The Hawkweed Prophecy (25 page)

She opened Ember's book of magic and read the words by the glow of the flames. Chanting, slowly at first then faster and faster, she threw in the items she had carried with her.

Something of hers—a book.

Something of Ember's—a white handkerchief Ember had given her.

Something of her mother's—a pair of red high-heeled shoes Poppy had smuggled into her bag when they came up north.

Poppy hesitated before hurling those in. They were all she had of her mother. Life with Melanie might have been harrowing at times, but it was the life she knew. Maybe a crazy mother was better than no mother at all. The fire gave a hungry snap and Poppy released the shoes into its flaming jaws. Finally she took the photograph from her pocket, took a last look at the stranger smiling back at her, and threw that in too.

Shutting her eyes, she cast the spell. When she opened them, pictures began to flicker across the flames. In them Poppy saw a story unfold, the story of her birth. Two mothers, their bellies round and full. One rushing to a hospital, the other kneeling on a wooden floor. Two babies born on the same hour of the same night. Poppy one, the other Ember. Twinned, not biologically—but magically. Melanie Hooper holding Poppy in her arms, looking so tenderly at her newborn. Charlock Hawkweed cradling Ember, inhaling the scent of her. The images spun in the heat, the two girls growing up as they turned—infant, crawling; toddler, walking; child, running; teen, leaping. Around and around they spiraled until the two figures met in the heart of the fire, clasped
hands, then melted away so it was just the bright hot light of the flames again, devouring the wood, licking the air.

Poppy's cheeks glowed red. Her childhood memories lay in ashes inside of her, choking her. She wanted to cough them up and out of her but she couldn't bear to let them go. After all she had discovered, she still couldn't say good-bye. Instead, Poppy reached her arm straight into the fire and retrieved the photograph. Her arm was ablaze. She watched it curiously for a moment. Then she blew on it, just gently, and the flames died away.

Poppy looked at the photograph of Melanie Hooper—she couldn't call her “mother” any longer. It wasn't even singed.

When Leo saw her, he felt the shock so hard he couldn't breathe. The happiness cracked open inside of him and his heart split into jagged fragments. He couldn't quite believe Poppy was here, running toward him. Good things didn't happen to someone like him. He was so unused to feeling such a high that he didn't know what to do or what to say. He was in uncharted territory with no idea which way to steer. His face wanted to smile but he had to breathe first. Before he could question any further, there she was, in his arms, and all Leo's thoughts disappeared. It was just about feeling. Feeling her against him. Touching her face, her arms, her body. Smelling her neck, her hair. Tasting her mouth, her skin, her tears.

“What's happened?” he asked her, his voice as breathless as he knew it would be.

Poppy looked up at him, her two eyes shining with emotion, the contrasting colors glittering even more brightly through her
tears. Then she put her small, cold hands on his cheeks and kissed him so deeply, he felt he had the whole of her. He picked her up—so light, she was—and lay her down beneath the willow where his blankets were. Their limbs entangled, fitting together like they were part of the same being. All night they embraced and talked and finally slept behind the leafy curtain of the branches, and if Leo had stopped to notice for a moment, he would have sworn the winter air around them was midsummer mild and filled with the scent of jasmine and that wafting past on a balmy breeze came the sweet serenade of a nightingale's song.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-S
IX

P
oppy didn't want to wake. She felt so safe and contented, and even through the haze of sleep she sensed this feeling might end the moment her eyes opened. So she kept them shut and tried to drift in her dreams for a while longer. Leo's arms and legs were heavy and warm around her. His breath was soft and steady on her hair. Poppy guessed he was awake too but didn't want to disturb her. Part of her wanted to turn around and kiss him, hear her voice saying his name, and listen to his reply. But instead she lay still and quiet. Leo's embrace felt like home and she didn't want to leave. She thought of him, the details of him, how he'd kissed her and touched her, and then she made herself stop or she'd have to turn around and make him do it all over again.

The dawn light peeked through the leaves and onto Poppy's closed eyelids, but still she didn't open them, just let the morning rays flicker on her face. Her mind was less obedient. Gently stirring, it took its own course away from Leo, and meandering this way and that, it settled on Charlock. Poppy couldn't bear to think
of that. Not now. So then it traveled to Ember, and there it stuck and wouldn't shift.

Poppy's eyes blinked open. Ember. In front of Poppy's face, a cluster of aconite had sprouted, a lone patch of yellow brightness on the winter grass, the petals the same sunshine shade as Ember's hair. The flowers trembled before Poppy's eyes and closed their petals tightly shut. Suddenly Poppy felt cold. The warm glow of her happiness evaporated and she shivered from the chill. The air that had caressed her skin only moments before now nipped at it painfully, and the ground that had cushioned her all night became a hard and frosty bed. Rather than offering shelter, Leo's limbs felt like they were imprisoning her. Poppy wanted to itch at where his breath hit her hair. She wanted to push his arms away. She wanted to break free and run.

