Page 63 of That Ain’t Witchcraft

James stared at me, a stricken expression on his face. “Where did this happen?” he asked.

“In the hidden stairwell. I think she was watching. Waiting for a moment when I wouldn’t have anyone around who might try to interfere.” I suppressed a shudder. Something brushed against my ankle. I looked down to see Sam’s tail wrapping itself loosely around the curve of my calf, holding on without holding too tight.

It helped. Maybe I’m too weird to consider myself a part of polite society anymore, but it helped. I looked back up.

“I threw up when the crossroads stopped hurting me,” I said. “It happened while I was still in the in- between space where they take you to make a bargain. There wasn’t any vomit on the stairs when they dropped me back into the real world. I think that’s the proof we’ve been waiting for that the crossroads really do exist in some other place.”

“That is a terrible way of proving a point no one was contesting,” said Cylia flatly. “Do not prove any further points in this manner, all right? I don’t want to explain any of this shit to your cousin when we get back home.”

Home. There was an idea. I’d been happy there. I’d been bored there, and suddenly boredom seemed like the very pinnacle of the human condition. If we could figure out how to get me out of my bargain with the crossroads, and get the Covenant off my ass, maybe I could bring Sam home to meet the family. He’d like them. They were weird enough to appeal to his idea of normal.

And that was never going to happen, because no matter how optimistic Cylia tried to be, I was never going to go home. There were too many obstacles in the way.

“James.” I turned to face him. “When you go home, I want you to apologize to the air and say you’re sure any ghosts who happen to be listening are lovely people, but that you need privacy. Tell them you need to masturbate. Whatever. And then get some damn wards in place, as fast as you can.”

James flushed red. Sam snorted. I glanced in his direction. He was fighting not to laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just … can you imagine what the mice would do with that?”

“Yes, and since I don’t want to celebrate the Festival of James Smith is a Wanker for the rest of my life, we’re leaving this part out when we tell them about the whole situation.” James turned even redder. I shot him an apologetic look. “Aeslin mice. I’ll explain more later.”

“I’m not sure whether I want you to,” said James.

“Too bad,” I said. “To get back on track: pain. The crossroads can hurt me any time I’m not behind wards—maybe even when I am behind wards, but I’m trying to think positively—and that means they can keep me from acting. If they have enough time, if we don’t stop them, they might be able to hurt me so badly that I’ll agree to do anything they ask. I can’t …” I stopped and swallowed, overwhelmed by the enormity of what I was about to say. It went against everything I believed in, everything I knew about myself and my place in the world.

We all—my siblings, my cousins, and me—know a certain amount of self-defense, because any weapon that can be taken away from you is not a perfect weapon. Alex is great at punching people, enough so that even Grandma Alice says he’s impressive. She doesn’t impress easily. Verity is more of a kicker, and when you’re talking about someone who thinks extending a leg over her head is easy, that means something. Elsie likes to go for eyes and throats, while Artie was the star of his school track team.

And then there’s me. Little Annie, isn’t it cute how she lays traps and digs pits and sets blasting caps and never wants to hurt her hands. Isn’t it funny how she sleeps with a knife under her pillow and a pair of brass knuckles in the pocket of her flannel pajama pants, where they leave a bruise on her thigh every morning that looks like she’s been punching herself for hours.

Little Annie, who puts her faith in weapons over flesh and bone. Who doesn’t even go to the shower unarmed.

“You’re going to have to take my weapons away any time I need to leave the house,” I said haltingly. “If I go out without them, then even if the crossroads compel me, there’s only going to be so much damage I can do. Especially with Fern and Sam ready to put me down.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” said Sam quietly.

“I can,” said Fern.

We all turned. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, expression grim. The stern line of her mouth melted into a faint smile as she looked at me.

“If I dial my density as far up as it can go, my skin gets harder to break, too, because otherwise I think my bones would explode it or something,” she said. “So all I need to do is become super heavy, knock you down, and sit on you. Then you won’t be able to hurt anybody, even if the crossroads really wants you to.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” I said.

Her smile turned, briefly, more sincere, before fading away entirely. “If we’re going to fight the crossroads, though, I think there’s something we have to think about, maybe. It could make things easier.”

“Fern, no,” said Cylia.

I frowned. “Someone want to fill me in?”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” muttered James.

“She wants you to offer the Covenant asshole a truce,” said Cylia.

I blinked.

“Not a truce,” protested Fern. “Offering him a truce makes it sound like I want us to be friends. I don’t want us to be friends. But he already knows our faces, and the Covenant probably doesn’t like the crossroads any more than we do. If we can get him to come be on our side for fifteen minutes, or at least stop trying to shoot us every time we go outside, we can focus on one problem instead of two, and then maybe we’ll all stay alive for a little longer. I want to stay alive, Annie. I’m sorry if that’s selfish or something, but it’s true. There aren’t enough sylphs left for me to just … just run off and get myself killed.”

She sounded genuinely distressed. I sighed and tugged my ankle away from Sam’s grasp before walking over and folding her into an awkward hug. I’m not good at physical displays of affection. Maybe that’s why I like Sam’s need to have a hand, foot, or other appendage on me at all times; it takes the burden of performing comfort off of me. Fern made a small choking noise and sagged in my embrace.