Chapter Text
Weren’t all witches good people? Wasn’t magic a beautiful miracle?
Maybe her mom was wrapped in a miracle, then. Except she looked more like one of those works of art Coco had seen during a travelling sculpture exhibition passing through the village.
She was exactly as Coco knew her, only her soft hands that always knew when to envelop her in a hug were brittle and tough, clutching a lantern while her face looked up at the night sky in despair.
Close enough to touch. Coco flexed her fingers, just centimeters away from her mom’s solid wrist. She held her breath.
She stopped herself short. She just couldn’t do it. Her mom was a delicate thing, now, it seemed. Not to be touched, because what if she crumbled and withered away? Then, it’d be all Coco’s fault.
It was weird, though. Coco let her knees hit the grass and tried to think back to the past few hours. Wouldn’t she have remembered how something like this happened?
She would’ve woken up at some point—assuming she was asleep before the whole house had turned to stone—but then why was she fine, and her mom frozen in time? Maybe she had been outside playing when it happened, and been too far away to notice in time that something awful was taking over her home.
No, what was she thinking? It was the middle of the night. She would’ve definitely been in bed. The only thing that would have kept her up is if something exciting were happening, like maybe if there was—
Was what?
Her fingers felt funny. Sort of numb, and sort of sweaty. Her heart hammered against her chest in slow, heavy thuds.
Coco craned her neck, fighting off the crick to stare at her mom’s frozen eyes like they would draw out the pieces she was missing.
There was no answer.
Her head was full of cotton. The feeling clogged her ears. She flinched when the hot tears started to pool up in her eyes, and the world fell out of view.
She was so sleepy. Why was it so late? They would have to close the shop tomorrow if this mess wasn’t cleaned up soon, but she couldn’t do it alone. She would need to wait for—
Hm.
Coco let her arms and head sink into the soft grass too, and pretended, just for a little bit, that the stone in front of her could look down, smile, and be her mom again.
The witches behind her, deep in conversation, would fix everything by the time she woke up, she was sure of it.
***
Brittle, tough, stone. It cracked and creaked like the sound of a thousand angry lionboars ready to strike. The smell was almost worse—it burned her nostrils, and the smoke rattled her lungs enough to elicit a ferocious dry cough.
She shrieked, reaching wildly for her mom on the ground, but Qifrey the witch held her tight, yelling something about safety and memories and knights.
“Let go! Let go, let go! I need to help her—don’t you understand?”
“Believe me, Coco, I do, but there is nothing you can do, and you’re only going to—hey, hey!”
Coco couldn’t bring herself to care—if it were his mom, she would bet this Qifrey would do the same exact thing no matter how dangerous. He’d be at her side, and he wouldn’t let anyone forget or abandon her.
She heaved, and kicked with all her might, and then the arms around her waist were gone. She was sinking through the sky, all of a sudden, gasping for air, and choking on tears. The witch dove, cradling her at the last moment before she tumbled through the dirt and scraped her arms and knees.
She ignored his calls and raced forward. Her mom was right there, and had to be in so much pain from that awful spell. She tried to get closer—to step over the jagged rocks surrounding the hem of her mom’s skirt, but they tore into her flesh, pinching and peeling at her skin and sending her flailing.
“Mom! Mom! Can you hear me, Mom? I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry! I’m going to help you, okay? Just—just wait. Wait for help, okay? I’m going to help you, and I’m not going to—to forget, okay? Just…please. Please.”
She sank into the grass. Wept into ink stained hands. The night was vast, open, so lonely without her mom. Her mom, who was a statue who spent her last few moments awake looking up at her, and who could look at her no more.
Coco gasped for breath, but they came all came out ugly, uneven, and wheezy.
If it hadn’t been for that witch, that book. If only she had never gone to that festival, and never stepped on those stupid stones, or if Qifrey had never come to their store and given her the chance to sneak a peak at his casting.
Only, that wasn’t right, was it?
This was Coco’s spell. She had stored the book all this time, and her eyes had looked where they were not supposed to, and it was her hands that had closed the circle with her pen and sealed her fate.
This was Coco’s spell. Her own doing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She did not dare look up. “You were right, Mom. I can’t be a witch. I shouldn’t have tried. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. So please, would you wake up? I won’t ever try again. I—”
The witch behind her had been still and silent since her tumble. Coco looked at him, only his eye was full of pity and fixed on her mom. She sniffed, gathered her nightgown in little fists, and walked over, wincing all the while from the cuts on her feet.
She kneeled. Maybe all witches weren’t good people, but Qifrey had rescued her from her own spell, and he had fixed those ladies’s carriage without asking for anything in return. He was a good person, she was sure.
“I won’t ever try again, Mr. Qifrey, I promise.” Her throat burned. She was near sick from crying, and the fall was starting to take its toll on her arms and legs. “But please, can you help her? Can you make her better? Can you fix what I’ve done?”
He looked at her, now, but it was a look she could not place.
