Aisling Úllmhara's Arc

Chapter 2 of 6

Aisling had a court now, but nowhere to hold it. Each night her three followers met in the open field, near the graves of old ancestors. Rival courts had halls and ships. Aisling had wet grass. When she spoke of her plans, a broom-witch flew past and laughed. "The homeless queen holds court in the mud," she called. Deirdre said nothing, but her jaw went tight. Moira tried a joke and cracked a headstone instead. "We need a roof," Aisling said. "Somewhere they can't mock us." Deirdre pointed across the field. A crooked mansion leaned against the dark. Stained windows glowed. Its towers tilted like they might fall and never did. "That one stands empty half the year," Deirdre said. "So I've heard." "It's not empty," said a voice behind them. An old witch stood there in a long black coat. Every inch of it was stitched, patch on patch. Her white eyes fixed on Aisling. This was Grizzella Moonwick, a witch of three hundred years. Aisling had seen her earlier, turning over rocks, searching the ground like she'd lost something. "That's my house," Grizzella said. "Well. It was." "Was?" Aisling asked. "Someone stole my spell book. Without it I can't hold the wards. The house won't open for me now." She touched a stitch on her sleeve. "Twelve years I lived there. The door only knows my magic. My magic is gone." Aisling looked at the old witch's hands. They trembled. She looked at the crooked house. She saw a trade. "I know doors," Aisling said. "I kept one once, between worlds. A threshold answers to what belongs to it." She stepped closer. "Your book holds your magic. But so does that coat. Every stitch is a thing you owned. The house doesn't want the spell. It wants you." Grizzella stared. "You think a door can smell an old coat?" "I think a door remembers," Aisling said. "Let me try." They crossed the field together. At the crooked steps, Aisling took a loose thread from Grizzella's hem. She pressed it flat against the wooden door and set the witch's shaking hand on top of hers. "This belongs to her," Aisling said to the house. "She belongs to it." The door held still. Moira held her breath. Then a lock turned deep inside the wood, and the door swung wide. Warm light spilled onto the steps. Grizzella went in first. She touched the walls like she'd found something buried. "Twelve years," she said. "I thought it forgot me." "It didn't," Aisling said. The witch turned. "Stay. Hold your court here. A house wants people in it." She smiled, sharp and crooked as her towers. "But I'll need my book. You find doors. Find mine." Aisling stood in the warm hall, her court behind her. She had a roof at last. And a new debt owed to a witch whose stolen book was still out there, in the hands of a thief with no name.