Mother May I

fiCTion

moTher may i

by T Jones

I was given a lot of warnings before I went abroad: don’t go anywhere at night alone, be aware of your surroundings, and don’t shake a stranger’s hand. I promised my parents that we’d be careful, but how different could the witches across the planet be? I’d be in a smaller city than the one I grew up in, and we’d had the same warnings about going out. Lots of media that talks about problems across the world is exaggerated anyway, and I thought I knew better than to make assumptions about people I’d never met. It took a lot of convincing on my end to get Marta to take me with her when we graduated. Her home country looked so beautiful in photos, and she would talk about her friends and the adventures they went on. But nothing about her family, just that they were “demanding.” Most of our arguments were about my prying. She fought me tooth and nail against visiting, but I didn’t let up. I just wanted to experience alongside her the kind of life she had lived. Nothing she could have said would have prepared me for the welcome we got. I thought we were safe. Marta knew we weren’t, and I didn’t want to listen. ***

When we arrived, Marta was shaking. Nothing I did helped her nerves at all. I shouldn’t have gotten in the car with these women, but they were so sweet and pretty that I hadn’t thought anything of it. The woman in the passenger seat turned to look at Marta and giggled, a lock of her silky black hair falling away from her ear, accentuating her bright purple eyes. “Y’know, little sister, Momma’s been worried sick about you. You can’t just disappear like that. You know better.” The smile on her thick lips didn’t match her eyes, which stared wide, intensely agitated. “I’m sorry,” I said. Marta whipped her head my way, hissing at me to be quiet. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of her time.” The woman turned further in her seat to lock eyes with me. “Don’t you worry, sweetpea,

Momma is super forgiving.” Her eyes were calm and sweet, the lids nearly closed but not creased. Her smile showed sharp teeth, some capped in gold. She turned back in her seat, straightening out her green slacks and matching vest. Her hand migrated to the center console to meet her partner’s. Their fingers interlocked, and the ivy in their veins came together, tangling into one another. Magic fogged the windshield, power radiating from their entwined leaves, making the images in the windows slither and sway. I was quickly losing track of where we were as the outside world shifted slowly out of focus. I looked over to Marta beside me, her hands in tight fists. I could hear the leather of the gloves she wore groaning from the pressure. I attempted to reach out, to maybe hold her hand, but the way she had slapped me away last year crossed my mind. I settled on pressing the back of my hand against her thigh. The last thing I wanted was for her to think that she was alone in this car, this situation. Anything I could do to bring her some sort of calm, I was willing to do it. Her leg jumped in surprise but settled back toward my hand in an instant. She still wouldn’t look at me, but Marta stopped shivering if only to grimace, her eyes shut tight, chin quivering. What had I gotten us into? Time went by. I could feel it as we drove: my energy was waning, making me feel fuzzy and confused. The two women in the front seat calmed their magic just enough for the fog to clear on the windows. Wherever we were, however long it took to get here, it didn’t matter, because we had arrived. It was dusk. Golden rays of light filtered into the car, warming my cheek in what felt like a final goodbye. The car parked on a gravel drive, and the women got out, their doors shutting at nearly the same time. “Whatever you do, do not say a word to anyone here!” Marta cried. I spun to look at her. Her brow was sweating. The skin of her thigh grew cold against my hand. “Do you understand? Don’t say anything. I’ll try to get you out of this.” Her shivering was making me nervous, her glassy eyes coaxing tears into mine. I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I wish now that I had never spoken at all. “What’s going on? Marta, what’s happening?” Our doors opened together. The dark-haired woman in the pantsuit held her hand open to me. “Let’s go see Momma, baby.” “Don’t touch her! Let go of me!” To my right, a heavy-set woman with blonde hair tied in milkmaid braids pulled Marta out of the car. “Marta!” I called out, too scared to move toward the door. “You have to come out, sweetpea.” The black-haired woman’s voice was silky smooth. “You don’t want me to hold your hand, do you? I can help you out.” Her tanned palm was covered in splotches of red boils. “No.” I tucked my hands under my arms, hugging myself in the process. Marta’s door was shut, but I could still hear her screaming. I slowly scooted out of the door left open for me and stood on shaky legs. When I tried to look across the roof of the car to Marta, the emerald-clad woman laced her arm with mine and began to walk me toward the only building around: a large glass manor with black steel bent and twisted between the panes. It angled up and up; it had to reach at least five stories high. I could see condensation on the glass and leaves from the tall trees inside tickling the ceiling.

