The Skinwalker's Apprentice (4 page)

Emerald walked towards her room, which was past the two danger zones: the kitchen and Nora’s room. The kitchen was empty. If Nora wasn’t in her room, she was in the clear. She tiptoed down the hall, clenching her teeth and tensing her shoulders up until her neck had all but disappeared, as she came closer and closer to her aunt’s room. Empty.

“Alright,” mouthed Emerald excitedly, flailing her arms in an air guitar motion. She didn’t want any of the boarders to hear her in case Nora started poking around later. She rushed into her room and grabbed her wallet. She made sure she had enough tokens for the subway and her library card, and bolted out of her room and out of the boarding house, taking a big gulp of cool air as she did. Her birthday was already a disaster, but facing Aunt Nora would take it to a category five, she thought. It was better to stay away and let Nora calm down. She headed out of her house and east towards the subway that would take her uptown. She couldn’t stop thinking about the awful events of the day, and of how she’d let her aunt down for the billionth time, but as UB40 sang, ‘Cherry, Oh, Baby’, into her ears, Emerald decided to just let herself forget.

Easthampton, New York

1657

After a few weeks of lessons on spells and potions, The Priestess took Margo outside for what she called a ‘free air examination’. Margo did not like the sound of it. 

Soon, Margo found out that The Priestess planned to show her something the younger witch had been quite frightened of: flying.

“For today’s lesson,” said The Priestess, pulling a long copper chain from around her neck, “you will need your wits about you. We will be flying above the river, and you will need to conjure an item I’ve dropped there.” Her tone was calm as if she hadn’t just told Margo she’d be hundreds of feet in the air, above a frigid body of water. Margo felt her body tremble, she’d never been comfortable in high places, but she dared not question The Priestess. Margo nodded slowly, her eyes brimming with anxiety.

“Do not be nervous, child, I will be there with you,” said The Priestess with a warm smile.

She walked to a long, skinny pantry in her kitchen and pulled out a glass jar. Inside was the smallest broom Margo had ever seen, fastened to a copper chain exactly like the one The Priestess wore.

The Priestess took the chain out, letting the cold metal pour into the palm of her hand. She threw the glass jar aside, and Margo prepared for the glass to shatter against the wall it was heading towards. Before it reached the wall however, it morphed into another bejeweled chalice, rattling as it settled at the center of a cherry wood table.

Margo laughed in astonishment, looking around the room and seeing more than twenty chalices.
The Priestess must be in the habit of throwing glass jars around
, she thought to herself.

The older witch smiled and walked towards Margo, wrapping the chain around her neck three times, just as she had for her own.

The Priestess pulled her wand from her skirt pocket, her long black fingernails pressing against the rod.

“
Et nos foris
,” she said, as she made a circle with the wand above her head. The walls of the stone house fell away, and they were both transported at lightning speed to the woods a few yards behind the house. Margo shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly as she adjusted to the cold temperature of the woods around her. The Priestess already had her back to Margo, and was walking towards the water. Margo ran, catching up to her teacher after a few strides. The pair reached the shore in silence, it was already nightfall and the sky around them was a brilliant shade of purple. A cold breeze ruffled Margo’s long black hair, as they stepped to the edge of the river, the water touching the tips of their identical brown leather boots. The Priestess had deemed Margo’s cloth shoes ‘unacceptable’, and had a pair of boots made especially for her.

“Very well,” said The Priestess, holding her chain up so that her small broom was level with her thin lips.

“
Incresco
,” whispered the witch, and the broom grew, the wood stretching out to a normal size. The Priestess looked at Margo and nodded, it was her turn.

Margo took a deep breath as she pulled the chain from within her shirt and brought the tiny broom up to her face. It looked like just big enough to be a mouse’s broom. Margo closed her eyes and whispered, “
Incresco
,” as she’d seen The Priestess do. Her mind raced as she waited a few seconds before opening her eyes. She hoped she’d done it right, and she’d also hoped she’d done it wrong. Margo was dreadfully afraid of heights, and the thought of flying on a flimsy broom made her stomach turn. When she opened her eyes, the broom was unchanged.

“It takes more than words to make something transform,” said The Priestess, “you must envision it, you must see the broom growing in your hands as you speak, and you must clear your mind of all else.”

She looked at Margo knowingly, as if she could hear her worried thoughts aloud. Margo looked at the small broom once again, and this time, when she closed her eyes, she tried her hardest not to think of anything but the spell.

She pictured the broom growing, and her holding it in her hand a moment later. Margo whispered, “
Incresco
,” once again, and this time when she opened her eyes, she saw she’d been successful.

