Page 30 of Extraordinary Quests for Amateur Witches

Before Kieran could process the appearance of his younger self for more than a few seconds, he vanished into thin air.

Kieran spun around, hunting for the child. All he found was a fun house of mirrored trees, reflecting his grown-up self back at him. Seaweed too looked spooked; the spirit pawed at a tree, seemingly perplexed by the appearance of her own face in front of her.

It occurred to Kieran then that he’d gone much deeper into the woods than he’d intended. The canopy was thick enough overhead that it blocked out most of the sunlight, making it impossible to use it to navigate back to the ship. Anxiety balled in his stomach, growing heavier by the moment.

He was definitely lost.

“Shit,” he breathed, his own wide eyes and color-drained face staring back at him from every angle.

How could he have been so stupid, running into the woods recklessly like that?

Clearly, there was some magical element to them if they’d lured him in with the younger version of himself.

How was he supposed to get out if the woods were sentient ?

Before the panic could fully set in, though, Kieran heard the burble of voices nearby. Seaweed stood up on her hind legs, ears perked. Kieran felt a flicker of hope and quickly headed in that direction. Maybe if there were other people here, they’d know how to get out.

But then again, what if it was another trick the woods were playing on him? Or worse, some of Elias’s men, come to find him and steal the Hilt?

Not like I have much of a choice, Kieran thought. I’m already lost. I might as well try.

Kieran and Seaweed stepped as silently as they could into the trees.

He couldn’t help but notice the lack of animal sounds here; it was as if the birds knew not to land among the pale mirrored branches.

At least the silence made it easier for him to locate and creep closer to the voices.

It didn’t take long before he’d found his way to another clearing.

Inside it was a group of people all dressed in black.

Kieran jumped, thinking they might be more mercenaries, before he realized it wasn’t black combat clothing—it was formalwear.

Specifically, he noted, mourning clothes that were common in the north.

He tiptoed closer, realizing as he approached that he couldn’t make out their faces for some reason.

“At least,” a man said as he wrapped his arm around the woman next to him, “we know this is what he’d want.”

Kieran frowned. It occurred to him as he came up behind them that they were crowded around a large object set on a pedestal—something velvet-lined on the inside, its lid open. A coffin, Kieran realized.

This was a funeral.

The woman broke down in tears, putting her face in her hands. Kieran’s brow furrowed—he knew that cry. And he knew the man who had spoken just now.

His mother and father.

Kieran was standing directly behind them now, maybe an arm’s length away, while Seaweed lingered behind him.

His mother’s shoulders shook as she wailed, his father patting her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her.

Suddenly, their faces were reflected all around him in the trees, along with those of the other people in attendance.

They were all Pelumbras, Kieran’s cousins and aunts and uncles, some of whom he’d known well and others who had moved away from the estate and rarely returned.

He even recognized Wrenlin, Briar’s former caretaker, staring into the coffin with her lips pressed firmly together and a scowl on her face.

Her black dress was ratty and moth-bitten, her red hair messily pulled into a braid away from her hawklike face.

“A shame,” Wrenlin said, though her voice didn’t hint at any sort of empathy. “Neither the first nor the last, sadly.”

She didn’t sound sad at all. If Kieran were a slightly less composed person, he might break her nose for everything Briar had told him over these last six months about her upbringing. Wrenlin deserved worse.

His mother’s weeping drew Kieran’s gaze back in her direction. She’d put her hands on the side of the coffin, using it to support her. As she leaned forward, Kieran saw over her into the box. Immediately, his throat felt as if it was about to close.

Lying inside the coffin, dressed in an ill-fitting blue suit, was Kieran himself.

This version, though, he recognized all too well.

Just six months ago, he’d looked like the slightly warmer version of this corpse: Gold-blond curls limp.

Cheeks and eyes so sunken in that the skull beneath was all too visible.

Lips chapped and cracked. Skin papery white and nearly translucent, mottled blue veins peeking through the surface.

Every bone protruding, the muscle wasted away.

Despite the suit he wore, it was impossible to ignore just how skeletal he’d become.

“I’m glad it didn’t end like this,” a small voice at his side said.

