Hermione's ABCs Chapter 45

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Hermione’s ABCs Chapter 45 Smoke and Mirrors

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A Note From the Author Time to brush the thin layer of dust off of this Legacy. Hi. It’s been awhile; the last update was 44.1, “Nightmare Girl,” but that wasn’t even a proper chapter. And that was in October. I’ve come to realize the time from November to May, a good six months, I get very little done with this Legacy, and that is because of school and performing arts and NaNoWriMo and exams and general laziness. To be honest? I haven’t had the real desire to write this Legacy until very recently. I still love it, but I juggle a lot more projects than I used to and I’m not dedicating all my time to the Legacy like I used to. So I apologize for these gaps in updating; I do intend to see this Legacy through to the end. But very, very slowly. I believe a recap is in order here. So, last time on Hermione’s ABCs. Chapter 44, “Missing Piece,” was a conglomeration of plot and 244 slides. Damn. Inigo became a warlock under mysterious circumstances and set to work attempting to learn a spell to resurrect Imago from beyond the grave. But at the same time, he raised his twin daughters, Joscelind and Jocunda, and welcomed a son, Jack, with his wife Vanessa. Meanwhile, Leonard Copur, Ivy and Ignotus’s oldest child, fell in love with the girl next door, Jodie Page. Arthur Granger, Isla’s son, visited his father, Samuel, who had remarried. Arthur had a lot of angst and felt that no one understood until he met Chrissy Lidner, whose parents have a very volatile relationship. Ivy, on her own part, made plans to attend a meeting of the mysterious and apparently pretentious Vampire Council. In 44.1, “Nightmare Girl,” Inigo continued to suffer from horrifying nightmares about Imago and grappled with his mixed-up emotions, and came to realize he’s kind of difficult to get along with. With this, he began to develop a fear of Vanessa leaving him. And on we go!

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Pale blue smoke wafted up from the cauldron as usual. Inigo stood at the pedestal, staring at the words on the page of his spell book. The ink on the page shimmered as the letters they formed told of the Resurrection Spell, the spell he had worked so hard to learn. So many hours, so many days, so many weeks to learn it, to advance his magical skills…but it would all be worth it… Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him. “It’s not going to work.” The tone was matter-of-fact and cruel, familiar and yet strange. He turned around slowly to face the speaker.

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It was Vanessa, her gray eyes cold and her expression seething. “What did you say?” he heard himself ask. “You heard me,” she replied, still in that clipped tone. “It’s not going to work.” He felt his stomach clench as he approached her; he felt afraid, and he didn’t know why.

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“Do you mean the spell? Of course it’ll work,” he said, and he heard the note of desperation; from her disdainful expression, he knew she had heard it too. “I’m going to bring Imago back…I’ll make it all better, I swear. I messed up, I know, but I can fix it.” “’I’ll make it all better! I’ll fix it!’” She was mocking him, and he felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

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“But I will!” he insisted. “You know what? You’re pathetic,” she spat venomously. “You always say you’ll fix everything, but you don’t. You only make it worse!” Every word stung; it was as though she had taken all his deepest fears from the darkest crevices of his mind and used them as a weapon against him.

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Still she went on, her tone angry and her eyes so steely and unforgiving. “Honestly, I’m pathetic too. For all this time I’ve just gone along with you, with all your mistakes and personal issues and supernatural bullshit; I thought I could help you, I thought I could fix you.” “Vanessa…” His voice was hoarse and small. “Vanessa, you don’t really mean that, do you?” She ignored him and went on. “I was stupid to think you could change. Sometimes I think you don’t even want me to help you, that you want to be miserable forever.” “I don’t--!”

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“All this time I’ve been chasing after you but you just keep pushing me away. And now you’re obsessed with this magic thing--” “I’m not obsessed!” Inigo exclaimed indignantly. “--as if it could ever help anything; she’s only going to hate you more for bringing her back, and you know it.” He felt as though white-hot knives were puncturing him in a thousand different places, and it was beyond painful to hear her hurl accusation after accusation when each and every word reflected the things he believed in the most horrible, darkest places in his mind. It hurt to see her scornful expression, so unlike the compassionate face he knew, twisted by anger.

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“You know what? Forget it. I’m done. I’m leaving.” While seconds ago he had been feeling pain everywhere, suddenly he felt nothing at all. “N-no…” His voice was so feeble. “No, please, you can’t…” “Yes, I damn well can! I’m leaving, and I’m taking Joss, Jo, and Jack with me, and forget about trying to stop it; no one would call you a stable guardian, I’m telling you that right now.” He felt as though everything was being wrenched away from him: his wife, his beautiful Vanessa, who he did love even if sometimes he didn’t show it properly; his children, their children, with their bright eyes and bright futures…all gone… “Vanessa, please, we can talk about this,” he said weakly, reaching out for her.

