"Join me, Abby?" Victor asked, taking her elbow in his furred hand and steering her into an adjacent room, this one much smaller than the Grand Hall. The walls curved, closing the circular room at two french doors that were open to the night. The bowl-shaped ceiling was spun with silvery cobwebs.
"Oh," Abby gasped, placing a hand to her mouth. The cobwebs were being spun by millions of tiny spiders.
"Stunning, aren't they? On loan from The Sky Mothers in Australia. There is a witch there who speaks to them. She's brilliant."
A breathtaking witch, costumed as a flamingo, with glowing violet plumage streaming behind her, disembarked from a round coffee table where several other witches had assembled on a jumble of comfortable silk couches, talking intimately. She came to Victor and kissed him softly on the lips.
"What do we have here?" she asked, eying Abby mischievously. "A sea nymph? A bewitching Siren?"
"Melusine," Victor whispered, squeezing Abby's elbow and cocking an eyebrow.
The flamingo's eyes lit at the mention of Melusine and Abby felt she was missing an inside joke.
"Join us?" The flamingo asked, pulling Abby toward their table.
She glanced behind her, knowing that she should find Sebastian, but felt instead the urgent need to know these young witches that seemed so together, but also younger than the other witches she had met and, perhaps, more alive.
She sank into one of the chairs and took the glass of rose wine thrust into her hand.
"I'm Kendra," the flamingo told her. "This," she pointed to a young man on her left in a silver-sequined leotard with dazzling black wings and red, sparkling eyelids, "is Dante or Cupid's Shadow tonight."
Dante arched his eyebrows and leaned toward her, kissing her outstretched hand gently.
"Ezra," said the girl to Abby's left. Her voice was low, rough–hewn, and hardly matched the periwinkle fairy costume frothy with chiffon. Her brown eyes were big and kind and she did not shake Abby's hand, but placed her hands in prayer before her chest and gave her a slight bow. Abby could see tattoos creeping from her dress along her neck and down her arms.
"And our final comrade," Victor told her with a nudge, "is Marcus, but as you can see he's currently unavailable."
She followed the line of Victor's finger to the french doors and there, on the stone ledge, she saw a witch walking ever so casually on his hands. He gripped the beam beneath him and, monkey-like, moved along. His reddish waves brushed his biceps and he grinned, despite how difficult the maneuver must have been. Upside down, his legs were one, held stiff with toes pointing toward the sky.
"Whoa," she breathed, leaning forward in her chair as if to somehow peer out over the ledge, which she knew dropped to water far below. Though Sorciére was not an island as Ula was, it was at the outermost speck of a peninsula that jutted into a rushing river, The Garonne according to Helena.
Marcus, as if feeling her eyes, looked up and, for a moment, they stared across the room at one another. He winked and then powerfully shoved himself upward, flipped once and landed on the ledge with both feet. He dropped to the floor and strode into the room, bowing to Abby.
"Is the circle complete then?" he asked, eying Victor and then moving his gaze to the other witches.
"Shut up Marcus and sit," Kendra told him, flicking champagne from her fingers at his face. He licked it from the edge of his lip and leaned backward into his chair, nearly folding his body in half so that his legs dangled behind him
"Marcus is our acrobat." Victor shrugged. "You can't believe how he comes in handy."
"Yes I can," she said. "I've spent enough time avoiding death in trees that I would kill to be an acrobat."
Victor nodded and Abby noticed the significant glances that they all seemed to exchange, somehow casually enough that she almost thought she imagined it...almost.
"What? Is that off limits?" she asked, when no one spoke.
She suddenly wanted desperately to talk about some of the things that she had experienced since becoming a witch. For the first time since it all began, she felt like she sat with people who understood.
"I totally get it," Ezra chimed in, "and there are no off limit topics--not with us. Now those old vultures out there," she gestured toward the lobby where two older witches in gray robes ambled by, "mum's almost always the word."
Abby smiled and relaxed deeper into her chair.
