But she knew who. There was only one witch who wore other people’s faces on St. Walpurga’s Eve. One witch who appeared to you as the person you loved.
A tiny, involuntary thrill shot through Lina. “Did you see—”
“Finley?” Thomas, the real Thomas, stood with all the tension of someone about to bolt, dread coiled in every muscle. “No, not yet.”
Lina swallowed hard and didn’t correct him. There was so much fear in his face already. She let out a breath. But the blood in her veins was still singing, humming.
“I’ll help you find him. I heard you injured your ankle again.”
A hot flare of indignation helped Lina regain her composure. “I’m not helpless.”
“But you’re slow. And small. Someone could knock you over. You could get trampled. Hurt. Look, it doesn’t matter if she’s not going to pick you. You can’t trust anyone here. The quicker you find him, the better.” Thomas flinched as a messenger spell—a small spiral of wind, a teacup-sized waterspout—whistled past his temple with a wind-chime tinkle.
Lina’s heart ached. How could he fear magic when it was this beautiful? “We’ll be quick then, I promise.” And maybe it was a response to the taunt from a minute before, but she reached out and took his hand. “I’ll hold on to you.” She was blushing again, cheeks glowing brighter even than the bonfires, brighter even than the crimson fireworks blooming above their heads. “I mean—I mean,” she stammered. “Like—like the song.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. She suddenly wanted to find whoever was currently playing and strangle them. The faint lilting strains of a single violin.
Hide him, hide him, out of sight.
Hold him, hold him, hold on tight.
Understanding dawned on Thomas’s face. Lina was ready to dig a hole and bury herself in it. She may as well have screamed, “I love you!” in front of the whole damn square. Because it was a song all the islanders knew and a song the queen obviously knew. A song about a girl who had refused to hand her lover over as sacrifice, who hadn’t let him go even when the queen used magic to try and steal him away. The witch had turned the boy into a sea serpent, a bear, and finally, a raging wall of fire, but the girl hadn’t let go, and in the end, the queen had been forced to let the lovers be.
A passing dancer picked up the tune, singing the words loud and clear. Then another. And another. Voices raised in unison, in defiance. The whole island sang, waves of sound sweeping through the square.
The Witch Queen comes on wings of night.
The Witch Queen has your heart’s delight.
Hold him, hold him, hold on tight.
Hide him, hide him, out of sight.
There wasn’t a person here who didn’t know the tune, who hadn’t heard the words sung above their cradle, who hadn’t been lulled to sleep by the tale of the girl who’d stolen love from the Witch Queen.
Lina sang, too, because screw it, there wasn’t any way she could embarrass herself more. There was no going back now.
Thomas didn’t take his eyes off her as he joined in, voice soft but carrying because of its haunting quality. His was a siren’s song, luring in all who listened.
The circle of dancers swept them up. The current tossed them round the square, and Lina fiercely ignored the worsening ache in her ankle, the sharp bursts of shooting pain. She would pay for it later, but for now Thomas was with her, steadying her. He spun her stiffly, self-consciously, holding her at an awkward distance. It was Lina who had to steer their steps now, and she quickly shoved down the tiniest pang of disappointment. So he wasn’t a very good dancer; what of it? She linked arms with him, guiding him through the other revelers.
“Have you seen Finley?” she asked Gita when she spied her. Her classmate was giggling, one arm wrapped around a bearded musician. Her painted lips parted in an O when she spied Thomas.
“Have you seen my brother?” Lina asked a witch draped in sealskin. “Black hair? Massively tall? He plays violin.”
Gita shook her head. The witch kissed Lina’s cheeks. Lina spied Finley’s friend Istvan and grabbed his wrist. “Where the hell is Finley, knobhead?”
Istvan cursed and waved a hand in the direction from which they’d come. The great circle of dancers broke into lines, witches on the outside, islanders on the inside, everyone weaving in and out, skirts spinning like upturned tornadoes.
Sweat stuck Lina’s dress to her back. “I’m going to murder him.”
“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?” Thomas’s boot crackled and crunched on a broken bottle.
He moved in time with her as they headed for the far side of the square, finally finding the beat, and Lina let herself imagine, just for a tiny, tiny second, that she wasn’t here searching for her brother. That she was here for the magic, for the witches’ bold promise: she would kiss the boy she loved by the light of the thirteen bonfires, and he would be hers forever. She’d daydreamed about it, what Thomas would taste like, what his mouth would feel like moving against her own.
Hot. Insistent. Dark daydreams that twisted her stomach into knots and left her feeling flushed and a little ashamed. There was a deep and ravenous hunger inside of her. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or eat him whole.
His hand closed over hers. Warmth seeped through her glove, and she wished she hadn’t worn it, wished she could feel his skin pressed against hers. “Finley’s lucky. When I…I didn’t have anyone who cared enough to come after me. Who would’ve held on to me.”
Lina swallowed.
Thomas smiled, the action undoing her like it always did, every bone in her body melting to mush. Because Thomas was the boy from her daydreams, the only boy the Witch Queen had ever let go, the boy at the center of Caldella’s most famous love story, which was a feat in a city brimming with love stories. From the girl who’d held on to her lover through enchantment and fire, to Laolao and Grandpa, who’d sailed from opposite sides of the globe so they could be together, to Ma, who had smuggled Mama onto the island just before its borders were closed.
Stories filled the witches’ island until it overflowed.
But to Lina, it often felt like everything exciting, everything that meant anything, had happened before she was old enough to take part. The stories were over, the books closed, and she was stuck living in somebody else’s happily ever after. A boring background character. She wanted more. She wanted to be something more. She wanted to change someone or save someone. She wanted a love people told stories about.
Thomas’s smile promised she could have it.
The song changed, and he withdrew his hand from hers to carefully copy the boy beside him, pressing a fist to his heart and dipping at the waist as the steps of the next dance demanded. A lithe figure with ash-colored hair elbowed Lina aside, shoving her suddenly into the arms of another reveler, stealing her place as Thomas’s partner.