Death is a Girl

Chapter 53 - Sewing Circle

Morrigan realized Death had become less present in the cabin than normal. At first, she figured it was because he had two lists to reap while she recovered. Though, even at night he didn’t seem to glue himself to the couch with his video games as often. It was only on occasion that she saw him in passing or was aware of his presence in the cabin, but they hardly spoke beyond a short acknowledgment.

As she waited for Hilda to return with Emma, she stood on the porch, soaking in some sunlight as she stretched her back. She felt some pain and awkwardness in her movements, but she was almost back to normal. She figured she could get back to reaping in the next couple of days. She wondered what exactly Hilda had planned when she mentioned picking up sewing supplies.

Morrigan paced back through the cabin, bored out of her mind, and didn’t even have Noir to bother as he was out with Death. She returned to her room and looked through her bag, pausing as she did so, then looking deeper.

The diary…

She pulled everything out to confirm she hadn’t missed it, but yes, it was gone. Where had she last seen it? She still had it in her bag when she left the hotel, and she took her bag to the graveyard with her. After she woke up back in the cabin, her bag was on the floor beside her bed. Nothing was missing… except for the diary.

Well, if Death took it, she supposed she had no right to complain. She did break into a locked room and steal it after all, but now that she was thinking about it, she had a few questions she’d like to ask. She pondered going back up to the locked room, but he undoubtedly knew she had been in there before and either made it more secure or would be upset with her for doing it a second time.

She heard the front door open and quickly went out to the living room. She hoped to see Death, but it was Hilda and Emma. They each held a bag from Hobby Hut, and Emma had an additional bag from a grocery store.

“Hey, Morrigan! You’re looking better!” Emma said.

“Yeah… I feel better,” she said distractedly. Emma turned her head as Morrigan then asked, “Hey, do you remember that diary I showed you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Did you borrow it from my bag?”

“No, I haven’t seen it since you let me read it at the hotel. I know for a fact I put it back, though.”

“I see…” Morrigan said, contemplative.

“Sorry,” Emma said, seeing Morrigan seemed bothered about it.

“No, it’s alright. It’s nothing. It’ll probably turn up.”

Unless, of course, Death took it.

She turned her attention to Hilda. “So, what kind of craft project did you have in mind, exactly?”

“We’re going to form a sewing circle and do some proper girl talk,” Hilda said with a wink. “Oh, Emma’s going to make lunch for us first.” She reached into her bag and took out a spell book, tapping one finger on it. “I need to do a little research first.”

Hilda ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor, between several precarious stacks of books just outside the kitchen. She had glasses on, the spell book on the floor in front of her, and a pencil hanging from her lips which she occasionally used to sketch something inside a notebook. Morrigan hung around the kitchen as Emma cooked, but occasionally glanced over to the notebook to see Hilda sketching runes and strange, detailed circles.

“I didn’t know you wear glasses,” Morrigan said to Hilda.

“Just when reading,” she said distractedly, placing the pencil back in her mouth as she flipped through some more pages.

“So you’re finally going to show me some spells?” Emma asked.

“Something like that,” Hilda said with that same distracted tone.

It was clear she was trying to concentrate, so Morrigan asked Emma. “What are you making?”

“Ham fried rice. It’s a pretty simple recipe,” Emma answered as she chopped up some carrots.

“That doesn’t look simple.”

“Na, it’s way easier than it looks. You just have to throw in all the right ingredients. Literally can’t screw it up unless you somehow screw up rice.”

Morrigan nodded, then let her eyes droop to the ground guiltily. “Hey… sorry about everything.”

“Hm? What’s this now?”

“I screwed up… Bad.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that.” She smiled as she dumped the carrots into the pot. “You know, stuff happens.”

“I dragged you into my problems and then ran away from you when you were trying to help. I just abandoned you at the hotel. That was messed up… And then everything with the changeling too. You got hurt because of me.”

“No, pretty sure I got hurt because of a demon,” Emma said with a smile. “Besides, now I have a cool battle scar. Wanna see?”

Morrigan couldn’t help smirking at that. “Maybe later.”

Emma finished cooking and served up three bowls, then they went to Morrigan’s room as that was the only place not cluttered with books. They all sat in a circle on the floor by her bed and started eating.

“So, you going to keep us in suspense or what?” Emma asked Hilda as she took her first bite.