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But she pushed his arm away roughly, her expression repulsed. “Don’t even try it,” she snarled. “You had your chance.” And she turned to leave. “No, Vanessa, please! I need you!” he pleaded, but he knew it was all in vain.

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She hastened down the ladder, and he fell to his knees before it. “No…please…Vanessa…” he choked out through the sudden rush of tears to his eyes. But she was gone, and everything was deathly quiet, save for his own sob-wracked, shallow breaths.

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He stood up shakily and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to recall the feeling of Vanessa’s embrace. But the memory was gone as she was. He had never felt more lost. W ithout turning around, he felt another presence in the little attic room, and heard her voice as though it were a whisper of a breeze. It was taunting and smug, self-righteous and painfully true… “I told you so.” In that moment, the life he had built on the choices he had made and regretted so many times was nothing but a hollow husk, a vast, worthless emptiness.

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“No…no…Vanessa…Immy…stop…come back…” he murmured, squirming where he lay on the couch. It was morning, and bright shafts of sunlight shone into the attic room. One beam of light struck him straight in the face, and he twisted his expression as, slowly, he was brought out of yet another nightmare.

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He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Blearily, he realized he must have fallen asleep in the attic after another long night of studying. After another moment, he assured himself that the horrible event of Vanessa leaving him was only a dream. Ever since he had reached the maximum magic skill, he had been constantly reading over the instructions for the Resurrection Spell. He wanted everything to go perfectly; he had absolutely no margin for error. Inigo got up, stretched, and made his way into the house as morning light bathed the Granger estate. From the position of the sun, he guessed it was past noon, and immediately felt guilty for sleeping in so late.

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For one terrifying moment, he feared that the dream hadn’t been a dream, that Vanessa really did hate him, but she was there as she always was. “Good morning,” she said cheerily, offering a bright smile as always. “You fell asleep studying again, didn’t you? God, you must be sore from sleeping on that couch.” His mind was reeling from how grateful he was that the vindictive Vanessa of his nightmares was only a figment of his warped, strained imagination, and that the real Vanessa was sunny and loving and simply there.

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He pulled her into a tight embrace, as though to convince himself she was really there; the nightmare had seemed so real and so terrible. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing himself so close to her that her dark hair obscured his glasses and her scent was all he could breathe. “I love you so much, Vanessa. You know that, right?” “Of course I do,” she said softly.

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“And you know that I’d never do anything to hurt you, don’t you? I know sometimes I’m difficult but I don’t mean to be, I swear, and I don’t ever want to push you away…” He could hear his voice crack as he gripped her still tighter. He could hear how foolish and desperate he sounded, just as he had in the dream, but he couldn’t stop. Vanessa’s expression was perplexed. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” she told him.

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She gave him a critical stare. “Are you alright?” she asked concernedly. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’m just…there’s a lot going on, you know?” She nodded sympathetically, but the look of worry wasn’t quite gone from her eyes. In the light of the morning, the very idea that Vanessa could hate him or stop loving him seemed ridiculous. But he had needed to hear that she understood from her own lips to dispel the terror of the nightmare. At the same time, though, Inigo couldn’t bear to repeat what he had seen. It hurt too much, even if it was only a dream. Hastily, he changed the subject.

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“I’m going to bring her back today, with the girls at school,” he told her with a nervous grin. “Imago?” Vanessa inquired, although at this point she didn’t even need to ask. Inigo nodded eagerly. “I have to. I don’t want to have nightmares anymore…I want to fix everything,” he went on. Anxiously, he waited for her to contradict him as she had in the nightmare, to tell him he couldn’t fix anything, but she simply offered an encouraging smile. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here, okay? Let me know how everything works out,” she said. He turned and walked back to the attic as an immense wave of relief washed over him.

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The spell book fell open to the page on the Resurrecting Spell. He read the instructions one more time, even though he knew them by heart. He wondered how Imago would react to the resurrection. The book had explained that she would probably be disoriented for anywhere from a couple minutes to a few hours, so hopefully, the first thing she said to him wouldn’t be angry. Maybe they could finally talk everything through, work out all the problems they had, and be best friends again. She could meet her nieces and nephews…follow her dreams from long ago of working in a law firm…be happy …

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He stepped back and whipped out his wand amid a shower of blue sparks. He twirled it, feeling the magical power coursing through his veins. Everything depended on this moment. The directions for the spell ran through Inigo’s mind. This was his chance to have the best of both worlds; to save his sister yet again, to avoid having to make a choice between his twin and his wife, to make up for the errors he made, to make up for his absence in the last days of his sister’s life. This would end the nightmares and his inner turmoil, and while he wanted nothing more than to see Immy happy again, he realized his own happiness depended on this, too.

