The Price Guide to the Occult(28)

Savvy stopped at a glass display case and pulled out a tarnished silver tray bearing a sign written in Savvy’s handwriting: TREASURE TROVE. The tray held various odds and ends that only Savvy could consider precious, like several bullet casings, a crystal from a chandelier, a necklace that looked like a snake, and a long silver chain. Savvy plucked the tiny crow’s claw out of Nor’s hand, and before Nor could say a word, slid the trinket along the silver chain and fastened it around Nor’s neck.

“There,” she said, stepping back and examining her work. “Now the next time you see Reed, he’ll think you actually like his gift. Even though it’s weird as hell.”

Ever since their run — the one that had ended with Reed not kissing her — Nor had pretty much done everything she could to avoid him. She hadn’t responded to the text message he’d sent her last week. She didn’t answer when he called a few days after that. Sure, it was partly out of sheer humiliation, but it was also in his best interest: if Reed was determined to stay away from pain, then it wouldn’t do him any good to get entangled with her.

Outside, the rain began to beat against the windows, shaking the panes of glass in their flimsy frames. Through the rain and the Society’s open barn door, Nor glanced at the Witching Hour, relieved that the windows were too fogged up to see through. Earlier in the week, Nor had walked in on a discussion Vega and Madge were having in the shop. Based on the way Madge had been gripping Vega’s arm, Nor assumed it was some kind of disagreement. There was something unsettling, almost brutish, about how Madge had smiled at Nor when she saw her: her lips pulled too taut, her teeth bared. Her motions had seemed newly felid; Nor almost expected to look down at her hands and see claws, to see fangs, not teeth, in her mouth. There were beads of sweat on Vega’s trembling upper lip. When Madge had turned, Nor spotted the fronds of a fern peeking out from over the top of her T-shirt. The green tattoo made her warm beige skin look sickly.

The scene had reminded Nor too much of how they used to be before Fern had left the island, when Vega and Madge and all the rest were at Fern’s beck and call. Even then, however, she’d never seen anything in them that resembled cruelty or fear.

Nor was certain the disagreement was somehow linked to those fern tattoos. Lately, it felt like everywhere she looked, another person had one. She’d noticed Bliss Sweeney’s first, of course. Then Vega and Wintersweet and Madge. Now they seemed to be all over the country. Talk show hosts, television stars, and even some religious leaders — all had green ferns scrawled across their skin in worshipful mimicry of their new deity, Fern Blackburn.

Nor saw her former classmate Catriona dash across the street and find refuge from the rain in the Witching Hour. Nor was certain that underneath that new size-two winter coat, Catriona’s skin was covered in coiling green tattoos.

“Your mom has fans everywhere these days,” Savvy mused. “Did you hear she met with the president last week?”

Nor nodded. Fern’s popularity had apparently earned her an invitation to the White House. There were pictures of her mother and the president all over the Internet. When Nor looked closely enough, she’d seen that, sure enough, their country’s leader had a new fern tattoo on her arm.

“Your mom is amazing,” Savvy continued, “but also kind of terrifying, in an evil-queen kind of way. I can totally imagine her convincing the huntsman to kill me so that she can eat my heart, you know?”

Nor did know. Her mother was like a perpetual stink in the air, a dull ache in the back of her head, the incessant beat of a snare drum. Nor wondered if the ominous events on Anathema were connected to a sense she had that her mother was drawing closer with each passing day. When she peered out into the rain, she almost expected to see her lurking out there in the gloom, almost expected to see everything the way it had been the last time Fern was here: flames shooting from the Witching Hour’s roof, those too-bright stars in the sky, blood pouring from Nor’s wrists and elbows.

Nor ran her fingers over her scars. Time might heal all wounds, but what about the scars those wounds left behind? Even if Nor’s physical scars faded away, she would always remember where they had been, always be able to trace the path of her pain with her fingertips.

Nor moved away from the door.

“These spells that your mom’s selling,” Savvy said cautiously, “she really can cast them?”

Nor sighed. “Yeah, I guess she can,” she admitted. “But, Savvy, I don’t think the Resurrection Spell is something —”

“I’m not asking about that,” Savvy interrupted. “I’m just wondering, if she can cast spells, who’s to say that you might not be able to do the same?”

“I’m sure I can’t,” Nor answered quickly.

“But you’re still a witch, right?”

Nor balked, nearly tripping over a pair of snakeskin boots. “I’m a — what?”

Savvy rolled her eyes. “Come on, Nor. You’re a witch or, well, you’re a something.”

Nor opened her mouth to deny it, and then she looked at Savvy, really looked at her. This was her best friend. Suddenly, Nor didn’t know how she’d managed to wait this long to tell her. “How long have you known?” Nor finally asked.

“A few days short of forever.” Savvy was so matter-of-fact that Nor couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s like I told you,” Savvy said. “I’m nosy. I notice shit, like you always know when the weather’s going to change. And the whales on your birthday? You seemed to know what they were thinking. Plus,” she added quietly, “you knew my mom was going to die before anyone else did. I could see it in your face.”