“Splendid, Margo!” exclaimed The Priestess, as she took her broom, which was still attached to the chain around her neck, and threw it between her legs.

“Now comes the most enjoyable part,” she smirked, as she began to rise into the air, stopping when she was level with the tops of the trees. Margo breathed out hard, and trying not to think of how frightened she was, straddled the broom and immediately began to ascend into the night sky. Margo’s skirts fluttered in the wind, and her hair whipped around her. Her hands were clammy as she held on to the wooden stick, her heart raced like a team of horses.

The Priestess yelled, “STOP,” just as Margo reached her, and the younger witch was stationary.

“How do I control it?” asked Margo breathlessly, trying not to let on how scared she was.

“First you must control your own fear,” said The Priestess. “Clear your mind, and steer the broom with your hands like this,” instructed The Priestess, demonstrating by directing the tip of her broom to the left, and then to the right. She weaved easily to either side, her hands wrapped tightly around the stick, and then pulled next to Margo again.

“To speed up, you lean your body closer to the broom, like this.” The Priestess pressed her body close to her broom and zoomed away from Margo, circling her twice in the blink of an eye. Margo struggled to keep her balance as she watched The Priestess maneuver in the night sky.

“To slow down, you simply straighten your body upright.” The Priestess demonstrated by doing just that, and she slowed down, stopping when she was on Margo’s right.

“Priestess, I must confess something,” said Margo nervously, “I am terribly frightened.”

The Priestess nodded, looking out towards the water before them, as if she was deep in thought.

“Margo, if you are to grow, and learn as a witch, you must not let fear hold you back. Fear will hold you prisoner; it will keep you from being who you’re truly meant to be. We must all face our fears, Margo. If we do not face them, we are allowing ourselves to be defeated by them. I would not have chosen you for this apprenticeship, if I didn’t think you were capable of completing it. I am by your side, I will be with you the entire time.” The Priestess smiled kindly, and Margo’s eyes, which were threatening to spill over a moment before, were now focused and clear. She had found strength in The Priestess’s words that night, and it would be a lesson that she’d keep with her for some time.

Margo took one deep breath, and leaned forward on her broom, circling The Priestess, and jerking her body up and down so that the broom lurched beneath her.

“That was good for a first attempt,” said The Priestess firmly, “try again.”

Margo tucked her chin in and furrowed her brow, drying one sweaty palm on her black skirt, and then another. She took off in a blur, rounding The Priestess like lightening, and then stopping abruptly, almost falling off her broom in the process. She’d startled herself, and sat dumbstruck next to an amused Priestess.

“You were doing well until the end, try a balance of the two rides,” instructed The Priestess patiently. Margo nodded, and took off for the third time. She kept her body steady, trying not let her nervous energy get the best of her. She rode smoothly around the older witch, her body at a thirty-degree angle as she pulled into her starting position.

“That was excellent,” beamed The Priestess, as Margo smiled triumphantly.

“Now comes the difficult part,” said The Priestess. Margo’s chest, which puffed out with pride a moment before, deflated like an undercooked cake.

The Priestess flew out over the w
ater in a blur as Margo watched hesitantly from her perch. The Priestess stopped and turned to face Margo when she was a hundred yards away, where the river became very deep. She grabbed the small chain attached to her broom and held it up, so that Margo could see what she was doing.

“No,” said Margo softly, “DON’T!” she yelled, realizing what the Priestess meant to throw into the river. The Priestess had unfastened the chain attached to her broom, and threw herself over the edge head first, falling down towards the icy water, her skirts dancing around her as she plummeted.

Margo raced to try and catch her but The Priestess had already submerged.

By the time she reached the still flying Priestess’s broom, Margo was panting for air. Adrenaline surged through her body as Margo thought of what to do, looking all around and trying to remember a spell, any spell that might help. Holding her broom with one hand to steady herself, Margo pulled her wand from her skirts and pointed it towards the spot where the Priestess had sunk.

“
RESORGO
,” she shouted. Nothing happened.

Damn. She had not learned another spell for resurfacing objects.

She looked around her to see if she could see signs of bubbling in the water, but it was much too dark by then.

“
INLUZEO,
” said Margo as she flicked her wand, casting a brilliant light around her and illuminating the water. She hoped like hell the villagers couldn’t see what was happening, but she was hopeful whatever corner of the island they were in, was still concealed by magic.

