Lux Mortua

“Willow Park, Gus Porter, Amity Blight. Please report to the principal’s office.”

Herbology is perhaps the least interesting of the plant-track requirements, and Willow has been close to drifting off. But she jolts awake and jumps to her feet as the loudspeaker shuts its mouth. She can feel the eyes of the entire class on her, confused, and she has no more idea what this is about than any of them. She shoots a look at the teacher, who simply shrugs.

Outside the principal’s office are three people she isn’t expecting: Eda the Owl Lady, and Edric and Emira Blight. As soon as Eda sees Willow, she opens the door to the office and gestures for her to step inside. Willow spares a glance at the twins, but they don’t meet her eyes.

“In here.” Eda leads her to a side room with two couches. Gus and Amity are already seated on one; Principal Bump is standing across from them with his hands folded. It’s quiet in here, eerily so.

Willow takes the empty space between Gus and Amity. Gus is scratching his knuckles, a nervous tick that Willow thought he outgrew. Amity looks pale as paper. She’s gripping the hem of her gown with her hands balled into fists.

Eda sits down on the other couch, opposite them. “I wanted to tell you myself,” she says, her voice even gruffer, harsher than normal. Gus inhales sharply.

The obvious question strikes Willow, and all at once she’s terrified. “Where’s Luz?”

Eda takes a deep breath and pauses before she speaks.

“She died last night. With me and King. We were trying to lift parts off a quasit. For the portal. It saw us coming, and it—” Her gaze is resting somewhere in the middle of the table between them. “Luz stopped breathing as soon as the thing touched her. I’m sorry.”

Gus cries, a broken noise that slices through Willow like a knife. She feels numb. Not Luz. Not the most creative, strongheaded witch she knows, who can stare death in the face without flinching. Not Luz, who doesn’t deserve anything bad happening to her, least of all this. The room feels like all the air has been sucked out of it.

Bump says, “You three are excused—”

“Did you check for a ghost?” Amity cuts in. 

Willow’s heart skips a beat. It’s a slim chance, but the piece of her brain that says this must be wrong, Luz can’t be hurt, latches onto it. She glances at Gus, but he doesn’t seem to have reacted: he’s staring off at nothing, tears streaming down his face.

As Amity keeps talking, she sounds less like she’s grieving and more like she’s organizing a group project. “Every deceased person has a one in eighteen chance of returning to the world as a spirit. One in thirteen, if the death is violent. We can find Luz’s soul, guide it back to her body—you still have the body, right? And I know there’s a spell that can sew them back together—the Emperor’s Coven uses it all the time. When did you say this happened last night?”

“Humans don’t leave ghosts,” says Eda, quiet but firm, and Willow’s hope shatters. “Their souls are made of lightning. As soon as the body stops working, the soul just…” She snaps her fingers. “Up in smoke.”

Bump clears his throat. “I peered into the astral plane myself, as is the policy for all student deaths. Eda’s information appears to be correct. Not only did Luz Noceda fail to imprint as a spirit, but it seems she was never astrally tethered in the first place. Your friend is truly gone.”

Amity looks around wildly, as if something or someone in the room can disprove it. She locks eyes with Willow, and after just a second—maybe it’s the fact that Willow’s grief is plain on her face, that she can’t stop the tears, not now—Amity collapses. Just folds in on herself.

“No,” she whispers.

“You’re excused from classes from the rest of the day, if you would prefer not to attend,” Bump says, all business. “Your parents—er, rather, your families—are here to pick you up, should you desire. You of course have leave to attend the funeral. Tomorrow, I believe?” He looks at Eda, who nods.

“Dusk. At my place. I—” Her voice catches, then she practically bolts off the couch and out the room, the door swinging shut behind her.

Bump also moves for the door, but hesitates. “You’re free to go, or you can stay here for a while longer, if you’d prefer.”

Gus stands up. “I’m going home,” he says. “I…I want to be with my family right now.” He looks at Willow like he’s asking for permission. She nods, and he leaves.

Amity stands too. She’s unsteady on her feet and visibly shaking, but she makes it to the door and leaves without a word. And just like that, the meeting’s over. It feels like there should be something more, some closure suitable for the weight of the blow they’ve all received. But when Willow steps outside the office, there are students laughing in the hall, and all the usual noises of a busy school. It’s appalling, how the world hasn’t stopped for this.

