The Purple House: Chapter Two

"Before you think to best me with magic, you need to learn the basics."

In the days after Credence's arrival, Lilith's demeanor shifted from unkind host to stern teacher.

They were in a repulsive-smelling chamber deep within the purple house, the room Lilith used most frequently to create her potions. Surrounding them were old books and a vast array of bottles and charms, and a fireplace above which dangled a chipped pot that was perpetually brewing some nasty liquid.

This was not Credence's first lesson, but still early in her education.

"The basics," Lilith repeated. "There are a few vital blooms and herbs that serve as the core of many spells."

I will never use these spells, Credence told herself over and over, which always pulled a cackle from Lilith, as if the witch knew some sinister secret. She could still read Credence's thoughts, and it was never revealed when that ability would wear off—if ever.

Lilith took her seat next to Credence, plopping down so swiftly that the force of her backside hitting the seat sent a spider, who'd made the unfortunate mistake of beginning its web there, flying through the air with every last leg splayed out in surprise.

"What is this?" Lilith demanded, holding up a batch of green stems that ended in clusters of small white blooms.

"Hemlock," Credence replied automatically.

"Its main use?"

"Confusion. Stronger doses can seize the brain and turn a scholar into a fool. Does not work on cows."

"What else?"

"It's the base for a potion called Death's Feign."

Lilith grunted. "Good for skinning living meat," she added. "Good for keeping things in this realm, should you need to lengthen their agony and stay death's hand for a time."

Credence grinned. "Small doses can be used in oil to relieve pain."

Lilith hated when Credence offered any helpful features of a plant, information that was shockingly found in Lilith's books right alongside their deadly attributes. Lilith's sole concentration was on the various ways a plant could cause torment or death, and while Credence learned to let the crone have her fun without argument, she was secretly adamant in studying their healing aspects when she had a moment unchaperoned.

Nightshade, for instance, was so deadly that even touching its berries could cause harm, but if gathered in bunches with gloved hands and left hanging to dry, it would ward off changelings and keep an infant safe in their crib.

Wolfsbane, with its highly toxic properties, could poison animals as big as a house, but was also the only herb that could stop a werewolf transformation.

When inhaled, the smoke of lavender could cause terror and madness, but when crushed to a paste or oil it had a wide range of curative uses for infections and muscle aches.

For all the terrible ways a plant could be utilized, there was always something helpful or restorative.

Balance, Credence often mused to herself.

At night in bed, Credence would recite the positives of a plant until she had them memorized.

For the most part, she kept this knowledge to herself, and if Lilith heard her thoughts she ignored them. But sometimes Credence couldn't help herself, for it amused her greatly to watch the witch's smug expression turned sour.

"Hemlock can also dry a mother's milk," Lilith bit back sharply, "and starve a newborn."

"That's foul."

"Fat of an innocent newborn can be used for what?"

"I don't know. I forgot."

Lilith reared back and slapped Credence hard across the face.

"Newborn fat, when ground and applied to skin and broom, gives a witch flight! Lest you forget again, let that bruise be a reminder! How many hemlock leaves to kill a human?"

Credence rubbed her reddening cheek and glared at Lilith.

"Five to eight," she hissed, "depending on the size of the human."

"Hmph. Best to use eight every time just in case. What's this?"

Lilith held up a bright green bulb speckled with pale yellow.

"King Killer," murmured Credence. "Undetectable under spices. Serve a few seeds to stop the heart."

"Not just for kings," Lilith added wryly. "Perhaps you dream of sprinkling a seed or two on my dinner, eh?"

To her disappointment, Credence shook her head.

Lilith was always trying to provoke Credence into an attack, but remained unsuccessful thus far. The reason for Lilith's eagerness to fight quickly became clear, as she had reminded her pupil a dozen times since their first lesson:

"Killing your mentor is a vital step in a dark witch's training, as it grants you the opportunity to seize their magical essence for yourself. It would strengthen your powers tenfold—you'd be a frog's ass not to consider it! But should an apprentice strike before she is ready, well...the heart of a traitor holds powerful magic, and I would very much welcome its ingredient for my spells."

***

So it came to pass that Credence became a novice of dark magic, taking in Lilith's expertise with a cautious, though curious, studiousness. For all her faults, and she had many, Lilith was vastly knowledgeable, but most importantly she was the only one who had ever treated Credence like someone with more than a child's capability. Credence was expected to keep up with Lilith's unforgiving pace, and was often severely punished for a misstep or wrong answer. The witch never coddled her, or withheld information that might offend her apprentice's delicate sensibilities. Credence had to endure everything Lilith saw fit to inflict upon her, and this made her feel less like a child and more like a capable young woman.

The pair had little regard for one another, set against each other's convictions at their very core. Lilith knew Credence wished to be rid of her repugnant company, and Credence knew that Lilith waited with excitement for the moment her apprentice would strike in anger.

Yet throughout their time together, a strange affinity formed.

In short time Credence was even sent alone to collect and replenish Lilith's supplies, trusted to return as soon as the task was accomplished. As enticing as the thought of running away was, Credence never doubted that one day Ma would come for her, and that her best option was to stay put. It would be a magnificent day when Ma and Lilith, the two witches of light and dark, settled their differences the only way Credence imagined they could: In a fierce magical brawl.