She gave another shiver and Leo kissed her neck.

“Morning,” he murmured.

Poppy sat up.

“What's wrong?” he asked gruffly.

“I have to go and tell Ember. About us.”

“I'll come with you,” he said without an instant's hesitation, and Poppy felt her heart pang.

She turned and looked at him for the first time since they had awoken. Leo put his arms around her, and after a moment, she reached across to hold him back. “I have to tell her myself.”

“Can you wait a while longer?” Leo asked. Poppy rested her forehead on his so their faces were an inch apart. “Just a while . . . ” he entreated.

“She's my only friend.”

“Not only.” Their lips were so close she could feel his moving.

“I've
broken her heart.” She sighed and her mouth brushed the edges of his.

“We both have.”

The jealousy was instant. A fraction of a second and Poppy was pulling away. She had caught the look of guilt in Leo's face and hated him for it. Not wanting him to know, she looked around for the rest of her clothes and started pulling them on.

“It's only ever been you,” he said, knowing everything already. From his pocket Leo took a small, pink, translucent stone. “Jocelyn gave me this. Her favorite one.”

He handed it to Poppy and she felt it cool and silky on her fingers, despite its rough edges.

“It's rose quartz,” he told her. “The heart stone.” Poppy glanced up at Leo and he looked embarrassed and then added a little skeptically, “The crystal of unconditional love—or so she said.”

Poppy held it up to the light and saw it glow pink and warm inside.

“I don't believe in that stuff,” Leo went on. “But I like the idea, I guess.”

“I like it too,” said Poppy softly. She offered it back to him, but he shook his head.

“It's for you.” He smiled shyly.

Poppy felt the tears prick unexpectedly in the back of her eyes. “I can't take this—she gave it to you to show how much she loved you.”

Leo nodded. “I know,” he said. “That's why I'm giving it to you.”

They kissed before she left, long and hard and urgent. Poppy tried to dismiss the idea, but it felt like good-bye and she knew Leo felt it too by the way he held her, not wanting to let her go.

“Come back to me,” he whispered.

The hint of panic in his voice was there more unmistakably in his eyes. Poppy wondered how she was ever going to leave—and then it began to snow.

The flakes weren't fleecy or soft. They hardly seemed made of snow, more like cut glass. Spiky symmetrical perfect patterns that caught in Poppy's hair like elaborate decorations and sparkled on Leo's lashes. Leo gazed up at them, and Poppy saw the panic in his eyes had gone, replaced only by wonder.

Poppy found her way to the coven by instinct, letting her feet carry her where they willed. She had no idea of the route she was taking or how she'd get home. It felt like she had walked in circles, covering the same ground, yet traveling deep into the forest where the terrain was harsh and inhospitable. The snowfall hadn't lasted long enough to settle, but Poppy's boots were wet and muddy from crossing brooks and squelching through burping bogs. Her clothes were ripped by bushes so thorny that she'd left threads dangling from them. She realized early on that it was impossible for anyone to reach the coven without leaving some trace of themselves. Her footprints were everywhere, as was her trail of snapped twigs and broken ferns. Poppy hoped these clues might guide her way back.

The camp was hidden behind boulders that towered above Poppy's head like misshapen totems. Poppy gazed up at them and wondered at the age of their existence. It felt like they had been there since the beginning of time. She knew the coven must lie
beyond them, so she walked around and around until an opening became clear to her.

Once inside, the low, dim light of the forest seemed to brighten. From behind a tree Poppy peered at the scene before her. There were caravans scattered about here and there with no sense of planning or geography. They blended into the surroundings, their wood matching the bark of the trees, strands of ivy wending their way across them. These homes seemed to have sprouted from the ground just like the plants that grew wild around them.

Closer to Poppy were wooden barrels, some full of water, others heavy with compost. Further off she noted a collection of beehives, and in another area stood a large brick oven with fire pits dug into the ground close by and grated with metal spits. Chicken and geese moved about freely, clucking and honking in constant conversation. A horse trotted through them, unharnessed and wild, and a bell jingled from a goat that was tethered to a tree. It was being milked by a woman—a witch, Poppy reminded herself. Poppy could only see the back of her, but she could just make out the faces of others who were walking about the camp, all busy with a job to do—carrying pails, or heaps of clothes, or bundles of kindling. Their clothes were much like Ember's, but that was the only likeness. Their hair was dark, and even at a distance they appeared stronger and coarser.
It was no wonder Ember had felt an outsider
, Poppy thought to herself, and her eyes scanned the camp again for any sight of her friend.

