“Yes, Mother.”
Knit, purl, knit, purl.
“Is that all, Mother?”
“No. Where are my cinnamon sticks?”
Eli took them from her pouch and set them next to the sugar cubes. Circinae set down her knitting, picked one up delicately with manicured nails, and bit into it, crunching it like a bone.
“Don’t you want to know how the mission went?” Eli asked quietly.
“You’re here, aren’t you? I assume it was a success. I didn’t raise you to be stupid enough to come home a failure.”
Eli hesitated. “Of course, Mother.”
Eli stood there a little longer, the fire crackling purple, the shadows on the walls dancing like giant puppets. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, making a few buds bloom in her chest cavity. She clenched her hands. Took a breath in. Watched her mother for a glimmer of betrayal — sometimes, if you looked carefully, you could see the true colour of intention in the movements of the people who were supposed to love you.
Eli saw nothing. She exhaled. The summons had not yet come.
Not in immediate danger of being dismembered, she went to her room.
Once safely inside, she took Clytemnestra’s gift and raised it to her mouth. Gently, she bit down, piercing a hole through the centre. Then she grabbed a piece of spiderweb from the ceiling and threaded it through the hole. She hung the fragment of china around her neck, the pendant hidden under her shirt.
A series of marks on the wall caught her attention. A perfect red circle to symbolize hawthorn berry. A few faint lines for spiderweb. A jagged line to suggest broken glass. Several other marks that meant nothing to anyone but Eli.
The recipe for herself.
Once she had thought to learn the secrets of her making. She had believed that if she knew the ingredients that made up her body, she wouldn’t need Circinae to make her strong again.
Once she had even thought that this knowledge would free her. She had been reckless, playing a foolish, dangerous game. But she had given that up. She had accepted her place in the order of things.
She stared at the parts that had gone into her making and shuddered. This is what she would become if she were to be unmade. A collection of found things. Pieces of stone and glass. Circinae had raised her on stories of failed and disobedient assassins who were turned back into parts and repurposed. Or worse — fed to the Heart of the Coven.
And now Eli had killed a human.
Blood smeared across the tile floor. The look of terror in his eyes before the knife —
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Heart thrumming, she turned away from the scribbles of a young girl. Kite had left an altar of moss and frostberries on the windowsill. Eli grinned, felt a warming in her chest, a dangerous furnace for a wooden house. She knew she should lie down on her own bed of moss and sleep. But Kite was waiting, and Eli knew where to find her. So instead she opened the window and slipped outside, feeling a different kind of thrill from the one hunting gave her.
These were the moments she lived for, morsels of stolen freedom.
Four
Eli had met Kite the first time she ran away from Circinae, back when she’d meant it when she called her “mother.” Before she had learned that it wasn’t a term of endearment: it was a title. (Eli reminded herself of that every day. She understood that creators have strings embedded in our hearts.)
She had run into the invisible maze, looking for shelter, imagining a secret hideout of other made-things, hungry and fierce and loving, who might rescue her from the witches.
She’d become lost in the Labyrinth. She was young, and young things are reckless.
“Come and play with me, little human!” A giggle from behind her. Eli spun around, but the wall was smooth.
“Over here, little girl!”
“This way!”
“No, the other way!”
Laughter dogged her steps, always coming from behind her. Eli could feel the eyes of the wall watching her, and she feared they were Circinae’s. She didn’t yet know that there were much, much worse creatures in the world than mothers.
Panicking, Eli closed her eyes. She felt the darkness of her lids like a gust of cool air. Now that her eyes were closed, she could not be deceived by the smooth, impenetrable walls, nor the curving pathways and elegant staircases that seemed to appear out of thin air to carry her in dizzying circles.
Eli pressed herself against the wall. She could feel rough patches and cracks. She followed one of the cracks, her fingernails digging into the porous surface, where moments ago it had been harder than glass.
By touch, she followed the crack for several minutes, until she realized the voice had stopped following her. As she turned a corner, she could feel that the crack was growing wider, and she could fit the tips of her fingers in it.
Soon, she could jam her hands in up to her knuckles. She felt earth and wetness. She knew, somehow, that this was leading her somewhere. Leading her out of the Labyrinth.
When the crack widened to allow her entire hand in, Eli stopped.
She felt eyes on her body again, and this time, they felt like a warning.
She’s coming, they told her.
Eli started digging frantically, ripping out pieces of the wall, pushing herself into the dark, narrow crevice.
Closer.
She will catch you.
This is her world.
No. This is our world. Her world is outside our walls. Stop, child, you’re hurting us!
This isn’t your home!
“This is my home!” Eli cried out, slamming her body into the wall. “This is my home!” She could hear the click of high heels on stone and took a run at the wall. She threw her body at the small hole she had made. “I am home!”
She passed through easily.
Behind her, the wall sealed shut, as if it had never been disturbed by the claws of a young assassin. Eli spat out a clump of dirt. It landed beside a pair of ballerina slippers.
Eli looked up to see the most beautiful child.
“Welcome home!” The child giggled. She offered a hand. “I’ve been waiting for you for ages. I eventually got tired and gave up, but here you are! Come, I’ll show you the peepholes where we can watch the witches. This is going to be so much fun. I’ve never had a pet before.”
Eli wiped her mouth and then took her hand. It was clammy and rubbery as seaweed. Lowering her head, Eli bit down hard.
The girl pulled her hand away. “Bad pet! Don’t bite me!”
“You taste like salt,” said Eli. “And I’m not a pet.”
The girl hesitated and then knelt down beside Eli.
“You tasted me. Now I will taste you. This will seal our friendship pact.”
Gracefully, she bent over Eli and bit her ear.
“You taste like life. And orange peels,” she whispered. “Your name is Eli.”
“How did you know that?”
“You told me in your blood. Can you tell mine? You have the taste.”
Eli looked into the sea-green eyes for a long moment and then felt the sound bubbling to the surface, soft on her lips.
“Kite.”
Kite exhaled. “Kite. Yes.” She squeezed Eli’s hand. “You have entered the Children’s Lair. Only children are welcome here. The walls and the Warlord keep us safe. You must not tell any adult about it.”