“Right, so today...” Hilda began by throwing the notebook in the middle of their circle. “Morrigan is going to sew a sealing rune into her hoodie. But not just any rune! Watch this!”

She put her bowl down and then held her hand above the notebook. Morrigan looked closely at the rune. It was complicated, with one full circle with lines going into it and several partially completed circles within, each about a tenth unfinished; the gaps in the inner circles pointed seemingly in random directions. Multiple strange symbols were etched into the places between the layers, and one final symbol at the center resembled a keyhole. The best Morrigan could compare it to is some diagram of an alien solar system, with the witch writing being another language identifying the different orbital paths… or something like that.

“Keep watching…” Hilda said. “Right now, the rune is locked—but, with a little magic…”

Suddenly, the sketch started moving. Morrigan gasped, watching the lead shift as all the inner circles and writing began to rotate on the page. They continued to move until the empty spaces of the inner circles lined up, and then the lead briefly glowed blue.

“Ta-da!” Hilda cheered.

“Woah! What was that!?” Emma yelled, shooting up to her knees, bowl of rice haphazardly held in one hand. Morrigan almost expected her to toss the bowl into the air without even noticing.

“You can unlock the rune with magic, so it will no longer work and allow whatever it’s sealing to be free. This way, Morrigan can keep that demon flesh on her back under control and only allow it some air when she wants to.”

“Hm... why would I want to, though?” Morrigan asked.

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll eventually find some cool stuff to do with it. It’s a part of you now, after all.”

“Wow, that’s amazing, Hilda!” Emma said. “Can we do one for me too?”

Hilda smirked. “Unless you’ve been hiding something from me, I don’t think you have anything that needs to be sealed. How about a protective rune instead? No fancy locking mechanism, though. Those things are hard to design, and I don’t have the head to do another one right now.”

“Heh, that’s fine by me.”

“Just make sure your mom doesn’t see it, okay?”

Emma exhaled. “Trust me… I know. She’d probably lock me in the basement if she figured out I was practicing magic.”

“Seriously?” Morrigan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Emma laughed. “No, not literally, but she’d definitely throw a fit and start keeping a closer watch on me. I have to meet Hilda down the street whenever she picks me up because Mom doesn’t want me hanging around her.”

“Because she’s a witch?” Morrigan asked.

“Yup, you got it.”

“Why is your mom so against witchcraft anyway?”

Emma sighed. “She just doesn’t understand it. She thinks its dangerous and unnecessary, and I don’t know… she thinks if I learn magic, I’ll end up moving into the woods with Hilda and turn into some kind of weird hermit.”

“Hmmm…” Hilda pondered as she took out the sewing supplies. “Well, we’re in the woods now, so guess we’re halfway there.”

Emma snorted.

“Seriously though,” Hilda said with a more even tone. “Aunt Sharon is… well, she lost her sister. You know?”

Emma got quiet as that sunk in. “Yeah but… Hilda, Aunt Claire was your mom. You lost both of your parents, yet my mom treats you like some kind of pariah.”

“She’s just trying to protect you. Even if it’s misguided.”

“Well, I wish she wouldn’t. You’re my cousin.”

Morrigan watched their exchange and could tell how close they were. She was surprised Emma hadn’t talked much about her cousin at school. Morrigan only vaguely recalled her mentioning Hilda was the one who taught her about reading horoscopes.

Morrigan felt a bit of a sinking in her chest, though, because she didn’t have anyone like that herself. She never had anything in the way of family, only her mom, who was barely there. She did not know a single cousin, aunt, uncle or grandparent. Maybe she was a little envious, but she was still happy for them.

“Anyway, Morrigan’s the sewing expert, right?” Hilda said, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You might want to tattoo it directly onto your back one day, but putting it on your clothing should work for now.”

Morrigan looked at the complicated design she was expected to embroider. There were multiple circles, and dozens of intricate symbols, and aside from the circles themselves, everything was completely asymmetrical. Embroidering meant Hilda intended her to do all of this one tiny thread at a time. “You know, there are easier ways to do this than embroidery,” Morrigan said. “There is no way I’m going to finish this in one day.”

“That’s all the better, though,” Hilda said. “By the time you’re done you’ll be intimately familiar with the design. You can’t just hand a magic symbol to some random person who has no idea what it is. Magic is all about connection, and stitching that thing together one thread at a time will give you a very strong connection to it.” She rolled up her sleeve, showing her arm. She was strong, the contours of her muscles were clearly visible, and she had runes tattooed from her wrist all the way up to her bicep. “Same with these. They were tattooed into my skin, one tiny drop of ink at a time. Arietta redoes the runes on her nails every single day. It makes a big difference in how effective they are.”