Suddenly a donkey brayed and Poppy jumped. Then an arm pulled at Poppy's elbow, dragging her back behind a boulder, and she looked up to see Charlock's disapproving face. Poppy angrily shook her arm free. Neither of them uttered a sound and, as the
seconds ticked past, Poppy felt her temper easing. When it had subsided altogether, Charlock finally spoke.

“Don't tell her,” was all she said.

Poppy felt the surprise streak through her. “Why not?” was all she replied.

Charlock shut her eyes as though deciding on something difficult. “He cannot be yours.”

Poppy recoiled from the truth she saw in Charlock's eyes. She shook her head and tried to speak. “No,” was all the objection she could manage.

Charlock stood as still as the silvery stone beside her and watched. Poppy's mind started to crack with fear. Desperately she tried to fill the holes with something concrete. When she was stable enough, she raised her chin and looked Charlock in the eye.

“I love him,” she pronounced rebelliously.

Charlock gave a weary sigh. “What about Ember?”

“I don't want to hurt her.”

“Then don't.”

“She needs to know.”

“She needs nothing of the sort.”

Poppy felt the tears rising behind her lids. “I'm your daughter too,” she cried.

Charlock took Poppy's hands in hers and Poppy stared at them—one pair older, browner, the other paler, younger, but the same hands.

“I know,” Charlock said softly, like she cared. “Which is why I'm trying to help you.”

So tender were the words that Poppy looked up into Charlock's eyes willingly, even hopefully.

But the words that followed were sharp, like razors cutting at her wrists.

“You are to be queen.”

Metal on flesh.

“It is prophesied.”

The blade pressing down.

“A queen can never mate. The chaff will die.”

Slash.

“Their hearts break. The boy you love. It's already started. The arteries hardening, closing.”

Slash.

“The longer you stay with him, the faster it will go. If you do not leave him, he will die.”

Poppy tried to shake her head but it was her legs that shook. She tried not to believe, to walk away, but her legs would not carry her.

“I'm not a queen,” she whispered.

“Not yet. But you will be soon,” said Charlock.

“I won't do it then. I won't. You can't make me,” Poppy argued, her voice raising uncontrollably.

“It's not a choice,” Charlock stated firmly.

Poppy's head was shaking now, along with the rest of her, wanting to rid herself of Charlock's words. But more were to come.

“You'll kill him,” Charlock repeated.

And with that, the last of Poppy's hopefulness bled away.

She couldn't remember much of what followed in the moments after that. She knew she had vomited because she could still taste the sour sickness in her mouth. Charlock had been talking, touching, guiding her, but Poppy couldn't recall the words or the feeling. Here she was now, on the fringes of the forest, her
feet firmly on the path home, Charlock pointing the way. Poppy's face burned as she remembered her night with Leo—how she'd wanted to go further and how he'd resisted.

“You don't have to protect my honor, you know,” she had whispered with a smile.

“I don't want you to do anything you'll regret,” he'd said.

Poppy gave a loud sob and felt the bile rise up again from inside of her. Charlock swept her fingers gently across Poppy's forehead. It was soothing as Poppy always imagined a mother's touch should be. Poppy closed her eyes in despair.

“Tell no one who you are, that we've met. Not a word. And don't come looking for me,” she heard Charlock say, and Poppy squeezed her eyes tighter shut so the tears wouldn't spill. “It isn't safe.”

“How long have you known about me?” Poppy croaked.

“I've always known about Ember. Even when she was a baby, I felt it, that she wasn't my flesh and blood.” Poppy's eyes opened and she looked at Charlock to verify the truth, though she already knew she was not lying. “I'm no fool,” Charlock continued. “Despite what others may think. I love Ember, though, as my own.”

Poppy searched Charlock's face for some clue to her affections, but her features were unreadable. If there was any love for Poppy within her, even the mildest sympathy, it was tightly kept in check.

“What about me?” Poppy wailed, and now the tears came gushing. “You're my mother. You're supposed to love me.”

“I'm supposed to keep you
safe
,” Charlock replied quickly, her voice harsh and dry. “The first day you came to the dell . . . so close, I could have seen you, talked to you, I could have told you everything . . . but then there would be no hiding you and they would come for you and they would destroy you.”

“Who?” Poppy asked, the fear rippling through her as she remembered Minx and the unseen enemy who had inflicted all those injuries upon her.

“The ones who took you from me.”

Poppy blinked. “I don't understand.”

“The prophecy. ‘In three hundred and three years hence, the Hawkweed sisters will yield a daughter who will govern all her kind.' So it is told. You are to be queen. Your enemies are manifold. And you are untaught and unpracticed, despite your power. The time will come to reveal yourself, but it is not now. Not yet.”

There was such a force to Charlock's words, but still her face betrayed none of the passion that left her lips. Poppy looked away. She wanted to laugh it off, to mock it all as silly superstition. She wanted to find Leo and curl back into his embrace and pretend that none of this had happened.