The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches

by Sangu Mandanna

Maybe that was because the loneliest part of growing up, the part she remembered most vividly, was the one thing that had never changed. Magic. As a child, she had discovered the existence of her magic alone, had been afraid of it and then fallen in love with it alone, and had learned to use and control it alone. Even now, thirteen years into adulthood, she continued to experience the joy and wonder of magic alone.

She unscrewed the lid of the jar labelled LUCK, shook a handful of small, dried tea leaves into a teapot, and returned the jar to its place between SLEEPY and WHEN YOUR UTERUS IS UP TO ITS USUAL TRICKS.

She didn’t keep these secrets just because of Primrose’s Rules, either. After a lifetime of going out of her way to fit in with the people around her, after years of perfecting a nice, normal mask to hide who she really was, she couldn’t fathom taking it off.

“We’ve talked about this,” said Jamie mildly. “Murder can’t be your first choice every time you don’t like something.”

No, probably not. Just as it would probably be useless to remind Terracotta that nobody liked being woken in the dead of night by a murderous child in a ghost-white nightgown.

Her eyes very round, seven-year-old Altamira said, with perfect gravity, “That was some excellent Mary Poppins shit right there.”

“That’s a lovely dress,” Mika offered. Terracotta beamed. “Thank you. I’m wearing it because I might be going to a funeral later.” “You might be?” She slipped nimbly into her chair, apparently satisfied that her outfit had been duly noted. “Yes. It depends.” “On what?” “On you,”

She sighed happily. In moments like this, she really and truly loved being a witch. She loved losing herself for hours in the hum of magic, the sparkle of gold dust in the air, the soft warmth of witchfire, the ideas and the creativity and the fun. Why would anyone ever want to do anything else?

She couldn’t fathom what it must be like to be so loved and to be so sure of that love that you would fight tooth and nail to protect it, but she was incredibly glad that these girls had that. And if it was just a little heartbreaking to be reminded of what she’d never had and likely never would, well, she could live with that.

Oh. Oh, no. He’d pushed the sleeves of his white button-down shirt up past his elbows. She could see his forearms. Forearms were invariably her ruin.

“Altamira told me she wants to make video games when she grows up,” Mika said, sidestepping the question. “Which sounds to me like a completely realistic and reasonable dream. Surprisingly so for a seven-year-old. And it’ll probably make her a lot of money, which, speaking as someone who had so little of it at one point that I had to sell pictures of my feet to men on the internet, is very useful.”

“You’d let her get away with literal murder,” Mika pointed out. “And I say literal literally because she quite frequently contemplates my murder and I’m pretty sure you would help her hide my corpse.” “I have been known to hide many a corpse in my time.”

“What is this evil?” she croaked. “Why have I been engulfed in the fires of a thousand infernos?” “I believe some call it the sun,” a dry voice informed her. “Take it away. I want nothing to do with it.”

“Are we hurting you?” Rosetta asked anxiously. “Not even a little bit,” Mika lied, perjuring her soul without hesitation.

When boredom so much as dared to encroach, someone was always miraculously there with a chew toy (Circe), books and video games (the children), a story about the stage (Ian), a complaint about Ian (Lucie), a potted plant in need of nurturing (Ken), or a disastrously honest critique of her wan appearance (guess who).

He seemed to be at a loss for words. The incredulous expression on his face had turned into something she couldn’t decipher. “Are you okay?” “Hasn’t anyone ever been worried about you just because?” Jamie asked, his voice low and rough. “Because, to be perfectly honest, this conversation suggests no one’s ever cared about you.”

“Pine needles and the ocean,” she said sleepily. “It smells like you.” “So I’ve been told.” “By me?” “No, it must have been one of the other witches who make a habit out of sniffing my neck.”

“Because the way I see it, to be a witch is to be exploited when it’s convenient and turned against when it isn’t. I’d love to just be Mika, but the rest of the world has yet to give me that privilege.”

“You know, love at first sight sounds like a lot of nonsense, but I swear to you, I knew I loved Ken the moment I laid eyes on him. He took a bit more convincing, I’m afraid. I can be a trial.” “We know,” Jamie said drily.

A lot of nice people stop being nice when they don’t get exactly what they want.”

“More than anything, I just want one place I can be myself. I just want a home.” “Home is worth finding,” he said quietly. “Even if it takes a while.”

“I can’t transform the world, Jamie. The world’s too big and too messy and too stubborn.” “Who said anything about transforming the world?” He shrugged. “What about just making it a little better? And then a little better? And then a little more, until, one day, maybe long after we’re gone, it has transformed? You deserve more than what you’re allowing yourself to have.”

“I’m afraid I’ll never leave a mark on anybody.” It was quiet for so long that Mika wished she could take the too-reckless, too-honest words back, but then she heard him, rough and uneven and so quiet she almost missed it: “It’s a little late for that, I’m afraid.”

She tasted like sea salt and sugar, and lightning, too, if lightning had a taste. The cold wind, the past and the future, the terrible secrets he had been guarding—none of it mattered. Christ, he was drowning, and he didn’t ever want to come back to the surface. She was pressed so hard against him that he could feel her heart racing right beside his.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” she said, the end of the statement curling up like a question. He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think there’s been a single moment since the day you told me we’re all made up of stardust that I haven’t wanted you.”

“It’s not always enough to go looking for the place we belong,” Jamie said, his eyes on the house ahead. “Sometimes we need to make that place.”

She reached up, playing with the edge of his rolled-up sleeves, tracing a finger down the muscles in his forearm. “Forearms are my ruin,” she said dreamily. He kissed her brow. “You’re my ruin.”

Then we assembled the skeleton, dressed it, and animated it.” “You animated—” “We worked together, Mika!” Altamira told her proudly. “We cast the spell together! Just like you taught us!” There was absolutely nothing Mika could say to that except: “You did very well, sweetheart.” She meant it, too. She was incredibly proud of them. She was also slightly horrified.

“I know the world won’t transform overnight, and I know you still have your doubts, but thank you for trying.”

“If I loved you less,” he said quietly, the words no less true for the laugh that threaded through his voice, “I might be able to talk about it more.”