When she sees Papa outside the main entrance, staff in hand, she throws herself into his arms and lets out a choked sob. He doesn’t say anything, just holds her tight. It’s been too long since Willow’s hugged either of her dads; it’s good and warm and grounding, and she quickly realizes that it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. 

“She’s gone,” Willow says into his jacket. She still can’t make herself believe it. “She’s…just…gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Something in her periphery catches her attention, and she pulls away from the hug, curious. Gus and his dad are gone, but the Blight siblings idle in the woods a few hundred yards away, with no apparent intention of leaving. Edric and Emira look grim. Amity looks empty.

Willow takes a quick, sharp breath to steady herself, but her voice still quavers. “Do we…have room for one more?”

Papa squeezes her shoulder. “You know we do.”

Willow nods her thanks, then walks over to the three. “Amity,” she announces.

Amity perks up at the sound of her name; so do the twins.

“You should…come home with me. Please. I…don’t want to be alone right now.”

And there’s no way in all the Boiling Sea that you should be with your family tonight.

For a second, Amity just looks at her blankly. Then she slowly nods.

Willow walks her back to her father. “Hop on,” she says. “I'll be right back.” She jogs over to the twins and asks in a low voice, “Can you bring a change of clothes for her?”

There’s only the slightest hesitation before they both answer. “Yes,” says Emira, just as Edric says, “We’ll cover for her. Somehow.”

“Good.” She gives them her address, and she’s about to leave when she notices the glint of a tear stain on Edric’s cheek. It only then occurs to her that the twins knew Luz, too. “Are you…” she tries. “Will you be okay?”

Emira smiles weakly. “We’ll be fine. We’ve got us.” She elbows Edric as if to emphasize the point.

Edric nods. “Take care of Mittens. We owe you one.”

~

At home, Papa offers them a lunch of leftover ivory radishes. Willow can’t get hers down fast enough. Amity’s fork never makes it to her mouth. They don’t talk.

“I’m going back to work,” he says after a few minutes. “I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything, okay?”

Willow nods. Of course she already knows this; the reassurance is still sweet.

The silence is bearable with Papa around, but it turns claustrophobic as soon as he's gone. Willow heads to her room, leaving an unresponsive Amity to pick and stare at her food. The bedroom door clicks behind her, and she collapses to the ground, her whole body shaking with barely repressed grief.

Luz. Gone, forever. It’s still unbelievable. No warning, no last words, just Sorry, your friend’s dead. Willow wonders what the last thing she ever said to Luz was. Probably something vapid, like “see you later.” She checks her scroll for messages with Luz, and for some reason that overwhelms her in another wave of tears. Their last conversation was about what time they were meeting after school. The last message Luz ever sent her was “2:45.”

She lets the scroll fall from her hand and back into the aether. A wave of death emanates from her as her plants all droop and wilt. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to ease the loneliness.

Then sobs ring out from the kitchen.

Willow winces. Despite what she said earlier, she doesn’t actually want to be around Amity right now. She’s spent far too long on the sharp end of Amity’s emotions. They’ve made their peace, sure, but they aren’t exactly friends—and the thought of trying to comfort Amity makes her skin crawl.

But Willow dries her eyes, steels herself, and heads back to the kitchen—because Luz would want her to.

It isn’t hard to see how close Amity and Luz are—were, she corrects herself with a small stab of pain. Luz spent just as much time alone with Amity as she did with Willow and Gus. She broke down Amity’s barriers, got through to her in a way that Willow never could—never tried to. Willow’s pretty sure Amity had a crush on Luz. She suspects the feeling was mutual.

Amity is slumped over on the table, head in her arms, making ugly, pained noises. Willow places a cautious hand on her shoulder; Amity looks up with tears in her eyes, then stands and wraps her in a hug. Willow squeezes tight in return. Amity’s ribcage shudders under Willow’s arms, and she hiccups against Willow’s hair.

“Sorry,” Amity says as she pulls away. “I’ve—it’s just—” She sniffs softly as she tries to compose herself.

“Hey,” Willow says, “you don’t have to apologize for being sad.”

Amity visibly shudders again at that, and she sits back down. Her head drops into her hands.

Willow pulls up a chair beside her and puts a hand on her arm, reaching for the right words. “It’s—well, it’s not okay, not at all. It’s okay to feel like it’s not okay because it’s not, it’s cruel and unfair and—”

“Why did it have to be her?” Amity says in a voice barely above a whisper. “It’s selfish of me, I know, but why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Why couldn’t it have been me? Or anyone besides Luz?”