Kieran glanced down and jumped at the reappearance of his seven-year-old self—the one who had drawn him into the woods in the first place.

The littler Kieran stood beside him, his eyes wet.

He didn’t seem to notice Seaweed gently nuzzling his ankle.

He was sniffling, the tip of his nose and cheeks pink.

This version still had one brown eye and one blue eye, the blue one glowing faintly—the ever-present reminder of the curse that had once consumed him.

This young, though, he hadn’t started to wither away yet.

“What’s going on?” Kieran asked, wincing as he caught another glimpse of his corpse-self. “Obviously this isn’t real, and neither are you. Are you a spirit of the forest trying to speak to me?”

“No?” his younger self said, looking a little confused and offended by the question. It was cute, in an odd way. He looked as if he was about to stomp a foot down in the grass, cross his arms, and demand that Kieran apologize to him. “I’m you. Isn’t that obvious?”

Kieran was almost inclined to laugh. He’d forgotten how serious he’d been as a child, always trying to fit in more with the grown-ups than with his younger cousins.

While his cousins learned magic and played in the rolling hills and woods around the estate, Kieran had been with his mother, joining her for all her afternoon teas and brunches with family as if he were little more than a charming accessory for her to show off.

“All right, then,” Kieran said, deciding that arguing with his younger self wasn’t likely going to get him anywhere.

Regardless of whether the forest had somehow created a reflection of his younger self he could speak to or if it was some other spirit disguised as him, he suspected that his only way out of this place was to figure out what it wanted.

“If you are, well, me, then why show me this?” He gestured to the funeral, cocking an eyebrow.

Little Kieran’s shell-pink lips curved into a frown. “This is what everyone always thought would happen to us. I wanted to show you because you haven’t been very nice to us recently, even if you should be. You saved us.”

“Nice to—? Oh.”

Kieran paused. It occurred to him that the child-version of himself was, in a weird way, trying to thank him for preventing this future—the one where he was nothing but a sacrificial lamb to his family members.

It was what was supposed to have happened.

A foregone conclusion. The fact that it hadn’t…

Well, there was a lot to unpack with that.

“We’re not done yet, though,” little Kieran said. “Come on.”

He took off running into the woods, the funeral scene vanishing in an instant. Seaweed immediately raced after him, chirping with concern. Kieran choked on what he’d been about to say, calling, “Wait! Tell me what you want!”

When he got no reply, he let out a sigh, then chased after his younger self.

He was fast, so Kieran had to hurry to keep up.

Deeper into the forest they went, leaping over fallen trees and stones, still not a single bird or small animal to be seen.

Kieran felt a shiver come over him but shoved it down.

Finally, his younger self skidded to a halt.

Seaweed squeaked just as another vision flickered into existence in a new clearing.

In this one, Kieran saw himself at thirteen.

He’d started to grow out his hair so it hung around his chin, his face soft and childlike in contrast to a recent growth spurt that had made him nearly as tall as his mother.

He had his arms crossed and his eyes pointed at the floor.

Looming over him was his father. Kieran bore more of a resemblance to him than to his mother, but his father was all sharp edges and heavy muscle.

He kept his curly blond hair cropped close to the scalp and had a short, trimmed beard.

Everything about him was well-kept, from his appearance to his reputation.

Only the best could be expected from the head of the family.

“I heard from your uncle that he caught you spying on your cousins’ magic lesson this afternoon,” Kieran’s father said, his face giving little away. “This isn’t the first time either. Tell me, Kieran, what are my expectations for you?”

“To enjoy the time I have,” Kieran’s thirteen-year-old self whispered. “To not distract myself with things that aren’t meant for me.”

Kieran felt his stomach twist. He remembered this—vividly. It wasn’t a memory he particularly enjoyed reliving, much less seeing played out in front of him like some sick piece of theater. Seaweed too was growling in William’s direction.

“Correct,” the vision of his father said. “Practicing magic will only expend what little of it you have. You’ll only cut your time shorter if you try it.”

“But, Father,” the younger Kieran said, his voice cracking. He sounded on the verge of tears. “I’m a witch. I want to know how to do the things that everyone else can! I’m the only one in the whole family who doesn’t know how to cast—”