Morrigan grimaced at the sound of Arietta’s name. Emma chuckled. Hilda raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “Oh yeah, Emma tells me you had a bit of a run-in with her.”

Morrigan only responded with a sigh, so Emma answered for her. “Yeeeaaah, you never warned me how frikken scary Arietta could be.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to head to the shop by yourself,” Hilda shrugged. “But, scary? Na. Arietta’s just a cold bitch.”

Emma grinned. “I thought you were friends.”

“Heh, yeah, don’t get me wrong. But she’s one of the strongest witches around right now.”

“Even stronger than the old guy?” Morrigan asked.

“Mmmmm, Atomyst… probably not. That guys a bit of an enigma, though. I suspect he’s quite powerful, but it could all be smoke and mirrors.” She shrugged. “Nobodies really seen him in action before, and as far as I know, he always skips the Walpurgisnachts.”

“Walpurgis…” Morrigan trailed off as she attempted to repeat the word. Through the corner of her eye she noticed Emma getting giddy. She apparently knew what it was.

Hilda chuckled, pulling out two shirts from the Hobby Hut bag, handing one to Emma and keeping one for herself, then she started distributing the sewing supplies as she said, “Well, technically we arn’t suppose to talk about Walpurgisnact to non-witches.”

“Hey! I’m a witch!” Emma said. “Besides, I do already kind of know what it is.”

“Oh? Well, what is it, then?” Hilda asked, testing her.

Emma cleared her throat. “It’s a German word; it translates to night of witches. There is a festival amongst European countries on April 30th, particularly in Germany, but when a real witch talks about Walpurgisnact, they are referring to something else.” She glanced at Hilda to see how she was doing, and Hilda gave her an approving nod. “Basically, it’s a gathering. The magic community typically keeps separate from each other. You know, everyone just kind of does their own thing. But, when someone thinks there is a need for everyone to gather and discuss something, they’ll call for a Walpurgisnact.”

“More or less,” Hilda agreed. “Though, it’s not always so formal. Sometimes, we gather just to party for a night and share what we’ve learned.”

“How many witches and wizards are there?” Morrigan asked.

“Around here?” Hilda asked. “Uuuh, hard to say exactly. It’s not like I know all of them. About a dozen of us showed up to the last Walpurgisnact I attended, though. Plus, there are a lot of people who are from a line of mages but don’t practice magic and have lost their attunement. Like Aunt Sharon, for example. I think Arietta’s family is like that, too.”

“Only a dozen?” Morrigan asked.

“I’d say, from here to Portland… Probably about two dozen tops.”

“Wow, that’s not many,” Morrigan said.

“Yeah, well… the witch trials really cut our numbers down,” Hilda said in a more somber tone. “The magic community has been slowly dwindling ever since. 300 years and it still hasn’t recovered… probably never will, at the rate things are going.”

The atmosphere got a little dense. Emma grabbed the shirt she was going to embroider a protection rune on and smiled. “Hey, well, we’re sitting here practicing witchcraft now, right? That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

Hilda smirked and nodded. “Yeah, it counts for everything.” She looked over to Morrigan. “Wellp, want to show us how embroidering works?”

Morrigan smiled and grabbed her hoodie, pulling it into her lap. “Okay, so it’s actually pretty simple. It’s just a bit tedious, so you have to be patient,” she said, grabbing the sewing needle and white thread. “You can use whatever colors you want and get creative with it, but I’m just using white because anything I put on will lose its color anyway.”

“So weird how that works,” Emma said.

Morrigan sighed. “You’re telling me. Anyway… first thing you want to do is thread your needle…”

She demonstrated the process, performing a dozen stitches slowly while explaining the precise technique of holding the needle. She gave advice on avoiding pricks and ensuring the threads were appropriately taut—not too loose or too tight. Once she thought they had the idea, she moved faster and showed them the technique in real-time. She explained with a big design like this, you want to go fast, or it’ll end up taking weeks, if not months, to finish.

“This will probably take a few days at best either way,” she said, her hands moving on autopilot in a steady rhythm as she passed the needle through the back of the hoodie over and over again. She kept checking the design Hilda had drawn as a reference as she went.