“I…” Willow swallows. “I wish I’d been there. I could have…I don’t know…”

“She was everything,” Amity chokes out through a sob. “I only met her a month ago, and she changed me. I can’t imagine…if we’d never met, I don’t…”

Willow hugs her again, and for a second Amity just leans into it, her body weighing against Willow’s chest. Then she turns and hugs her back.

“I know she meant a lot to you too,” Amity says, her voice heavy and tired.

And just like every time Willow’s thought she had the flood of tears under control, the dam breaks again inside her. Suddenly she’s sobbing against Amity’s chest.

“One day!” she almost shouts, the words ripping out of her harshly. “She turned my life around in one day! And every second I spent with her afterward, I couldn’t stop thinking, ‘Why does this amazing person want to be my friend? How can I be so lucky?’” Willow sobs again, her voice choked off by grief.

They stay there for a while, holding each other, until they can almost breathe normally.

“Not her,” Willow says softly. “She didn’t deserve this. How,” and she swallows the lump in her throat so her voice will keep working, “how could anyone do something like that?” What was it that Eda said—a quasit?

“Quasits are usually just tricksters,” Amity says—because of course, after all these years, she still hasn’t lost the ability to know what Willow’s thinking. “They’ll pull dangerous pranks sometimes, but…never…” She trails off—and at that moment, the doorbell rings.

Willow disentangles herself and answers the door. It’s Emira, a small suitcase at her side.

“Thanks again,” she says, and before Willow can even answer, she sticks her head into the apartment. “You holding up, Mittens?”

Amity is there in seconds. She eyes the suitcase, but doesn’t say anything.

“I thought you might want to stay here tonight,” Willow explains, a little embarrassed that she hasn’t brought this up yet. “Only if you want to! I just thought, with your parents…” Well. In the twisted worldview of Alador and Odalia Blight, grief over a human’s death is probably some kind of unforgivable offense.

Amity is quiet for a moment. “I can’t just…not go home,” she says eventually, sounding surprisingly composed. She’s looking past Willow, at her sister.

Emira shrugs. “Sure you can. Mom and Dad think you’re on an overnight field trip with other Coven hopefuls. Studying history, slinging spells. You know, getting ahead of the chaff. They’re super impressed. I think Mom even smiled.”

Amity’s eyes widen. She looks back and forth between Willow and Emira before murmuring, “Thank you.”

Emira gives a strange little smile, sad and sympathetic, yet somehow still shit-eating. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” She traces a spell circle and swipes her finger through the air: the suitcase slides into the room, and the door shuts.

“Thank you,” Amity says again. She’s looking at the floor.

Willow feels her grief tighten into resolve. “Come on.” She makes for the living room, gesturing for Amity to follow. “The couch is a lot comfier.”

~

They exchange stories of Luz like fragile glass ornaments. There’s an inherent reluctance, a superstition that Amity must feel as well—as if by examining the memories with too much reverence, they admit that Luz is really gone. But there’s an urgency, too. If they don’t remember the little details now—Luz’s wide-eyed enthusiasm, her odd little human phrases, her scrunched-up smiling face whenever she hugged her friends—how quickly will they forget?

Dinner happens suddenly and in a blur. Her dads are okay with Amity staying over, for which Willow is immensely grateful. But their comforting words sound hollow. It’s not their fault—they didn’t know Luz. They haven’t even met her. (Won’t ever meet her, she corrects herself.) She’s surprised to find that she just wants to be alone with Amity again.

“You okay on the couch?” Willow asks when the time comes, and Amity assents. However, mere seconds after Willow’s lain down to sleep—after she’s undressed and washed up and begun to coax her withered flora back to life—there’s a knock at her door. Amity is all apology. But Willow’s bed has two mattresses, and it’s no difficult thing to drag them onto the floor next to each other.

~

Willow wakes up to someone holding her hand, and a harsh sound of scratching.

She’s on the floor of her bedroom, and Amity is curled up next to her, relaxed in sleep. Willow can almost imagine that they’re ordinary friends having a sleepover, and that none of the past twenty-four hours have actually happened. Or the past seven years, for that matter.

The scratching is coming from the door. There’s a quiet meow.

Willow gets up from the mattress and walks over to the door, blinking sleep and confusion from her eyes. How did a cat even get inside her apartment?

