Witches Burn at Dawn ✔

9. Yaroslava

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Lav doesn't tell Ady and Mir about the accident. She neither mentions I used magic to help her nor asks me where it came from, and it makes me anxious. I'm waiting for a question, for a confession to the boys, for a confrontation.

Nothing.

We walk further into the park, and the paths are totally abandoned here. My companions are quiet, and the silence and the shadows of the thickening trees unnerve me even more. I'm afraid to speak first to break it. And what would I possibly say to the people who see me as a crazed ex-witch whose words can't be trusted?

I trusted once.

Yara...Yara...Yara...

Please, no.

You don't belong here.

Please!

It's your fault.

I'm trying to think of anything but the forest closing around us, think of any warm memory of the past when everything felt good.

And there was something--my first days of being powerful. Where were you? Tatya asked that night as I sneaked back into our room. You seem different.

Better or worse? I asked, pressing my palm against my new scar.

Tatya paused, drawing her blanket tighter around her. I felt her heartbeat, peaceful, calling her back to slumber. Can't say yet. Did you kiss a boy?

Maybe.

Then it's better, Sis, she smiled and, a moment later, was asleep again.

And I couldn't sleep. I was too excited, too electrified by the events of the night. Was it actually real, the magic? Not a dream? If I went to sleep, would these powers still be with me? Sure, I had a scar, right? One little scar was a small price for happiness. Although the cut was fresh, it didn't bleed any longer. But I decided to climb to the attic anyway, to bandage it, just in case. I was rummaging among old boxes, careful not to disturb Mom and Sister, and I ate a whole jar of varenye--not jam, but my favorite thick syrup where berries were cooked whole in sugar, and you could taste them, the fruits soft and candied.

Then I found a box of Mom's old clothes, a dress I'd never seen her wearing, it was rumpled and dusty, and too big for my semi-childish body, but I put it on, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. At the billowing skirts, the silk bodice. And I thought one day I'd wear a gown like that and feel proud and fearless.

At that moment, I felt fearless.

It was good.

Now that dress is gone, burnt with the rest of my house. And the first thing my mom said to me after that night, in the morning, when I was leaving for school, is ringing in my ears. She stared at me as if paralyzed, her thin shape feeble in the doorframe.

What's wrong? I asked.

Mom looked at me, her lips moving soundlessly. Then her gaze focused on something behind my back--on nothing behind my back--and she sighed. What have you done, my little angel?

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I restore my balance a moment before I trip on the roots protruding from the ground. Ady casts me a worried look, Lav keeps staring at the waffle in her hands, but she has no appetite now, her expression grim and absent. Mir ignores us all.

What have you done, my little angel?

Cut my wings off.

I can still feel the chill Mom's words gave me that day, but I can't picture that moment, I realize. I can't see Mom's face. It's blurred like the sky during thunder.