Mixing Magics, page 16
That thought freaks me out so much that I hurry to catch up with Fin. Being alone with your thoughts for a second is great, until they turn on you.
When I finally reach Fin, they’re muttering to Clío in what I think is Irish. And then I realize they aren’t muttering, they’re singing.
“You can sing?” The question is out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
“All beings sing, in their way,” Fin says when they finish the verse. Or maybe chorus. It’s not a song I recognize. But Clío seems to like it.
They keep singing, and though it’s eerily soothing, I can’t stop the doubt building in my chest. It almost feels like a physical thing, just under my heart. It’s like a bubble is growing there and it’s tugging me away from Fin. Not back toward the cliff. At least I don’t think so. But not in the direction we’re headed either.
“Are you sure we’re headed the right way?” I ask.
They stop singing. Then they stop walking. Their head tilts to the side as if they’re considering the question.
“I thought I’d have longer,” they say. And whatever I expected, it wasn’t that. Because that’s not even remotely an answer to my question. It’s practically a fountain spouting other questions.
“Have longer for what?” I ask, even though I’m a tiny bit afraid of the answer.
“They’re calling to you, aren’t they?” Fin asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure they’re somehow aware of the weird compass bubble situation happening in my ribs.
“Your memories,” Fin says. “It happens to all grown witches when they linger in this dimension. They are drawn to the memories they’ve sent here before them. I thought it would perhaps take longer, since you are not yet technically of age. But human measurements of age and time are always fickle and fallible, and you know yourself very well for someone so young.”
“Fin, what are you talking about?”
“You’re being drawn to the Memorabilia. It’s where your grandmother will be. And probably the Kalispell Coven by this stage.”
“What’s the Memorabilia?” I ask.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Fin says. “But it’s where your memories go when they are surrendered to Dismembers.”
“Wait,” I say, my brain reeling. “Hold up, our memories come here when we give them to a Dismember?”
Fin doesn’t reply, but lifts Clío above their head.
“What the heck, Fin?” I ask, looking around to see if there’s some demon headed for us or if the foam is rising or something. But all I see is the Expanse.
“I’m holding her aloft, per your instructions,” Fin explains.
“Fin, it’s just an expression,” I say. “I wanted you to slow down and explain what you’re saying about memories and Dismembers and the Memora—whatever.”
“Memorabilia,” Fin says. “It was part of our original bargain with blood witches centuries ago. When our mutual sacrifices were agreed upon to preserve the balance between dimensions. Sacrifice of blood and sacrifice of memories. They each serve different purposes.
“Memories are actually the most powerful sacrifices you make as blood witches. Much more powerful than piddly little drops of blood. And, well, the beings of this dimension that you call Awarenesses, Buffers, Confusions, and Dismembers—Memory demons—are . . . collectors of sorts. You might call them curators, historians, even. So every memory they’ve ever taken from your dimension is stored in . . .” They trail off.
“The Memorabilia,” I finish. My mind races. The memories I’ve given to Dismembers over the years are here? Somewhere? Does that mean I could get them back?
“Though your kind have gotten a great deal wrong about the beings of this dimension,” Fin continues, “you are most often wrong in the ‘tomato is technically a fruit’ kind of way and not in the ‘two plus two is five’ kind of way. Though two plus two can equal five in certain circumstances, of course.”
“Of course,” I say, mostly because I have other much more important questions and I’m certain that there is no dimension where two plus two equals five. “But why didn’t you want me to get to the Memorabilia?” I ask.
“I, well, I wasn’t ready.”
“Why?” The tugging in my chest feels stronger than ever, and it’s almost like it’s fighting with my need to understand why Fin didn’t actually want me going to Grandma Orla. Especially if I was the one who could lead us there. “Why, Fin? Why didn’t you want me to find my grandma?” I ask. “And my memories?” I add, my voice shaking.
“Because I’m rather proud, Bernadette,” Fin says. “I do care quite a lot what you think of me. And I fear when you see the memories waiting for you in the Memorabilia, when you see the truth of my history with your family . . . Well, I’m quite concerned your opinion of me will plummet and that you will understand the Crowley hatred of all Mysteries, and of me in particular.” They turn away, dropping their head. “And I had hoped, while we are out of time, to charm you a bit more and perhaps secure you as a true ally, in the way your namesake once was. Before I ruined everything.”
Before Fin ruined everything? Secure me as an ally? My mind is on hyper-speed, but it screeches to a halt as it settles on one particular thing Fin said.
“Out of time?” I squeak. “Are we out of time? Out of time to do what?”
“Oh, my dear witch, I mean that literally,” Fin says, turning back to me and taking my hand in theirs. “This dimension is not subject to the passage of time, which was part of my mistake, my misunderstanding.”
“Fin, where is my grandma? Where is the Kalispell Coven? What am I doing in this dimension?”
“I hope you are helping me right a wrong,” Fin says. “But in order to do that, we’ll both have to face our pasts.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“And neither did I,” Fin says. And I want to pull my hand from theirs and throttle them. Because this is ridiculous.
“Fin, please, can we just go find Grandma Orla?” I plead. “Can you tell me how to find her?”