As soon as she opens the door, a large, soot-black cat darts inside and wraps itself around Willow’s ankle, meowing again.

“Shh! You’re going to wake Amity!” Willow whispers sharply, but it’s too late—Amity’s already stirring, blinking awake and then squinting in surprise at the creature.

“Sorry, it just got into the room before I could stop it,” Willow starts to say, but the cat bounds forward to curl up in Amity’s lap, and she smiles at it. Maybe…maybe this is what she needs.

Willow sits back down on her mattress as she watches Amity play with the cat, who seems all too happy to snuggle against Amity’s chest and purr softly. Before long, it wanders over to Willow, butting its head against her leg. She scratches behind its ears, smiling as it purrs. Willow can’t tell whether it’s a kitten—it’s certainly large enough to be an adult, but it only has two eyes, and its meowing seems harmless. Plus, aren’t kittens more affectionate? This cat seems determined to shower the both of them in affection.

She can’t help but feel like it’s trying to assure them that life goes on.

“I’m probably going to head over to the Owl House,” says Willow a few minutes later, as dawn begins to peek through her curtains. “See if they need any help. With the funeral.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” asks Amity. She scritches the cat, who turns to her. They almost look like they’re staring into each other’s eyes for a minute before the cat tucks itself against Amity’s chest again.

“Yes.” Willow’s throat starts to close up. “I don’t know if I can—” She squeezes her eyes shut, knowing that if she tries to finish the sentence, she’ll just start crying.

“I know!” Amity says quickly. “I get it. I don’t—I don’t want to see the body either. I—” Her voice breaks. “I don’t want it to be real.”

When Willow opens her eyes, Amity’s face is turned into her pillow. “I loved her so much, Willow. I wanted her to stay here forever. Or for me to go back to the human realm with her. I wanted...” Willow can hear the tears in her voice. “I didn’t tell her everything I should have. I didn’t want to be too much." She takes a breath, and takes hold of Willow’s hand. “I’d give anything if I could just tell her, ‘I love you.’”

It’s like a stab to Willow’s gut. Something twists inside of her, a guilt that’s been collecting for weeks. She knew—there was no way she could have missed it—that Luz and Amity were meant for each other, and it was only a matter of time before Luz realized it. And yet she’d never been able to quash the feelings that bubbled up in her chest every time Luz embraced her, or smiled at her, or that one time Luz called her cute.

“I know,” Willow says, and her eyes are wet too now, as she curls up miserably under the covers. “I know. I couldn’t help but love her either.”

“Oh, Willow,” Amity says, leaning forward to wrap her arm around her. There’s no judgement, no resentment, just empathy. It’s a moot point now, Willow supposes.

The cat hasn’t run off, still settled warmly between their bodies, though it’s letting out the softest mews Willow’s ever heard.

“She loved your magic,” Amity says, like that’s supposed to be any sort of consolation. “No matter what we were talking about—she always managed to bring up what an amazing witch you are, and how she wanted to be just as powerful as you someday.”

“She loved you so much,” Willow whispers. “I don’t know if she even realized it herself. She lit up whenever you walked into a room.”

Amity winces as if in pain. “I want—” Her hand makes a fist in Willow’s shirt, against her back. “I want her back, Willow.”

Amity looks up at her, and their faces are suddenly so, so close. It feels like neither of them initiates, but suddenly they’re kissing hard, the sensation hot and overwhelming, as if for a moment they can pretend it blocks out the pain of Luz’s absence. That they both wish they were kissing Luz is a fact so painfully obvious it feels tangible, a hot iron pressing into Willow’s side where Amity’s arm rests.

They part, and pant into the silence of the room. The cat nestles against them, its face pressed against Willow’s stomach.

“Sorry,” Amity says.

“No,” Willow says quickly. “That was—well at least—” It was a miserable kiss, and they both know it. “I wish you could be kissing Luz like you want.”

The cat lets out a mournful yowl as if to punctuate her statement, and Amity presses her face into Willow’s shoulder as tears threaten her eyes yet again. “You know I wouldn’t care if she was with you. As long as she was happy and alive, I wouldn’t care.”

“I know.” Willow lets her head fall forward, pressing against the cat’s fur and Amity’s chest. “It wasn’t fair,” she says again.

“Yeah,” Amity agrees quietly. “None of this is.”

