The Hawkweed Prophecy (24 page)

“Now I'm going to get rid of all the upturned cards,” he told her.

Poppy watched as his little hands grappled with the deck until he found the card that was facedown and held it up to her proudly.

“This is your card. Memorize it.” Logan paused for a moment. “Now I am going to read your mind,” he said dramatically.

Poppy glanced at Donna, who raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Logan shut his eyes as though thinking hard. “It's the queen of diamonds.”

Poppy nodded. “Wow. You are a real magician.”

“Do you want to know how I did it?”

Poppy smiled. “Isn't that a secret?”

Logan shrugged and Donna interjected, “Next time.”

“What? Is she coming again?” Logan asked excitedly.

“Of course,” Donna told him, and then she caught Poppy's eye. “If that's what she'd like.”

“My dad's a magician too,” Logan beamed. “He taught me that trick.”

Poppy tried to keep the ache she felt from reaching her eyes.

“Maybe he can teach it to you,” Logan suggested sweetly, and Poppy got up from her chair and started to clear the table.

At the door Donna took Poppy's arm. “Your dad's worried about you, Poppy,” she said in hushed tones. “I know you probably don't want to talk to me about it, but . . . look, we don't want you to get hurt.”

“A little late for that,” Poppy retorted, then regretted it immediately.

Donna let go of her arm. “He's had a lot to deal with, your dad.”

Poppy suddenly felt like crying. “I'd better go.”

“I didn't mean with you, love,” Donna said quickly. “I didn't mean that.”

But Poppy was hurrying down the path.

“Poppy!” Donna shouted after her, and Poppy turned.

“Are you even going to tell Logan who I am?” Poppy called back, and Donna turned around anxiously to see if Logan had
heard. By the time she looked back, Poppy was running down the road.

When she got home, their living-room window was boarded up, and it made the whole house look busted, like something from a war zone. Inside it was freezing cold. Poppy kept her coat on. She could see her breath on the cold morning air.

“Dad?” she called softly.

There was no answer. Poppy stood still and listened for a moment. When she was sure the house was empty, she went straight to her room and started gathering any money she had, even the smallest coins. Then she stuffed a few things into her bag and ran back down the stairs to the door. When she opened it to leave, she found Ember standing there, her eyes big and scared in a face that looked paler than usual.

“I've run away.” It was only when Ember spoke that Poppy understood she was real, not some strange apparition. “I can't live there anymore.”

Ember moved toward Poppy, arms outstretched for a hug. As Ember held her, Poppy was surprised at how good it felt to have that contact, how the hurt that had been chilling within her melted away in its warmth.

“Oh, I've missed you so,” Ember declared, pulling back to look at Poppy's face. Then she noticed the bag on Poppy's arm. “Where are you going?”

“Running away,” Poppy said jokingly. Ember looked confused and Poppy sighed. “I'm going to see my mother.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
OUR

T
hey sat on the train, Ember gripping the edge of her seat. She had taken hold of it when the train started moving and it hadn't occurred to her yet to let go. She was too busy staring out of the window at the passing landscape, her brain hardly registering the new sights before they'd gone and been replaced by another and another and another.

“I've never gone so fast,” she uttered to her reflection in the window.

“It'll go even faster soon,” Poppy told her.

“Faster than this?” Ember marveled, not believing it possible, but Poppy was right, and soon the hills were flashing past them and Ember couldn't look anymore—it made her head hurt.

“So why are you running away?” Poppy finally asked.

Ember felt a little nervous about answering. For as Poppy had led her through the town to the train station, pointing out the various landmarks in a voice that expressed her low opinion of them, Ember hadn't confessed she'd seen them before. She wasn't entirely sure why she felt so reticent about admitting to her
evening with Leo. She guessed Poppy might feel aggrieved. After all, Poppy had been the one to find her and teach her, to open her eyes to the world beyond the camp. In truth, Poppy should have been her guide that night, not Leo. So Ember kept quiet, and now her omission felt more like falsehood and the idea of that made her squirm in her seat.

