to grow things from the earth with magic, like ripe fruits out of season, or herbs for cooking, or pretty flowers for her sisters.

But she became truly infamous when she was ten. Aged seven, Luna had just arrived in the Enchanted Forest and become an Unwanted Girl, and Bisma was excited to have a new sister.

Except little Luna never spoke. Whenever anyone approached her, she flinched as if injured and hastily stepped away. She seemed to be afraid of her own shadow.

It took Luna months to open up, and that was when Bisma learned that Luna had been abused by her father until it had become so unbearable that she had run away to the Enchanted Forest, prepared to face death rather than live in her own home another moment.

When Bisma learned this, she had been angry—angrier than she’d ever been. And she would only grow angrier.

One day in town, a villager spat at Luna. ‘Shame on you!’ the old woman said. ‘Running away, sullying your family name!’

Luna covered her mouth with both her hands to stop from crying out; her body shook with the force of repressed sobs.

‘Don’t you know why she ran away?!’ ten-year-old Bisma cried, standing in front of Luna. ‘Her father hurt her!’

But the villager did not care, nor did she listen. With a final disgusted glance, the old woman walked away.

Luna quietly cried. Bisma fumed.

Their baji whisked them away, scolding Bisma for lashing out. ‘You could have been hurt,’ Baji had said, her voice afraid.

But Bisma wasn’t afraid; she was angry.

Another visit to town brought them face to face with Luna’s father. He was a broad, short man with a mustache and dark eyes the same color as Luna’s. Luna froze in front of him, her breath a gasp, but her father walked straight passed her like she wasn’t even there.

‘If he was kind to me,’ Luna whispered to Bisma that night, as they lay together in Luna’s bed, ‘I would go home. So long as he didn’t hurt me again, I would go home.’

‘No, Luna, this is your home now,’ Bisma said, hating to see Luna upset. She wanted to hold her sister, but Luna did not like to be touched.

A wretched feeling was growing and twisting like a vine within Bisma, sharp and prickly. No matter how she tossed and turned in bed, the feeling would not relent. Sleep refused to come. It was as if her insides were riddled with the sharpest thorns.

Unable to bear feeling so helpless, Bisma got up and went outside. She ran down the stairs, out into the dark forest, tears coursing down her cheeks. She felt like vomiting, and she ran to her garden to inhale the sharp scent of mint, but even that did not help.

The moon shone above her as she fell to her knees, crying out. Bisma sank her hands into the dirt and felt the Forest pulsing beneath her palms, magic calling out to her. This was more potent than anything she’d felt before; it felt like clutching a lightning bolt straight from the sky.

As Bisma cried, a plant grew from the earth. She had never seen it before, but she somehow knew exactly what it was and what it could do.

She stopped crying.

Wiping away her tears, she plucked the plant, then went up to her room, where she crushed the leaves into a paste.

Then she went to the kitchen and gathered cocoa butter, beeswax, and a little bit of coconut oil to mask the nasty smell. She had made hand cream before, but this was a special product, made for one person in particular.

The next time Bisma went to town with one of her older sisters, she snuck off. Disguising herself, she went to the local blacksmith, Luna’s father. The last time she had seen him in town, she noticed how very insecure he was about his hands from the way he walked with them behind his back, as if hiding the soot-stained fingers, the blackened nails.

‘This is a cream that can fix all marks!’ Bisma said, pitching it to him. She brought up her flawless hands. ‘See? I have used it myself for years. I will give you a good price.’

Luna’s father seemed hesitant, so Bisma pressed into his insecurity. ‘Use this and no one will be able to tell you are a blacksmith,’ she said, giving him a small sample. ‘Your hands will be as clean as the bookshop owner’s.’

Luna’s father spread the sample across his hand, smelling it. The cream melted into his skin; he seemed impressed by its magic and bought it, thanking her as he went.

Then Bisma waited. She did not tell her sisters, in case it did not work, but somehow she knew it would; it was only a matter of time.

The next time she came to town, a week later, she slipped away to the blacksmith’s shop, taking Luna with her. They both saw that it was being taken over by another, while Luna’s father wept.

His hands were covered with pus-filled blisters that they could see even from a distance.

Bisma could not help her wickedness; she smiled, and stepped forward so he could see.

‘You!’ he cried, looking at her, recognition flaring through his face, shoving his raw, bleeding hands in her face. ‘What did you do?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she replied, lifting her chin. He shouted, reaching for her, but she was quick and moved away, twirling as she did, a delicious satisfaction coursing through her. The commotion caused people to come out into the square and watch.

Let them , she thought.