~

The funeral will take place in front of the Owl House. There will be chairs facing away from the house, toward the coffin, which will be on a raised platform with a few steps leading up to it. The mourners will sit facing away from the setting sun, their backs to the house. Eda explains this mechanically as she gestures around the woods: here the platform, here the chairs. Her voice is raspy. Her eyes are pink. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days—which, Willow supposes, is entirely possible.

“It’s…nice of you to include Hooty,” Amity says after the explanation is over. “But you aren’t exactly close to the Boiling Sea. Are we going to march all the way to the shore tonight?”

“Nope,” Eda says. “Luz isn’t going in the water.”

Willow’s heart spikes with fear just as Amity exclaims, “What?”

“Hey, calm down—”

“Are you insane? She’ll rise as a zombie! You can’t just—that’s basic funeral safety—”

“Hey!” Eda practically shouts. “Can it and listen.”

Amity clamps her jaw, though her eyes are still shot with a panic that Willow shares.

Eda keeps her voice raised. “One, she isn’t gonna rise as a zombie, because my sister is going to spend every waking hour of her life, every last scrap of magic she has, warding the body against undeath.”

“We’ll see about that,” King murmurs as he walks by. Willow barely has time to process the ominous statement before the cat leaps from her ankles toward King, mewing loudly. “Argh! Away, you infernal creature!”

“Sorry,” Willow says, trying to wrestle the animal away from him. “It followed us here.”

“Two,” says Eda, ignoring the kerfuffle, “I’m not boiling Luz’s flesh—not before I finish the portal. I’ll find her mom in the human realm, somehow. Until then, we’re keeping the body on ice.”

Willow finds herself taken aback. She knows about Luz’s mother, of course—the woman thinks her daughter is in some kind of summer camp, and she’s expecting her home in another month—but in the aftermath of Luz’s death, Willow completely forgot. Will Eda finish the portal soon? Or will her mom spend days—or weeks or months or even years—worried about Luz, never knowing why she vanished, never certain whether she’s still alive, until one day a stranger shows up with her daughter’s frozen corpse? It’s another layer of pain—of course a person’s death creates this many ripples of sadness, but it makes Willow feel even worse.

“Three,” Eda says, her voice finally softening, “Luz might not’ve even wanted her body boiled. Humans probably do it different. It’s…not like I ever thought to ask. I didn’t—” She chokes off momentarily. “Her mom will know what to do.”

A silence hangs between them. Well, it's silent except for the cat, which is squirming in Willow’s arms, trying to get free. But she doesn’t want it to cause any more trouble for Eda and King.

Apparently she isn’t doing good enough, because Eda snaps, “Keep that thing on a leash, would you.”

“THAT’S MY JOB, HOOT!” Hooty yells, and lunges for the animal.

Willow drops it instinctively, and it screeches and bolts away as Hooty chases it into the woods. For a moment, they all watch his tubular body stretch into the horizon as the distressed cat noises grow quieter and quieter.

That was uncalled for, Willow wants to say.

Amity clears her throat. “Are we still giving her five?”

Willow doesn’t know which answer she wants to hear. The trinket she’s chosen for Luz is burning a hole in her pocket.

Eda sighs. “Yeah. I don’t see why not. I assume you girls want two of the slots?”

Willow nods immediately, despite her reluctance. So does Amity.

“That’s four, including me and King. You know anyone else who might be interested?”

“I’ll ask Gus,” Willow says, taking out her scroll. “Is there anything we can do to help set up in the meanwhile?”

Eda tasks the two of them with finding all the rocks in this clearing and making sure they’re not sentient, then disappears back inside the Owl House. It’s not exactly how Willow imagined her afternoon would go, but she’s selfishly glad she won’t have to see the body yet.

“Will you be okay by yourself?”

She turns to Amity. “Huh?”

“I’m sorry.” Amity’s hands are folded before her. “I didn’t even think about bringing a trinket. But I want to. I need to go…grab something.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Willow says, although the idea of being alone in the woods—or stuck with Luz’s grieving family—is more than a little disheartening.

“Okay. I’ll…see you later, then?” There’s hesitation in Amity’s hands, like she’s not sure whether to go in for a hug.

So Willow hugs her as tight as she possibly can. Amity returns the embrace eagerly, burying her face in Willow’s hair. After a while—too long, maybe, for a hug between friends—Willow pulls away, just a little. Their faces are very close again; she regards Amity, and Amity regards her, and for a second it feels like neither of them is breathing. Then Willow makes what she recognizes, intellectually, to be a very bad decision: she leans forward and presses her lips to Amity’s. It’s the briefest, chastest kiss imaginable, yet Willow feels her cheeks burning.