“Are you okay? You're very quiet today.” she heard Poppy say, and she broke out of her reverie to look up into Poppy's inquiring eyes.

“My mother—she's so angry with me.” Ember hung her head, wishing she was quick-minded enough to come up with some other reason for having fled the coven, but her ears were still burning from the grilling Charlock had given her. Ember wondered now how she could ever have been so stupid to leave the camp for a whole night and not expect her mother to notice.

Poppy was looking at her sympathetically. “I know you're close with your mom, but that's what most parents do—tell their kids off,” she said kindly.

“I broke the rules.”

“So?” Poppy was smiling.

Ember shut her eyes. “It is forbidden.”

Poppy sensed what was coming. Ember felt her withdraw, her smile vanishing and her face becoming serious and still. “What's forbidden?” Poppy asked quietly.

Ember took a breath. She couldn't lie. She had no magic, no sleight of hand or tongue, no illusions up her sleeve. Only the truth.

“I left the camp one night. I went to the town—with Leo.”

She waited for Poppy to say something, but she didn't. The silence was too unnerving. Ember had to fill it.

“I saw the streets with all their different names. He told me where you lived. Twenty-five Wavendon Close. He showed me everything. Oh, Poppy. It was wonderful. So big, so bright, so—oh, I wish you had been there.”

“Do you?” said Poppy flatly.

And Ember realized that she had done it after all. Lied.

“You don't have to be embarrassed,” Poppy said coolly. “You're allowed not to miss me. You're allowed to live your life any way you want.”

“What if you don't know what you want, though?” Ember whispered.

Poppy wouldn't or couldn't answer that.

Ember thought of all she had been blessed with—the sisterhood of a treasured friend, the comfort of a mother's love, the thrill of a boy's attention. She had never imagined she would have to choose between them. She looked out of the train window and felt the speed and saw the space that went on and on, further than she ever knew. The cities were as dense and vast as her forest but stronger and taller, so much taller even than the highest tree. It made her want to retreat back to the clasp of the coven. There were no choices there. It was too small and tightly knit for that. She felt sewn into the fabric of the camp, attached, and the further away she traveled, the more the stitches pulled and she could feel them fraying from her heart.

“Is that what you do?” she asked Poppy at last. “Live life how you want?”

“I'm trying,” Poppy answered.

“And Leo?” Ember questioned.

“I think you should ask him that,” Poppy said plainly. “It isn't easy. Life with no clan.”

A man came down the narrow passageway between the seats, pushing a cart before him. From it Poppy purchased two soft, silver bags full of the thinnest fried potatoes and two drinks that fizzed from cans. It was like eating salt and drinking sugar, but it made the rest of the long journey feel better.

They walked for a long while to reach the hospital. The air was different so far from home, more contaminated with particles that Ember didn't recognize, and warmer too. Winter didn't seem so ferocious here. Ember saw some plants that were still flowering and many trees that were still clinging to the last of their red and golden leaves. There were none of the chalky gray and purple hues of the hills at home. Even the green of the grass seemed more primary.

The hospital, though, was the whitest place Ember had ever seen. It smelled sour and unnatural. Poppy went to the desk and gave her name. They had to wait for a while on a row of chairs, each one stuck to the next. Finally a woman, clean and stiff, showed them into a box that raised them up—an elevator, Poppy called it—until the number three in the list shone red. They walked along a hallway lined with identical doors, then suddenly stopped at one of them.

“She's sleeping,” said the woman quietly.

Poppy nodded, seeming unsurprised even though it was still day.

Ember followed Poppy inside. In the bed lay a body, the face turned away so all that could be seen was light hair, fair and gray, fanned out upon a pillow. Poppy sat in the chair beside the bed. She put her finger to her lips as a sign for Ember to stay quiet. Ember moved quietly across to the window and stared out at the garden behind the hospital where people wandered aimlessly in white robes, drifting across the walkways like ghosts.