I could see nothing beyond the trickling water and the bushes and flowers growing along the walls. Dreamcatchers of various shapes and sizes orbited around the building like moons to Jupiter. Some carried feathers; some carried bones. Some were made of crystals and captured the light of the setting sun, bouncing it back to the building, coloring it in glittering rainbows. My senior class had an entire greenhouse as big as my childhood home, and I thought that that was impressive, but this was magnificent and lush and luxurious. I was enraptured by it. And then I heard Marta curse. I turned quickly. The woman with me grunted in surprise, being forced to turn with me. Marta was mid-kick when the burly woman that had pulled her from the car slammed her ivycovered fist against Marta’s shin. Marta cursed again, and the woman punched her across the face. “Stop!” I screamed. It didn’t matter. Marta stopped fighting. The blonde grabbed her around her waist and picked her up with ease. Our driver, a dark-skinned woman with long braided hair, took Marta’s free hand in her dominant one, the ivy from her wrist coiling around Marta’s covered arm and holding it tight. When the three of them came closer to me and my escort, I could see through the last golden rays of sunlight behind us the tracks of fallen tears on Marta’s cheeks. We were led down a pathway to the long, opulent glass doors of the greenhouse. The grounds beyond this place had been calm and warm, a contentment from Mother Earth in the well-maintained foliage. Gravel separated large rectangles of crystal panes, our stepping stones. Poison sumac stretched beyond our walkway. The fierce groundcover surrounded the building, and while its tiny, yellow flowers were pretty, they riggled with malicious energy. The inside of the greenhouse was just as beautiful as I had expected, but the humidity gave me a chill where it was supposed to warm. My arms were covered with goosebumps. Flowers of reds, purples, and yellows decorated the small inner sanctum of the greenhouse, and pathways carved between sections of bushes and trees. A massive chandelier hovered over us. I gasped when I noticed all of the different horns that it was made from; the wax candles on its sharp tips lit the space, giving it a warm glow. We walked further into the main chamber, and against a glass wall there stood two tall apothecary cabinets made of a dark red wood and a simple wooden desk to match, its top dirtied with soil and clippings. Stacks of terracotta pots of varying colors leaned precariously against the desk and the planter box behind the workspace. In the planter box just above the desk was a pear tree, its fruit nearly ripe. In the next couple days, those pears would be ready to harvest. Directly in the center, just four feet from the desk, stood a tall black iron chair. Its paint was beginning to chip from old age, but the blue cushion on the seat was almost brand new. Iron leaves climbed through its design, reaching up toward the ceiling, searching for light; the tips curled around large gemstones the size of softballs. The colors resembled faces of the full moon throughout the year, haloed around whomever was lucky enough to sit inside it. It sat bare at this moment. Thinking about who could possibly sit in such a magnificent chair had me buzzing with worry. Surely the owner must be a strong witch. Heavy mahogany doors on the opposite end of the greenhouse opened almost in slow motion, creaking from use, heavy from the weight of the humidity that seeped into their veins. Two women approached, followed by three burlier taller women.

The blonde carrying Marta set her on the gravel floor gently. She straightened her golden slacks, curtseying. The driver in the jade-green maxi dress and the dark-haired woman wrapped around my arm both did the same, pulling me into an awkward crouch. Marta didn’t look up. “You’re back,” a calm, honeyed voice said. Looking up through my lashes, I gawked at the woman before us. Her eyes twinkled in the candlelight, the black of her dress bringing full attention to the bounce of her bold red hair. Leaves of various sizes sprouted from the collar of her dress, forming a wide green necklace that slithered into her hair like snakes. Her hands jingled and clicked with charms, all tied into the strands of flowering ivy poking out of her skin. “I missed you, little girl.” She tilted Marta’s head up to look at her. Seeing the tear tracks, she said, “Aw, poor thing. Did you miss me too?” “We had no issues getting her here, Mother, but she acted up a bit getting out of the car.” The woman in the jade dress flipped a heavy lock of braided hair over her shoulder. Mother, who couldn’t have been much older than any of the others present, gave a dramatic gasp. “Oh, honey, that’s not a very nice thing to do to your big sisters. They were just trying to get you home.” Leaves traveled up her fingers and caressed Marta’s cheeks. Marta looked like she was going to pass out, the color draining from her face. “She had a friend with her, Momma!” The arm entwined with mine swiftly slunk away, and I was grabbed by my shoulders. Those twinkling eyes zeroed in on me, their color shifting, like fire, from gold to yellow to orange and back again. These were the people I was warned about. Marta finally spoke up. “She’s not my friend! Mom, please, she’s not my friend. I don’t know her.” Her face was still pale, still sweating; I thought she might puke. Mother’s smile seemed plastic as her burning eyes shifted from me to Marta and back. “Are you sure, little girl? Because I have photos of the two of you together from the last couple of months, going on cute little dates around the city. You thought I wouldn’t know?” Marta swallowed hard, her eyes falling to Mother’s bare feet. “Just because you don’t see our signs doesn’t mean I’m not there, darling. You know that.” She gave us a low-pitched chuckle before sitting on her black iron throne. “And you’d run so far away, too. It took quite a bit to track you down; that wasn’t very nice either. I’m surprised you brought your friend at all.” I could feel several pairs of eyes on me. In a panic, I said, “I asked her to.” “You did?” Mother tried to hold a chuckle. “And she agreed?” “Shut up,” Marta hissed. “It . . . it took some convincing.” I could hear snickering behind me. The witches standing around me, Marta, and Mother all grinned darkly. “You’ve done us a great service, angel.” Mother crossed her legs, leaning back in her seat. “You may not have known it, but sweet little sister Marta has been really bad the last few years. I took her in, fed her, clothed her, gave her a family, but now that she’s all grown up, it seems that she’s decided she doesn’t need her mother anymore.” Marta still hadn’t looked up from the gravel path where she sat. Her trembling had stopped, but her breathing was quick and shallow. “Can you believe my sweet