Regret seizes her the moment she pulls away. The desire she saw in Amity’s eyes a moment ago is gone—or maybe it was never there—and instead, she just looks overwhelmed and upset.

“I’m sorry—”

“No. It’s fine.” Amity looks away. “I should go.”

~

Willow taps on each stray rock until she’s sure it won’t interrupt the funeral. She carries chairs up from the basement. She helps locate the optimal spot for the coffin. She magically fashions the pedestal of wood. She considers texting Amity.

The other guests filter in gradually. Willow is surprised at just how many people show: dozens upon dozens of them, witches and demons, young and old, students and shopkeepers, even a member of the Emperor’s Guard. Willow’s surprised, but of course she shouldn’t be. Of course Luz touched so many lives during her short stay in the Isles. 

When Gus arrives, Willow all but pounces on him. Only after a moment does she notice that she’s actually lifted him up off the ground, and lowers him a bit sheepishly.

“How’ve you been holding up?” she asks.

“Good,” he says. “Bad. Not good.”

Yeah, that’s about right.

The pedestal is empty now, as the guests take their seats, but Willow dreads the moment the coffin will be brought out. She sits in the front row next to Gus, along with Eda and King. By the time she notices that Amity hasn’t arrived, it’s too late to do anything about it. The door to the Owl House opens. Gus takes Willow’s hand and squeezes it. All the sound drains from the clearing.

Eda makes the first shuddering sob, and then Willow’s crying, too.

~

Gus is the first to present his trinket. It’s a multicolored cube that looks vaguely familiar to Willow. He fidgets with it as he steps up to the coffin, rotating one face around an axis. With the sun at his back, he casts a long shadow into the woods—everyone does.

“Hi, Luz.” Gus is quiet; Willow’s pretty sure she can only hear him because she’s in the front row. “I just want to let you know…that I miss you, and…I don’t think I’m ever going to stop missing you.” He goes silent for a long stretch, during which Willow can feel her own anguish rising. At last, he places the cube inside the coffin. “I learned so much from you. Things I didn’t even know I didn’t know. And not just human stuff! Although I won’t complain about that. Obviously.” He takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

He seems composed as he walks the few steps back to his seat. But when he sits, he collapses against Willow, his whole body shuddering. She wraps her arm around his shoulder and holds him close.

Eda begins to stand, but King hops off his chair and scurries over to the pedestal. He’s carrying a thick stack of paper held together with a gargoyle clip. He climbs the coffin with only mild difficulty, and soon he’s standing at the edge, looking down at Luz’s body. He clears his throat grandly, and squeaks a single word: “Rise!”

Nothing happens. A palpable, awkward silence falls over the funeral.

“Rise!” he repeats. “By all the unholy powers vested in my body, I order you to rise! Embrace undeath! Stand again beside your friend and king!”

King’s words are as big as always, but his voice is small. He sounds just as Willow feels—scared, broken, hopeless.

“Well. It was worth a shot.” He drops the stack of papers to rest with Luz. “If you change your mind about joining my zombie army, your first order of business is to turn this into something that people want to read. You know I can’t do it without you.”

Eda’s next. She lowers something dark, blue, and folded into the coffin, which she then grabs tight, as if to steady herself. She whispers something inaudible at the dusky sky. Then she talks aloud in rapid fire, like she can’t get the words off her chest fast enough.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve done more to keep you safe. You were my—student. My responsibility. I don’t—I didn’t understand that, I think. Even after Lil—after I lost my magic.” She raises a hand to wipe her eyes, and it shakes violently. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I know I told you, a couple of times, but it feels like I didn’t really say it. Or didn’t say it enough. Kind and caring and you saw the best in everyone, even this old wretch, and stubborn and stupid—brave—eager—fuck!” She shouts the last word, then covers her face with her hands, sobbing over the body. Willow’s heart twists itself into knots.

Eventually, Eda unfolds her trinket. It’s a cloak made of witch’s wool. Willow sees a tuft of brown hair as Eda raises Luz’s head a few inches; she fastens the hood, then spends the next several moments smoothing the cloak over Luz’s body, muttering something over and over again that sounds like It’s okay, it’s okay.

