The Moorwitch

by Jessica Khoury

And it’s the patterns you Weave, stitch, knit, or tat which turn that power into spells. At least, that’s how Uncle Artie used to describe it to me.

Fair Clotho turns out threads from her spindle, which dark Lachesis measures out. And withered Atropos, in her black gown and veil, looms with her shears, ready to snip short some unsuspecting life, her expression calm but resolute.

The towers of Westminster Abbey are at my back, their needlelike points piercing a low skein of grim cloud.

Everyone I pass is locked inside their own world of trouble, with little thought or compassion to spare for mine.

I can practically hear my old schoolteacher’s rasping voice in my ear: Pride, Rose Pryor. That’s your first fault.

“There are those Below who may . . . challenge my return. So I must return at full power or not at all, and to do that, I need your assistance.”

“In Elfhame,” the faerie says slowly, “there is a tree. I require but a piece of it. You, little bird, will flit into the realm of the fae, pluck a branch from this tree, and bring it to me.”

“I can guess at the pain you’ve been feeling when you channel. We draw near your twenty-first birthday, do we not? And still your vow is unfulfilled. Or did you think the vowknot you tied was merely ceremonial?”

For it was your heart you swore upon when you tied the vowknot to seal our bargain.”

“When you have delivered to me a branch from the Dwirra Tree, Rose Pryor, your debt to me will be paid in full.”

“You’ll hurt whomever you must in order to protect yourself. For you and I both know: Without magic, you are nothing.”

“Aye, I know where my duties lie, and I know I’ll never experience anything

of the world beyond this moor. I’ve accepted that, with all the misery and frustration that goes with it. But I want to do what brings me joy, just for once, and maybe Rose makes me happy. In any case, it’s not your decision to make, ye ken?”

“Every choice has consequences, my dear, and make no mistake about what you chose here today: Your heart belongs to me, and with it, your magic, your freedom, your life. The only thing saving you right now is the fact that you may be of some use to me yet.”

All it takes to change your fate is a bit of thread.

This is not a power given to any, mortal or immortal, Lachlan had told me. It has been tried, and the price is always death.