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Kirsten Miller

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“In the attic, the three discovered an entire rack of evening gowns representing every fashion trend of the twentieth century. Brigid chose a strapless black cocktail dress that Sadie had worn. Phoebe found a flowing white Halston that Flora purchased back in the seventies. And Sibyl chose a gold-beaded flapper dress that had belonged to her great-great-grandmother, Rose. Liam sent a car to fetch them for the party. Gathered in the foyer, it was the first time they saw each other in their formal wear. Brigid's eyes were smoky and lips scarlet. Her red hair fell over her bare shoulders, where blue veins were just visible beneath violet-tinged skin. Phoebe's skin glowed with no assistance from makeup, and she wore her hair in a crown of braids woven through with a golden ribbon. Sibyl was where all the Duncans traits met. She was light and dark, glamorous and natural. Her red curls formed a bloom around her lovely face. The Three looked, very much, like a trio.”

“I have been around for a very long time, and I've eavesdropped on many a learned man. The truth is, women will always confuse them. Witches or not, they're not sure how we work. Women are clearly in league with nature. Even our cycles follow those of the moon. We create life out of little and intuit things that men don't. We terrify them because we posses powers they aren't able to plunder. Because they'll never be able to do what we can, they decided long ago to declare us inferior.”

“Every woman in the Duncan family had her own, unique way of communing with the Old One. As a girl, Sadie had simply popped down to the dungeon for a chat with the ghosts whenever she was in need of guidance. Rose would lie on the ground that would one day be her grave and watch the clouds and the birds overhead for messages. Ivy grew herbs that allowed her mind to travel to the place where the worlds met. Flora had always loved fire.”

“If you want Calum dead, why don't you kill him yourself?" "The Old One made me the healer," Phoebe argued. "She didn't give me your skills." Brigid felt her temper rising. "So my job is to kill while you keep your hands clean? How convenient." Phoebe's heart sank. There was so much at stake and Brigid was making it all about her again. "I can't believe this. You're not going to do anything because you're still jealous of me?" "Excuse me? What?" Phoebe instantly knew she'd pushed it too far. She'd shone a spotlight on something that should have stayed hidden. "I'm sorry," she hurried to say. "Fuck you," Brigid responded. "Here's a little tip, princess. If you want someone to do your dirty work, it's best not to insult them.”

“We both know Mom wouldn't be dead if you had listened to me and killed Calum when you had the chance." Brigid froze. She couldn't even feel herself breathing. She hadn't thought her sister capable of such a low blow. "How can you say that?" "You wouldn't listen because you've always been jealous. You hate that the Old One made you the evil sister." Evil wasn't a word they'd been allowed to use growing up. It was a slap in the face.”

“When I was eleven, Bessie revealed that my daughter will be The Third. I told Mom. She knew the truth." The two of them had kept a secret from her. "And you guys didn't tell me?" "Of course not! You were always so needy. We didn't want to give you another thing to complain about. But now you know. I'll have a daughter someday. And you won't. The Duncan line passes through me." Brigid couldn't have cared less. What hurt was knowing her sister was trying to injure her. Her anger flared up to fight the cold creep of sorrow. "So you went ahead and left Mom alone on Wild Hill even though you knew she wasn't safe?" "It's not my fault!" Phoebe shouted, though she was no longer so sure.”

“Ivy and Rose's favorite spot in the cottage was the library, and there were trinkets and talismans hidden behind all the books they loved most. Those numbered in the hundreds, and they were rarely without one. Back in those days, no one cared if girls went to school, so Ivy and Rose were free to learn what they thought was necessary. If Ivy discovered the diary of a medieval botanist--- or a dusty grimoire with ancient symbols scribbled in the margins--- she could go an entire week without speaking. No one in her family minded at all. Rose, whose taste in books leaned toward romance and poetry, was happy to speak for the both of them.”

“Well, first there was Sadie. She came here from Scotland in 1898. She had red hair like Brigid. When she was a girl, she talked to ghosts. And when she was grown, she could summon storms. Sadie was mother to---" "Ivy and Rose." Brigid filled in the blank. "We know Aunt Ivy," Phoebe said. "She's very old." "Absolutely ancient," Flora agreed. "She just turned ninety-one." "She can make anything grow," Phoebe added. "That's right. And Ivy's twin sister was my grandmother Rose. They say she was sweet like Phoebe and could see the future.”

“A good witch knows that there's far more to a forest than its trees. Beneath the surface lies another world--- a world most people don't know about and few ever see. Down there, in the dark, the wood giants talk to each other. Fungal webs the size of whales send tiny mushrooms to scout the surface. Their carcasses dissolved, animals reassemble into moss and flowers. The world underneath is ignored by most. A good witch ignores nothing. A smart witch looks where no one else dares. She visits places the others shun, and sees all the things they don't care to see. She studies the countless connections between the worlds above and below. She follows all roots to find out where they go. She turns over rocks and sees what wriggles out. Her fearlessness will be rewarded with knowledge, and that knowledge with skill. But a wise woman also knows that the courage to look beneath the surface is often the difference between a live witch and a dead one.”