Once the two witches found their rhythm as well, Morrigan fell into a bit of a trance. Hilda and Emma did most of the gossiping in their little sewing circle. That was normal for Morrigan, though. She typically wasn’t making herself the center of attention, even with her regular group of friends. Still, she felt happy.

She had never been more of a freak. Her skin was ghoulishly pale, her eyes were red, she had a demon grafted onto her back, and she could barely be considered human anymore… but, she had friends—real friends. She had people she wasn’t hiding from and could see her as she truly was... and they accepted her.

***

That night, she avoided Death once again. She had wanted to ask him about the diary, but after he came home, she lost her nerve. She said goodbye to Hilda and Emma around sunset, when their embroidery project was only half down, then quickly retreated to her room to avoid talking to Death, who set himself in front of his video games.

What are you so nervous about? Morrigan thought, pacing around her room. Death had never become angry with her before. He was always calm and understanding and told her about anything she wanted to know. So why did the idea of talking to him now make her so anxious?

Come on Morrigan! She lightly slapped her cheeks. Just step out into the living room, say, ‘Hey, can we talk,’ and then ask about the diary! It’s no big deal!

Except it was a big deal. He had another apprentice he hadn’t told her about, who just so happened to be about the same age as her when they made their contract. Morrigan didn’t know what happened to her, but obviously, she wasn’t around anymore. Despite that, Death still kept a room for her. A room which he locked in order to hide her existence from Morrigan.

She didn’t know what all of that meant, and that’s probably what scared her about it.

But you’ll never know until you ask… And things are just going to keep being awkward until you do. In fact, things will only get more awkward the longer you wait.

She put her hand on the doorknob and exhaled. Alright… game plan. Step one is walking into the living room. If you lose your nerve you can just ask to game with him instead. Or… no, just act like your walking to the kitchen instead and then… GYAAAAH!

She opened the door, forcing herself to step out into the hall. She kept her legs moving before she could talk herself out of it again. She approached the living room, the walls of stacked books obstructing her view until she moved around them to the couch and saw… that Death was not there.

She sighed, arms hanging at her sides.

“If you are looking for master,” came Noir’s voice. She turned to see him lounging atop a stack of books, tail swishing. “I believe he is sitting out on the porch.”

Morrigan’s eyes lowered. “Noir… You know, before I left. I went upstairs.” She cautiously brought her eyes back to him. “To that one room.”

His tail swished again. “That is something you should ask master about. Not me.”

That disappointed her. She had no idea why, but for some reason Noir felt easier to talk to. Even though she felt like she got along with Death better. Maybe because she wasn’t as worried about upsetting or disapointing Noir.

“Right…” she said under her breath, then walked to the front door. Sure enough, under the red sky of the setting sun, Death sat on the steps.

Morrigan saw a small blue bird hopping along the driveway toward him. He reached a skeletal finger down, almost pointing at the bird, which then hopped up with a weak flutter of its wings. Death looked closely at it, carefully touching its wing with his other hand. “Poor thing,” he said. “You’ve been injured… it is unlikely to ever heal. You have no ability to evade predators now.”

Morrigan watched silently, not moving the door so she wouldn’t distract him. Death cupped one hand around the bird, and then another, encasing it completely. When he opened his hands again, the bird’s body lay dead on one skeletal palm, but its spirit sat atop his other finger.

“Go on,” Death said. “Why don’t you fly one last time?”

The spirit tweeted out a happy song; Morigan wondered if it was a thank you. Then its wings flapped, and it took off into the sky.

Death sat up straight once again, not looking her way, but then he said, “Morrigan?”

She gulped. Alright, here we go.

She stepped outside and shut the door behind herself. “Should you have let him go like that?”

“I do believe he will find his way on his own. And if he can’t, he knows where to find me.”

“I see…” She let her gaze drift out to the trees.

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Yeah, actually. There’s… something I really think I should ask you about.”

He shifted, one hand moving into the sleeve of the other arm. “Does it have something to do with this?” he asked. He revealed the diary, its worn leather held within his skeletal fingers.

Her heart sank upon seeing it. So, he had been the one to take it from her bag. “Yeah… actually.”

He reached for his cane and used it to help himself stand. Seeing under his hood, she saw there were still cracks in his skull. But, his jaw was open slightly in his best version of a smile. “Why don’t we go for a short walk? I’ll answer all you wish to know.”

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