"I feel that," she admitted. "That silence. My coven is so quiet sometimes..." She trailed off because at the first mention of Ula, color had begun to climb up her throat and into her face. Was she betraying her coven by speaking about them to these witches?
"Abby," Victor interrupted her thoughts. "We're a lot alike. You feel it, don't you?"
She did, of course she did and, as a witch, she had begun to allow those feelings first priority. That was the whole foundation of intuition that Elda had taught her, an unexplainable knowing. She felt like she belonged with these five witches.
"We're all new to this, Abby," Kendra told her, sweeping her long hair over her shoulder. Kendra looked young as did the other four witches.
"How new?" Abby asked, regretting the question almost immediately. What if young turned out to be decades into the life rather than centuries?
"Two years," Kendra stated simply.
"Three," said Victor. And on they went--Dante two, Ezra four and Marcus one and a half.
"Just months for me," Abby told them. "Not quite three."
Marcus whistled and slowly rotated so that he sat upright.
"Those are some hard months."
"The hardest," Ezra added, reaching over to give Abby's hand a supportive squeeze.
"Made harder when you go the traditional route," Victor said, staring at Abby sympathetically.
"What do you mean the traditional route? Are there other options?"
"Of course," Kendra chimed in quickly. "There's life in a coven and life on the outside."
"Also known as freedom," Victor said seriously, contemplating Abby as he traced the rim of his wine glass with his finger.
"How so?" she asked, but of course she already knew--freedom from Elda, Faustine and her other teachers, freedom from the heavy stone walls and the constant expectations and the learning that some days felt a bit like torture.
"I don't think you need me to answer that Abby," Victor said.
"Let's show her instead," Dante added, reaching a hand into one of his long black boots. He pulled out a silk cloth and unwrapped it slowly on the table in front of them. Inside lay a scattering of small bones. Dante's deft fingers swept the bones and Abby saw what looked like the skull and first several ribs of a fish with the bent points of wings emerging from its sides. He took a small silver pouch from his pocket and set it next to the bones.
He closed his eyes, spoke too low for anyone to hear and then swept the bones into his champagne. He tilted the pouch above his glass and sprinkled a dusting of green flakes into the shimmering liquid. The other witches drained their glasses and then passed the empty ones to him.
"You too, Abby," Victor nodded at her glass. "Join us."
She looked at their expectant faces, swallowed the last of her wine and passed the crystal goblet to Dante.
He twirled his glass and then poured a small sip of his champagne into each of their glasses, mindful that the bones did not slip out.
When she took her glass back, she noticed that the champagne had turned darker, muddy almost.
"Cheers," Kendra said, conspiratorially leaning in. The others followed her and their glasses met in the center of the table. Abby took a deep breath and clinked her own against the others. She closed her eyes and took a drink...
****
Have you seen Abby?" Sebastian asked coming up behind Dafne who stood, staring moodily through one of the castle's windows.
The witch gasped and stumbled back as if he had burned her.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said quickly backing away, but still looking at her.
Her dark eyes looked stormy and glazed as if she'd had too much to drink, or something else entirely.
"Hittin' the bottle pretty hard?" He meant it as a joke, but of course she only glared at him silently.
"Never mind," he sighed, holding his hands up and backing away.
****
It happened immediately, before she even tasted the acrid liquid in her glass. The room and the other witches fell away. She spun in a giant vortex seeing only blurred colors and shapes. And then all was still and Victor's dark eyes were close to hers.
"She's here," Victor said. The other witches gazed at her, their expressions gleeful.
She looked around and gasped, but the water that should have flooded her mouth did not. She sat on an ocean floor, her legs tucked beneath her, and the sand spread out in gentle ridges. The other witches sat as well, cross-legged, and they appeared to be more interested in her reaction than their own.
"We're at the bottom of the Atlantic," Kendra told her, spreading her arms out to either side and laughing.
Abby realized that no words were actually being spoken. Their conversation consisted entirely of their thoughts.
