A storm roiled grey and green on the horizon. Flashes of lightning illuminated the dark bank of looming clouds. Whitecaps flickered on the water. Waterspouts moved through the churning mass of weather. It was a wall of wind; and rain; and chaos. The vista was intimidating—and it was clever. Most ships wouldn’t willingly brave the danger. The few that did forge ahead, or the ones that wandered in without intention, either sank or made it far enough to feed the witches at the center of the cyclone. Living inside it, Elisabeth had seen it as a prison, keeping her from the sea, and from the power she knew lay beyond the border of her family’s domain.

  “What is that?” Helen asked, awe and fear mingling in her voice. Her eyes were wide as they took in the immense storm front.

  “The boundary of Hag's Rock,” Captain Wolf replied. Grim resignation was etched into her face, her frown distorting scars dusting her face like freckles into white smears. Crossing through the maelstrom was the only way to reach their destination, and then they were two days from begging for her sisters’ hospitality. Doubt sat cold in her belly—asking them for help was a tough choice for her to make.

  No matter the tribute they brought, the Sisters were going to bargain for the knowledge they possessed. And there was no way to guarantee that what they gleaned from their sources would be useful. This pause was the last chance to change her mind. Once she attempted to calm the tempest with the old spell, they would know she was at their threshold. If the storm didn’t open itself, they would have to fight through it, giving the three witch-bitches at its center a gauge of who their sister was after years in the wide world. Turning back after spilling her blood into the sea was not an option.

  “Do we have to go through?” This from Moira; the quartermaster had joined them at the bow, face twisted into a grimace of discontent. No one wanted to head into the tempest—that’s why it was the perfect deterrent to unwanted visitors.

  “Best to assume we do.” Elisabeth chewed her lip. “My key…may no longer work. And it’s the only way to reach Hag's Rock.” Silence stretched between the three women, each of them lost to their own trepidation. The task was daunting. Every sailor knew the dangers of weather. Its unpredictability was one of the few constants in their lives.

  “We’ll get her ready, then. Just in case.” Moira broke into the quiet, always prepared to get to work. Her no-nonsense approach was a small reminder of why Elisabeth appreciated the other woman in her role. The quartermaster turned from the rail with a brief nod at her captain.

  “Trim her up, clear the deck. Batten the hatches. Tie down the cargo.” She barked commands as she strode across the deck, her hook pointing at clusters of sailors as she spoke. Once again, the ship became a hive of activity. Helen stayed one more moment, her face still awash in fear, a paleness beneath her skin that gave Elisabeth pause.

  “We’ve made it through storms before.” Reassurance wasn’t one of her strengths as captain, but she made the attempt.

  “None like this, I suspect.” The navigator spat over the rail and turned away.

  “Just keep her pointed south,” Elisabeth advised as the other woman left her side to get her own preparations under way. She estimated three hours before they reached the outer band of weather. Plenty of time to brace the ship and its crew for what lay ahead. She gave the horizon one last searching glare, and then turned her back on it. She needed to find the wind witches, needed to ensure they were fit to face the maelstrom so soon after their efforts in the hunt for that prize they’d taken. Leni and Lotte were huddled together, whispering, when the She-Wolf found them.

  “Captain,” Lotte saw her first and straightened; Leni was only a moment behind her companion in giving Elisabeth her full attention. Lotte was taller than her partner, Leni. Their eyes were matching shades of blue, and their blonde hair was braided in the same fashion. They’d been part of the crew for three or four years. Good sailors, and strong witches, able to weave the wind with their will.

  “You see what we’re headed into.” She didn’t waste time on pleasantries, or diversions from what they were facing, simply nodded in the direction of the tempest.

  “Aye,” Lotte agreed, gaze darting to the horizon and its dark promise, then back to meet the eyes of her captain.

  “I’ll need you both sharp and rested when we reach the cyclone.” Elisabeth clapped a hand on both women’s shoulders, drawing them in. “Go down into the hold, rummage through the trinket boxes, and add anything you might need to your stashes. Anything. Then get some sleep.” The two witches exchanged a glance, apprehension rolling between them.

