I cupped my hands around my mouth and called: “I’ve heard the term snake-hipped, but this is ridiculous!”
My cousin turned, and with his turn the high winds died away from our house. The illusion of the cobras faded away to nothing. Ambrose dropped me a wink.
“I embrace the figurative,” he replied. “Literally. Welcome home, Sabrina. How’s the wicked outside world?”
When I was little, I always used to ask why Cousin Ambrose couldn’t come out and play with me in the woods. Aunt Hilda explained to my uncomprehending six-year-old self that he was trapped in the house because he was being punished.
“Know that his punishment was unfair, Sabrina, and we must love him all the more to make up for that,” she’d told me. “It’s natural when you’re full of youthful exuberance to play little tricks like teasing girls, crashing carriages, drowning sailors, burning cities, ending civilizations, and so forth and so on. Boys will be boys.”
It was years before I found out what he’d actually done.
Aunt Hilda has always been indulgent with Ambrose. She’s not his mom, he’s a very distant cousin, but Aunt Hilda moved to England and raised him when he was young and needed someone. The two of them lived together there for so long that almost a century later, Aunt Hilda still has an English accent. I can picture her coming to care for a tiny Ambrose, magical and filled with maternal care, descending from above like a satanic Mary Poppins.
The spell confining Ambrose to our house has been in place for decades longer than I’ve been alive. He’s always been here for me, haunting the house like a friendly ghost. When I was little, he was the ideal playmate, making my dolls move by themselves and my toys whiz about the room. Now that I’m older, he’s like my big and ever-so-slightly bad brother, willing to gossip about boys with me all day long. Or girls, if I ever wanted. It doesn’t matter to Ambrose.
I shrugged and walked carefully down the slope of the roof to stand beside him. “The world’s pretty much as always.”
“Really? From all I hear, seems like the world is changing. Climate change, warlock rights’ activists … sounds horrible.” Ambrose’s voice was wistful. “I wish I could see it for myself.”
“Cheer up. Our town’s pretty much as always. Nothing changes in Greendale.”
Ambrose hummed noncommittally. “What’s worrying you?”
“Nothing.”
“You can’t lie to me, Sabrina, I know you far too well. Also,” Ambrose said blandly, “I put a spell on you so that if you lie to me, your nose will turn purple.”
“You’re joking!”
Ambrose grinned. “Am I? Guess we’ll see. But for now, tell me your troubles. Unleash every bee in your bonnet. Cousin Ambrose is all ears.”
I hesitated. From our rooftop, I could see almost our whole small town, surrounded by trees. The woods stretch on so far, dark and deep. I shivered, and Ambrose put an arm around me.
“Is it your dark baptism? Is it your mortal friends? Wait, no. I bet it’s Harvey.”
There was an edge to my voice. “What makes you think it’s Harvey?”
Ambrose’s arm tightened around my shoulders. “Wild guess. I’m wild, and I’m always guessing. And I know how much you like him. Mind you, I’m not saying I understand the attraction. Personally, I prefer my golden boys slightly tarnished.”
I poked him in the side. Ambrose laughed.
“So, what’s with your boy? Is he in an artistic sorrowful phase? Sweet Satan in a ball gown, I hope he hasn’t started calling you his muse.”
I thought it over before I answered. There was a worn air about Harvey sometimes, as if he cared too much and had to bear too much.
“He’s sad sometimes. His dad and his brother both work in the mines, and his dad keeps pushing him to take some shifts down there too. His dad talks a lot about the family business and the family legacy, but Harvey doesn’t want to be trapped down there in the dark.”
“Good news, Harvey, mining is a dying industry!” said Ambrose. His voice more thoughtful, he added: “Though things don’t stay dead in our town.”
“We saw—I feel so dumb saying this, but we saw a really beautiful girl at the edge of the woods. I wondered if Harvey thought she was better-looking than me.”
“Impossible,” Ambrose said. “Ridiculous. Wait, did you get a picture of this gorgeous specimen? Show me, and I’ll tell you the truth, trust me. Well … you can’t trust me. But show me anyway.”
I pushed my cousin away. “Thanks very much. You’re so helpful.”
We both sat down on the slope of the roof. Ambrose stretched out his legs. I hugged my knees.
“You think he might be faithless?” asked Ambrose. “I’ll cast a spell on him so it feels like his wandering eyes are melting.”
“No! Ambrose, you wouldn’t!”
I twisted around and glared at him. In Ambrose’s dark eyes there was a darker glint for a moment, but the shadow passed.
“Of course not, I’m joking. I’d just do a hilarious and ultimately harmless spell, because I’m a sweetheart. Don’t I look like a sweetheart?”
I raised an eyebrow. Ambrose grinned. I made a throat-cutting gesture with my thumb, and Ambrose pressed a hand to his heart as if deeply wounded.
“I guess … I just wish I could be sure of him,” I said. “I always wanted to find a great love, like Mom and Dad did. But to have a great love, the other person has to love you back.”
My mother was a mortal, and my father was one of the most powerful warlocks in Greendale. I can’t imagine how much he must have loved her, to marry her and have me.
“There’s a spell for that, you know. Do you have some of Harvey’s hair?”
“No, I do not have his hair! And no, Ambrose, I do not want to cast a love spell on my man and one of my best friends since childhood, like a total creep, thanks for asking.”
I spoke in my most severe and Aunt Zelda-ish tones. Ambrose waved a hand in an airy gesture. Leaves fluttered toward him, as if they were butterflies that might alight in his palm.
“I didn’t mean a love spell. I’m not a big fan of them myself. They make everything too easy, and I like a challenge. You and I are so cute, Sabrina, anyone suggesting a love spell would be insulting us. But there is a spell that might open his eyes to how wonderful you are. Teenage boys can be so blind. Trust me, I know. I was one.”
I could do it. I can do simple spells. My aunts and Ambrose are always ready to help me. Since I was little, they taught me everything they could about the world of magic: I learned Latin and incantations when I was tiny, performed rites to win good luck and find lost things, grew up with the knowledge I must beware of demons and beseech the aid of friendly spirits. I learned the properties of plants in the woods, and which to add to potions and concoctions. But no matter how much I study, they tell me it’s nothing to the lessons I’ll learn after my dark baptism, when I start going to the Academy of Unseen Arts.
“It’s tempting,” I admitted.
“Temptations often are.”
If I did the spell Ambrose suggested, I could be sure of him. I liked the idea of Harvey gazing at me, wide-eyed, forgetting everything else in the world. I didn’t have much time, but I could be sure of him in the time we had left. I banished the private vision with an effort.