"Probably two-hundred feet deep here," Dante thought.
"The ocean?" Abby asked.
The others laughed and Victor grabbed her hand.
"Look." He pointed overhead where a school of stingray drifted along. Their white bellies turned and caught shafts of moonlight. As they crossed over the group, their shadows cast everyone in darkness.
"How?" Abby asked, when her amazement had abated enough for words.
"Magic," Dante said, moving from his knees and darting straight up into the water. Marcus followed, back flipping and then diving back to the sand.
"Have we astral-traveled then?" she asked, feeling the sand which felt like sand. She could also feel the cold in the water, though less intense than it should have been.
"Sort of," Victor told her. "We haven't exactly named it yet."
"You discovered it then?"
"We created it," Kendra corrected her.
"Well, that's a little dramatic," Ezra interrupted, earning a scowl from Kendra. "There are a lot of witches who have discovered unheard of magic and never written of it, so we don't know..."
"Oh, come on," Kendra snapped. "Let Dante have his victory."
"Hush," Victor laughed, moving to his feet. He pulled Abby up. She could feel the great pressure of the water around her and above her. Her ears popped and Victor laughed at the look of horror that briefly crossed her face.
"It's okay," he said, slipping a finger into his own ear. "Happens all the time." He stuck his tongue in his cheek and made a loud popping noise. "Shall we swim?"
She followed him as he pushed off and her costume did not feel wet or heavy, but merely floated. They swam towards the surface, but then Victor broke to the side. He kicked his feet gently, barely parting the water and kept his hand in hers, gently pulling her along.
She gazed at the seabed, dotted with gray shells and low slithering fish. The sand sloped down and then dropped away where below them an enormous shipwreck slid into view.
She jerked her hand from Victors, shocked at the enormity of the ship , rising like a hulking corpse in the dark water. Its hull pointed up, but still it lay far beneath the surface.
"Don't be afraid," Victor told her. "Nothing can hurt you here."
She nodded, but her chest felt tight and she grasped his hand harder as they swam down into the dark cavity. It was like the pirates' ships she'd watched in childhood movies. The sails were long gone, but a few tattered ropes still clung to the mast.
The ship seemed to undulate with the water, its presence feeling sinister and, when Abby began to kick her legs and propel herself back in the water, Victor grabbed her hand.
"No, come on," he told her, leaving no room for resistance as he gripped her arm and swam down towards it.
As they drew closer, she began to see small schools of silvery fish darting through the decayed portholes in the ships sides. The ship was tilted, its stern lost in the debris field scattered along the ocean floor.
"It's amazing, isn't it?"
"Spectacular," she thought, and this time did not resist when he pulled her towards the main deck.
****
When she returned to her body, swooning with the secret of what she had just experienced, Abby felt desperate to find Sebastian. She wanted him to meet Victor and the other witches and she could barely wait to describe their ocean journey.
She left her new friends and returned to the Great Hall, realizing that she needed a bathroom break before she hunted for her missing sidekick. Abby found the latrine, a vacuous space of stone and mirrors with giant sunken tubs adrift in rose petals.
Her head swam and the champagne and the thousand new faces all masked and adorned in feathers and glitter only added to her light-headedness. She leaned her hands on the edges of a stone basin, breathing deeply the perfume of the space and sneaking glances at her own unfamiliar face. Her cheeks, flushed pink, made her brown eyes appear darker, sparkling beneath painted silvery black lashes and candlelight.
She grinned and shook her head in disbelief at the good fortune of such an inspiring night. Never had she experienced anything like it and, as crystal glasses were thrust into her hand and handsome witches in strange costume whisked her onto the floor and twirled her beneath the dazzling night sky, she grew exuberant and tipsy. )Now, to top it all off, she'd met other witches who actually understood her and they lived in Chicago, a city that Abby loved.