“Are you real?” The voice was croaky, as if unused to speaking.

Ember turned and saw a face staring at her, pale and drawn, but with eyes that shone like patches of blue sky among the clouds.

“Mom?” said Poppy from the other side of the bed. “It's me.”

Ember could see that the woman heard Poppy but chose not to turn.

“Come closer,” she said to Ember.

Ember did as she was told, and the woman's arm darted out from under the covers, grabbing Ember's hand and pulling her closer. She peered up at Ember's face.

“Mom! What are you doing?” Poppy jumped to her feet.

“You are real,” the woman whispered to Ember, still ignoring Poppy. Her eyes blinked and blinked, as though not trusting it to be true, and then her face lifted with emotion and Ember realized she had once been young and very pretty. “I've seen you in my dreams.” The woman smiled.

Ember felt a shiver ripple through her. The hairs on her arms were standing on end and she felt freezing cold. She wanted to get away but didn't know how to break free.

“I'm Ember,” she said softly. “Poppy's friend.”

She tried to pull her hand away gently, not wanting to do anything sudden. Poppy had no such caution. She leaned over and tugged sharply at her mother's arm. “That's enough. Let go of her now.”

The woman just held on tighter. “It's my little girl.”

“Mom, listen to me. It's me, Poppy. I've come to visit you.”

Poppy spoke slowly, but her mother was still looking at Ember, addressing only her. “You're here at last,” she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Poppy bent over her mother's bed. “Mom, this is Ember. You've never met her before. You remember me, don't you? Poppy? Dad moved us away, but I'm back to see you. Like I said I would.”

“My daughter!” Poppy's mother wept, more tears falling now.

Poppy perched on the edge of the bed. “That's right. I'm your daughter.”

Poppy's mother shook her head vigorously and turned, for the first time, to look at Poppy. “No. No, you're not.”

The woman raised herself up to look directly back at Ember, her eyes penetrating into her. Then she let go of Ember's hand and pointed a thin, delicate finger straight at her.

“She is.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
IVE

L
eo felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. His lungs were burning and his throat was gulping down air in loud, rasping breaths. He leaned over, hands on his knees, worried they would hear him. They'd spotted him by the park. The first Leo knew of it was his stepfather's voice barking across the street. Leo hadn't even turned around. He'd just sprinted as fast as he could, dodging lampposts and cars, people and strollers. He took sharp turns and shortcuts down side streets and alleys. He jumped down steps and leapt over railings. When he couldn't hear them thundering after him anymore, he dashed onto the railroad line and climbed up onto the platform. Shielded by the commuters in their suits and their open newspapers, he held onto his legs to keep himself from collapsing and prayed he'd lost them.

Leo stayed put at the station, fearful of coming across them if he set out again. He sat in the dingy waiting room, reading a discarded section of a newspaper, trying to act like he had a ticket in his pocket and a train to catch. After a couple of hours a woman entered. Leo was used to keeping his head down, eyes averted,
but this woman caught his attention. He couldn't help but steal a look at her. She was similarly dressed to Ember. Long skirt and cape with knitted fingerless gloves on her hands and a fur hat around her head. The hat looked like fox, Leo thought to himself. And her face—it was broad and smooth with a wide forehead, dark thick brows, and the most arresting yellow, oval eyes like a cat's. She was utterly strange, like a person from a distant land or time.

“I like your scarf,” she said suddenly, and Leo's hand reached up to touch it.

“Thank you,” he said shyly. “It was a gift.”

Then he realized the wool was the very same yarn as the scarf tied around her neck. They matched. Leo felt his eyes widen. The woman's pale, full lips turned upward into a smile. Disconcerted, Leo quickly looked down.

“What are you named?”

It took a moment for Leo to work out what she was asking him.

“My name?” he said. “Leo.”

“Leo,” she repeated, trying it out, seeming satisfied.

