The Sisters Three

“The water knows.”

Phantom voices whisper in the wind, brushing tendrils of omniscient dread along my spine. Red autumn leaves create a carpet beneath my feet. With every step towards the creek, the tug in my stomach grows painful and insistent. Sweat coats my hands almost as slick as the blood I washed away.

Benjamin Parrish deserved everything he had coming—to threaten one is to threaten all. He paraded Sable around town and branded her in the square. There is no mercy in my heart. It will only be a matter of time before it is I who receives the witch’s mark as every other unlucky woman in our family does. The curse holds us captive.

“The water beckons you. The water understands. The water heals all.”

“Sister,” Rhea sings through the mystical call. “Join us Lucia, the water awaits.”

Freeing myself of a drooping twig intertwined in my scarlet curls, I step onto the soft green grass. Sable sits in the water; her skirts splayed over the constant ebb and flow. My heart sinks with her hand clutching her temple which undoubtedly holds a scorched pentagram mark. Of all of us, she is too mild and sweet to have met her fate so early.

“We must convene to heal our sister. You’re late,” Rhea chides. As the oldest, she has always scolded me for my ill kept schedule.

Smoothing my gray linen dress, I join them. The babbling creeks floods my ears in a torrent as its magic washes the birdsongs from the air. Our presence, the sisters three, stills the current and all life within the stream along with it. Fish freeze into place at my feet. The gentle, swaying moss stiffens.

“In the beginning there was a fair maiden who had one wish to avoid lands fire laden. With her promise came a price, one you must pay with sacrifice. She took and did not give; two must die for one to live. Your line has power and might, but you will join the endless night.”

“I wish Ravenna never came here,” Sable whimpers. Lowering her voice to a whisper, “It’s coming for me. I see it everywhere. The shadows grow with every passing moon.”

We are reminded of our nefarious beginnings and the fate we cannot escape each time we must give our offerings. Our ancestor wanted power and power she got at the price of her two sisters. For 200 years, the monster waits for its time. No three sisters cross the threshold of twenty-six, Rhea’s age. It has begun.

“We cannot outrun what has been written, so we deal with it,” Rhea says, pulling the dagger between her closed fist. Crimson drips into the water and mixes into a purplish hue.

I take the dagger from her hand and breathe in the crisp air to settle my roiling stomach. My eyes close with my fist around the blade. I hate this part. With a quick pull, a cold burn bites into my hand, heated by my pulsing heartbeat in the wound. One. Two. Three drops. Power surges into my veins like a sigh.

“Sable,” I say, holding the dagger to her. She looks to the sky and commands the welling tears back into her body. “You know you must. If we are to break the curse, we cannot anger the spirits.”

“No one in Salem will knowingly love a witch,” she mutters under her breath but completes the ritual.

“Your offering is most acceptable.”

A thin layer slides over Sable’s face paling the angry brand into silver. Reinvigorated with power, our eyes gleam like ice in the winter sun. A snaking chill slithers up my back. Unseen eyes burrow into my mind.

“Someone is here,” I say, scanning the forest.

A deep rumble echoes in my chest as I close my eyes. Magic takes over, guiding my sight with a crow’s precision. My vision raises out of my body and flies over the forest to its target peering from behind a tree. I shove my feet from the water and my sisters follow. Deadened leaves crunch where our voyeur flees.

Rhea throws her hand forward, commanding nature to her will as a vine flies from the ground. A mangled gasp rolls in response. Flicking our eyes to one another, we run to the threat. There, pulled into the air upside down by his foot, dangles Samuel Parrish.

“Come to continue your brother’s work?” I ask, my voice coming out harsh and gritty.

“No, please! I’m not my brother!” he cries. “Lucia, I’ve always had my suspicious but kept your secret. When we were courting—”

Cutting him short, I ask, “Then how did Benjamin find my sister?” I circle underneath his reddening face. “Explain why you’re here.”

“To see once and for all if I was right. I never had the courage to approach these woods before yesterday,” he says.