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The power of the spell was built up to the proper amounts; his intuition instructed him to cast the incantation. He raised the wand, and the blue sparks morphed into a blinding white light.

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“ Expello Mortis!” His voice was strong and clear, even though inside he was shaking. The white light flashed around the room, obscuring his line of vision. He could feel the rush of powerful magic around him, and his heart soared in elation. Soon, very soon, she would be alive again…

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The smoke, sparks, and light cleared away, and the magic in the room dissipated. But no one was there.

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“Wh-what?” he stammered. The directions had said that she would appear amid the light of the spell. But she hadn’t. He was still alone in the room. Don’t panic, he told himself. You must have missed a step, that’s all. Yes. Missed a step. No big deal. He’d messed up before, and he was so nervous he must have forgotten something. It was easily remedied; he’d just repeat the process.

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So again he twirled his wand into the air, sending a shower of blue sparks everywhere. He went over the instructions in his mind and went through the motions of the spell once again. “ Expello Mortis!” he repeated in a louder tone, as the light once again filled the attic.

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And once again, nothing happened. “No! No, no, no, this can’t be happening!” he cried, distraught. He went over the directions again, but was forced to admit he had done everything right. He had done everything right and yet, she was still dead and gone. “ Expello Mortis,” he said again without even bothering to wave his wand. “ Expello Mortis! Expello Mortis… please… Expello Mortis …I’m begging you, please!”

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Hot, angry tears built up in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He repeated the incantation, but he knew it was in vain. For some reason or another, it wasn’t working.

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He walked up to the spell book in a daze, where it was still open to the pages about the Resurrecting Spell. “It didn’t work. Tell me why it’s not working! Help me!” he told the book angrily. To his surprise, it flipped open to one of the very last pages. Confused, he began to read. ‘If you have any further questions on witchery, spells, and other such matters, kindly address the High Witch, who can be found at the Palace of Neverending Light. Your broomstick knows the way.’ Without further thought, he rushed out of the house, summoned his broomstick, and sped away, his mind full of further questions.

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The journey took him to a part of Sahara Valley he hadn’t ever been in before. The grassy terrain and lack of tall buildings and pollution suggested someplace in the vicinity of Bluewater Village, but he didn’t dedicate much thought to it. Hastily, he magicked away his broomstick and started up the long flight of stairs.

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The Palace of Neverending Light certainly lived up to its name. To call it anything but a castle would be an understatement. It was built entirely of whitewashed stone, with ornately-decorated, wide windows and highly wrought archways. The gates opened for him as he approached, and he made his way to the front door.

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The place had a very calming aura; it penetrated through the cloud of doubt, worry, and anxiety surrounding his heart and mind. He could feel the magic of the place as though it had been molded into the very bricks. The gate shut behind him. It was very quiet, and Inigo couldn’t see anyone else there.

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But as he walked in through the double doors, he came face-to-face with a woman who could only be the High Witch.

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Inigo approached her podium carefully. “Erm…hello,” he said haltingly. “Are you the High Witch?”

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“Indeed I am, Mr. Granger,” she replied; her tone was airy and calm. “I’d be happy to converse with you, but here at the Palaces all witches and warlocks are to wear robes instead of their usual clothes.” Inigo felt flustered. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” “Don’t worry; I wouldn’t mind it, but witches and warlocks are bound to certain protocols. If you’ll go out the door to the side, some spare robes are in the room out there.” Inigo hurried off immediately, wondering how many protocols that he wasn’t aware of existed.

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After changing into the warlock robes, Inigo had to admit he felt far less out of place in the palace. He could tell these clothes had magic worked into the very seams simply by the way the threads caught the light and the way the robes fit him perfectly. He hastened back to the High Witch, rehearsing what he was going to say in his head as he walked.

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“I’m sorry that I’m not familiar with the protocols,” Inigo started, but the High Witch didn’t seem too upset. “Not to worry. It’s simply a tradition we’ve kept through the years; nothing terribly important.” She smiled and went on, “My name is Pamela Ngai . How can I help you today?”

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“I have a question about a spell. I didn’t know where else to go, and I’m sorry if it’s something dumb,” Inigo replied nervously. The High Witch gave a little laugh. “You apologize quite a lot, Mr. Granger,” she told him, her dark blue eyes twinkling. He bit his tongue, for he had almost apologized for that, as well. “I…it’s a force of habit,” he admitted.

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“What spell are you having trouble with?” “The Resurrection Spell,” he answered. “My, my. It’s a tricky one even for advanced witches and warlocks; lots of intricate directions, if I recall correctly.” “Yes, I know. I’ve been studying for weeks and tried to cast it today, but…nothing happened.” It was almost painful to admit his failure; he could feel a lump rise in his throat and struggled to keep his composure.

