He shuffled closer, smile growing when Lina tensed and took the tiniest step back. Witches only smiled when they wanted something, because they knew they were going to get it.
Lina’s heart was pounding, but she raised her chin in defiance. “Even if that’s true, the queen still lost. The girl still won.”
“Is death winning, then?”
“The queen didn’t get what she wanted. She couldn’t steal the boy away.”
“And now you know why none of us likes the song.” The witch dipped his head. “You should tell the lad that, the one who played it just now.” His eyes flicked past her. Lina followed his gaze, looking out at the crowd, eyes widening. “It won’t win him any magic. Thought I’d mention it in return for the dance. You look alike, the two of you. Same eyes and—”
Lina didn’t catch the rest, because she was already moving, charging toward the nearest bonfire and the figure silhouetted by its curling flames. Had that been a threat? Was the witch trying to warn her? A warning in exchange for a dance instead of a charmed trinket or lock of hair?
Someone had painted a gleaming band of gold across her brother’s eyes like a mask. Dimples appeared in Finley’s flushed cheeks as soon as he spotted her. Drinking always turned him red as a tomato. “And this here angry-looking bird’s my wee sis,” he informed the girl at his side. An extremely pretty girl in glittery black whose long chestnut hair rippled like waves.
Finley waved his violin bow. “Come and dance with your brother, Lina. We’ll soon put a smile on that face.”
Lina did smile, at the girl in glittery black. “He has a girlfriend. I know it’s hard to tell, because he flirts with anything that moves and can’t keep his hands to himself, but—”
Finley let out a choked sound. The girl’s expression soured like she’d sucked on a sea plum. “Now, hold on!” said Finley as she turned to walk away. “She’s making that up. Don’t listen!”
Lina grabbed his sleeve. “We’re going to Uncle’s. Right now.”
Finley swayed and lumped a sweaty arm over Lina’s shoulders. “Don’t be like this. Here. Look.” He struggled to dig a hand inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket and hold on to his bow and violin at the same time. “Look what I got.”
Lina turned her head away. “You reek.” She started backward.
Finley tottered after her, one arm still heavy around her shoulders. His breath was hot on her cheek, rank with the stench of strong alcohol. “Here. See. See.” He waved something, and the end whipped her neck. A length of braided hair and twine, knotted and threaded through with mother-of-pearl and shards of bone. A witch’s ladder, for hanging in a ship’s cabin, to calm the waves and ward off storms. A talisman to protect against the monsters that roamed the Eastern Sea.
Magic worth more than her mothers made in a year.
Lina stared, speechless.
Finley tucked the witch’s ladder back into his jacket. “For the parentals, so they can come home quick and safe.” He tapped his chest proudly and winked, or tried to, face scrunching with the effort. “You didn’t think I came here just for a laugh, did you? And here, for you—”
“You shouldn’t have come at all.” Lina headed for the edge of the square, something like envy twisting inside her stomach. She’d won magic before, impressing the witches with her dancing on St. Walpurga’s Eve. They’d said she danced so beautifully she could stop a person’s heart with her steps. But she’d never won anything so valuable as this. Glass glinted as Finley drew more magic from his pockets. A bottled spell this time, clouded glass, cork-stoppered.
A round-bottomed bottle filled with tears and wishes, bone and breath and sand. Anchors for powerful magic. You could use a witch’s hair to weave charms, their teeth to cast curses. Mainlanders were said to boil witch bodies down to the bone. The only way to have magic if you hadn’t been born with it in your veins.
Unless you paid for it, of course. But not everyone was willing to pay.
“Is that—” Lina paused, biting her lip, as a flood of dancers swept by. This wasn’t the time. Bodies swelled around them on all sides, a living tide. She scanned the crush for Thomas. “Let’s just go.”
“Don’t worry,” said Finley, misinterpreting her look. “I’ll protect you from the wicked queen.”
“I’m not looking for the queen. I’m looking for Thomas.”
“Of course you are.” Finley’s expression darkened. He shoved the bottled spell into his pocket. “That coward won’t come here.”
“He was here. He was helping me look for you.”
This was too much for Finley’s ale-addled brain. He blinked, lips parting, closing, parting again. He scrubbed a hand over his face and smudged his left eyebrow.
“Did you draw your eyebrow on?”
“I may have borrowed a bit of your paint.”
“You used my makeup? I swear—” The weight on Lina’s shoulders lessened as Finley teetered sideways to smash fists with his friend Josef. Another idiot risking his life for free magic. For ropes and wreaths of sailor’s knots tied with strands of hair. For bottles filled with spit and saltwater. Why were boys so utterly stupid?
“Mate!” The clash of their shouts almost burst her eardrums.
The three of them skirted a group of passing musicians, Lina peering anxiously through the fray. “We’ve been looking for you for ages, Finley,” she complained. “Everywhere. And Thomas doesn’t like being here.”
“Lin’s here?” Josef’s eyes were wide in his tanned face. His hand scraped through his tight-cropped black curls, and his hip knocked Lina’s, surprise fading quickly into the sly, crafty look worn only by the drunk. “Oh, he’d only risk that for you, hen. Only you. ‘What is it with Lina? Why won’t she talk to me? Why does her brother hate me so?’” Josef mimicked in a high-pitched version of Thomas’s lilting accent.
Finley looked murderous.
Lina blinked. “Wait, what are you—what do you—did he really say that?”
“He’s too old for you,” said Finley before Josef could answer.
“He’s only twenty, same as you, and I’m practically eighteen,” said Lina.
“He’s dangerous. I told you,” said Finley. “It’s his fault the sacrifices have stopped working.”
They crossed into the shadow cast by the pillar in the center of the square. Words carved deep into the dark stone shone silver, twining over its surface:
Our love keeps us from drowning.