“Yes,” Fin says, and I want to cry I’m so relieved. But of course, I don’t. I almost wish I could. It would be a release of everything building inside me since I’ve been in this dimension.
“But first, I need you to understand a few things, okay?”
“Are they even things I can understand?” I ask. “Because you keep talking in circles, Fin. And now you tell me you were literally leading me in the wrong direction. I just don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Blood witches used to come to the demon dimension regularly,” Fin says. And just when I think they’re finally explaining things, they go and say something so absurd that I actually think I might have left my brain in the mortal dimension. Because what Fin says next is too ridiculous for a human brain to accept.
“Blood witches from the most powerful families almost all came to this dimension,” Fin repeats. “But you came here as babies.”
chapter twenty-nine
an unauthorized field trip
“Very funny,” I say. But I’m not laughing. And neither is Fin.
“I do not jest,” Fin says. “Well, I do. Quite often, actually. But that was not a jest. It was a fact. For many generations, blood witches sent their young witches—when they were still squishy and silly and utterly delightful little chaos gremlins—to come entertain a Mystery for a time. In exchange, we served them in the mortal dimension for a time.”
“Entertain?” I splutter.
“Indeed,” Fin says. They sigh, as if imparting truly terrible information. “That is the only purpose your kind serve in this dimension I’m afraid. Though”—they hold out their hands—“it is a very essential and wonderful purpose. One we cherish enough to use our considerable magic and power in your dimension.”
“You’re seriously telling me blood witches just sent their babies and toddlers into another dimension to be looked after by demons?” I fully cannot process this information. And maybe I just won’t.
“Well, I wasn’t trying to be overly serious about it, no.” Fin crosses their arms. “But yes, Mysteries have a fondness for the youngest of your kind, and we are quite wonderful caretakers. Particularly when food and water and waste disposal are not requisite.”
“Wait, is that how you know Grandma Orla?” I demand. “Did you—was she—did her mom send—” I can’t even finish the question but Fin nods.
“Orla’s mother bound me,” Fin says. “And I brought Orla to this dimension. However—” They break off and look away. “Well, though time doesn’t exist here, it does exist in another dimension. A dimension that is not the mortal dimension. A dimension where I took Orla for what you might call . . . an unauthorized field trip.”
“To another dimension?”
Mars squirms on my shoulder and Clío jumps down from Fin’s shoulder and runs to me through the orange foam.
“I’m sorry, girl,” I say. “I’m just a little bit upset.” I glare at Fin.
“As was your namesake,” Fin says. “I didn’t understand what I had done until it was far too late. But when I returned to the mortal dimension, expecting to find Orla’s mother and complete my service to her in your dimension, well . . .” They trail off again, and when they look back at me, their eyes are so full of sadness and regret it almost hurts to look at them.
“I didn’t realize I’d taken a toddler into the demon dimension and brought back a little girl,” Fin says. “We don’t perceive time in the same way and can’t detect the changes in human forms very well. Ordinarily we can enjoy the company of a tiny blood witch indefinitely and bring them back to the mortal dimension unchanged but enriched by their time here. But that was not the case when I brought Orla . . . elsewhere.”
“How much time had passed?” I ask. “For my family? How much time had passed in the mortal dimension?”
“Four years,” Fin says. “And—” They shake their head like they can’t bear to finish the sentence.
“And what, Fin?” I growl. I’m trying to imagine what it must have felt like for Grandma Orla’s mom to lose four years of her daughter’s life.
“And her mother had died,” Fin says. “While Orla and I had been away, Niamh had died.”
My heart freezes. I knew Grandma Orla had lost her mom when she was young, but I hadn’t realized she hadn’t even been there. Because of course I hadn’t. Because I didn’t know anything about any of this.
“Your great-great-grandmother was furious,” Fin says. “And I didn’t understand. She swore to never bind another Mystery, to never send another blood witch child to the demon dimension. And I was foolish, so foolish. I didn’t believe she’d do it. I didn’t believe she’d conjure a dozen Dismembers. But she did.” They sink to their knees and drop their head into their hands. “And before I could stop her, she forgot—all of it. She sacrificed every memory she’d had of our friendship, of the balance, of blood witches’ true connection to Mysteries. And she’s been ensuring everyone else forgets ever since. Until you.”
Fin falls silent and I stand there for a long time. Clío whines at my feet, but I ignore her. I need a second—or maybe a year—to process what Fin’s just said.
Fin stole years of Grandma Orla’s life from her family. No wonder Great-Great-Grandma Ber didn’t want anyone binding a Mystery ever again.
“That’s why I didn’t want you to reach the Memorabilia too soon,” Fin says. “Because I’m not certain what the Crowley version of those memories holds—the version of me trapped in them.”
“Then let’s find out,” I say. My voice is strange and flat, and I don’t even know what to feel anymore. “We’re going to the Memorabilia.”
“Yes,” Fin agrees as they push themself to standing. “I do believe we are. And, if you’re willing, I know a shortcut. But it’s not for the faint of heart.”
“Is it really a shortcut?” I snap. “Or is it another trick?”