  “Aye, captain,” they chorused, their tone tense.

  “You know your business, and I know mine. There’s nothing to fear in that bit of weather.” The words had little effect, she could tell. “I’ve been through it a time, or two.” That earned her a couple of stiff nods. The pair didn’t believe, but were willing to try, that was clear. “Now get below and find what you need.” Leni and Lotte straightened their shoulders. She was their captain, and orders had been issued. Discipline overrode dread.

  “We’ll be ready,” Leni assured her, and the two hurried away to the hold. Her task completed, Elisabeth retired to her quarters, allowing the crew to prepare without her interference. Memories haunted her as they closed the distance with her former home, making it difficult to focus. The remembrance of her last visit with her kin rose to the surface after being buried in the depths, a leviathan made of old wounds and threats. The sea was already beginning to churn beneath the ship, so she strung her hammock across the small breadth of the room. Swaying with the swell of the sea, she allowed history to consume her thoughts, hoping to gain strength from what she could recall.

  The room was dark, lit only by a handful of guttering candles, and the ubiquitous blue glow of necromantic witch lights. The four sisters sat around a table, grim and silent—their mother’s ghost hovering just beyond the dim illumination, a lighter blue shimmer against the walls glistening with dampness.

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  “I’m not staying here on this rock with you three hags.” Elisabeth kept her voice low, but her tone was urgent.

  “We’re family. We stay together.”

  “Father didn’t stay. Ezekiah didn’t stay.” Mention of their brother brought a hiss from her sisters. They never spoke of him, not after he chose to disappear in the middle of the night. They all assumed he went to follow their father’s path of piracy and a sodden grave five fathoms deep.

  “Men don’t know what’s good for them,” Esther dismissed her statement.

  “I’m going. I’ve got the old boat. I’ll row it out until a ship finds me. And I’ll become a pirate captain worthy of the family name—like father would have wanted.” It wasn’t entirely true, but close enough. She didn’t care at all about her father’s wishes; she wanted to be free of Hag's Rock, free of burden, and free of her three sisters before she drowned in their machinations. They recognized the lie, she was sure.

  “Pah, you go on then, ungrateful little wench. Always better than us. The youngest, the brightest. Go out into the world.” Eve spat the words in her face, spittle flying. “GO!” She flung her hand out, pointing to the door. Elisabeth shrugged and stood. She pulled her coat on, keeping her movements slow and controlled. Escape was within her grasp, and she feared that a trap would close on her if she leapt towards it too fast. She was almost at the door, her mother’s ghost baleful beside the exit, hands wringing in agitation.

  “Before you scamper off like the rat you are, Elisabeth, dear.” Emilia’s voice was honeyed-sweet, though her words were daggers. “You’ll be back. When you have need. When you have nowhere else to turn. You’ll come to us, hounded, whipped, and bloodied. And do you think we’ll tend to you then, sister?”

  “Only if it suits your mood,” she spat over her shoulder, and kept walking, straightening her shoulders with each step.

  “You’ll be back when you have need!” The three hissed after her, and then set to howling like a pack of hungry wolves. She didn’t flinch, and she didn’t turn around; she knew too many stories that told of the dangers of looking over your shoulder at what was already the past. Her destiny lay beyond the family home.

  You’ll be back when you have need, the words echoed in her thoughts. When she left Hag's Rock, she’d been a child, really. Eager to find her sea-legs, and a new home. She was a scream thrown against the wind. The chill of the grave crawling up a spine. A decade later, she was an open wound festering in the putrid flesh of the world, an abomination among its own kind, though none her equal. Not much better than the monsters she left in the wake of that dilapidated ship all those years ago—she hadn’t rowed anywhere. Had, instead, raised a crew of corpses to man a recently wrecked ship and had sailed away. Anything to feed the need that grew inside her with every heartbeat—a hunger for power, for knowledge, for transcendence plagued her entire family, and she was no exception. The only difference was that she took after their wayward seafaring father, rather than their ambitious, necromancer mother. There was no escaping the family legacy.

