“Magic comes with a price, are you willing to pay?”

The impossibly deep voice kept rumbling through Elizabeth’s head as she splashed through the damp cobblestone alley. Darting furtive glances around her, she hugged her shawl tighter. It seemed as though every shaded corner or dark alcove held those eyes.

Eyes like smoldering coals. That’s all she had seen that night. Two slanted lines seemingly hovering in midair, surrounded by inky blackness. A voice boomed so loud Elizabeth feared that her room shook, yet somehow did not rouse anyone in the house.

“Magic comes with a price.” Despite its volume and deep pitch, the voice was a sonorous purr. “Are you willing to pay?”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper, so much so she wasn’t even sure she had made a sound. Without another word her meager lump of black wax snuffed out, as though by a dark wind, though Elizabeth felt no draft in her room. Even with the existence of the stubby candle she had used, Elizabeth felt as though that night had been a dream.

Finally, she came to the door to her cottage. Even before she pushed the door open, she heard the quiet groaning of Charlotte inside. Putting on a brave face, Elizabeth entered the home to find her sister prostrate in front of the pile of ashes one could hardly call a fire. Her ragged dress hardly covered her skinny arms and she couldn’t be very comfortable on the thin mat separating her from the dirt floor.

“I’m back, Lottie,” Elizabeth announced with false cheer. “I tried to make haste. Here, sit up, sit up.”

Her younger sister required significant help leaning forward even onto her elbows. Elizabeth’s hand grazed her sister’s uncovered arm and it was an effort not to reel back at the warmth emanating from her. Stroking Charlotte’s brittle, pale hair, Elizabeth eased her sister into her arms.

“Did you get the salve?” Charlotte’s voice had always been diminutive but it was hardly a rasp now.

“I did, dear Lottie.”

“Please, use it now. I suffer so.”

“Be still, sister.” Elizabeth placed the small jar she had traded her last ivory button for on the dusty floor, unscrewing its top. Dipping a finger into the viscous fluid, Elizabeth spread the tincture over a sore in Charlotte’s armpit. Her sister whimpered pitifully but Elizabeth persisted. It took almost the entire bottle to cover all of the hurts in various stages of deterioration. The worst were located in the creases of Charlotte’s hips; angry and red with black edges and a glossy sheen from pus. Most others appeared as raised ulcerations, barely showing any break down of the overlying skin, though the more severe ones had a dusky hue to them. Elizabeth was thorough in her work, slathering a healthy amount, taking care not to waste however, over each and every sore.

“I’ll make us some tea,” Elizabeth said as she eased Charlotte back onto her mat.

“Thank you.” Though it was certainly wishful thinking, Elizabeth thought her voice already sounded stronger. As the water boiled, Elizabeth had the sudden inspiration to give Charlotte a small treat. Traipsing out to their paltry garden, she hunted down the drooping mint plant and tore a sprig off. Smelling the fresh scent with a smile, she almost skipped back inside and tucked the herb into Charlotte’s cup before pouring the hot water over the tea leaves.

“Where is yours?” Charlotte asked when Elizabeth returned.

“We only had enough for one, don’t worry about me. Look!” She turned the steaming cup to present the mint leaf. Odd, she didn’t think the water was so hot to shrivel it so. It now hung limp over the lip of the mug, but Charlotte’s ghastly visage seemed to perk up anyway. Elizabeth guided the cup to her sister’s thin lips and slowly tipped it back after blowing on it.

“How is mother today?” Elizabeth asked.

“Same as yesterday,” Charlotte replied, taking another sip. “Same as the day before. Same as always. Ever since James…”

“Perhaps when you get better, she will too,” Elizabeth said with a smile, pinching the small patch of unblemished skin on Charlotte’s cheek. “I’ll go and check on her and let her know how you are.” Before Charlotte could protest, Elizabeth swept upstairs, smoothing her dress as she went. Knocking softly, Elizabeth heard a soft humming stop inside the room.

“James, is that you?” If Charlotte’s voice sounded like a rasp, her mother’s voice sounded like wind in leaves.

“No, mother,” Elizabeth said, pushing the door open, “it’s Elizabeth.”

“Lizzie.” Even after all this time, her mother’s gaunt face shocked her. A shock of thin, white hair hung like so many strings around the previously beautiful woman’s face.

“How are you feeling today, mother?” Elizabeth had stopped calling her “Mama” after she retreated into her room after the loss of James. It was as if she had forgotten about her remaining children after that.

Her mother gave a noncommital grunt and her glassy eyes strayed lazily from Elizabeth back to the wall. Her humming resumed as she sat stock still. Elizabeth sighed but crossed the room to stand behind her seated mother. Scooping up the ratty horsehair brush, Elizabeth began stoking her hair. Her mother’s hummed tune did not change the entire one hundred brushes. Bending over to kiss her mother on top of the head, Elizabeth felt a single tear leak down her cheek.

“I still love you, mother,” she whispered before standing and walking away. Pausing at the door, Elizabeth looked back but thankfully did not allow her hope to be raised. Her mother sat just as still as she had been before, continuously humming that inane melody. Without a sound, Elizabeth closed the door behind her and set to work with the rest of her chores for the day.

Hands shook Elizabeth awake, but she did not jolt at the sudden movement. It was as if she knew the hands, almost as well as her own.

