Page 65 of Autumn of the Witch

“No. Because this is worth it. Viv’s worth it. She thinks you hate her, you know. Or that you resent her. It’s kinda the same thing, after a while. I don’t think you want that.”

“You don’t understand anything. I do want that. If she hates me, she won’t… she won’t let me in. She can have more time.” Daria was crying again. “I want you to leave.”

“I will, but let me tell you why I’m here. On the new moon, we’re gonna do a ritual, right outside our house. You know where that is. Right, so, we’re gonna call that thing, the shadow creature. Micah and Viv think they can fight it, destroy it. But I know, and you know, that won’t work. The only person who can face it, who can get rid of it, is you.”

Daria turned from him, staring at the hearth, the mementos for the dead. “I can’t.”

Sasha raked a hand through his hair. It turned out, fights you could win with your fists were much easier. “You have to. You made this thing to keep her safe. I get it. To keep them all safe. And it didn’t work, and I’m sorry, because you lost them and that’s awful. I can’t even imagine.”

“No,” Daria said. “You can’t.”

“But I know Viv, yeah? This awesome daughter you have. She’s a fighter. She’s full of dominance and smarts and spite, and she ain’t gonna go down without slinging everything she’s got at this thing that wants her. You should be proud of her.”

“I am proud of her,” Daria whispered. “That’s why she has to keep hating me. Keep living. Keep the door closed.”

Sasha sort of wanted to hug the woman, even though she’d probably throw a punch. “You have to be there. You have to undo what you did. If not for you, do it for her. You love her. I know you do.”

“I— It’s too late. It’s been too late for years, and I can’t—I can’t take it back.”

“That ain’t what I’m sayin’, Daria. Of course you can’t take it back, but you gotta try to fix it. What you did. And you can start by helping her.”

“Doing one thing isn’t going to fix it,” Daria told him, not bothering to wipe her eyes. But oh, she looked— There was something so sweetly, achingly desperate in her expression, as if she wanted to believe that shecouldfix what she’d done.

Sasha nodded. “No. But one thing can lead to… another thing. You can’t change the past, but you can change the future. You could have one, with Viv. Come with me. Talk to her. Hear what they have planned, and—”

Daria was shaking her head before Sasha could finish. “I want to, but I’m—I’m too— I know what it is, that thing in the dark. I would give it myself if I could. I have tried to, begged on my knees for it take me instead—”

“It ain’taboutthat,” Sasha said, in a voice far too loud for the indoors. He didn’t feel bad about it, though. She needed to hear this. “It ain’t about you, Daria. It’s about Viv. If you want a daughter who, yeah, gets sick a few times a year but knows how to live her life and take care of herself, who has people who love her more than thefuckingmoon or whatever people say, then you step up. I stood in the ring for her, you know. Not a single person challenged me. But I’d fight everyone, anywhere. You should fight, too. Come fight this with us, and maybe you can be in her life. Maybe not. But at least you can try. She’s worth that. You know she is.”

There was a second where Sasha thought maybe she’d say yes, let his impassioned speech sway her to go back with him right now to figure this out. But he saw the moment she shut down, the moment she lost her courage and gave up.

“I can’t. Tell her to ignore it. Bar your door, don’t listen when it speaks, and never let it in. And, Sasha? Never come here again. Tell her that, and your witch man, too. This door is forever barred to you, and you are not welcome.”

It was what you said in the Compound when you disavowed someone. But Sasha didn’t care. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height and put his hands on his hips. He wasn’t a dominant, but he was a man who loved someone who needed their mother. “Fight for your daughter, Daria. Fight like I will. Fight like Micah does. Fight likeshedoes. New moon, at the clearing, near midnight. End this for her, and see if you can’t find something else to put on that mantel. Stop living in the fucking past, and own up to what you did. If you can’t, you’ll lose her. I promise you that.”

“I lost her a long time ago, Sasha Black,” Daria said, voice empty and vague. “And there’s nothing I can do now but leave her be. Maybe one day you’ll understand that, or she will.”

“You’re wrong. I’ll leave now, but you be there at the new moon. Show up for her. Even if it doesn’t work, you’ll have done that. No one fought me that day in the ring, but Viv married me anyway. Sometimes, showin’ up is what matters. Do the right thing. It’s the only chance you’re ever gonna have.”

With that, Sasha turned and left. Daria said nothing, but he could feel her eyes on him all the way to the door, and when he closed it behind him, he thought he heard the sound of something breaking against the wood.

Then Sasha headed for the fighting pits. Maybe someone would want to go a round or two, because he couldn’t go home like this. He had to work some of his frustration out, the adrenaline rush and the disappointment that maybe Viv had been right all along and her mother really had decided she didn’t matter.

But every time he pictured Daria’s face, the trinkets on the hearth… he became more certain that wasn’t the case at all, and that Daria’s problem wasn’t that she didn’t care, but the opposite. She cared so much she thought the only way to save her daughter was to make her hate her, so the dark shadow couldn’t take her away. It wasn’t the way Sasha would do it, or Viv, or Micah. It was something that only made sense to someone lost in pain—that instead of confronting and conquering the terrible thing she’d made, Daria would try to make Viv hate her so she’d never open the door to her mother’s voice.

In Sasha’s experience, hate never made anything better. All it did was make more shadows, create more monsters in the dark. It was time for this to end, for the sun to come out and chase all those monsters away for good.

ChapterThirteen

The new moon used to be exciting for Viv. When she was first learning magic, she kept a chart of the moon’s phases, which she followed through the vent in the living room ceiling. She learned that some spells—those for fertility or harvest—were reversed if she cast them on the new moon, while illusions always felt stronger and light was easier to conjure. She would make herself midnight dinners and sit in her room with rows and rows of spell ingredients, testing each one. After she married Sasha, he used to stay up with her, cooking supper for both of them and then sitting with her while she worked.

Now the sight of the waning moon made her stomach clench, and she woke up in the night, going over the components of the spell she and Micah had planned. Sometimes the thing from the woods would come to the door and she could hear it crooning her name. When that happened, she would get up and go to her loom, where Sasha and Micah would find her in the morning.

On the morning of the new moon, Viv finished stitching the new coat she’d made for Micah. It was black at the shoulders, but it gradually bled blue, and she’d sewn glass beads into the hem and sleeves. When Micah put it on, he sparkled like a night sky, and Viv leaned back to admire the picture he made. He was still scrawny, like the lanky forest spirit he resembled when they first met, but he was brighter now, happier, quicker to smile. It was like uncovering an abandoned cup and polishing it to a shine, only to find it was something else—a crown or a bangle. Something beautiful that had always been there, hidden away.

Sasha had his own coat, which was red with gold accents, with leather patches on the shoulders. He and Micah moved quietly around the kitchen as Viv buckled her own cloak over a flower-patterned dress. None of them looked like they were preparing for a midnight ritual—more like a walk in a cave garden, where plants crawled over the domed lights and vents that kept them alive.

The last component of their spell was still cooling in the kiln, but around dinnertime, Micah got up and came back with it: a doll made of clay, faceless and featureless, its limbs connected by string. He set it down on the table, and Sasha stared at it like it was going to jump off and start rattling toward the door.

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