Luna’s father turned to the villagers. ‘The Unwanted Girl! She sold me a cream and this is the result!’ He lifted his hands for all to see.

Horrified gasps spread through the crowd. The plant had done precisely what Bisma had wanted it to. While at first it would have softened his skin, urging him to use it more and more, eventually, it would have rotted his hands. She could only imagine the constant agony he was in, the blisters bursting every time he tried to touch something.

Luna stepped forward, slipping her hand into Bisma’s, holding tight. It was the first time Luna had willingly touched anyone. Bisma squeezed back.

Luna’s father looked to Luna, realization dawning on him. ‘You did it on purpose,’ he said, disturbed.

‘Every time you reach for a cup of tea, or try to lift your tools, the pain will remind you of what you did. And you will suffer every single moment of every day until you are dead,’ Bisma said, a wicked smile spreading across her face. The blacksmith looked as though he would be sick.

As they walked away, Luna let out a long breath. She leaned her head on Bisma’s shoulder. Finally, the twisting vines inside Bisma eased.

After this incident, Bisma became quietly notorious. Everyone heard about what she had done and why, and villagers began reaching out to her for similar products—not quite as harsh, but of varying degrees.

Soon Bisma had a booming business on her hands.

She did not need to advertise her poisons; people did that for her. Wives and daughters told one another of Bisma’s skills, keeping the matter discreet.

What was not kept discreet was the fact that Bisma was clearly bad news. Unwanted Witch. Garden-wench. An abomination. Vile, twisted, cruel. Rotten to her core.

Good , Bisma told herself. Let them be afraid . There needed to be someone to fear, and if it was her, then so be it.

Her reputation, however, did not come without its problems. The villagers hated her more for it; she was spat at, had garbage thrown at her back when it was turned. For months the grocer refused to sell to her specifically, but would sell to her sisters after they pleaded, though at an outrageous price.

Bisma felt no remorse. How could she? For Luna was no longer afraid.

Luna no longer worried that her father might find her and hurt her again. She stopped flinching when the other girls hugged her, and then at thirteen she had her first crush and went on for weeks and weeks about how the boy who picked apples had brushed hands with her when he handed her an apple in the orchard one day.

While Bisma’s poisons—as well as the family she’d found in the Enchanted Forest—gave Luna that ease, it also meant that forevermore Bisma had to be on guard in town. Even more so as Baji now, when the Unwanted Girls were her responsibility.

As she passed through the village with Nori, Bisma’s body tensed, alert. She looked down at Nori, who was bouncing.

‘Behave,’ she ordered, her voice stern. ‘And hold onto the cart. Understood?’

‘Okie-dokie!’ Nori said, but she was already looking around, buzzing with excitement at the change of scenery.

They entered the town square, where Bisma did her business and everything they needed could be purchased. At the north end was the tavern, the Apothecary, the mayor’s office, and the inn. The west end held shops for shoes and fabric, along with a seamstress’s store; the south end was where the paint store and bookshop were, along with the potter’s and the blacksmith’s; and the eastern portion held the meat stores, the bakery, and the fruit and vegetable stands. The storefronts were all different colors, the names painted in different styles, though they were a bit old now, the paint chipped.

The town was overcrowded, as well. Whenever Bisma came, she was struck anew by just how many people there were. She was so used to her little family having free rein over the entire Forest, which of course they shared with the birds and animals and bees, but it was not nearly the same as dozens of people crammed into this one square, shopping and chatting and laughing. It was so loud .

As Bisma pushed her cart through the square, she felt uneasy. People nudged each other and pointed, staring at her and Nori. Bisma glared back at all of them.

In town, she always donned her most feral scowl, and her withering glare, and the hard set of her jaw, like a rabid animal prepared to pounce at any moment.

‘Don’t smile,’ Bisma ordered Nori, who was happily skipping.

The Unwanted Girls were disliked, and if they showed happiness, it only encouraged further bullying. The villagers were always keen to remind the girls to be miserable, so they put on the facade of unhappiness and the villagers stayed content, and more importantly stayed away.

As Bisma approached the shoe store, a woman grabbed her child and shoved her out of Bisma’s sight, as though Bisma was an evil force that children needed to be protected from.

Despite herself, Bisma’s heart twinged. They were strangers, but when they looked at her like she was evil, it only made her feel like an even worse person.

If she behaved like a monster and was treated like a monster, did that make her a monster?

It does not matter , she reminded herself. She did not need them. All Bisma could count on was the Unwanted Girls and the Enchanted Forest. They may be unwanted elsewhere, but they were wanted by each other.

It was better for the villagers to be afraid of her.

Then they would leave her alone.