“Lizzie!” A sweet voice called, seemingly echoing in her head. “Lizzie, wake up! The most amazing thing has happened! Lizzie!”

Her eyes fluttered open to see an impossible sight. Charlotte, her pale and pristine face just as it had been before the plague, stood over Elizabeth, her hands gripping her shoulders and shaking her with excitement.

“Lottie?” Elizabeth said groggily. Surely this had to be a dream. Not even those who survived the sickness were left unblemished.

“Yes, dear Lizzie!” Charlotte exclaimed with a squeal of delight. “And it’s not just me. Come, come to the kitchen!”

Feeling in a daze, Elizabeth followed Charlotte down into their kitchen, rubbing her eyes and trying to snap herself out of the dream this must be. It wasn’t until they stood in the kitchen that Elizabeth heard the clatter of spoon on kettle and smelled the familiar aroma of their mother’s special porridge. Her eyes grew to saucers as she looked up yet another incredulous sight. Their mother, as hale and pretty as ever, stirred a pot over the fire, her arms strung with healthy muscle. Elizabeth could not stifle a gasp, nor could she stop herself from rubbing her eyes once more.

“Good morning, my sweets!” Their mother said with a grin, showing not the toothless mouth that Elizabeth had given up trying to brush.

“How are you, Mama?” Charlotte cooed. “I feel oh so delightful.”

“Delightful is the perfect word, my dear Lottie!”

Elizabeth stumbled over to the nearest chair, collapsing into it with a grunt.

“Lizzie, would you mind fetching some mint for the tea?” her mother asked in a tinkling voice.

Elizabeth made her way out to their garden and found something that made her stomach drop. Laying limply into the sodden soil, the remains of their previously healthy mint plant almost matched the brown of the ground. Looking around at their basil and tomato plants, Elizabeth found them both the picture of herbal health.

“Did you get it?” Her mother was now serving helpings of the steaming porridge with a smile.

“No, something happened to the mint plant,” Elizabeth replied with a hollow voice.

“Perhaps it got too much rain last night,” Charlotte offered.

“Perhaps.” Elizabeth sat down, though her appetite had lessened. “Do you… do you remember anything from yesterday, mother?”

“Mother? Does not that seem a bit formal? But yes, of course. I was just feeling under the weather.”

“I feel so much better today, it’s like magic!” Charlotte interjected, shoveling the food into her mouth.

“Slow down, Lottie,” her mother chuckled but Elizabeth hardly heard her. Like magic… Surely it must be coincidence.

“Well, eat up, dear!”

“Oh, yes…” Elizabeth said absently, taking a small bite. It smelled just like she remembered, but it tasted like ash in her mouth.

Elizabeth set off to the village, the words still rolling around in her mind. “Magic comes with a price, are you willing to pay?” Over and over, she didn’t notice the little boy before they collided.

“I’m so sorry, mum!” the urchin exclaimed. “Please, do forgive me!”

“It was my fault!” Elizabeth replied, her hands and feet numb with the shock. The grimy-faced child rubbed his red nose with a guilty look. “Here, go get something to eat.” Elizabeth pressed a farthing into the boy’s tiny hand with a smile. Despite the mud caking his palm, his skin was quite warm.

“Thank you, mum!” The urchin tipped his shabby flat cap and gave her a mischievous grin. Elizabeth watched the child duck and weave his way through the crowd, making sure his trajectory led to a nearby butcher for some food. Nodding approvingly, Elizabeth set back to her errand.

She arrived at the pharmacy she had first bought the salve from the day before, finding it nearly empty except for the chemist. Even after a brief conversation, during which he offered her a refill — which Elizabeth refused — he wouldn’t claim it a miracle cure. Concern mounting, Elizabeth heard those rumbling words over and over again as she hurried back up the street. Then she heard the shriek of horror. A rotund man wearing a blood-stained apron sprinted out of a building as a crowd formed in front of the edifice.

“Wasn’t me fault!” the man shouted as he pushed through the gathering people. “An accident, I tell ya! An accident!” Elizabeth caught a glimpse between shoulders and her blood ran cold. A small, grimy hand extended from underneath a large shelf, flat on the ground.

Not caring that the sun was still rising and ignoring the cries from her sister and mother, Elizabeth sprinted to her room, closed the door and drew her curtains tight. Soon, the only light in her room was the low flicker of her black wax candle.

“What was the price?” Elizabeth wailed, begging for those sinister eyes to reappear. “What is going to happen?”

She had to clear her tearing eyes to be sure she saw what she thought she saw. Just like before, two red slits glowered from the darkness, looking into her very soul.

“I don’t want the magic anymore!” Elizabeth sobbed. “Take it away.” The eyes remained impassive. “Can’t you hear me? Take it away!” With a deep rumbling laugh, the candle burst into flame before vanishing, plunging the room back into darkness. In a panic, Elizabeth flung her door open and screamed at what awaited her. Her mother, even more gaunt and ghastly than ever sat, stroking the hair of Charlotte. They sat before a pile of ashes, her mother humming that same tune as before. Elizabeth ran past them and into the street. The shadows flanking the cobblestones seemed to close in on her as she fled, just following where her feet led. It wasn’t until she arrived that Elizabeth realized she was back in the butcher’s shop. Humming quietly to herself, she approached the rack of razor-sharp knives.

“I won’t hurt anyone without my hands,” she whispered.