Chapter Four

Mute and Dumb

Veda

Salinger had it all ‘worked out’ because he took me to a restaurant inside a hotel that had valet service. I didn’t want to be impressed, but I couldn’t help it. Antony, and the other boys, did not understand that I wanted to be romanced in an adult way. On dates with them, I ended up at mechanic shops, skate parks, or drive-throughs. Their lack of insight made it much easier for me to dump them.

Salinger and I sat down at an immaculate table and inspected the menus. I was surprised when he didn't let me order for myself. He ordered escargot to start, salad, seared salmon, and cheesecake. I couldn't think of a less appealing lineup, but I decided to give him the thrill of orchestrating the date his way.

When the waiter was gone, he got down to business.

“I hear you're graduating from high school next month.”

“Yes. Intarsia and Fair Isle are too. Antony as well, if that's of any interest to you.”

“Do you have plans for the fall, then?”

“I'm supposed to pick a university and take education and art, so I can work full time at the school.”

“Is that what you're going to do?”

I smiled waspishly. “I haven't told a soul what I plan to do. What makes you think I'd tell you?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” he conceded, falling back to sip his water.

“Well, continue. Aren't you supposed to fire questions at me so you can decide if I turn your water into wine? Please, continue.”

“This is friendly chit-chat,” he said. “Not even I want to come on that strong. Even if we could someday be madly in love, invading your space like that could never be the first step.”

I frowned. “Then I'll invade your space.”

His head swung around, intrigued.

“What's your book about?” I demanded.

Salinger cleared his throat. “It's called Across the Chessboard. You might think that's a cheesy title, but I have been working on it since I was eleven.”

“How did you suddenly get it to work after so many years?”

He cupped his hand around his mouth as if he was about to tell me a secret. “I got it to work when I was fifteen, but I didn't tell anyone.”

“Why?”

“It's not very impressive. Even when I was fifteen, I realized it was childish. I wanted to do something better before I started showing off. It was my secret. Unfortunately, my father found it a few months ago and his long-dormant pride was revitalized. My coven has the opposite problem as yours—a lot of men and no women. He wants me to get married and bring a wife home immediately. He's even built me a house. If I had been able to keep my book a secret, I wouldn't be here now.”

I latched onto the idea of a house. “Are you saying you would take your wife home to Whitehorse to live?” I gaped.

“Of course. Not to be rude to Edmonton or anything, but Whitehorse is infinitely more beautiful.”

“Is it really beautiful to see all that pitch-black during the zero hours of winter daylight?”

He nodded understandingly. “Spring is hotter, faster. I can't believe your wretched weather down here. I was sweating in my shorts before I flew down.”

“So, have you written any other spell books that work?”

“No. I’ve been trying, but so far, nothing has felt right.”

“June told me she read your book.”

“She loved it,” he bragged.

I refrained from snorting. “Of course, she loved it. She loved it because there were no human sacrifices, no endless nights of torture, and no plagues when you’re the only doctor.”

He stroked his chin. “Have you read the books in your library or is that only what you’ve heard about them?”

“I’m seventeen. They’re forbidden. The matriarchs go out of their way to make sure children don’t read them.”

“They’re less strict back home. I’ve read a few. They were pretty old and awful. My father writes spell books too, but I haven’t read them. They’re intended for a female audience. He can’t even give me pointers. That might be why I haven’t got my second book right. I’m here to read some of your coven’s books and interview a few other writers. When I write a spell book, it must be different from the others. Better. After dinner, I'm going to interview a spell book author.”

I inclined my head to indicate I wouldn't mind coming along.

The appetizers came. I had never had escargot before. It was everything I wanted, but didn't know how to ask for. It was garlic, cheese, herbs, and the softest French bread I'd ever had. The snails were in there too. I couldn't explain how they completed the dish, but they did.

“Good?” he asked knowingly across the table.

“So delicious I can't explain,” I said between bites.

The salmon came right after. I had never had grilled salmon before. My experience with salmon was mostly in tea sandwiches and though I enjoyed them, the grilled variety was completely different. It was mouthwatering. It was served with a salad that had dressing I had never tasted before. There were garlic mashed potatoes that finally gave me the garlic I was craving after the escargot.

“You know, I didn't think much of you not letting me order for myself, but I have to hand it to you, you did it well. Did you do some divination before you came?”

He avoided my eyes—embarrassed. “Yeah.”

I was impressed he was able to do a reading that led to a successful end, and even more impressed that he didn’t mind admitting it.