But Ma would not be alone, and Credence dreamed of the moment when she would stand beside her to end Lilith's villainy. And after, she and Ma could face the Collector together. Until then, all Credence could do was bide her time and nod politely through the old witch's degeneracy.

Since their last encounter, Credence hadn't heard a whisper of the Collector's bells, though at rare times she thought she could feel an ominous presence nearby. She wondered if the Collector knew where she was, and if so, why it kept its distance. Perhaps Lilith held it at bay by some powerful magic, or maybe the loathsome hag actually frightened it, though Credence couldn't imagine the Collector cowering before anyone, even a thing as ugly as Lilith.

In her more gloomy moments, Credence imagined the Collector might simply be laying in wait, hoping for her to return to the trees alone. She tried to avoid the woods, only journeying a shallow distance inside when she had to, and keeping within the border of the meadow around Lilith's home as much as she could. Lilith rarely demanded a task that took Credence far from the house, and Credence understood this as a subtle warning that danger was waiting if she wandered too far. On the handful of occasions she had to venture into the forest, she noted a peculiar tree, a noticeably unique bit of flora due to the several black marks gouged into its trunk. A claw, or perhaps a heated weapon, had been brought upon it, and the blemish gave the plant a sinister look, like a curse was waiting to befall the one foolish enough to venture close.

The purple house, Credence discovered, was much larger than it looked from the outside, and her theory of two floors proved correct. Credence's bedroom, an astonishing comfort given the temperament of the house's owner, was in a short hall at the top of a staircase. It was little more than a prison chamber, cold and plain and containing nothing but a bed and a stool. Still, it belonged to Credence alone for the duration of her stay, and it was the first bit of privacy she had ever known.

Only one other room sat in the same hallway, directly across from Credence's, but she did not care to go into it. There was nothing behind its door but two iron shackles attached to the wall. Credence believed Lilith used the room for torture and sacrifice, though it was spotless from floor to ceiling, betraying no hint of any presence ever being in there.

But it was a room that threatened, and Credence knew Lilith would waste no time locking her inside it if provoked.

There was much about the purple house that remained a mystery.

Several doors were locked to Credence, and Lilith was never in the vein to reveal their secrets. Once, as Credence was returning from the meadow, she caught Lilith leaving one such room, and glimpsed numerous bottles clustered atop towering shelves, each one glowing vibrantly. Credence thought she saw miniature people moving inside those bottles, though their faces were blurry.

Lilith caught Credence's stare and slammed the door shut.

"Nothing in there for you," she said with a scowl. "Not unless you want me to wear your guts around my wrists."

It didn't bother Credence greatly. As far as she cared, Lilith could keep every last bit of her vile craft to herself, but she felt a small concern for what moved inside those bottles. Like the Collector's tree, Credence wondered if Lilith had a menagerie of her own, no doubt to torture and keep as supplies for her spells. There was a small urge within Credence to release whatever lived behind that door, but she kept her distance, knowing Lilith's wrath would have no end if she tested the witch's patience in such a way.

In addition to her lessons, Credence was expected to finish daily chores, most of them pointless. Chopping wood, for instance, which was never used because Lilith created fire from magic, so the logs sat outside the house as an insulting monument to Credence's labor.

Between lessons and work, Credence was granted moments to herself, for Lilith had no interest in the girl outside of tempting her into darkness or causing her pain.

Credence spent most of this time in anguish.

She mourned the loss of Josiah, and there was no end to the guilt she felt because of it. Someday Ma would arrive at Lilith's door, and Credence would have to tell her the truth:

Her son was gone.

He'd most likely died long before Credence and John went to look for him.

John. That fiend. Credence remembered the look on his face when he climbed atop her, that murderous intent behind his eyes.

She thought about Ma's book, forever missing, and cursed herself for being so careless.

Maybe Lilith is right, and I am useless.

Most of all she thought about her fight with the Collector.

That mystifying power that burst from her.

It hadn't killed the monster, but certainly gave it pause.

She'd made it bleed.

There was a strong sense of victory in that fact, and though the memory still sent a shiver through her body, she now knew that her foe was not without weakness.

If it can bleed, perhaps it can die.

Part of her desperately wanted to ask Lilith about what she'd done, wondering if the witch might know the cause or how to produce it again, but in the end Credence thought it best to keep quiet.

She'd have to trust in herself to find answers.

***

There came a time when Lilith asked Credence to brew simple potions, from calming blends to poisons that could kill an entire family. The old witch remarked several times on Credence's missing finger, warning that it would hinder her magic, but Credence had learned how to spot a lie in her mentor's tone, and knew it was nothing but a taunt.

Lilith pressed further and gave her the rude nickname "stump", but Credence hardly cared.

I've been through worse, she told herself.

Lilith kept at it, ever jeering and prodding, searching for Credence's breaking point in hope of arriving at the moment when Credence's will would break and she would challenge her teacher.

They spent their first weeks together hanging by the fragile threads of tensed civility, and as time wore on their animosity did not weaken, but enhanced.

