CH255 · Rewrite
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Chapter 255: Ways to Welcome

The storm blew itself out by morning. Two days later, the group bound for Graycastle had assembled at the dock, and The Charming Beauty slipped its mooring lines and moved into open water.

Sylvie stood at the rail and held a strip of dried beef above her head.

“Goo — goo—”

The seagull plummeted from the grey sky without ceremony, the wind-blast from its wings making her squint. It took the beef in a single snap and wheeled forward to lead the ship, skimming the wave-tops fifty yards ahead.

Maggie had asked her to do this — in bird-form, she had no hands for food. The arrangement suited both of them well enough. Sylvie watched the seagull’s wings and saw beneath the movement the constant fine shimmer of gathered magic, particles converging at a point and winking out, the body that looked indistinguishable from any other gull distinguished, to her inner sight, by the living current of a witch’s power.

“I’ve heard she can take on the abilities as well as the appearances of the birds she becomes,” said a voice behind her. Captain Jack, by his footfall on the planking. “Seagulls never lose their bearing at sea, isn’t that right? They feel bad weather coming from miles out.”

“That’s correct, Captain.” She didn’t need to turn. She could see him clearly with or without looking. “Which is why we dared try the new route and bypass the Endless Cape entirely — coming ashore in the southwest of Graycastle rather than working our way through harbor cities.”

“The far side of the cape.” Jack drew on his pipe, let the smoke trail. “Explorers have gone out that way before. What they found was cliffs and shoals. Nothing else.”

“Better if it’s still nothing,” Sylvie said. “Then we turn back to the old route and no time is lost.”

“And where’s the adventure in that?” He shook his pipe at the horizon with something like affection. “I always expect something interesting on a new route.”


The arrangement was Lady Tilly’s — a diplomatic mission, she had called it, though the word felt too clinical for what it actually was: five witches traveling to place themselves in the hands of a man none of them had met, in hopes that the hands were trustworthy. In addition to the five chosen witches, Ashes and Molly had come to see them safely to Graycastle’s coast. They would not stay. Molly’s magic servant could manage any storm the ocean cared to send; Ashes would ensure that any pirate vessel that expressed interest in The Charming Beauty would find itself unable to collect on that interest.

Sylvie, as one of the five, carried a separate weight: she was to determine whether Roland Wimbledon was what he claimed to be. Lady Tilly had gone through every scenario with her — what to say if negotiations were difficult, what to do if the Witch Union refused to cooperate, what contingency to follow if they were imprisoned to prevent news from reaching Sleeping Island. Sylvie had prepared for all of it. She had prepared responses to responses, arguments for arguments, a set of graceful retreats for situations she couldn’t anticipate.

She had not prepared for the possibility that there was simply nothing to find.

She turned away from the rail and looked through the cabin wall at Lotus and Evelyn, at Honey and Candle playing with Molly’s magic servant — its fluid form stretching and reshaping to delight them, while they laughed at each passing variation. An ordinary afternoon on an extraordinary ship.

I hope the witches there are as welcoming as Maggie made them sound.


After nearly a week of open ocean, Graycastle’s coastline appeared on the horizon.

“Land!” Honey had already climbed half up the mast. The seabirds perched along the rail called back to her in chorus — ospreys, gulls, a line of swallows sitting wing-to-wing, all of them raising their voices the moment she raised hers.

“Finally.” Candle looked like someone who had given serious thought to lying down on the deck and not getting up. “I think I’m going to die.”

“No one has ever died from seasickness,” Captain Jack said cheerfully, not looking up from his instruments. “I’ve been sailing thirty years and haven’t lost one yet.”

Candle appeared unconvinced.

“Where’s Maggie?” Honey asked.

“She went ahead,” Ashes said from the stern. “She’ll contact the witches in Border Town so they know to expect you. Someone will come to meet you at the shore.”

“Sister Ashes—” Honey turned from the rail. “You’re really not coming with us?”

“The island needs me more.” Ashes smiled, though it was brief. “Wendy will take care of you. If there’s trouble — any trouble — go to her first. She will sort it out.” A pause. “One other thing. Keep your distance from Roland Wimbledon. Don’t be alone with him.”

The four witches stared.

“Why?” Evelyn asked. “Isn’t he Lady Tilly’s older brother?”

“He is,” Ashes said, with complete seriousness. “And that does not prevent him from grabbing a witch’s backside.”

The collective sharp intake of breath crossed the deck like a wave.


The Charming Beauty dropped anchor half a mile from shore — no one had charts for these waters, and the shoal’s true depth was anyone’s guess. But going ashore proved easier than expected. Molly wrapped all five witches in her magic servant’s embrace and floated them across the sea surface without wetting so much as a sandal.

The shore revealed itself as a beach backed by mountains — the shoal was the remnant of an old rock formation, worn soft by the patient work of the ocean over centuries. The mountain range beyond it was solid and continuous, running east and west farther than the eye could follow, pressing higher the further west it went until it joined something that might have been the Impassable Mountain Range, or might only have looked that way from this angle.

They waited in the shade of the cliffs.

Almost two full hours passed. Sylvie stayed watchful, the inner sight open, sweeping the rocks and woods and the air above. Then something changed in the air to the north.

Volume too large for any creature. Shape too regular.

She tracked it through the intervening miles of forest and stone as it climbed above the mountain ridge. It was round-bellied and enormous — almost the size of The Charming Beauty itself — and it moved through the air with the unhurried smoothness of something that had no reason to hurry. Beneath it, a basket hung by ropes, and two small shapes circled it on either side: a girl flying under her own power, and a pigeon.

“What is that?” Lotus had spotted it cresting the ridge above them.

“Sister Ashes — have you ever seen anything like it?” Evelyn pulled at her sleeve.

“No.” Ashes’s voice carried genuine surprise. “This is the first time for me as well.”

Sylvie scanned the basket and found the long canvas banner hanging beneath it. Yellow fabric, letters large enough to read across a mile of open air.

Welcome to Border Town.

She let out a breath. “This,” she said, “appears to be how the Witch Union prefers to make an entrance.”

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