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“Nothing happened? What do you mean?” the High Witch asked. “I’ve heard of incomplete resurrections or some sort of reaction coming of a miscast Resurrecting Spell, but never of nothing at all occurring.” Inigo frowned. “But that’s exactly what happened. I cast the spell, and everything went how it was supposed to, but the person I was trying to resurrect didn’t appear. So I tried it again and again and…nothing.”

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“I didn’t know what to do. Can you think of any reason why the spell wouldn’t work?” Inigo asked. But the High Witch simply looked perplexed.

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“I don’t know what to tell you,” she finally said. “But what do I do, then? Can’t you help me figure out why the spell isn’t working?” he asked, a feeling of dread and desperation building up within him. “I have no idea what the problem with the spell is; it’s my turn to apologize. I truly am sorry.”

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“But you have to help me. Please! I’ll do anything, anything at all, just help me,” Inigo pleaded. “I don’t--” “She’s my sister!” he interrupted. “I can’t just let her stay dead! I can’t…” In the High Witch’s eyes, he could see her empathy and her regret, but it did little to comfort him. He couldn’t understand how she had no answer at all.

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“The only thing I can think of is that the target of the spell could not be resurrected,” she said. “Why not?” Inigo pressed. “Well, naturally, you can’t resurrect someone who isn’t dead.” It was as if all the air had been suctioned from the room, or else Inigo had forgotten to breathe. Isn’t dead?

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“N-no,” he said numbly. “That’s not possible. I know she’s…” He couldn’t even bear to say it. “I buried her,” he whispered. That same pitying look was in the High Witch’s eyes. “I wish I could help you,” she told him earnestly. Inigo realized she meant it, and there truly was nothing she could do. He thanked her dully and left in a daze of misery.

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Outside, an early nightfall had darkened the sky. Inigo took his broomstick and slowly flew back home. All alone in the air, weary and worn-out, he couldn’t hold back his sobs.

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The High Witch watched him leave. He looked so defeated and distraught. Her mind turned to the failed Resurrecting Spell he had told her about, but she didn’t have much time to ponder it, for a voice rose up out of her cauldron. “Pamela? Are you there?”

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Pamela situated herself on the floor beside the cauldron as she replied, “Yes, Samantha, I’m here. Any news?” “I’ve been trying to reach you for awhile now, but apparently you had a visitor?” Samantha, the owner of the disembodied voice rising from the cauldron, replied. “Yes, dear. The newly-turned warlock, Inigo Granger, had a problem with a spell.” “Really? Is it anything major?” “No, not at all,” Pamela assured her. “Speaking of Mr. Granger, have you discovered anything? Say, the name of the witch or warlock who transformed him?” “No, ma’am, except that it wasn’t anyone who was registered.”

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“Not anyone registered? Whatever do you mean?” Pamela replied, startled. “I checked everyone. Even Emily Lam visited me, and she hasn’t made any contact with even the High Evil Witch in ages. None of them cast Magus Mutatio since before he was turned.” “But all witches are supposed to register. It’s in the code. And can’t you track whoever it is by their auras?” Pamela insisted, sounding rather irked. “Whoever it is has cast a powerful camouflage spell; I can’t find anything.” “I don’t understand how someone could just violate the code,” Pamela griped. “Well, we have a more pressing issue, Pamela,” Samantha interrupted. “What would that be, Samantha?”

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“The Vampire Council. They’re meeting tonight.” This pronouncement brought on a shocked silence from Pamela. Finally she replied, “I thought the Vampire Council was in a state of disarray. Upset in power and all that.” “According to my source, they’ve reorganized and they’re not too happy.” “Who’s your source?” Pamela asked sharply. “Emily Lam. She’s real tight with a vampire.” “’Tight’ meaning…?” Pamela asked. “I didn’t ask, but Emily swears on this.” “I believe her,” Pamela said.

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“What are we going to do, though?” “I’m afraid we can’t do anything, really. They’re free to meet as we are.” There was a disgruntled silence from the cauldron. “I don’t like it,” Samantha replied sternly. “I don’t, either. But we will just have to wait and see what happens.” Samantha bade her good-bye, and in silence, Pamela considered the Vampire Council.

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Since Sahara Valley had first become populated, the vampires had lurked in the shadows, mostly Downtown. Other supernaturals did live in the Valley as well, but the vampires were more than just a group of supernaturals ; they were a coalition, united, who gathered for meetings and were very much established. The witches and warlocks, meanwhile, were a more subtle group, and had only recently begun to be organized. But the vampires had a weakness, which the witches lacked. And so, a rivalry existed between the two groups. Most vampires felt threatened by the presence of witches; many witches feared vampires and, in turn, lashed out, especially those aligned with Evil or Neutral magic. But even the Good witches had a strong distaste for their fanged neighbors.