"Worthless," Lilith declared when Credence miscalculated and ruined a potion for fog. "But what should I expect from such poor blood? Nothing, that's what. Nothing but a stump, too pathetic to save her own finger. Weak magic. Just like Galeia."

She spat on the floor near Credence, who was trying to clean the mess with a rag and bucket.

"Ma is not weak," Credence said. "I saw her crush a demon's heart with her hands. Her shield kept the Collector—"

"Your mother was a traitor and a whore," Lilith snarled.

Credence winced at the last word. She did not know its meaning, but the bite Lilith put behind it was harsh, and it was clearly a word of great offense.

Credence scrambled to her feet, the flame of anger rising under her skin, but Lilith stood her ground, unimpressed, and raised her chin in an insulting gesture.

"Aye, there's the focus, there's that rage," the witch whispered. "What will you do with it, I wonder?"

The answer, as always, was nothing.

After a moment Credence relaxed, resigning to let Lilith's provocations roll off her. Lilith gave a disappointed snort.

"That's what I thought. You know the true power here, stump."

For now, Credence thought and Lilith snickered.

"Make sure to soak every last drop," Lilith warned. "Any leftovers will be cleaned with your tongue."

For more complex enchantments Lilith trusted only herself, but she made sure Credence didn't miss out on the wretched steps of creating them.

On one occasion, the witch handed Credence an old, black cat.

"Cut an ear off," Lilith commanded, her focus turned to the boiling contents in an iron pot. "The left one."

Credence held the doomed animal tight against her chest. "Why?"

Lilith didn't bother looking up.

"Left ear of a dying cat makes Knight's Fury especially potent. And we can roast it for dinner—pain flavors the meat nicely."

Credence did not move to do the witch's bidding. Sensing hesitation, Lilith paused in her stirring.

"I don't hear screaming."

"No."

Lilith snorted. "Fine witch you'll make, if a little killing withers your resolve."

"I don't want to be a dark witch."

"Sacrifice isn't limited to dark witchcraft. All magic users must acquaint themselves with it."

"I'm not going to eat this animal. I'm not going to hurt it, either."

Lilith threw her ladle to the floor. The loud clang frightened the poor cat, and it leapt from Credence's arms and dashed out of the open door, racing to freedom with the spryness of a kitten.

"Look what your charity got you," Lilith seethed.

She pointed and Credence looked down at her arms, where long, angry gashes had been driven across her skin. In its haste and surprise, the cat scratched deeply, and now pain ran through the reddening trails left behind as the sting of open skin hit Credence.

"There's your reward," Lilith continued. "Your kindness is returned with betrayal and wounds."

A drop of blood hit the floor.

"Damn your spells," Credence bit back, "and damn your dark magic! Nothing but pointless ways to torture and kill. I'd rather be in pain—I'd rather be dead than a heartless, ugly hag like you!"

"That can be arranged, stump."

"Go on then. You can return to stumbling around this wretched heap alone. You'll have no one left to torment—and you can pick your own damn herbs!"

Credence's language had grown somewhat colorful under Lilith's care, and her temper had shortened almost to the length as her host. The routine they settled into was one of constant bickering and insults, though Credence was more often the sufferer than the aggressor.

With a grunt of frustration Lilith kicked over the iron pot, sending its steaming contents across the floor. She nodded at her mess.

"You'll clean this up before tending to yourself, and watch your blood fall to the ground as you work. Think on this lesson and remember it well: The next time you disobey me, it'll be more than scratches you receive."

Credence didn't care. She was resolved to never harm a helpless thing, and felt proud of her defiance.

These scratches will be a reminder, she thought, to always choose kindness.

The next time Credence refused to do as she was commanded, Lilith held a long leather strap in front of her face before setting blow after vicious blow upon her. It hurt far more than a cat's scratches and the pain was fresh and electric with each new lick. Ghastly bruises bloomed across her skin, and for days after Credence winced with every movement—but she endured the pain with quiet triumph. Each bruise was a badge of honor, and when Lilith poked and pinched them it was clear that the sight of them hurt the witch's pride, for they were the proof of Credence's refusal to embrace corruption.

After that, Lilith would only demand Credence enact some hideous task when she wanted to hurt the girl, using Credence's refusal as justification.

And still, Credence took her punishment with a martyr's courage. She could not rescue every poor beast that came under Lilith's gruesome attention, but she saved more than a few lives, and that was worth every lash Lilith dealt.

If Lilith had been rude before, she became downright monstrous, inflicting pain more and more readily.

"Knew a noble like you," she snarled between blows with a switch, "who remained spoiled and arrogant. I beat the spite out and broke that wretch. I'll do the same to you in enough time."

"Mind of a jackass," Credence hissed through clenched teeth, "with a face to match."

Lilith took that as encouragement to continue for another hour.

Over time, a seed of vengeance sprouted in Credence.

She had dreams of throttling the crone and causing her endless pain, and it took more and more strength not to bring such desires into reality, but Credence remained resolute, and Lilith's frustrations over her refusal to accept an immoral path grew into a hateful rivalry.

There was a battle between them, waged for Credence's soul—

And Lilith knew she was losing.