Then it’s done, Eda is back at her seat, and suddenly it’s Willow’s turn. Except there’s shuffling from the back rows, and Willow turns around to spot Amity walking toward the coffin—and gasps. Amity’s dress is black as midnight. It must have been enchanted to appear as such a void, such an absence. Its sleeves cover her arms, stopping short of her bracelets: white on her left wrist, red on her right. The outfit is traditional for a mourning spouse or lover.

Amity walks slowly through the rows of mourners, hands at her sides. The utter blackness of the dress makes everything stand out by comparison: not just the bracelets, but her stolid facial expression, the sheen of tears on her cheeks. At the pedestal, she takes something out of her sleeve—a folded slip of paper, maybe?—and tucks it into the coffin.

“Goodbye.” There is a pause, and the word rings through the silenced clearing. “I love you. Goodbye.”

Amity turns swiftly on her heel and walks back to her seat. Her head is bowed, her face newly wet.

And then it’s Willow’s turn.

She’s unsteady as she walks to the pedestal. She’s a crying mess with no idea what to say. But she has to do this.

Luz’s body is dressed in her characteristic sweater and leggings. Witch’s wool covers her like a blanket; the hood is pulled over her head, but not her face. The still, pallid face is exposed. The eyes are shut, and the expression is void: absent enthusiasm, bravery, joy—absent anger, sorrow, fear—empty.

That’s Luz, and she really is dead.

Maybe subconsciously Willow’s been holding out some hope that this was a giant mistake, or an elaborate prank. But the body is finality.

“Hey, Luz,” she says, then falters. Her tongue is stuck. Tears blur her vision, obscuring Luz’s face—which is good, she can’t look right now—but no, she has to look, has to see it, to know. She pulls from her pocket the fifth and final trinket: a broken hair clip, held together with a blue bandage.

“You were…” She breathes in and out. “I’m…”

What was she thinking? She isn’t fit for this. She can’t say her goodbyes with everyone’s eyes on her. She only volunteered to prove that she mattered to Luz, as much as—as much as Amity did, she admits with sickening guilt.

The crowd stirs, and for an instant Willow’s afraid that they’ve caught on to her fakery. But of course that’s not it. A familiar black smudge darts between the rows of chairs, running straight toward the coffin. The cat leaps up onto the pedestal, and before Willow can stop it, it climbs into the coffin, landing a paw on Luz’s pale face.

It instantly drops dead.

For a moment, a chill runs down Willow’s spine.

And then Luz coughs and sputters to life.

There’s a roar of sound from behind Willow as everyone starts moving and talking at once. In front of her, Luz struggles to breathe, and Willow fumbles to remove the cotton from her mouth and nostrils. After a deep gasp, Luz rolls over and presses her face into Willow’s chest.

“That,” she says in a wheeze, “was so much worse than I imagined.”

Willow holds her close, not trusting herself to speak. Luz is coughing into Willow’s shirt, and Eda is shouting somewhere, but it all sounds distant.

“Luz! Luz!” Eda practically grabs her out of Willow’s arms. “Please say you’re okay, please tell me this is over, please.” Her hands are on Luz’s face, her thumb smoothing back Luz’s hair with more tenderness than Willow’s ever seen from her.

“Never felt better,” Luz says with a weak smile—then erupts in another coughing fit while the corners of Willow’s vision start to go funny. “Actually, I think I need to go to the hospital.”

Amity is here. She grips Willow’s shoulder as if to steady herself, but her eyes are on Luz, wide with disbelief and overflowing with tears. She smiles, and the world slips away.

~

Willow wakes up on a couch that isn’t her own.

“She’s awake! Hoot!”

Why does everything sound quiet? She rubs her eyes, dizzy and disoriented. It’s dark, except for a single flickering lantern. She’s in the Owl House. The voice is Hooty’s.

She blinks hard. “What happened?”

“You fainted! Hoot!”

“Why…” The events of the funeral catch up to her in a flash, and her heart leaps with panic. “Luz! Is Luz okay?”

“She’ll be fine!” comes the sound of Gus’s voice.

Willow finds him seated on a nearby armchair. She adjusts her glasses; her vision is starting to return, as is her hearing.

“Eda flew her to a healer,” Gus says earnestly. “She needs lots of rest, but she’ll be fine. Everything will be fine!”

“She’s okay,” says Willow, trying out the statement like a new cowl. It hangs in the air for a moment, and then it hits her again. “She’s okay.” Suddenly she’s soaring, the weight of the past two days vanished in an instant. She laughs, and Gus laugh-cries, and soon they’re hugging and laughing and crying and dancing for joy in each other’s arms.