  With that cheerless realization settling into her thoughts, she slid out of the hammock and to her work table. Steady hands pulled weapons from sheaths, and she began to sharpen the blades, taking care with each one. The work was meditative, requiring just enough of her attention to keep her from fretting over the looming family reunion. Guns were useless on Hag's Rock, so she cleaned and stored them. To replace the firearms, she added a few more charms—wards and shields in her pockets, and braided into her hair. She expected some form of test from her sisters once they cleared the storm. Anything that might help her stave off the onslaught of their magic was welcome. By the time she was finished, Moira was knocking at her door to summon her back to the deck.

  “Enter,” she called out, shoving one last trinket into the cuff of her coat.

  “We’re at the outskirts of the storm. Perhaps you’d like to part the waves,” the quartermaster quipped, attempting to relieve her tension with a touch of humor. Elisabeth barked one single laugh in response. Lightening her mood was out of the question. Too much pressure sat on her shoulders, the weight an almost physical sensation as they drew closer to Hag's Rock’s boundary.

  “Indeed. Let’s knock at the door,” she agreed, and led the way back up onto the heaving deck. Lightning flashed around them, and thunder rolled almost without pause, a deep bass undertone to the howling wind. Elisabeth walked to the bow of the Silence, Moira and Cressia trailing behind her. She felt the eyes of the crew on her as she moved, and walked with her back straight, her hips rolling with her usual saunter. She stopped and regarded the maelstrom. She dropped her shields, letting her power unfurl around her—a cocoon opening. With her necromancy unleashed, she felt the strands of witchery woven into the tempest, recognizing pieces of each sister, recognizing pieces of herself, as well.

  Elisabeth bowed her head, studying the spell, humming her own bit of magic into the whipping wind, sending it through the water spouts, up into the dark clouds. Without hesitation, she drew a knife and opened a line on her arm, the movement practiced and smooth. Crimson drops fell into the churning sea, disappearing into its vastness.

  “Sisters, let me come home,” she intoned quietly. A fork of lightning nearly hit the main mast, the thunder in its wake so loud she saw a few of the crew cover their ears, from the corner of her eye. She waited with a held breath.

  And then, a break in the storm: swirling tornados pushed the roiling mass of clouds back, creating a passage wide enough for a ship to pass. The seas were still rough, whitecaps sloshing, but compared to the swells of the maelstrom, they were tiny wavelets.

  “Looks like it worked,” Moira whispered.

  “Aye.”

  “Take us through!” The quartermaster hollered. Elisabeth felt Leni and Lotte release their hold on the ship and nudge it forward into the passage between the split storm. The Silence was wrapped in tension as they sailed between walls of rain, water spouts as sentinels, keeping their path clear of the rest of the squall. An occasional whip of wind gusted across them, pulling at hair and snapping canvas. Captain Wolf stood tall, her hands clenched around the bow-rail. Her blood soaked into the wood where it still ran along her arm. She paid it no heed. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, willing the line of sunlight on the other side of the tempest closer. The sooner they were out of the passage, the better.

  They were nearly at the inside edge of the storm when the air shifted around them. Cold swept over them in a breeze so chill that breath fogged from all of the crew.

  So you’ve come home, little sister, Emilia’s voice rubbed against Elisabeth’s skin like a feral cat’s rough tongue, tail tucked between your legs no doubt. A scowl distorted her face at the words, discomfited with how well it echoed her own thoughts. Return was defeat, in a way, but there were no better choices. The Silence crossed into sunlight and calm waters. Behind them, the passage collapsed back into a raging tempest. The tumult of the spell releasing sent a shockwave that gave the ship the final push to safer waters. Ahead, a few wispy, white clouds floated through a perfect cerulean sky. The calm was unsettling after the intensity of the storm. Dread sat heavy in Elisabeth’s stomach. They were within the realm of Hag's Rock now.

  And there was no turning back.