The Cunning

Chapter 9; Wolfsbane

Anita kicked the passenger side door open and climbed out, finally stretching her legs. She waited as Warren gathered his belongings from the back seat, then the two trudged up the driveway to their front door. "I'll handle it, Warren," Anita reassured her brother as they climbed the old wooden steps of the veranda. She could sense his hesitance in his signature. It felt like the ocean's surf receding off a sandy shore. 

The two entered the ancient house and Warren closed the door behind him. Anita shot the light on the ceiling a concentrated look and it began to glow softly.

"I did it," she said, smiling briefly at Warren. He grinned back, and placed his bag by the wall.

"That's three times now," he said quietly. Anita peaked into the living room. The couch and the armchair were covered in black sheets and pushed to the side of the room. The rug was rolled up and leaning against the stone fire place, revealing the large chalk board installed on the floor.

"They're working on something big," she said. Warren leaned over the chalk board and inspected the partially drawn circle.

"It's an anti-scrying spell," he said, eye brows knitting together. The two looked at each other, uneasy. "What the hell is going on?" Anita asked, knowing full well Warren knew about as much as she did. She had shown him during the contact the previous day about the black moth that had alighted on their hall window-sill, bearing bad news for their mothers' ears, and in exchange, he had shown her the strange details of Gillian's mind. 

There was a loud bang from the conservatory and the siblings started. "Sounds like they're home," Anita said softly. They stepped carefully around the chalk board and Anita slowly opened the conservatory door, knocking slightly. Ada was stacking shallow, copper bowls the size of trash-can lids, and Margaret was leaning over a wolfsbane plant, gently clipping its purple flowers into a gloved palm. Ada looked up from the bowls, flashing a white smile at her children. Margaret continued in her task, face obscured by her long hair, as it often was.  

"How was your-- third day of school, was it?" called Ada, pushing the bowls aside and brushing her long, dark fingers on the canvas apron she was wearing. Anita cleared her throat nervously and glanced at her brother. Warren stared ahead nervously through the conservatory's glass back.

"That's... what we wanted to talk to you about," Anita started hesitantly. Ada cocked her head. Margaret stopped her clipping, turning slightly to face them. She stood straighter and fixed Anita with one green eye. Beside Anita, Warren went rigid. 

"We met someone at school..." began Anita slowly. "like us, but also not like us." At this, Margaret turned to face them fully, and spoke. "A Cunning one?" 

"I think so," Anita answered, nodding slightly. "But she didn't know she is. Like Warren didn't." Ada turned and met eyes with Margaret, who lowered her clippers. Anita inspected her mother's faces. They didn't look particularly concerned, but there was a strange heightened buzz in their signatures, like the hot glow of an electric stove's burner. Ada looked back to her daughter and began to untie her apron.

"Warren should make contact with her, Make sure she isn't a spy." she said, folding the garment and throwing it onto the work bench to her left. Anita almost smiled.

"He already did," she said, successfully disguising the pride in her voice, but not in her signature. One corner of Ada's mouth turned upward, and she narrowed her eyes. "That's my girl," she said.

"You said she's Cunning, but different," said Margaret. She was back to clipping flowers. "What do you mean by that." Her voice was level and uninterested, but her signature rang with suspicion.

"Her power feels different," Anita explained. "And she can't do magic. We tried an arming spell with her." Margaret glanced up, annoyed at this.

"How long have you known about this girl?" Ada asked, concerned, apparently wondering the same thing as her wife. "Only three days," Anita answered quickly. "I just had to be sure she was Cunning." Margaret groaned, but Ada's expression softened. "She's related to you all right," she laughed, squeezing Margaret's shoulder. "Distantly," murmured Margaret. Anita's eyes narrowed. There wasn't much distance between cousins, but she stayed silent and pushed the thought out of her mind. She always thought it strange that her mother was biologically her cousin-- but she had been taught that the people who raised you are your true parents, and had little desire to ever meet her biological ones. She wondered briefly if Warren felt the same way.