Margo could feel the clock ticking inside her head, if she wasn’t fast about it, The Priestess would drown. She swallowed hard and pressed her body forward, tipping the end of the broom towards the water. Waves of fear crashed in her stomach, as she plunged towards the water, prepared to find her teacher at any cost. Faster and faster she fell, the air biting at her face, and the hot acid from her insides creeping up towards her throat. Margo strained to see through the violent air. Just as she was reaching the surface of the water, she pointed her wand at the river.

“
DIVISIO
,” she screamed, lifting her wand into the air and plunging through river as the entire body of water beneath her shot up with a thundering WHOOSH.

Margo stopped, and looked above her, the river suspended in the night sky was quite a sight to see. She tried to catch her breath, looking around hurriedly for The Priestess. She did not know how long the water would stay hanging.

She felt the weight of another body bring the back of her broom down, as The Priestess climbed on, holding onto Margo’s waist. Margo had never been that close to The Priestess, and she could smell the sharp fragrance of witch hazel and something resembling rum emanating from her teacher. 

“Hurry, that water will come down and crush us at any moment,” said The Priestess breathlessly. Margo turned her broom towards the shore and began to ascend, but just then the river began to cave in just a few yards away from them.

“Ride underneath to the shore, it’s our only chance,” shouted The Priestess over the thundering waters, as Margo leaned down close to her broom, taking off like a shot towards land.

The water crashed down on either side of them, nipping at The Priestess’s heels. Above them violent waves collided into each other, their only way out was forward.

Margo held on firmly, her face raw from the combination of frigid water and whipping winds. She had never been so terrified in her entire life, as the water threatened to engulf them both, but that fear took a back seat to her resolve. She weaved masterfully through the cyclone which was forming beneath the river, keeping her eyes on what little she could see of the trees.

Finally, the two witches reached the shore; drenched, out of breath, and shaking. Neither said a word for a few minutes, and they watched in silence as the river fell into its bed once again.

The Priestess broke their silence, looking at Margo with shock still in her eyes.

“It’s safe to say,” she said, panting, “that you’ve passed that lesson with flying colors.”

New
York, New York

October
5, 1984

Emerald ran her fingers along a stack of leather books. She’d been to this room before, hundreds of times. She knew it would be no different than any of the other days. The books she searched for, the ones her mother read to her and used for spells, weren’t there. She had traversed every library, bookstore, and back page ad with promises of ‘Authentic Magic Spells,’ but they had all been dead ends.

She slumped down to the wooden floor of her favorite library, the one on Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street with the marble lions standing watch, and leaned back on her hands, looking up at the ceiling. She didn’t remember much about her mother and even less about her father. She didn’t care to remember him, though, since he’d abandoned Emerald once her mother was gone. Her mother, on the other hand, didn’t have a choice about leaving. She had passed away in the summer of 1973, the year Emerald turned five years old. It was all a blur to the sixteen-year-old witch now; all she knew was one day she had her mother, and the next she didn’t. Emerald had grown up hearing stories about Penelope from Nora, and those stories had become Emerald’s memories.

As she stared at the ceiling, she thought of her favorite memory. It was a warm breezy night, and they were still living in the estate her parents owned in Spuyten Duyvil, New York, a small town in the northern part of New York City. The two-building home was separated by a courtyard and looked like an Italian villa with its ivy-covered stone walls. It sat overlooking the Hudson, and that night it rested beneath an enormous blanket of stars.

Emerald and her mother were sitting on the grass in their backyard, talking about who knows what. Nora was always close by in case anything happened, as Penelope wasn’t strong enough to do much on her own anymore.

Emerald looked at her mom with her bright green eyes and asked, “Momma, how many do you love me?”

Penelope chuckled and kissed the top of Emerald’s head, pushing tufts of sandy blonde hair back as she did.

“Do you mean how much?” she asked with a sideways smile. Penelope looked up at the sky, and then down at her little girl. “Well, I love you as much as all the stars in the sky.”

“And … how many is that?” asked Emerald, cocking her head to the side, much like she still did even at sixteen.

Penelope smiled and closed her eyes, touching the tips of her ten fingers together.

Suddenly, it seemed like the entire sky was extinguished of light, and instead thousands of glimmering lights surrounded the house. Emerald’s eyes twinkled, and she smiled wildly at her mother, jumping up and down and clapping her small hands. Penelope pulled her in and hugged her tightly.

“I love you that many,” she whispered into her ear.

“I cried like I’d peeled fifteen onions,” said Nora whenever she told the story.

Emerald blinked hard and opened her eyes wide like she did whenever she tried not to cry. She didn’t remember that night herself, but she’d asked Nora to tell her the story almost every night as a child. It was the last time Emerald had seen her mother. The next morning Penelope was gone.