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But the witches had felt safe for a time. The vampires tended to be petty, and disputes often arose within the Council. For a while now, the Vampire Council had been without a leader and close to disbanding. But now, apparently, things were in full swing. It was obvious that witches would be high on the Council’s agenda tonight. Slowly, Pamela remembered that Samantha had mentioned Emily was good friends with a vampire now. The Council won’t like that, she thought. Emily Lam, an Evil witch, had fallen off the grid not too long ago; no one had seen much of her. Pamela didn’t mind Emily’s choice in friends (although the idea of having a vampire as a good friend herself seemed ridiculous), she wasn’t sure the Council would be so cordial.

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She wondered if, perhaps, the Council was gathering even as she sat here. Her mind wandered back to Inigo Granger, and was reminded of another difference between witches and vampires. A witch can only turn a willing subject. The rules were the same vampires, but they had been bending this ordinance for as long as anyone could remember. Quietly seething, Pamela rose and distracted herself in any way she could.

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Inigo returned home and sat in the attic in silence. He was too exhausted and numb to cry anymore, and all he could do was think. He couldn’t bear to look at any of his magical items. He had thought they would be his way to fix everything, but they had failed him as he had failed Imago. There was nothing that could be done. He had within him so much feeling: sadness, anger, confusion, fatigue, heartache, all weighing on him like a ten-ton weight. They all crowded in his heart and mind, vying for attention, but he didn’t even know where to start.

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After some time, he heard footsteps coming up the ladder. “Inigo?” It was Vanessa; her concerned voice dully broke through his fog of depression. “Inigo, what happened? You haven’t talked to anyone all day. I’m worried about you…” He couldn’t find the words to say to her; what could possibly express all he was feeling? “The girls keep asking about you. I don’t know what to tell them…” she went on, despite his silence. It felt as though someone had doused him in cold water; everything seemed to come back into focus. He could feel, once again, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

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And before he knew it, he had broken down again, and he could hear Vanessa’s voice trying to assure him. “What’s going on? Let me help you, please,” she said. He could hear in her voice that she meant it, that all she wanted was for him to be happy again even though she had never really known him when he was happy. He could feel that she loved him and wouldn’t leave no matter how difficult he was, and he knew it was time to talk.

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She wrapped an arm around him and he fell into her embrace. And for once, Inigo told Vanessa everything: the failed spell, his guilt, the terrible nightmare, the failures he could never make up for. She listened.

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Meanwhile, at 84 Vine Street, Ivy kissed her husband good-bye fondly. “Keep it together here, alright? I’ll be back late.” “When have I ever steered us wrong?” Ignotus replied. “Do you want me to answer that?” she joked, and he laughed.

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“Where are you off to again?” Ignotus asked. “The Vampire Council meeting, silly,” Ivy told him yet again with a slight grimace. “I wish I didn’t have to, but the others will skin me alive. At least my friend Tosha will be there; otherwise it’d be completely insufferable.” “Please stay? I’m going to be so bored.” “You don’t have to wait up for me,” she laughed, even though she knew he would anyway. She quickly kissed him again and said, “I really have to get going, Ig. Sorry.”

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Ivy pushed open the gate and tried to recall the directions Tosha had given her. The meeting would be held at Count Ned Switch’s home, which was apparently only a short distance from the Copur house. It would be a long walk, but Ivy anticipated the journey. She valued her quiet time.

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As she made her way down the long, quiet boulevard, she wondered what the meeting would be like. She had a peculiar feeling, as though something was about to happen, something important. Why, she didn’t know; the meeting was going to be unremarkable at best. But out of nowhere she had this sense of nervous anticipation. Ivy disregarded it and walked on.

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The journey was uneventful, and before long Ivy was walking to the front stoop of the house Tosha had described. It was windowless and angular, and for some reason, very foreboding. She shook off this feeling as well, and pushed the front door open.

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Upon her arrival, she was immediately confronted by the Councilman, Ned Switch. “You’re late,” he said curtly. Ivy bit back a sharp reply, and instead said, “Sorry. It won’t happen again.” He nodded coldly and Ivy took a seat in the living room.

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“Hi, Tosha,” Ivy said to the vampire to her right. “Hello, Ivy. I don’t think you’ve met Jordan here,” Tosha replied, gesturing to the young vampire sitting in the easy chair in the corner. “See, Tosha? I told you no one wears those old-fashioned clothes anymore. You should get with the times,” Jordan interrupted, regarding Ivy briefly.

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Tosha turned to her sharply, and Ivy could practically see the tension between the two. “I’m just saying. You stick out like a sore thumb,” Jordan added. “You’d do well to remember some traditions, Jordan,” Tosha replied acidly. “Besides, Jihoon still wears the old clothes.” “Feh. He doesn’t even show up to meetings. Besides, rules were made to be broken.”

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“Actually, Miss Cho, I believe Tosha makes a good point,” Ned said coolly, standing before the three of them. Jordan narrowed her eyes but didn’t make a further comment. “Traditions just so happen to figure in to my agenda for this evening’s meeting.”

