mouth, Ian Bronya,” Moira said, then looked at her sister. Maeve didn’t speak, but her eyes had taken on their usual edge, and Moira felt her anger along with a surprising amount of hurt.
Ian scrunched up his face and looked at them both again. “Which witch is which?” He took a step nearer, and Maeve met it until their noses all but collided.
“I once saw a horse’s behind that looked a lot like you,” she said. “Smelled better, though.”
He laughed. “I was wrong. This one’s Maeve.”
“Who cares about them?” Michael said. “C’mon. Let’s move.”
“Where’re you two going?” Maeve asked.
“Come find out.” Ian picked up his jackknife, then started with Michael out of the clearing. He turned and walked backward—toe to heel—a few steps, long enough to taunt, “Unless you don’t have the balls.”
“Let them go. They’re jerks!” Moira said. But Maeve shook her head and followed without her.
That afternoon, as Moira trimmed back her roses for winter, she felt Maeve’s curiosity and fascination. She became curious herself when she heard the screen door slam and saw her sister leap off the back porch in a cloud of dirt.
“Follow me,” Maeve said in a hushed voice.
Moira brushed off her hands, then followed her sister across the yard and into their small shed. Maeve closed the door behind them.
“Give me your finger,” Maeve said, Daddy’s best jackknife slipping out of her long sleeve to land in her palm.
Moira hid her hands behind her back. “Why?”
“Ian and Michael went to Hearse House and made each other blood brothers. Everyone in their club’s done it as a sign of bravery and allegiance. They said we wouldn’t have the guts—well, balls—to do it, but I told him we would, so let’s.”
“But we’re already blood sisters.” Moira stared disbelievingly at her twin, who opened the knife with little regard for its sharpened edge. “What if you cut your fingers off? What if you cut mine off and I can’t play piano anymore?”
Maeve sighed. “Do you have a scab?” she asked, opening the jackknife.
“I have scabs from working with the roses, but Maeve …”
Moira watched, fascinated, as Maeve pushed the tip of the knife into the fleshy part of her finger, until a small crimson bead appeared.
Maeve looked up at her. “It’s okay, Moira. Just scratch a scab off. That’ll be good enough.”
Moira ran a finger over a rough bump near her wrist. Maybe it was the story of Fierce Alfred and the dragons or the fact that she hadn’t blinked at Ian earlier, but she didn’t want to settle for good enough . She held out her finger. “Here. Just be careful.” She closed her eyes.
It happened quickly: some pressure, a quick sting. When she looked again, her finger bore a deep red bead, just like Maeve’s. “It looks like a ladybug.” Moira giggled, excited and a little troubled at what they’d done.
Maeve let the knife fall where they stood. “Now we’ll always be joined, no matter what,” she said, and pressed the twin incisions together—lifeblood mating with lifeblood.
“We’re sisters, gooseball, of course we’ll always be joined!” Moira tried to retrieve her hand, but Maeve held tight.
“Wait, we have to say the words.”
“What? Till death do us part? This is silly!”
“No, it’s not good enough.” Maeve gnawed her lower lip for a moment, then gripped Moira’s hand with fresh enthusiasm. “I know! ‘Even if I die, I’ll be with you for always.’ Say it.” She ground their fingers closer.
A little shiver ran through Moira as she said the words: “Even if I die, I’ll be with you for always.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ELING
D ecember arrived, and I tried to forget about the keris . Soon the semester would end, followed by a lengthy break, but for now I needed to concentrate on my job. Exam preparations and handholding for my most grade-anxious students always took top priority those last weeks of class.
I felt distracted though, my days full of incessant
Ian scrunched up his face and looked at them both again. “Which witch is which?” He took a step nearer, and Maeve met it until their noses all but collided.
“I once saw a horse’s behind that looked a lot like you,” she said. “Smelled better, though.”
He laughed. “I was wrong. This one’s Maeve.”
“Who cares about them?” Michael said. “C’mon. Let’s move.”
“Where’re you two going?” Maeve asked.
“Come find out.” Ian picked up his jackknife, then started with Michael out of the clearing. He turned and walked backward—toe to heel—a few steps, long enough to taunt, “Unless you don’t have the balls.”
“Let them go. They’re jerks!” Moira said. But Maeve shook her head and followed without her.
That afternoon, as Moira trimmed back her roses for winter, she felt Maeve’s curiosity and fascination. She became curious herself when she heard the screen door slam and saw her sister leap off the back porch in a cloud of dirt.
“Follow me,” Maeve said in a hushed voice.
Moira brushed off her hands, then followed her sister across the yard and into their small shed. Maeve closed the door behind them.
“Give me your finger,” Maeve said, Daddy’s best jackknife slipping out of her long sleeve to land in her palm.
Moira hid her hands behind her back. “Why?”
“Ian and Michael went to Hearse House and made each other blood brothers. Everyone in their club’s done it as a sign of bravery and allegiance. They said we wouldn’t have the guts—well, balls—to do it, but I told him we would, so let’s.”
“But we’re already blood sisters.” Moira stared disbelievingly at her twin, who opened the knife with little regard for its sharpened edge. “What if you cut your fingers off? What if you cut mine off and I can’t play piano anymore?”
Maeve sighed. “Do you have a scab?” she asked, opening the jackknife.
“I have scabs from working with the roses, but Maeve …”
Moira watched, fascinated, as Maeve pushed the tip of the knife into the fleshy part of her finger, until a small crimson bead appeared.
Maeve looked up at her. “It’s okay, Moira. Just scratch a scab off. That’ll be good enough.”
Moira ran a finger over a rough bump near her wrist. Maybe it was the story of Fierce Alfred and the dragons or the fact that she hadn’t blinked at Ian earlier, but she didn’t want to settle for good enough . She held out her finger. “Here. Just be careful.” She closed her eyes.
It happened quickly: some pressure, a quick sting. When she looked again, her finger bore a deep red bead, just like Maeve’s. “It looks like a ladybug.” Moira giggled, excited and a little troubled at what they’d done.
Maeve let the knife fall where they stood. “Now we’ll always be joined, no matter what,” she said, and pressed the twin incisions together—lifeblood mating with lifeblood.
“We’re sisters, gooseball, of course we’ll always be joined!” Moira tried to retrieve her hand, but Maeve held tight.
“Wait, we have to say the words.”
“What? Till death do us part? This is silly!”
“No, it’s not good enough.” Maeve gnawed her lower lip for a moment, then gripped Moira’s hand with fresh enthusiasm. “I know! ‘Even if I die, I’ll be with you for always.’ Say it.” She ground their fingers closer.
A little shiver ran through Moira as she said the words: “Even if I die, I’ll be with you for always.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ELING
D ecember arrived, and I tried to forget about the keris . Soon the semester would end, followed by a lengthy break, but for now I needed to concentrate on my job. Exam preparations and handholding for my most grade-anxious students always took top priority those last weeks of class.
I felt distracted though, my days full of incessant
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