boisdemoon

HARLOWE

The first time I stole I was five. Jaden had just turned seven years old and he kept bragging that he knew how to read, that his teacher sometimes asked him to read a story in front of the whole class. I begged Jaden to teach me in exchange for my favorite Pokémon card: Hypno.

“All right,” he said, his curly dark hair—longer then—falling in front of his eyes. “But don’t get mad at me if you don’t learn it all in one day.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it, Harlowe. It’s difficult. It might take weeks. Maybe months.”

“I know.”

“Okay then. Sit down.”

We sat on the couch and he put his copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz on his lap. I nestled my head on his shoulder, the sound of the rain pattering against the window already soothing me.

Jaden said, “I’ll read the first page, and then we’ll look at it together. Sounds good?”

“Yeah.”

“Chapter one. The Cyclone.” He cleared his throat dramatically, making me laugh. “Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer’s wife.”

I peered at the words on the page, but I couldn’t find any distinctive features. It was all gibberish to my eyes, but that didn’t stop me from having an opinion. “Being someone’s wife is not a career.”

Jaden gave me a side glance and a crooked smile. “It didn’t say that.”

I sat up straighter. “But it didn’t say what her job was either. It said he was a farmer and she was just—”

“Harlowe, you only get to review the work after you read the whole thing,” Jaden said before I could go on.

“Then read the whole thing.” I sank deeper into the couch, arms crossed, but I still propped my head back on his shoulder. “Please,” I added as an afterthought.

I felt his amused sigh on the top of my head. “The house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles.”

I could see the words shimmering now, but I didn’t make much of it. Lots of weird things happened in our household after all. I just focused on my big brother’s appeasing voice, floating in the peaceful confidence that I would soon be able to read stories all by myself.

“There were four walls,” Jaden continued,“a floor and a roof, which made one, um, r…room.”

Something stranger than the glistening ink was happening. The more Jaden read, the more he stammered. And the longer I looked at the page, the easier I could make out the words.

“…and this room c-contained a dusty… No, rusty looking cookst… cook… c…”

“A cookstove?”

Jaden went silent. He frowned at the book.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s like … Like it’s not English anymore.”

I took The Wonderful Wizard of Oz from his lap and just like that I recognized all the words.

“It’s English,” I said, then read the sentence that he had struggled with. “A rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds.”

Jaden ripped the book from my hands. His gaze scanned the pages, confusion wrinkling his forehead. “How can you read this?”

I shrugged. “I guess you taught me already.”

“But why can’t I—” he cut himself off and puffed his little chest to scream, “MOM!” His pale blue eyes were welling up.

Our mother rushed into the room, flour all over her shirt and something that looked like a root holding her crazy curls in place on top of her hair. “What is it?”

“She—” Jaden began.

“She what?”

None of us spoke. We didn’t understand what had just happened.

“She what?” Mom repeated glancing at the book on Jaden’s lap.

“Harlowe did a spell,” he mumbled. “I think.”

“You think?” I could see in our mother’s eyes that she was containing her excitement, like she was afraid it was a prank but really hoped it wasn’t. A Blood witch’s first spell has always been kind of a big deal in our family. “What do you mean, what happened?”

“I can read!” I declared excitedly. I grabbed the book and jumped off the couch, reading the next paragraph as I walked toward our mother. “Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in another corner.” I looked up at Mom to give her more context since she’d missed the beginning. “Henry’s the sexist farmer and Aunt Em probably has dreams but the book didn’t care. I think Dorothy is cool. We’ll see.”

Mom gaped. “What?”

“Give it back!” Jaden cried, clutching the book from my hands. He looked at the text, then browsed the pages frantically, as if looking for the part that would explain everything. Fat tears were running down his cheeks. “Mom, she stole it! She stole my reading!”

“She stole your reading?”

I grinned. “Can I keep it? I really like it. All the words make sense now.”

“It’s mine!”

I pondered on this, then said, “Maybe the Marshes thought you were wasting it and knew I would take better care of it. When you think about it, you’ve known how to read for almost an entire year now and all you ever read is that Whimpy Kid stuff over and over again. It’s got images.”

“Mom!”

Mom just blinked. Jaden was sobbing now. He threw the book across the room, but our mother lifted a hand and froze it in the air right before it shattered the bowl of teeth on the mantelpiece. The book flew through the room to find its place back on the shelves next to the window, while our mother’s necklace glowed red like it did when she drew its power.

“Woah, time out!” she exclaimed, in that impressive way that made us both freeze, just like every time her magic made her voice sharper.

She looked at me, her necklace fading back to a dull scarlet, then she grabbed a jagged piece of paper in the pocket of her shorts and handed it to me.

“Read that,” she said.

I did. “The sibling’s blood will be necessary for the distancing spell to—” She snatched the paper back. I pouted. “Hey, wait. I want to know.”

“You’ve read enough.” Mom kneeled to hug Jaden, who was whimpering at her side.

“Did the Marshes really give my reading to her?” Jaden asked.

“Honey, calm down,” she said. “That’s not how it works.” She looked at me as she continued talking to him. “The Marshes don’t repurpose acquired skills like that. You’ve worked really hard to learn how to read and they respect that.”

“But…” He was crying too much to finish his sentence.

“The magic in Redmarsh thrives on balance,” she continued. “Trust me.”

“But it’s all gib—” He wiped the snot on his nose. “Gibberish. The words.”

Mom sighed, still looking at me as though I might jump on her at any moment. “Come on. We’ll talk to your father once he’s done with his client and then we’ll fix it. I’m sure there’s a way.”

“But can I keep it?” I pleaded, pulling at the hem of her shirt.

“Harlowe, it’s not yours. We don’t steal. Not in this family.”

She left with my blubbering brother in her arms, and I turned away to look out the window, scowling at the rain outside. I wanted to keep it. I didn’t want to be stealing but I still wanted to have it. I reached the bookshelf and picked the thickest book I could find.

It was titled: Traditional Spells in a Modern World.

I read.

I read until it was dark outside, until my brother locked himself in his room and my parents made about fifty calls to their relatives to ask if they knew how to give the reading back to Jaden. I was at page 213 when my parents came to tell me that they hadn’t found a solution, but I wasn’t allowed to flaunt my new ability in front of Jaden because it would hurt him.

They tucked me in bed and explained what I already knew because it was mentioned in the book I’d been reading: every witch has a unique power that manifests at a young age, whenever the witch is ready. It’s called a Craft.

“We think this is yours,” Mom said.

A small part of me was proud to have gotten my Craft before my older brother had, but a way bigger part was sorely disappointed at what I was getting.

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “Reading is my Craft?”

My parents exchanged a look. “No, honey,” Dad said gingerly. “Stealing.”

Mom leaned forward on the bed to look me in the eyes, more serious than I’d ever seen her before. “But you cannot use this power without people’s permission, you hear me? We do not steal.”

“You have to promise, Harlowe,” Dad chimed in.

I frowned, but then I said, “Fine. I promise.”

They kissed my forehead and turned off the light before they left, and as I heard them go to Jaden’s room to soothe his whimpers, I grinned into the darkness.

I had my very own Craft.

And I very much intended to use it.

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