Rhea’s haughty laugh bubbles in her throat. “Come to see the killer sisters in action have you? You can easily join among the list of those who lay a finger on us. It would be no trouble, really.” She flicks her hand, sending Samuel crashing into the forest floor with a groan.

He scampers backwards. “I didn’t come with ill-will! Please!”

Sable hides behind me as Rhea leans down to Samuel. “Then correct your family’s wrong. If they come for any of us again, we will end your entire line. We may not be able to leave this place, but we can send you away one way or another. Do we understand?”

Samuel’s face blanches as he nods furiously.

“Then run along,” I snarl. As much as I want to hate him, he holds a pocket of my heart.

My shoulders sag as his form becomes smaller through the woods and the darkening gray skies cast my despair overhead. A heavy sigh relieves the weight in my chest and we follow the path towards our cottage. The warmth of our linked arms is not lost on me. It could be taken any day.

Our dilapidated cottage graces our sight, twisted bare trees crowning its entrance. The crooked front door swings open with a groan as it feels us approach. A pleasant aspect of the enchanted dwelling. The small hearth lights itself and flickers warm light around the only room within the four walls.

Sable makes quick work of our dinner. We join at the table and give thanks to our ancestors no matter the way they’ve cursed us and dig into the two day old stew. Spoons scraping against bowls fill the silence.

“You need sleep. The rings under your eyes turn a new shade of purple each day,” I tell Sable.

“I can’t,” she whispers. “The shadows come to me.”

Patting my hand over hers, I offer a sympathetic smile. This, we know. Each night she tosses and turns. Sweat pours from her face with every new, tortured struggle she faces behind closed eyes.

“We will keep you safe,” Rhea says.

We pile into our shared bed, putting Sable in the middle while I crush against the window. The crisp air floats across my face between the shoddily sealed bearings. I stare into the night sky and count each star until the dreamworld comes at last.

Trickling water. Crackling fire. Pained screams. The images flash behind my eyes in place of the rest I seek. With every scene, my stomach twists and my spine curls into itself with the future awaiting two of us.

Gentle rapping wrenches me from my sleep with a gasp. Ice runs through my veins with eyes staring back at me through the window. The man lifts his lantern and a mixture of emotions floods through me. Samuel.

I crack the window open with a wince. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“I couldn’t sleep thinking about how you three must think the worst of me,” he says.

“So you come in the middle of the night?” I hiss. “Your brother did horrible things to my sister.”

“I know. I just—” His eyes widen.

“Get. Away,” Rhea seethes through clenched teeth. Even in the subtle flickering lantern light, her ears tip red.

“Rhea, please. I came to speak with Lucia,” he begs.

“You thought you’d have better luck with the reasonable one?” she laughs and looks to Sable. “Be gone or join your brother in the depths of hell where your family belongs.”

Samuel grips the window sill and a piece of torn parchment flutters from his white knuckles to my side. “As you wish, Rhea,” he says and disappears to the shadows.

I wait until soft snores roll from her lips before opening the parchment. Leaning out the window, I tilt it under the moonlight and squint at his scrawling.

Meet me at the market. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I want to help. –S

A small ray of hope shines into my heart although it shouldn’t. He is insistent even upon understanding the death we could give him—an end like his brother’s at my hands. Sable twitches in her sleep, muttering nonsensical phrases. I run a hand over her damp hair and press a kiss into the mark now decorating her temple. My sweet baby sister.

For hours, I stare at the ceiling trying to conjure every possibility of what’s to come from Samuel’s note. With Sable already marked and soon to stand trial, is this a trap? Which one of us will be the one who lives with constant grief and heartbreak? Shadows swirl, slowly lightening into shades of gray until dawn’s rays peek through the solemn clouds.

Rhea groans, twisting in bed. “Lucia,” she mumbles, “stay away from Samuel. I don’t care about your history. He’s a Parrish.”

“I will.” My heart pounds in my chest with the promise I cannot keep.