A toilet flushed and she spun around, unaware that she was not alone in the bathroom. Soft footsteps padded from behind a copper door strung with garlands of fresh flowers. The witch was young, strikingly beautiful and hauntingly familiar.
Abby searched her face. When had she met the young woman who stared at her now as if they were old friends?
"Abby," she breathed, and took Abby's hands into her own very pale, very cold fingers. Abby studied the wide-set hazel eyes and small girlish mouth.
"Do I know you?" Abby asked, but the face before her slid into place in a photograph that Abby had seen, a photograph of a young woman in a red dress standing in front of a wooden swing set.
"Claire," the girl said before Abby could find her own voice.
"Claire?" For a moment she still could not place her and then..."Wait, Sebastian's Claire? But how?"
Claire laughed, high and strange, and then snapped her long slender fingers.
"Magic, silly."
Abby leaned heavily against the sink. The rush of the evening was moving in another direction and she had begun to feel dizzy, black dots sparkling in front of her.
"No time for that now," Claire demanded, gripping Abby's forearms in her hands and squeezing hard.
"We have to go to Sebastian," Abby said suddenly, realizing that she held his most coveted prize only inches away.
Claire shook her head and her image twitched and faded. Her touch on Abby's arms lost its intensity.
"Follow the smoke," Claire whispered, but as Abby watched, Claire's eyes grew wide with fear and she let out a tiny, guttural sound. Abby turned to the mirror where Claire's gaze had locked. In the back of the latrine, a witch dressed in a Native American costume stood watching them. Her thick, black hair fell in a heavy braid over her shoulder. She wore a long, deerskin dress with a heavy pelt wrapped around her neck, the dried feet of the thing, a fox, hanging by her waist.
Abby spun around, but the woman and Claire had both vanished completely.
****
Sebastian leaned against a golden column wreathed in bundles of purple flowers that smelled almost like cherry pie. His eyes swam from the booze and he took a bite from the sloppy sandwich that he held in his hand. It had been at least an hour since he'd seen Abby and figured that he should find her, though no urgency arrived at her absence. He knew that she could take care of herself and, more so, she needed time apart from him to connect wit
h other witches. He did not want to be the albatross that denied her the full experience as a new witch.
He watched a group of child witches conjuring phantom monsters. A girl costumed as Cleopatra pulled a handful of sparkly dust from her pocket and threw it into the air. A winged canine with human eyes emerged for an instant looking so real that Sebastian's arms slid off the column and he nearly fell onto his back. He caught himself as the dust broke apart and rained down on the young witches.
"They're talented, aren't they?" the voice came from behind him.
He turned to see a beautiful woman with long, flowing purple hair watching him playfully. A smile curved her dark, glossy lips. She wore a tight, black dress that hugged every curve and nook of her body, wrapping so tight across her chest that he could see the white slopes of her breasts.
"Have another," she flirted, handing him a glass of champagne.
He opened his mouth to decline, but instead took the glass and drained it in a single gulp. When he finished, he stared at it in wonder as if he couldn't understand where the flaxen liquid had gone.
Down the hall, a large wooden door swung shut and the movement caught his eye. He saw her for only an instant. Her short, dark hair hung above her pale neck. It was her tiny shoulders that gave her away. Years of his life had been lost, or perhaps gained, tormenting Claire for those narrow shoulders.
"Claire," he called out, but the girl did not turn. She disappeared into one of the many ballrooms.
He started to lunge after her, noticing that his feet felt heavier and that the gold pillar seemed to hold the entirety of his weight.
The purple-haired witch looked amused and lifted her soft fingers to his lips. She cupped his chin and looked deep into his face. He stood, riveted by her eyes that were the lightest green, almost without color. He pitched forward, but not with his body, only his mind, and fell into the crystal of her eyes. He surrendered to the darkness.
****
Abby sat on the floor and shoved her head between her knees, sucking in breaths that didn't fill her chest, but got lost somewhere in her throat. As she breathed, the champagne's effect dulled and she began to regain some of her composure.
Sorciére Page 8
