I glanced at Liss, who nodded encouragingly, then I moved slowly through the room. The ruddy firelight made the witch’s furniture seem more menacing than ordinary objects should. I passed a large table on my left, a cabinet on my right, and banged my shin on a stool. Bits of dried herbs and straw stuck to my feet, marking one of the rare occasions on which I wished everyone on the Isle—myself included—wore shoes every day.
“I thought she’d have more dead things hanging about,” Liss whispered.
I yelped, shoving her away without thinking, and she staggered back and bumped the table with her hip.
“What was that for?” Liss narrowed her eyes, rubbing her side.
“You scared me.” I glanced at Morag. She was focused on coaxing the fire to burn brighter and hadn’t appeared to hear the noise. “You know, now that we’ve seen her, I don’t think she’s a day over eighty. And if she has any spell books in here, they’re lost under all this other junk.”
Liss chuckled, but kept her wide-eyed stare.
“Will you help me with the windows?” My eyes watered as the house’s putrid smell grew stronger.
“As long as you don’t push me again.” Liss frowned. “But then I’ll have to be on my way. Ms. Katleen is expecting me before the lunch crowd.”
Those were the words I’d been dreading, though I couldn’t blame Liss for wanting to escape.
The flimsy shutters opened at my slight touch, but the motion sent a cloud of debris into my face. I leaned out the window, coughing, and gulped clean forest air until the tightness in my chest eased.
“Splendid!” Liss smiled as she admired her work on the other window. Somehow, she’d found the means to tie back the curtains on her side. The curtains nearest me hung in tatters, raising puffs of dust as they shifted in a breeze.
“Maybe we should swap jobs.”
“Not a chance, dear sister.” Liss pecked my cheek. “See you tonight.” She walked calmly to the door.
“Leaving already?” Morag asked without looking up.
Liss paused in the doorway, silhouetted by daylight. “I’m afraid so. I have duties to attend in town. Good day.” I wished she’d added: and I’ll cut out your tongue if you attempt a single spell on my sister.
My stomach sank as I watched Liss go. So far, the old woman didn’t seem as forbidding as the rumors claimed, but what if her demeanor changed now that we were alone? I stood stiffly, hands at my sides, wondering what Morag wished me to do first. I didn’t have long to wait.
A rhythmic thumping accompanied the witch as she made her way from the hearth to the table holding a kettle. “Come pour our tea, lass.”
I opened my mouth to ask whether she’d seen Nessa Daley recently, then closed it. Morag would probably just laugh creakily. Although her cottage smelled like death, with so much rubbish, there was little room left to conceal a body. Maybe Nessa really had run away to make a life for herself in Peel with a handsome tailor.
Sighing, I lifted the kettle.
“You’re strong,” Morag muttered, pinching my arm. I jerked away. “How’d you get muscles like that? Your sister didn’t look capable of lifting so much as a chair.”
I arched my brows, rubbing my arm. “I chop a lot of firewood for my mam. Da’s almost always at sea, and my sister Mally’s never been up for the task.”
“You’ll make a good apprentice, then.” Morag slouched in a seat and pushed two mugs toward me. I wondered if they held moths and spiders. “I doubt I’d find many other girls in town chopping wood.”
“I don’t mind. It always helps clear my head.” I peered into the mugs, surprised to find them spotless. “Do you take sugar?” Remembering my surroundings, I amended, “Do you have sugar?”
“I like my tea plain and piping hot, lass.”
I served the witch’s brew and, after seeing her glance more than once at the second mug, filled it, too. Taking the only other chair at the table, I stared into my murky tea, remembering the sight of the drowned girl and the black fin under the harbor dock.
Finally, the witch set her tea down and blinked. “Are you afraid of tea?”
I wanted to ask how she thought I’d be comfortable having tea with her after seeing the state of her kitchen. Instead, I replied, “No ma’am. But I’m not here for tea. I’m here to work.”
She acted as though she hadn’t heard. “This particular blend is birch bark and chamomile. It’ll make your pretty hair grow longer.”
I looked from my mug to the witch. “How lovely. But—”
“Tell me, were you born under a full moon?”
“I have no idea.”
“I’d wager you were. It’s the only explanation for hair as light as yours. Someone must have told you how unusual it is. I’ve seen it just once before, on your …” Morag blinked as though she’d surprised herself. “Well, never mind.”
I pressed my lips together and tugged on a strand of hair tickling my cheek. No one commented on my white-blonde hair anymore. To me, it was dull and unremarkable unless the light struck it just the right way, and then my hair would glow with a tender pink sheen, like the inside of a seashell.
“What will I be doing here?” I asked. “Weeding your garden? Dusting your—er—everything? Scrubbing your cauldron?”
Morag smiled. “Scrubbing what?”
“Your cauldron. Witches have cauldrons, don’t they?”