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“Hello, everyone, and thank you for joining me tonight for this meeting of the Vampire Council,” he began; his words sounded very rehearsed and his tone was stiffly formal. “I realize we haven’t had a meeting for quite some time due to disputes within the Council, but these issues have been rectified.” Ivy had known of the in-fighting, but she was very curious as to the details of these so-called “disputes.” However, Ned didn’t devote much attention to the matter.

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“Now, as for the first order of business: witches. During our Council’s hiatus, unfortunately the magical beings have only grown more powerful. Their magic is powerful, expansive, and near-unknowable. Despite being divided into different factions, they are all tied together and very rarely experience in-fighting. They are a danger to us, for I have it on good authority that they can devise a potion that reverses vampirism. Clearly, they seek to wipe us out entirely and become the dominant breed of supernatural--” From behind him, Jordan made a derisive noise and muttered, “Oh, please.”

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“Do you have something to add, Miss Cho?” Ned asked , his tone threatening. “Are we still keeping up with this bullshit about witches? It’s stupid and not even true.” “Your misinformed opinion is irrelevant,” Ned said shortly, and made to resume his speech.

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But Jordan rose from her chair and shouted, “My ‘opinion’ is more of a fact than all that crap you were spewing out! Witches don’t want to wipe us out, and they’re allowed to live here as much as we are!” “It makes sense you would think that,” Ned replied airily, which only seemed to infuriate Jordan more. “What do you mean, makes sense?” “Tell me, Jordan, do you know a girl named Emily Lam?” Ned asked, with the smug air of someone who knew a secret that they were not supposed to know. Ivy observed the conversation quizzically. What kind of question is that?

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“She’s a friend of mine,” Jordan answered after a moment. “And a witch,” Ned snarled. “You know how the Council regards such relationships.” “Fuck you! It’s none of your damn business who my friends are!” “We have ordinances, Jordan! You can’t just go around defying every rule in the book like you’re a queen!”

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“I don’t care about your ordinances or this stupid Council or your agenda!” Jordan retorted. “It’s not just our agenda. The witches--” “The witches don’t care! As long as Emily’s not running around setting fire to shit on a regular basis, she’s free to do what she wants! Get the stick out of your ass already!” she interrupted. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that in my own house! Your so-called friend is a witch, she is one of our enemies, and she will only betray you,” Ned spat venomously. “You don’t even know her!”

Slide 74:

“You’re a bit defensive of someone who’s merely a friend, aren’t you?” Ned countered. Ivy could see Jordan freeze up for half a second before snapping back, “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I know everyone in this town somehow, Jordan; you know that. And someone I know told me that you and Emily Lam share an address.” “It’s an apartment complex,” Jordan said automatically, but Ned scoffed. “Don’t even try to fool me,” he told her, his tone threatening. So Jordan instead drew herself up to her full height and told him, “Once again, it’s none of your damn business.”

Slide 75:

“And yet it is! You know the rules! It’s dangerous for two different types of supernaturals to mix company like that. What if the witch were to brew a potion or whatever ridiculous thing they do in their spare time and you were to breed? You know as well as I that such unions can warp offspring in unpredictable ways; it’s irresponsible to inflict that on a child if you can’t handle it.”

Slide 76:

As Ned ranted on, Ivy turned to Tosha and whispered, “I don’t get what the big deal is between vampires and witches.” Tosha shrugged. “It’s an ancient rivalry; at this point it makes no difference to question it.” Ivy furrowed her brow. “It just seems kind of stupid. Is anyone actually attacking each other, or is it just a bunch of empty threats?” Tosha shrugged again, apparently without an answer. I knew this whole meeting would be a stupid, petty waste of my time, she thought to herself. So Jordan’s shacked up with a witch. Good for her. Who cares?

Slide 77:

“I keep having to tell you this, but it’s none of your business who I’m rooming with or talking to or fucking or whatever,” Jordan replied icily. “What if she turns you into a witch, though? Or cures your vampirism? Then what, Jordan?” Ned challenged. “Then what? Then we all get on with our lives! Go have some ice cream and calm down already!” “A vampire witch? Surely that only bodes ill,” Ned answered, and Ivy could hear a thin strain of fear in his voice, and she could tell why. The last thing Jordan needed was a magic wand.

Slide 78:

Jordan made to reply, but Ned spoke over her. “Now, if you please, sit down so we can continue the meeting.” Jordan apparently didn’t see the argument as one worth pursuing and returned to her seat. “As I was saying--” Ned began, but he was interrupted yet again. From behind them all, the group of vampires heard light footsteps creeping down the stairs and a little girl’s giggle.

