Sea Witch(80)
It is truly something special.
Maybe it’s the new silence or the memories that swirl in the front of my mind. Maybe it’s simply that enough time has passed.
But I know exactly what I will do with this gift.
And so, I turn to the largest polypi. The one planted next to my cave. The last body to drift below.
When I give the command, I know the magic will listen. That it will know what I want. I feel its power surging from the tips of my tentacles to the roots of my hair.
“Líf. Líf.”
The girl’s voice sweeps forth, floating up, up, up, until it settles into the top of the strange tree’s trunk where the branches shoot off into the flat black murk.
It settles and becomes one with the polypi. And, after a moment, there is a deep breath, all the heads in the branches inhaling seawater in time. And then the little mermaid’s voice speaks with the thoughts of another little mermaid from long ago. One tied to me here silently, fifty years since I sprouted tentacles from my waist.
When the voice comes, it’s direct and focused on what just occurred. She has centuries left to dredge up what happened when we were human.
“She will fail. He loves another. That mountain will not move in four days.”
“I know.” And I do. I hope she will not fail, but I also cannot forget what my mother did for me. What I did for Nik. What Anna’s family would’ve done for her had they been given the chance. “But her family will not let her go so easily.” They’ll come begging for a way to save her.
When I return from my lair with a deadly length of coral, Anna understands. “Make it sharp. The blood must fall on her feet—if she will use it at all.”
And so, I prepare the knife. Because though magic can shape life and death, love is the one thing it cannot control.
Acknowledgments
Ever since my parents introduced me to Cat’s Cradle, I’ve always been drawn to the idea of Kurt Vonnegut’s “karass”—a group of people cosmically, inextricably linked together. Yeah, I know it’s a term coined as part of a fake religion and sort of silly, but I do think the fates put people together for a reason. Call it a karass or something else entirely, but the following human beings are in my life for a reason, and I love them in their own ways. Without them my life would be considerably less full.
To my lovely editor, Maria Barbo, whose magical imagination made Evie’s world possible. I can’t thank you enough for your faith in me.
To Katherine Tegen, our fearless leader; Rebecca Aronson with her queries and smiley faces; copy editor Maya Myers for her sharp eye and grace in weathering my hatred of the Oxford comma (journalists unite!); production editor Emily Rader for her steady hand; Heather Daugherty and Amy Ryan for their beautiful book design; Anna Dittmann for her stunning/haunting/perfect rendering of Evie; and to the rest of the Katherine Tegen Books and HarperCollins team.
To Rachel Ekstrom, my agent/cheering section/grounding force, who always greets myself and my work with enthusiasm and guidance. And to the rest of the IGLA family, most especially Barbara Poelle, for their support, humor, and belief in me.
To Joy Callaway, my ray of forever sunshine—you’ve made a difference for me every single day. You know exactly when to text, call, make me laugh. Your grace and friendship are truly inspiring.
To Renée Ahdieh, leader of my pack—wisest, chicest, most altruistic rock star in the world. You’re part sister, part fairy godmother, and 100 percent diamond dust.
To Rebecca Coffindaffer, who has a habit of murdering off my characters before I even realize there should be blood on my hands. To Natalie Parker and Tessa Gratton—my coven elders, who vetted my magical system with wisdom, wit, and cold LaCroix. Additionally, to all the Kansas writers I’m lucky enough to know. Our time together is like the best of college—nights spent dissecting the art of writing in the most delicate and interesting ways. Plus, you all have amazing taste in snacks.
To Julie Tollefson, Christie Hall, and Christy Little for the hours upon hours spent huddling with me in the freezing-but-delicious confines of T. Loft. To Marie Hogebrant for pinch-hitting in Old Norse.
To Kellye Garrett, my fictionally murderous sister-in-arms, always one text away. To Randy Shemanski, keeping me sane over email for twelve years and counting. To Whitney Schneider, Nicole Green, Laurie Euler, Coleen Shaw-Voeks, Colinda Warner, and my passel of Trail Hawks for the endless sweaty miles and even sweatier hugs. To Jennifer Gunby and Cory “Cass Anaya” Johnson, who awoke my imagination early and never let me get away with a boring scene.
To Ricki Schultz, Danielle Paige, Zoraida Córdova, Dhonielle Clayton, Brenda Drake, the Sarahs—Lemon, Cannon, Jae-Jones, Smarsh, Blair, Fox—and everyone else in my life, for their various cameos during this journey over the hill and through the woods. In ways big and small you kept my sanity with humor, love, and light.
To my parents, Craig and Mary Warren, for being the best dream enablers out there. You kept me in construction paper when my “books” were stapled-together crayon drawings, and never let up when actual words found their way to the page. I’d be nowhere without you. To Nate, Amalia, and Emmie, and the stories you’re unfurling before our eyes. To Meagan, our missing piece. So it goes.
And, finally, to Justin. My IT department, my chocolate pretzel supplier, my kid-wrangler. My heart. Without you, literally none of this would be possible. I’m so glad you’re here with me on this journey. I couldn’t imagine setting sail with anyone else.