little girl started acting out? She even attacked her big sister while we were conversing with a rude client.” Marta’s head shot up. “Please, Mom, don’t tell her anything else! She’s a nobody. She doesn’t need to know what we do.” Marta stumbled forward, and the blonde put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me, please, punish me, but let her go. She’s a nobody, Mom.” Marta gave a nervous chuckle, her arms opening in a show of subservience. Flames flickered like a warm hearth in Mother’s eyes, and she extended a hand for Marta to take. Marta scrambled forward. The skin of her knees held onto pebbles as if they were a part of her flesh and bone. Flinching when her knees hit the ground before Mother, Marta rushed to rip the gloves from her hands, presenting red boils. My jaw dropped. Mother took Marta’s hands, gripping them tightly. Marta hissed, whined. She ducked her head, and I could see over her bent neck that her wrists were being invaded by poison ivy straight from Mother’s own hands. Their palms locked together, Mother asked her, “Do you promise to be a good girl from now on? Follow Mother’s and your big sisters’ orders without causing a fuss?” “Yes,” Marta sobbed. “Yeah, absolutely.” “Say you’re sorry, little girl.” “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry, sisters. I’ll do better. I’ll be good.” The smile on Mother’s face grew sickeningly large. The sun finally fell, and we were left in the soft light of the chandelier. Mother looked up at me, her eyes rolling into an infernal blue. Before anything was said, my arms were held by the women in green, my legs held steady in the arms of the blonde who had suddenly knelt behind me. “What?” I didn’t know what else to say. I could barely even shake in their grasp. Marta spun on her knees to see me held tightly. “Mother.” Her wrists were set free, new, angry welts blooming across her skin. Energy cascaded from Mother like a rolling fog; her collar of leaves rustled in the gusts of power. A smaller woman with hair slicked back in a dark ponytail handed her a pair of large copper shears. “Mother, wait!” Two of the three large women who entered with Mother grabbed Marta before she could fully stand, their own thick strands of flora wrapping Marta’s shoulders and arms in a tight embrace. “Sweet little miss,” Mother cooed at me. Her aura towered over me, bathing me in cold electricity and darkness. I was shaking. “You’ve done us quite the service today. Can I ask, what were your plans now that you’d graduated from Academy? You’ll use your gifts for good, I assume?” “How do you know that?” “What was your plan?” “I want to study grimoires, translate the old text.” “Mother, please!” “Oh, a very worthy cause.” She nodded. All I could see was the white-hot flame of her eyes. “You’ll need your gifts and expertise for such a trial.” I started crying. It wasn’t just the travel that had me feeling woozy in the car. It was this. Her. My aura could feel hers as we got closer. I can feel it even now, thinking back. Any warmth from my

own will was fading, licking at my arms, a warning for which I could do nothing. “Yes, ma’am.” “I’m sure the world will mourn such a loss.” She lifted the shears to my arm. My bones tingled. Before the blade of the shears could even pierce my skin, the runes that had been carved into my knuckles during my first year in the Academy burned as the force of her will ripped the scars open. The bite into my flesh sent a jolt up my spine. The teeth slowly gnawed into muscle and vein and bone. I could feel not only the heat of my blood but also the heat of everything that made me who I was pooling in my palm. I tried to hold it, as if one could hold a rushing river, to grab onto any ounce of my gift I could before it washed down into the pebbles and roots, forcing me to give my magic back to Mother Earth. I only realized after my arm was gone—after the tears broke my vision entirely—that I had been screaming in the old tongue, my throat sore from the removal of my power. I’ve never felt so cold as when I laid on the rocks, my skin more dense than it had ever been. I couldn’t feel the heat of the greenhouse anymore. I couldn’t see the colors of the trees or flowers. Everything went gray and numb. My arm lay faintly glowing in front of me, then it, too, went gray. Marta was screaming and crying. I could hear her, though it was fuzzy. She ran to my side and held my face in her rough red hands. I vaguely remember her saying that I’d be okay, but I couldn’t believe her anymore. Then I woke up in a foreign hospital. I was told that it would take years before my body could feel the pull of Mother Earth again, and I’d never felt so lonely. My teachers at Academy had warned me about people with poison in their veins, to watch for the roots in their bones and death on their hands, lest they feed from my energy. I never thought that the woman I had come to love would be one of them. Thank the Mother I never saw her again. ***

“My name is Morgan Dresque, and tonight we have an interview with a survivor of Magical Severing. She traveled overseas with her girlfriend of two years, not knowing the fate that would befall her. Tell us: what happened that night?”