Qifrey pursed his lips, unfolded his hands, and sat in the grass beside her.
“Coco, I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson, really, but…” He removed his cap. She felt her nerves calming with the gentle way he spoke, but his next words made her breath stop short. “All magic cast on the body, with the exception of memory alteration, is strictly forbidden. These things aren’t for you or I to decide. In fact, I’m afraid your situation is already out of my hands.” He grimaced, and pointed up, tearing her gaze toward the full moon. “Do you see them?”
In the distance, Coco could spot them: more witches. Only, they were all dressed in the same deep red cloaks, and the white of their winged caps and long ribbons were stark against the night sky.
Qifrey placed a warm hand on her shoulder, helping her up from the ground. She mumbled a thanks, but couldn’t keep her eyes off the descending witches. So much so that she didn’t notice the glare of the silver-haired witch beside her.
“The Knights Moralis are here.”
***
Coco awoke to a hand landing on her shoulder. What a terrible dream she’d been having! She was flying, free, but her mom was stuck at the bottom of a pit, surrounded by heavy stones, falling aimlessly and calling out for her.
She had to move them to get to her, and knew, just knew it could only be done with magic, but Coco did not know magic. Magic was for witches. Coco was no witch. She tugged, and pushed until her arms gave out, but the stones did not budge.
Eventually, her mom had stopped calling her name, and the sky had turned red.
“…co? Coco? Please wake up.”
She knew that voice. Vaguely. Didn’t she know that voice?
Coco opened her eyes.
She gasped at the sight, flinching backwards and covering her mouth in shock. The jagged rocks surrounding her mother were here, only they were not just blocking her, but choking her, swallowing her whole. She shuddered. Had it not been a dream after all?
“Coco?”
She turned around.
Her shoulder sagged in relief. It was the silver-haired witch who had found her earlier—his name escaped her, but he was a witch, and witches had magic to help people.
“Hello,” she said, sort of meekly. How embarrassing it was to not know a single thing. This was her house! “Um, Mr. Witch…could you tell me what happened? I can’t seem to remember, but my mom, she…why’s she like that, Mr. Witch?”
Coco couldn’t understand it, that pitiful look he was giving her. He knelt in front of her, removing his cap, and something about that action tugged at the back of her brain.
“Coco, listen to me. Your home was attacked by evil magic-doers,” the silver haired witch said solemnly. “Your mother sadly did not survive the attack. I’m very sorry.”
He looked at her, then, and he really did look awfully sorry, Coco would give him that. His one visible blue eye was red around the edges, and there was a dark circle beneath it like he hadn’t slept in days.
“Evil…evil magic-doers,” she heard herself say, but it sounded so far away to her own ears. “I don’t understand…how—when could that have happened? I was here, or, at least…I think I was here. Mr. Witch—”
He smiled thinly. “You may call me Qifrey.”
“Oh. Okay. Mr. Qifrey, do you really mean that? Magic did this? To my house, and—and to my mom? How’s that even possible?”
What was that he’d said about her? That she hadn’t survived? Coco looked back at her mom, and sure, she was solid, still and had her mouth open in a mournful scream, but she was totally intact. Just under some sort of (evil?) spell.
The more she thought about it, the more Coco’s head swam. She retraced her steps mentally, remembered putting the laundry up to dry that morning, and remembered her mom calling her in.
They had customers, lots of customers—exciting ones? Sure, but why? They had left…left somehow…then Coco and her mom had to have made dinner, then said goodnight, and then…and then?
She rambled on, desperate to make sense of the day.
“I think I would’ve remembered—or at least seen something.” And this witch—who was this witch exactly? He looked nice enough, and he had been here earlier when she had woken up, along with that other long-haired witch. Still, he knew her name, and knew what happened, even though Coco did not.
“Oh, and, um, not that I don’t appreciate you being here and all, but where’d you come from exactly? If it was magic, then…then does that mean it was another witch that came here to do this?”
“Coco,” he said calmly, but his face looked pained and tired. He looked down at the ground to speak, clutching the long black ribbon dangling from the top of his pointed cap. “I understand you have many questions. I’m afraid I only know so much. I was passing through the night back to my home when I saw a light coming from here where your house is. There was a blast, and I only just managed to grab you before the stone spread everywhere else and enveloped your mother.”
He sighed. She watched, fixated on that cap, as he nestled it back onto the top of his head.
Qifrey helped her to her feet, steadying her as she wobbled left and right. She winced when on her feet, dared a peek at her soles, and frowned at the specks of blood splattered across them.
“The Knights Moralis came to investigate and try to find the perpetrator, but they had fled already,” he continued. “You fell from my arms at one point, and thankfully you did not sustain any life threatening injuries, but you have had a traumatic experience. Some memory loss is…to be expected. I urge you to try and not dwell on it too much lest you upset yourself.”
Memory loss. Her heart rate picked up, and cold sweat dripped down her neck. Memory loss, and witches. Why did the thought make her afraid?