The woman didn't speak again. She shut her eyes and sat there, upright and still. After a while Leo felt tired. He tried to keep awake but he kept nodding off, his chin dropping to his chest, until he'd jolt and lift his head and rub his eyes. Before long he'd doze off again, but each time he stirred he was aware of the woman still sitting there, so perfectly peaceful. At last Leo fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. When he awoke, he was alone. Outside the woman was standing on the platform, awaiting the
train that was pulling into the station. Only a few people got off the train. Among them were Poppy and Ember.

Poppy had left her mother in the hands of the nurses, all struggling to restrain her like she was a wild animal needing to be leashed. The howling had started when Ember ran from the room and did not return. Each anguished cry seared Poppy's heart. She had thought there was nothing more her mother could ever say that would hurt her, but here she was, once again, having to hold in the tears and bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying out.

Her mother was crazy. If she wasn't when Poppy was a baby, she certainly had become so. Poppy knew she should do as the doctors and nurses advised and pay no attention to what her mother said when she took one of her turns. And yet her mother's claims had been proved right. Poppy
was
unlike other daughters. She
was
strange and she
did
possess magical powers.

But what happened today with Ember was beyond even Poppy's comprehension. It made her head whirl so fast that she struggled to keep her balance and had to walk down the hallway with one hand on the wall, fearing that without it, she might fall.

She found Ember outside, wiping the tears from her reddened eyes and swollen face.

“That didn't go quite as I planned,” she said, and Ember attempted a smile that quickly slumped back into sorrow. “I guess it's just what happens when your mom is crazy.”

The tears welled up in Ember's eyes again while Poppy's remained dry.

“Why do you think? . . .” Ember tailed off.

“She's insane, Ember,” Poppy said bitterly. “That's all there is to it.”

The trip home felt so much longer without the urgency and excitement of the outward journey. Even the train seemed to be traveling more slowly now that the girls felt so subdued. They both sat in quiet contemplation until Ember finally broke the silence.

“I used to think I had another mother out there, in the real world, far away from the coven. One just like me but with soft hands and feet and white teeth and colorful clothes.” Ember spoke so quietly that Poppy had to lean forward to hear. “I'm sorry I ran off like that.”

“No,” said Poppy firmly. “I should never have brought you. It wasn't fair.”

Ember gave Poppy's hand a squeeze so Poppy spoke again. “You know . . . my mom . . . she's never been angry with me for going out. She never even cared where I was.”

When they arrived, Ember's mother was waiting for her on the platform, just as Poppy felt she would be. Ember ran into her mother's arms and Poppy hung back on the edge of the platform. The air beneath the train rushed past her legs as it rumbled on its way, but she hardly noticed as her eyes were fixed on Charlock—how she pulled Ember to her, laying her cheek on her hair, how she looked at her daughter, talking earnestly, shaking Ember's shoulders, then hugging her again.

The contrast between this mother-and-child scene and her own almost made Poppy want to laugh out loud. But she stayed quiet, watching, fascinated. Charlock was the first grown-up witch Poppy had ever laid eyes on. She wanted so badly for Charlock to notice her, to recognize her as one of her kind, to beckon her over and take her under her wing. But Poppy's legs wouldn't move, and she stayed back and watched as Charlock set off, her arm around Ember's shoulders, keeping her close.

Poppy watched them until they disappeared. Ember turned at the last moment and gave a tiny wave and then they were gone. Poppy stood there for a while. She felt so very tired and lost. Then she heard his voice and immediately she felt found.

“Poppy!?” Leo called again.

Poppy turned and saw him and her heart filled like a balloon, lifting her spirits instantly. Slowly he walked toward her and gently put his arms around her. Poppy laid her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I've missed you,” he said.

No recriminations or anger. None of what happened before seemed to matter. Only this.

