Chapter Three

My mouth went dry. "Magic... Ma'am?"

The shadows in the room seemed to loom around us and I wrapped my arms over my chest. Emrita's sister had been killed by magic?... Emrita had a sister?...

Her eyes went dark. "I hope, for your sake, that you aren't wanting me to participate in your mistake."

"Ms. Emrita..." my finger found the edge of the book in my knapsack. The dread pooling in my stomach told me to choose my next words very carefully. "I need to know how to get rid of this book, and I can't do it alone... please..."

Even in the dark I could see her eyes narrow, her mouth puckering. "And why should I help you?"

I thought about it for a moment. My mouth opened to say something, then it closed. Why should she help me? I'd essentially just shown up and accused her of witchcraft, then I expected her to summon the will to help me? My own ignorance left me speechless. I dug my heels in frustration.

Emrita stood there a moment, her sharp gaze penetrating my thin veil of authority, and I lowered my head. It came out as a small, sharp noise. "I don't know."

She huffed and turned away. "That's what I thought." A moment passed with no movement and she cast me a backward glance, a smirk etching her features. "However, you're lucky for two reasons: one, I know an awful lot about magic; two, I happen to be fond of having people indebted to me."

My eyes widened and I stumbled over my words. Apparently, living alone for too long made for a disturbing bluntness. I took a mental note and released a tight breath.

"How have you already attempted destroying this book of yours?" She fiddled with her nails and cast me a disapproving look when I didn't respond. "We have to start somewhere, idiot. Can't destroy a magic item like you can a normal one."

I looked back at the floorboards and chewed my lip. "I haven't actually attempted to destroy it yet."

Her disappointment was apparent on her face. She shook her head and motioned for me to follow her, and what a long day it would make out to be.

Emrita led me to her backyard, which, unsurprisingly, was no more cared for than the front. There, she had me set up a small fire and told me to throw the book right in the flame. It didn't take much effort to follow Emrita's instruction, but it took much more effort to run when the book started its firework explosions again, red sparks flying everywhere.

Emrita didn't seem the least bit surprised at this development, only letting out another huff and starting on her next plan.

This time, a pot of boiling water. Using a pair of metal tongs, I dropped the book in and didn't wait to run after the previous results. Not a second later, the pot began emitting cloud upon puffing cloud of hot steam until it ran out of water and the sparks died out. Each time, the book came out completely and entirely unharmed. Out from the water, the book came dry and crisp; from the fire, not so much as a single singe.

Emrita's ideas only continued after this, stretching late into the afternoon. By this point, I was panting and furious at the cursed object, which had been dipped in burning oil, stabbed with a dagger, thrown into a river at noon (Emrita said not to question it), and stomped on multiple times. Every time the book sensed it would come to harm, Emrita observed, it shielded itself. The barrier it used emitted fire and sparks at contact. I found this development positively maddening.

I also noticed that through all of this, really the only effort Emrita had expended toward the whole ordeal was her knowledge of magic. All of the physical preparation and execution was achieved through her hounding me from her chair on the porch until I was sprinting for firewood or a pail of water. This also meant I was at the receiving end of every failed attempt at the book's destruction. I got the brunt of every cursed explosion.

I puffed out a long sigh and plopped onto the ground as I awaited Emrita's next plot. She had put on another few layers of clothing to protect her from the nipping cold, but she still managed to look as unkempt as she had this morning. She still wore the same horrid gray slippers and a grimace that aged her face ten years.

"Well," she drawled from her chair, "seeing as nothing else has worked, I suppose it'll have to be buried."

She cocked an eyebrow at my merciless stare. I was certain she knew how much work I'd put into this project just for her to gaze at every failed attempt in mild amusement. I had half the mind to think she'd set the whole thing up to occupy her free time. Actually, I was fairly certain that was her reasoning.

"Burying magical objects is a great way to banish their magic." Emrita fingered idly at her shawl and let a smile play across her pasty face. Her tangled salt and pepper hair fell in a small mat around her shoulders and in that moment, I was quite convinced she actually was a witch.