Slide 79:

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Standing on the stairs was a young girl who could only be Ned’s daughter; his nose was quite distinguishable. But her shockingly vibrant orange hair was just a touch more noticeable than her nose. “Daddy, you know how you said I couldn’t stay up for your secret meeting? Well, I did!” the girl announced proudly.

Slide 80:

She dashed down the stairs towards him, beaming. “I didn’t know you had a daughter, Ned,” Ivy said conversationally, choosing to ignore the girl’s hair. It wasn’t her place to judge, really. “Hmm? Oh, yes, this is my little Mel,” Ned said fondly. “It’s short for Melpomene.”

Slide 81:

“Hi, Daddy! Are there snacks are your secret meeting?” Melpomene asked brightly, embracing her father. “Not for you, darling. Shouldn’t you be asleep? I thought your mother sent you to bed hours ago.”

Slide 82:

“Mama said it was okay, though,” she supplied instantly. “Really now? I seem to recall orange meaning mischievous, Melpomene,” he remarked with a chuckle. Ivy was rather taken aback; orange meaning mischievous? She wondered what on earth that meant. “Can I say hi to your scary friends?” she asked. “Only until your mother catches you down here.”

Slide 83:

Her smile broadened and abruptly her hair flashed to an eye-achingly bright, neon pink, with the unnatural orange at the tips of her ponytails. Everyone in the room gasped, but she didn’t take much notice. “Hi, scary friends! I’m Mel! Melly - melly -mellow- mel !” she informed them, giggling as she spoke.

Slide 84:

And without further ado, she dashed off and started jumping on the furniture. “The floor is lava, and we have to jump all around on the chairs!” she shrieked with delight. Ivy could only shift herself slightly out of the way of Melpomeme’s flailing limbs.

Slide 85:

“Did her hair just change colors ?!” Jordan burst out, apparently bored with sitting down. “What of it?” Ned asked, his tone deathly calm. “Weren’t you the one warning me about supernatural offspring getting all warped or whatever?” “My daughter is not warped !” he protested angrily. “Oh, yeah, because all the normal half-vampire kids just run around with rapidly-changing neon hair these days,” Jordan replied sarcastically.

Slide 86:

“You watch your tongue--” “So tell us, Ned? Who’d you knock up? Was it a witch and did she fly off because she realized what a prick you are? Is that why you’re so bitter?” she interrupted heatedly. “Don’t you dare --!” “Tell the truth, then, you hypocrite!” But as Ned was about to retort, a new voice broke out over the noise. “Melpomene Switch, you get up to bed this instant!” “Well, I guess we’re going to find out,” Jordan remarked.

Slide 87:

Melpomene, meanwhile, had stopped bouncing as her hair turned a sickly shade of yellow-green. “Uh-oh,” she whispered. “I told you that your mother would come to collect you,” Ned told her. The stairs creaked as a new figure entered the scene.

Slide 88:

“I swear, Mel, you’re going to drive me crazy! You can’t just keep wandering around at night, you have school tomorrow!” “But it’s homeschool ! I don’t even have to wake up!” Melpomene protested. “That doesn’t mean you get to break the rules, young lady.”

Slide 89:

“Oh, look at your hair. Don’t be nervous, darling. I know you’re curious.” Melpomene’s hair resolutely remained yellow as she reached up to embrace her mother. “Why can’t I get my hair like yours?” she asked. Her mother chuckled. “Because Mommy uses paints to get her hair this color.”

Slide 90:

“Mommy, can’t I please stay up? We can have a homeschool snow day and spend all night playing the lava game!” Melpomene suggested. “Ooh, you know I just love the lava game. But no, you’re going to bed. But don’t get too upset, I’ll read you another story, okay?”

Slide 91:

Melpomene frowned and her hair faded to a dark blue. “Aww, Mom,” she muttered as she went up the stairs. “You can’t fool me, sweetheart, I know purple is one of your happy colors,” her mother laughed. Melpomene giggled in response and vanished into the upper level of the house.

Slide 92:

“Sorry about that,” the woman with the blue hair said to Ned, kissing him softly. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important down here.” Something about Ned’s wife caught Ivy’s attention. There was the vibrant hair, of course (blue hair doesn’t often pass by someone’s sight), but there was something beyond that. Ivy was sure she had never met this woman before, but something about her rung a bell in Ivy’s mind.

Slide 93:

And then, suddenly, it struck her. It was the smile, the nose, the color of her eyes. The woman could have passed as Isla’s sister if she had brown hair. Isla’s sister… The face, so akin to Ivy’s father-in-law’s. The eyes, the exact same shade of brown as Isla and Inigo and Helena’s. The hair…where had Ivy heard of someone with blue hair…? Her head was spinning. Wasn’t that part of Imago Granger’s missing persons report? But that was crazy…she was dead…

Slide 94:

Ivy’s train of confused thought was interrupted by Jordan. “Who are you?” she asked bluntly. “I’m his wife,” the blue-haired woman replied acidly. “Talk about my hair and I’ll rip your fangs out.” “Ooh, what a firecracker you are,” Jordan replied dryly. “This is my house and you’re not funny. Sorry.”