The dessert was impeccable. I didn't know raspberries were my favorite fruit, but the cheesecake convinced me. I felt very satisfied as we left the restaurant. Even though a dinner date is the bread and butter of dating, I felt close to feeling romanced.

He left the car with the valet and took me out of the back of the hotel. The weather had cleared up. The rain left oily rainbow puddles at every turn.

“Where are we going?”

“To the art gallery.”

I stopped and he took a few steps ahead without me.

Rooted in my place, I admitted, “I can't go there. It's forbidden.”

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He paused and turned. “No, it isn't. I know your whole clan avoids the art gallery as though it were a plague house because Emi is there. I asked around and the only thing you have to do to keep your respectability is to refuse to speak to her. You can manage that, can't you?”

I nodded, feeling strange. I thought I would never see Emi again. I thought that after I saw her wave her final goodbye, she was dead. I scanned my memory and tried to recall exactly what banishment meant. What Salinger said rang true. All I had to do was refuse to speak to her. I caught up to him. “Besides, it's not like we'll see her. She probably won't be around.”

“She's expecting us. That's why we're going now. Tuesday night is one of her nights to be at the gallery. Didn't you think it was weird that I wasn't taking you out on a weekend?”

Salinger offered me his arm and I took it for the stabilizing force because I felt dizzy.

What would she look like? How much had she changed in seven years? The idea was disconcerting. What if she had given up everything I had admired about her? What if it was like she had never been a part of our family?

I didn’t normally let Antony or anyone lead me around by hooking my arm with theirs, but in my current state of mind, I found Salinger’s arm comforting.

Inside the art gallery, Salinger and I were met by a greeter who thought for sure we were there to book the art gallery for our wedding. Surprisingly, a lot of people got married there. As we continued through, I saw our reflections in about a hundred window panes. Something about our warped images reminded me of the way things look in a crystal ball. We did look like we were a couple.

We turned and saw a woman dressed all in black waiting for us. It had to be Emi! Her hair was longer than I remembered. She had no bangs in those days, but now she had a fringe that melted into the length of her hair. Her curls were a mess compared to mine, but her dress was fifty times prettier. She wasn’t different! She was still one of us even though we had banished her and told her never to come home! It couldn’t have ruined her life if she was smiling. With all that black, I knew immediately she was still a witch!

“You must be Salinger,” she said, extending her hand and giving him a welcome handshake.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet us. You know Veda,” he said, indicating me.

My knees shook slightly as I waited to see if she would put out her hand to shake mine too. She did not and placed one of her hands on her hip while the other hung loosely at her side. “Of course, I know Veda. She has grown up since I last saw her. Please come in.”

The room Emi drew us into was a studio. As we entered, she pulled a stained apron over her clothing, obviously to catch the mess. There were tiny white sparkles everywhere. It wasn't a painting she was working on, but a sculpture that she was affixing thousands of tiny crystals to. It was a sculpture of an archway and a person praying in the middle. I nearly cried when I saw it. Emi was so good at what she did. No one could convince me she was bad no matter whose funeral she’d skipped.

“Salinger, be a good boy, and don't let Veda speak to me. I don't want her to get in trouble, so you and I will talk as though she is not here.” Then she looked at me. It was the only time in the whole meeting that she looked right at me. She wanted to make sure I understood.

I didn't nod. I clamped my jaw shut tight and held in a sniffle.

“She knows. Is this your new piece?” Salinger asked, controlling the direction of the conversation.

“Yes. It's called 'The Embrace of Heaven.' Do you understand it?”

“I think so. You're praying and you look like you are alone, but actually, you are surrounded by love and light,” he finished.

Emi smiled. “You are a clever boy.”

“Do you have any older work lying around?”

Emi looked flustered. “I suppose you can look at those,” she said, pointing directly behind the sculpture.

Leaning against the wall were a series of paintings that looked like nothing but enormous dots painted over top of each other. They looked like wallpaper. My mouth hung open. They were terrible.

“How long ago did you paint those?”

“Last winter. They're not much, are they? What can I say, artistic inspiration comes and goes.”

“Not like that,” Salinger said. “They don't go from a child's finger paintings to the 'Embrace of Heaven.' No. You're drained because you've been working magic. You’ve written a new spell book?”

She smiled guiltily. “You know, outside the realms of the pride of a coven, there aren’t a lot of reasons to write a spell book. I mean, you could write one, but it would be risky. Something happens, it gets lost, falls into the wrong hands, someone gets hurt, maybe someone dies, and then how do you explain it? Something specific happened that made me want to give it a try.”

“What?” Salinger asked. He was a gifted listener, persuading her to continue with his interest.