"Do you mean to say"—I stood and raked an exasperated hand through my hair—"that you just bury things you can't take care of? Have I been wasting my whole day running errands and preparing experiments when we could have just buried the cursed thing?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Who did you say has been wasting their day again? I believe I remember a certain unruly girl showing up on my doorstep this morning demanding my help."

Oh, so that's how it is? She had a nasty side and she wasn't afraid of showing it. My lips twitched and I balled my fists, then, fuming, I snatched the book from the dirt and shot her a glare. "Where are you wanting it to go?"

Her smile returned. "Come, come."

She passed down the porch stairs with a lilt to her step and traipsed right into the forest past her backyard. I hurried to follow.

We dodged large trees and passed small creeks for at least thirty minutes before Emrita slowed her pace. The afternoon was letting out to evening and the sun was setting, which made visibility difficult when the heavy darkness of the forest blocked what fleeting rays of light were left. More than once, I tripped over a hidden root or scraped my boots on the thorns in the shrubbery. I had to wonder how Emrita, being at least fifty years old, had enough energy to traverse the forest for so long. I also had to wonder why she was willing to go through so much effort for me—all the rest of her contributions had been while sitting in her porch chair.

Suddenly, Emrita's arm flung out to stop me. I ran right into it and she scowled at me, then she aimed a bony white finger toward the soil at her feet. "Bury it right here." She saw my hesitation and scowled again. "What did I say about questioning me? Do it!"

Not ten minutes later, that exact spot had a hole as deep as my elbow and just wide enough to fit the book. With a last glare at Emrita, I placed the book in the ground and watched the dirt pile on top of it until all that remained was a small lump in the ground where the hole had been.

Both of us waited to see what would happen, Emrita from a safe distance, of course.

A minute passed. Nothing. I glanced up at the darkening sky, then at Emrita. I guess we'd done it. I didn't feel the rush of pride or relief I'd been expecting, though.

It was dangerous to be in the forest at night, so on the way back, Emrita stopped waiting for me to get up when I tripped, only quickening her pace and bringing her shawl tighter around her arms. By the time we reached her yard, Emrita was already pushing me out the door with excuses like "I have things to do tomorrow" and "You've deprived me of enough sleep already." I hardly had enough time to collect my wits before I was on the path to my cottage again with the cold dark of late winter nipping at the backs of my legs.

It was peaceful that night, and I opted to sleep in my bed rather than in the wooden kitchen chair again. It seemed like as soon as I closed my eyes, the birds in the forest were singing their morning melodies and the sun had risen into the brightening sky. The night had literally passed in the blink of an eye and I didn't feel any less tired than when I'd pulled the covers over my face the night before.

I groaned heavily and heaved myself out of bed. My eyes were immediately drawn to my desk, checking its every nook and cranny, and I relaxed when I saw there was no cursed object on it. No book, no magic, just the clean pine wood. I smiled and stood, stepping into my slippers.

It was a Sunday. For most, the week started today as yesterday was when the town church met, and the first work day of the week was naturally the most ideal day to go job hunting.

Knowing this fact, I sighed at the need to look as if I cared about my appearance. After putting my pale legging on, I wore another three layers of skirts and my finest white blouse. My light blue vest perfectly complimented my royal blue skirt, and I tied my coarse black hair with a matching blue ribbon. Since today was an important day for impressions, I even got out my foster mother's set of fine brushes, dusty from disuse, and painted my eyes and cheeks. My skin, normally a soft dark brown color, was almost glimmering by the time I had finished and I was worried I'd used too much. Would I come across as vain?

My lips, now glossy, pressed into a thin line as I put away the brushes and tied my boots. I hoped I hadn't messed anything up. And what about Emrita? Was the book still in the forest where we'd buried it last night? I had only the chirping of birds to answer my questions.

I stepped out the door, my eyes drifting downwards, and I screamed before I could collect myself, bringing all my strength into the kick that sent the book flying with sputters of sparks and crackles of magic.

The book. The same cursed pages, the same cursed binding, the same horrid word carved into its cover as it slammed down unceremoniously on the opposite side of my yard, a final burst of sparks erupting from its fall.

Holy fire. I cupped my hand over my mouth as I strung more swearwords through my teeth like seething poison as a product of my utter rage.

It was back.