Chickens cluck outside the window as they too rise with the sun. Turning to Sable, her hair clings to the sides of her face, soaked with tormented sweat. Her forehead burns against my hand and a pit hollows itself in my stomach. One is always taken by illness. The other by fire.

Pushing myself from bed, I snatch a clean dress from our makeshift wardrobe. “I’m going to the market. She needs ailments before her fever gets worse.”

I clasp my pale blue cloak, pull the hood around my face, and duck into the ever present drizzle. Tilting my head to the sky, I ask the spirits for kindness on this most important day. If the townspeople refuse my patronage after yesterday’s events, Sable will surely meet her end soon. Two crows caw in the near distance—a sure sign of good luck.

Hurrying down the overgrown trail, storefronts come into view. Children run into the streets, soon followed by their mothers herding them back inside. With every person I pass, they avert their gaze, quickly intrigued by woodgrains and stones. Samuel rounds the corner and a smile stretches his face as he meets my eyes.

I wave to him and duck into the herbal shop. The bell tinkles overhead, making the clerk’s smile drop when he sees me. I shake his disdain from my mind—it isn’t new—and pluck peppermint, ginger, and feverfew from the shelves. He will, no doubt, assume I am gathering ingredients for wicked uses. Samuel’s hands brush over mine and I jump with his presence. I hadn’t heard the bell marking his arrival.

“Let me,” he whispers. “You know he won’t sell to you.”

I feign browsing for more items and say, “What is it? Sable is sick. I must get back to her soon.”

The clerk slips through the door with an ashen face as if he has seen a ghost. I roll my eyes but am relieved to be left alone with Samuel in the shop.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, tucking a red curl behind my ear. “I’m sorry for what my brother did, it was unforgivable and I do not hold malice against you for your actions.”

Surprise slaps my face. I knew they were never close but I still took his brother’s life. “I’ve missed you as well but you know our circumstances—”

The bell rings furiously as men pile into the shop, surrounding us with hatred rolling through their eyes. A priest steps through the crowd and nods once to the clerk.

“Seize her,” he orders.

“What no, I—” Hands grab my arms, pinning them to my sides.

Samuel reaches out for me but I am yanked from his grasp. The angry mob pulls me into the streets with taunts and jeers as I am nearly dragged to the town square.

“We were coming to issue a warrant anyway. Your presence has made this most easy,” the priest smiles.

My eyes narrow on Samuel’s face. He holds up his palms with wide eyes and shakes his head. The men shove me around the corner and a large pyre sits in wait. The pit in my stomach opens to a cavernous depth, the bottom only found when my last breath will surely slip from my lungs. This is it.

I thrash against their hands, but it is no use. They are stronger than me. Tears well in my eyes but I force them down. I refuse to let them see me cry. They will burn me and I will not give them the satisfaction of my fear. My hands are tied behind my back so tight I think my wrists may snap under the pressure. Samuel falls to his knees as the priest reads from his Bible.

“And so today, we must condemn the soul of Lucia Hawthorn to our Father for her final judgement,” the priest calls, handing a lit torch to a man.

Samuel scrambles from his knees, grabbing the torch and launching it into the crowd. Screams scatter the bystanders. He runs to me, clawing and crawling up the pyre and wrapping his arms around my body.

“If you burn her, you will have to burn me,” he yells. Turning to me, he lowers his voice. “I’ve always loved you Lucia Hawthorn. I don’t care that you’re a witch or what you have done. I will always love you in this life and the next.”

“I love you too.” A hot tear streaks down my face. I always have but I am a Hawthorn and he is a Parrish.

The gray skies open as Samuel presses his lips to mine and a radiant column of light shines with ferocious intensity upon us. The priest shields his eyes with his Bible. Roaring water thrashes in the near distance, steadily growing louder with its approach.

“The water knows. The water heals. You are free my little bird.”

A smile twitches my lips with a rushing wave erupting from the well. It crashes over the crowd, sweeping the priest and angry men into its vengeance. Samuel clings to me. When the water settles, the sun shines down upon us, the only two left in the square.