“It is really unsettling,” Fin says. “But I swear upon the Great Mystery itself that I’m not willfully deceiving you in any way, and that if we proceed through the Squelch, we will reach the Memorabilia imminently.”
“Does imminently mean soon?” I ask.
“Soonest,” Fin says. “For we are very near to the Squelch, indeed.”
* * *
I thought that maybe Fin was being, well, Fin, when they said “very near to,” and that we’d actually have a Void, a Swathe, and a Vastness to cross before we got to the Squelch. But in what feels like no time at all, the Expanse ends, and we reach an endless wall of . . . flowers?
“So, what did you mean by ‘really unsettling’?” I ask as I look at the waving wall of pink. It stretches as far as I can see in every direction, and I’m baffled how I didn’t notice it as we approached. It’s covered in about a million flowers in every shade of pink, from bubble gum to magenta.
“Are we talking scary? Difficult? Literally something else I’d never think of because your vocabulary is light-years ahead of mine even though it seems like it’s your twenty-seventh language or something?”
Fin either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care to explain. Instead, they study the wall, an expression on their face I can’t place.
“Um, Fin?” I finally ask. “Did you hear me?”
“One hundred and seventeenth,” Fin says.
“What?”
“English was my one hundred and seventeenth language,” they explain.
“Seriously?”
“Rarely,” Fin replies. “I find English is particularly useful for a great many emotions, but there are at least twelve languages I’d choose for all things serious before English.”
I can’t tell if they’re joking, which I think is their point.
“In a moment, we’ll step into the Squelch, Bernadette. And I just need you to remember that even if you get the sensation that you are being squashed, stretched, or even perhaps dismembered, you are not. It’s an illusion of sorts. A side effect of this mode of transport.”
“A side effect?” I squeak. “I might feel like I’m being dismembered!? Like literally? Physically? Not the Memory sacrifice kind? Like the limbs coming off kind?”
“It might feel like it, yes,” Fin says. “But not in a painful way.”
“There’s a type of limbs ripping off that isn’t painful?”
“Well, yes, when your limbs are not, in fact, being removed.”
“What about Mars?” I ask. “And Clío?”
“Cats are not, in fact, solid, as you know. So Mars will be unaffected.”
“And my dog!?”
“I will carry her and shield her from the worst of the Squelch’s disorienting effects.” Fin looks down at me. “Or perhaps we should take a longer route. Maybe you aren’t quite Squelch material.”
“I don’t even want to know what you mean by that,” I mutter. “But don’t act like you know me. You don’t. And it turns out I don’t know you very well at all either.”
“Well, that could be true,” Fin says. “There are many mysteries still between us.”
“Then let’s go find some answers,” I say, gesturing at the wall of flowers.
“This next bit is going to be a bit disorienting,” Fin says.
“Because everything so far has been so orienting?” I ask.
“By comparison, yes,” Fin says. My stomach tightens at their tone. Whatever’s coming next must be next-level weird if it warrants this many warnings.
I take a deep breath as I get Mars settled on my shoulder. How bad can it be? I regret that question as soon as I think it. But there’s really no turning back now. Besides, I faced a Cataclysm and a dozen Butcheries in the mortal dimension. I can handle whatever illusions the Squelch has in store. And the sensation of being squashed and stretched and—okay, not going to think about it anymore.
“Let’s go,” I say. “Less thinking, more going.”
“What a very human thing to say,” Fin says. But they scoop up my dog and vanish into the wall of flowers. I take a breath—or whatever I’ve been doing that feels like breathing but is not actually breathing in this dimension—and step forward. And hope with all my heart that whatever this Squelch has in store doesn’t last too long.
chapter thirty
the squelch
There’s a moment when I first step into the flowers after Fin that I think they’ve exaggerated. The sensation of the petals brushing my face is pleasant, almost tickling, but not quite. Then there’s a squeeze, like a weighted blanket is being dropped on me from all sides. And it’s comforting. Like the most perfect hug in the universe.
And then it all changes.
For how obsessed they are with words, Fin’s description of the effects of the Squelch fell very, very short. But maybe that’s because there are no words. There are no directions. No sensations. But I feel everything. At the same time, I am nothing. I’m pizza crust being eaten by a ravenous raccoon. I’m the last mozzarella stick in the basket that’s gone a bit cold, and I break instead of stretching like my friends before me. I’m the sugar-free gum on the bottom of Krystal with a K’s perfectly white shoes as she walks across the lunchroom of the universe, and I feel every. Single. Step.
I’m turning to absurdist poetry. I’m losing my mind. Literally. It’s being pulled from my skull, and I’ll never think another thought. Which is a relief, but only for a moment. Because I need my mind. There’s something I have to do. Someone I used to be.
There’s something in my ear. It’s wet.
And there’s something on my nose. It’s scratchy.
“Bernadette?” A musical tenor voice with a slight Irish lilt cuts through the oatmeal where my brain used to be. “Bernadette?” the voice repeats.
Fin. It’s Fin.
I blink my eyes open.
I’m on the ground. Mars is perched on my chest, licking my face. Guess that’s what the scratchiness on my nose was. I turn my head just in time for Clío to go in for another ear lick and instead slobber directly onto my lips.