They took the bus back to her house. Poppy paid and Leo said nothing, just climbed on board behind her. They sat close, legs and sides touching, hands enclosed together. Poppy shut her eyes and allowed herself to feel contented, just for this short while.

The house was dark and Poppy guessed her father wasn't home
but checked anyway before gesturing to Leo to come in off the street.

“What happened to the window?” Leo asked once inside the cold living room.

“Trick-or-treaters,” Poppy said.

Leo took a moment before speaking again. “You all right?” His voice sounded tight with anger.

“I went to see my mother today.”

It was Poppy's way of saying she wasn't all right, and he seemed to understand that.

“I saw a picture of her,” he said. “That time in your room.”

Poppy saw the blush appear on his cheeks and it made her flush too, guessing what he was thinking of. She went to the sideboard, really to avoid the awkwardness between them, and got out an old photograph album. She opened it up and saw the snapshots of her past. Putting it on the table, she looked down at the pictures and Leo came and stood next to her. The images were so familiar, and yet Poppy struggled to recall the time and place.

Leo touched a finger to a shot of Poppy's face. She was about five, alone in a garden.

“You don't look very happy,” Leo said softly.

“Neither does she,” Poppy said.

On the opposite page was her mother, so very young yet somehow aged by sadness, her shoulders slightly stooped as if she were carrying the weight of the world upon them. Poppy turned the page and suddenly there was her mother, smiling.

“A different woman,” Leo remarked.

“It was before she had me,” Poppy stated, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

Melanie's golden hair had been blown by the wind so it fanned the air and a strand swept across her face. She was laughing, her eyes crinkled as her hand tried to hold back her hair.

“She looks like Ember,” Leo commented casually.

Poppy blinked and then she saw it too. It wasn't just the shade of the hair and the eyes and the skin, though they were identical. It was the expression that clinched it, a look Poppy had seen on Ember's face countless times before, that she had thought was unique, yet here it was captured in a photograph from twenty years ago.

Headlights swept the room and Leo took a step back, panicked.

“Out the back,” Poppy told him, and she ran to open the back door, her fingers fumbling with the key in the lock. The door finally opened and Leo leapt out. Then he turned back.

“Meet me later. In our place.”

She nodded, more because he said “our” than in agreement to the plan.

He kissed her so quickly she hardly had time to feel it, and then he was gone and Poppy was shutting and locking the door just as her father was walking into the hallway.

“You skipped school today,” he said.

Poppy realized then she hadn't given school a second's thought.

“Can't say I blame you,” her father continued. “After last night.” He went into the front room and looked at the boards on the window. “They'll be coming to fix that tomorrow.” He blew on his hands. “It's like a freezer in here.”

As he turned, he saw the album opened on the table. He looked anxiously at Poppy but didn't say anything, just walked toward it and looked at the photographs.

“Another lifetime,” he murmured. Then he shook his head and closed the album. “It's no good looking back.”

Poppy wasn't sure if he was telling her or himself.

“Isn't it?” she questioned.

It was agonizing having to wait, to watch the minutes tick by so slowly, powerless to do anything but sit there and stare at the photograph in her hands. Poppy had pulled it free of the sticky backing before returning the album to the cabinet. She searched her mother's face over and over again for confirmation. The truth was in Poppy's head, shouting out at her, but it felt too big and loud for her brain to cope with. And the doubts kept crowding in, making her temples throb. She had to be sure.

Finally her father slept and Poppy slipped out of the house with the few items she'd collected. She traveled fast, crossing streets and then fields to reach the spot she was looking for. There she gathered branches and sticks, stacking them to make a bonfire. It took longer than she thought to light it. She struck match after match, but their tiny flames were snuffed out the moment they touched the damp wood. Poppy smiled foolishly when she remembered she didn't need the matches after all. She had the power within her. Summoning a spell, she proclaimed it out loud, raising her hands so the fire ignited in a sudden burst, and soon
the bonfire crackled and roared like it was a living, breathing creature. Poppy felt the heat of it without and within.