“My nephew, Evander, wrote a book!” she said triumphantly.

“Your nephew? I thought you wrote the book?”

“That’s the best part. I had never made someone else’s book into a spell book before. He wrote this detestable book about how women had terrible selfish priorities and how he would never find the happiness he so desperately craved. He needed to be corrected.”

“What did you do?” Salinger asked, helping me onto a workbench and taking the other side for himself.

“I worked magic into it. I had to do it by typing it out myself, on paper made of hemlock that I made myself. Then I had to bind it myself stitch by stitch. First the single pages into pamphlets and then the pamphlets into a book. Then I had to press the leather with the indentations for the title on the cover and the spine. All that was left was to glue it.”

“You had to make the book yourself?” Salinger gaped. “I thought you could make a spell book out of anything.”

“You absolutely can, but you have to be the one who writes the book. I didn’t write it. I didn’t imagine it. I had to do every one of those extra tasks to ensure that it would work. It had to be made only with Evander’s thoughts. I had to empty my brain in order to deliver those thoughts perfectly. It was an insane amount of work. It took me six months to recover. Typewriters are beasts, but that was part of what made the whole project such a victory.”

“Who did you give the book to?”

“I gave it to a teenager who was babysitting for me, Sarah.”

Salinger was aglow with interest, as was I. Witches and mages in our coven didn’t give spell books to normal people.

“Did all chaos ensue?”

“Absolutely. She had to go to the hospital twice. Evander likes to illustrate his point with violent exclamation points. You have to understand, his book was insufferable. He believed that a woman would always choose to do something that was not only self-serving but wholly disgusting rather than choose to be with him. He felt he had nothing to offer. I struggled with how to show him he was wrong until I noticed that Sarah was attracted to him. She didn’t think he was unlovable.”

“Were they close?”

“No. She was steaming like a teapot and she didn’t even know him. He thought he had nothing and she thought he had everything. That’s another reason the whole thing was so triumphant. I gave him to her, bones and all. He protected himself so carefully with his apathy and his blank gaze. I put her inside his walls and let her see what the man she admired was like behind the gates. It was amazing. By the time she finished the book, they were completely in love.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Last fall. They’re still in love.”

I pulled out my phone and sent Salinger a text, asking him to ask Emi how old Sarah was. He obliged and asked Emi for me.

“She’s seventeen. She was sixteen at the time.”

I gasped. She was the same age as Pearl. The spell book sounded dangerous and that girl, Sarah, had made it through even though it sent her to the hospital twice. I wondered if Salinger would interview her and Evander later and if he would invite me along.

“I was wondering,” Salinger said, pulling a book out of the inside pocket of his coat. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a look at this.”

I was surprised when I saw his spell book. It was a forest green book with gold lettering that read 'journal.' He couldn't find a better book than that? The edges were frayed.

Emi opened it. She turned each one of the pages immediately without so much as glancing at the content. Then abruptly she closed it and handed it back to him. Her smile glowed. “That was extremely enjoyable. I wish you were my son.”

He took the book and scoffed, “Not unless you want to marry my father.”

Emi sagged playfully. “Vincent would hardly go for that.”

“Did my book pull you in? You didn’t look like you were asleep like the other people who read it.”

“Only inexperienced readers look like they're asleep, but yes, it dragged me in quite nicely. I had a lot of fun.”

“Any pointers?”

“Keep on writing what’s fun. Everyone likes fun,” she advised, a dimple appearing in her cheek.

Salinger got up and put out his hand to help me to my feet. “May I come again if I have any more questions?”

Emi nodded.

They said goodbye and a few minutes later, Salinger and I were back on the pavement outside. He turned his black ringed eyes on me. “You can talk again. How was that for you?”

“Did you do some scrying to figure out that you should take me to see her?” I asked, trying not to give my feelings away.

“Not for that. Just dinner. The cards said you had not been classically romanced and something overt would be welcome. It’s a common trick. No fancy magic on my end… yet.”

He walked calmly in the direction of the hotel with his hands in his pockets, seemingly to give me a bit of space and I thought about whether or not I ought to tell him about how he had accidentally given me something I thought I would never have again. It was lovely to sit there and imagine that Emi was one of us. She was still my cousin and that feeling of common blood stirred in me.

I caught up with him and linked my arm with his. It was my way of adding a personal touch to what I was about to say. “Your cards were right. Thank you for taking me out.”

“Don't tell me this date has made you like me?” he smirked.

“Wouldn't dream of it. It's just that if I hang onto you like this, it's much easier to walk in my heels. Take me home. I have school tomorrow.”