Slide 95:

“Would you mind telling me why your daughter’s hair spontaneously changes colors?” Jordan went on. “As you’re so fond of saying, it’s none of your business,” she shot back. Ivy smelled a fistfight brewing, but Ned said, “Let it go, Imago,” and his wife returned upstairs with a malicious backwards glance at Jordan.

Slide 96:

“Oh my God,” Ivy whispered. Imago . It was impossible, but who else in the world had that name? Who else looked just like the sister Ignotus had lost, the sister whose abrupt death had sent Inigo into a spiraling whirlpool of depression? But she hadn’t died…Ivy had just seen her walking around, talking, kissing her husband, playing with her daughter. She was alive, and yet she had led everyone to believe she was dead? Ivy was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she almost missed the next round of Jordan and Ned’s argument, which was escalating with every word.

Slide 97:

“What is she?” Jordan asked Ned as soon as Imago had vanished upstairs. “I beg your pardon,” Ned replied frigidly. “What is she? Magical? PlantSim? A freaking mermaid? There is no way she’s a mortal! Or, at least, there’s no way that kid’s mother is a mortal. I don’t know how you spend your free time.”

Slide 98:

“One more outburst like that and--!” “You’re such a hypocrite! You know what? Fuck this. I’m going to do what I want; I don’t care about your Council or your rules or anything! Hell, I’ll turn Emily into a vampire and she can magic me into a witch for all I care, and I’ll spawn magical fanged babies through budding! Even if you weren’t an awful freaking hypocrite, I’d still do those things!” “You wouldn’t dare!” Ned hissed. But Jordan was apparently finished with conversing.

Slide 99:

With a puff of purple haze, Jordan had transformed into a bat and flown off into the night.

Slide 100:

“You don’t think she would really do that, right?” Tosha asked fearfully. “Of course not,” Ned snapped. “She’ll be back. She’s just going through a phase like she’s a stupid teenager all over again.”

Slide 101:

The meeting went on dully; there was not much else to talk about, and Ned’s long speeches seemed to have been forgotten in all the excitement. Ivy, for her part, was not able to pay much attention to the dry proceedings. She’s alive. What do I do? Ivy wondered. She turned the question over in her mind, and although she considered the possibility of saying nothing at all, she knew it wouldn’t help. She had to tell the Grangers. They deserved to know, especially after all their heartache. When the meeting was finally dispersed, Ivy practically ran out the door. It had been a strange night for some, and a long day for others, but the prospect of being home again always had some sort of comfort.

Slide 102:

“So how’d your meeting go?” Emily Lam asked with a grin. “I’m home early, and that never bodes well,” Jordan replied. “We’re kind of public now.” “Well, good. How’d they take it?” “It went over like the Hindenburg, babe.” “Cool, I love explosions.” “You know, I threatened to turn you into a vampire because they were being such pricks,” Jordan informed her.

Slide 103:

“Ooh. No one would be happy if that happened. But I’d be glad to inflict witchery on you. We could go around making people act like chickens for our own personal amusement,” Emily suggested. “That sounds way more fun than skulking around at nighttime, to be honest. And at least the witches aren’t assholes all the time.” “We can be when we want to. Were they real pricks about it?” “Oh, completely.” “I love being part of a scandal,” Emily chuckled. “Especially when the only scandal is loving you.” Jordan gave her a shy smile; with her, such a gesture was rare.

Slide 104:

Ivy had dashed across town, crossing the distance between the Switch house and her own in record time. The stitch in her side burned like fire, but she couldn’t stop.

Slide 105:

She flung open the door to find Ignotus reading in the main room. “Hi, hon --are you okay?” he asked, his expression worrisome.

Slide 106:

“I…I have to tell you…” she wheezed; her breath came quick and shallow, and she had a coughing spasm as she tried to speak. “Not…dead…” Ignotus set his book down, looking positively alarmed.

Slide 107:

“What do you mean, not dead? What’s going on? Did something happen at your meeting?” he asked. Ivy paused to catch her breath. “Why are you…did you run home or something?” “Y…yes…” she admitted, as her heart rate returned to normal.

Slide 108:

“Ignotus, she’s not dead,” Ivy told him, furrowing her brow. “What? Who?” “Your sister. Imago. She’s not dead.”

Slide 109:

“ What ?!” Ignotus burst out.

Slide 110:

Far away, Inigo slept fitfully. Already the nightmares were jumping out at him from the deepest, darkest corners of his mind. His dreamscape was littered with reminders of his failures and haunted with Imago’s countenance. All your fault…