“That sure was a nightmare, hoot!” Hooty sounds genuinely relieved and upset, to Willow’s mild surprise. “But it’s not all bad, to have a scare like that and realize some things you would have regretted never doing or saying! Hoot! Don’t you think? Hoot hoot?”

As the demon’s words sink in, Willow belatedly puts together what must have happened after she fainted: everyone else followed Luz to the healer, while Gus stayed with her.

“Yeah,” she says, wondering whether Amity and Luz have spoken yet.

~

Willow doesn’t see Luz again that night; it’s late, and Luz unsurprisingly needs lots of rest. So Gus’s dad gives her a ride home.

But the recovery is quick. A mere three days later, Willow gets a text inviting her to the Owl House. Luz promises she’ll be back at Hexside the next day, but i miss u too much 2 wait that long 2 see u!! ❤️ ❤️

It’s not Luz who answers the door.

“They’re up in her bedroom,” Eda says, gesturing toward the staircase.

Willow’s heart catches on the word they. Of course Luz didn’t just want to see her—of course there were plenty of people she’d want over as soon as possible.

“Who else is here?” she asks, trying to sound casual.

“Just Aaaaaamity,” comes Hooty’s voice from behind her.

Eda slams the door, but she nods to Willow, confirming the owl’s words. Then she clears her throat. “I’d knock first, if I were you.”

Willow blushes as she makes for the stairs.

Amity opens the door looking flustered and flushed, the top button of her uniform undone, a poorly suppressed smile on her lips. “Willow! Hi!”

Luz practically jumps onto Willow and smothers her in a hug. “I missed you,” she says into Willow’s hair, and doesn’t let go.

A part of Willow is uncomfortable with the open affection. It should feel normal—this is Luz, after all—but Amity is right there, and it’s not hard to guess what was happening before Willow got here. Her heart leaps, however, at how healthy Luz looks.

“You look so much better! I’m so glad!” Her face is a little warm when she pulls back, very deliberately, from the hug. She adds sheepishly, “Sorry I kissed your girlfriend.”

Luz kisses her.

It’s just as overwhelming as her first kiss with Amity, in a completely different way. Luz is insistent and unpracticed, and confusion floods through Willow alongside euphoria. When they finally part, Willow feels dizzy, and it takes all her self-control not to dive back in immediately.

Amity rests her hand on Willow’s arm and leads her further into the room. “Why don’t you lie down with us?” she says quietly.

Willow’s head is still spinning as the three of them lie on the pile of blankets spread out on the bedroom floor. Luz is just as flushed as Willow and Amity are, her face ruddy and vibrant and full of life. Willow can’t stop looking at her—she doesn’t know if anything could be more beautiful. Luz is grinning wide, strung up with barely contained excitement, and the sun spilling in from the window makes even her dark hair seem to glow. The narrowness of the space means she’s a bit squashed between Willow and Amity, and she looks wholly content with it, nestling back against Amity as she pulls Willow in closer.

“I really, really like you,” she says, all giddy and awestruck. “Do you want…this? Would you be okay with all three of us together like this?”

As if Willow would complain about any arrangement that involves Luz being alive and safe and happy. As if she wouldn’t hang the stars for Luz no matter what.

“I mean, I did already kiss her,” Willow replies, teasing but ever so lightly, still staring into Luz’s eyes and wanting to never look away.

Luz kisses her again, like she wants to devour her. Willow doesn’t know how long it lasts, and she doesn’t want to—she’d happily lose herself to a kiss like this.

“Alright,” says Amity after a while. “My turn.”

Willow begrudgingly pulls away, but Luz looks offended on her behalf. “Amity, you got here like an hour before Willow did. Let her have some fun!”

“I intend to,” Amity says as she grabs the front of Willow’s shirt.

This kiss cuts far deeper than their first—for without the pretense of grief, it’s just about them. Their whole history rattles around inside Willow, from childhood triumphs to awkward amends, and every act of cruelty in between. Not a single memory goes unmolested by the feeling of Amity’s mouth on her own. She drinks it in eagerly.

Outside, the sun falls behind the skyline. The forest erupts in a cacophony of nocturnality, all chirps and hoots and sundering wood. The oceans keep boiling. And the three of them treasure their small part in the rhythm of life.