She had fallen. That made sense, she decided. She could almost picture it, her screams and the feeling of being midair, nothing but the cold hard ground in view. What a nasty fall it must have been that her feet still burned from the injury.
It all made sense, then. Everything except…
Eyes upward. Lantern mid swing. Her hair cascading in the wind, but encapsulated in stone.
Coco swallowed down her doubt. “Um, Mr. Qifrey, I get what you’re saying about my memories and all, but what exactly do you mean about my mom? You said it was magic that made her like this, right? So that means magic can fix her. She’s not gone.”
You’re wrong, she wanted to say instead. You’re wrong, I can prove it, but…well, she really couldn’t. It was just a weird feeling she had.
Qifrey fixed his gaze on her, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pulled into grimace. Something about his glasses—covering up his right eye—looked sort of eerie in the moonlight.
“I’m sorry, Coco, but there is no cure for your mother. It was very powerful magic from a very powerful witch.” He pulled something out of his skirt folds—a handkerchief. Ah, for Coco. Crying already, because hadn’t she heard something like this before? “She will remain this way for all of eternity. She will feel no pain, I can assure you, but there is no magic that can wake her up.”
No magic. Did everything in the world always come down to magic? If it did, then why did only witches know it? And why could they not help her now? It just couldn’t be true—someone, somewhere had to have a solution no one had thought of yet. Someone had to know how to give Coco her mom back.
Coco opened her mouth to ask, or beg, for someone to be sent for, but all that escaped was a pathetic sound, and soon, she was buried in the witch’s skirt, holding on with an iron grip. He let her cry into the fabric, face wet and sobs silent. Her voice felt weak, like she’d already been crying for hours, but she had only just woken up, so that couldn’t be right.
“I just…I don’t get it Mr. Qifrey. Why my mom? Why our house? What’d we ever to do anyone?”
“Oh, Coco.” His hands smoothened her hair from the crown of her head in calming motions. It was nothing like her mom’s hugs, but that thought only made her cry harder. “You should know that not all of us born as witches will do good with our magic…there are times that those with ill intentions will turn their sights to innocent people, like you and your mother. There was nothing you did wrong, or could have done differently, alright?”
She felt herself nod. Her cheeks went red then, embarrassed at crying into a stranger of all people. She untangled herself from his smoke colored robes. How cold the night seemed all of a sudden, and how terribly lonely.
The witch waited for her to rub her eyes dry before speaking again.
“I hate to have this conversation, Coco, really, but I was asked by the Knights to make sure you have somewhere safe to stay from now on. Is there anyone in your village I could speak to about taking you in?”
Coco had never heard a more terrible question. It hit her like a kick to the stomach: this was it. Her home was uninhabitable, and her mom could not take care of her, because her mom was…was gone. Gone, and turned to stone by some horrible witch who was still out there, maybe even out plotting their next awful deed.
She looked back.
Her mom did not—could not meet her eye. She swallowed another ugly sob.
“Um…yeah, okay. I think I know a few people. I can…show you?”
Coco rubbed her hands together for warmth. Her nightgown was a mess of dirt and grass stains. She had questions—probably too many questions, but it seemed the witch could answer none of them.
“That’d be perfect, yes. I’ll have to carry you if that’s alright.”
Coco nodded. It hurt her throat, but she braved the question, “Sure, but, Mr. Qifrey, do you think, maybe, I um, could get a minute alone, please? With my mom? Just to…to say goodbye.”
He softened, and tipped his cap to her like they were old friends. She wasn’t sure why she had thought so, but he really wasn’t so scary.
“Of course. I will be right over there when you’re ready.”
She watched him go, all light steps and flowing robes. How strange it was that there were witches like him who would go out of their way to comfort her, and witches who could do such horrible things to people who hurt no one and minded their own business. People like Coco and her mom.
Mom.
Coco turned to face her. She took careful steps to approach, maneuvering around the sharp beams of stone surrounding her mom from all sides. Something told her they’d hurt, and so she stood on the tips of her toes to avoid getting too close.
The vibrant color in her face was gone—turned to a dark gray speckled with black and white patches. She was in her nightgown, too. Coco supposed she had not bothered to put her own shoes on either.
She had to have come out in a rush, but not running away. Had to have been looking up, and had to have been afraid of whatever she had seen. It had been enough to distract her from leaving.
Coco could feel it, suddenly, the feeling of being blinded by light and soaring through the sky. She shook it off. What could you do with just a feeling?
“Goodbye, Mom. I’ve gotta go now,” she whispered, reaching out with one trembling, cupped hand. “I’ll visit, though, I promise. And I’ll miss you everyday. But I’ll be fine, okay? I’ve got some nice witches looking after me, so don’t worry.”
She flexed her fingers, let them glide across the cool stone of her mom’s face for the briefest of seconds. Tried to commit her amber eyes to memory, because she would not see them again. She held onto her breath a long moment, then exhaled. Counted to 10. Turned away.
If Coco’s eyes were horribly red and puffy, the silver-haired witch was kind enough to not say a thing.