Lost Magic

by Alexandria Clarke

  “That’s most likely the festival punch talking,” I told Pilar. “Everyone drinks a bit too much, if you ask me.”

  “Mmm.” The mayor looked at Arianna, who gazed up at her with absolutely reverence. Pilar knelt to be on the tween’s level. “Can you do me a favor, sweetie?” Arianna nodded, too starstruck to reply. “Can you make sure nothing funny happens at the festival this weekend?”

  “I’ll try,” Arianna answered breathlessly. “Anything for you.”

  Aaron made a gagging sound. I took him by the hand and rushed the rest of the kids toward the exit of the town hall. “Don’t worry, Mayor Mendez,” I called over my shoulder. “I promise I have everything under control!”

  As soon as we were out of earshot of the rest of the town, I flicked Arianna’s ear.

  “Ow!” She cupped her hand over both sensory organs to protect them from further abuse. “What the hell was that for?”

  “Whose side are you on?” I demanded. “Your family’s or the mayor’s?”

  “I thought you liked Pilar!” Arianna said. “You voted for her. You wouldn’t shut up about how progressive she was and how Yew Hollow needs someone like her.”

  “I changed my mind,” I said. “There’s something fishy about her, and you can’t go promising your allegiance to someone we don’t know.”

  “I didn’t promise anything.”

  “Anything for you?” I quoted, mimicking Arianna’s breathless tone.

  “Shut up!”

  “Don’t tell me to shut up. You shut up!”

  “Ladies,” a familiar voice said. “Are we bickering like twelve-year-olds again?”

  We had crested the hill upon which the original Summers house—a Victorian-style mansion with several spell-made additions and expansions—sat. Morgan Summers, our coven leader and the closest thing I had to a mother or older sister, reclined in the rocking chair on the front porch. She had used a spell to both eavesdrop on our conversation and throw her voice far enough for us to hear it from this distance.

  The little kids, including Aaron, ran up the porch steps and begged Morgan for a treat. She tapped each of their noses in turn, and tiny toys appeared out of the flash of her blue aura. Ivy, Lily, and Spruce all received a miniature plant reminiscent of their names that bloomed and wilted repeatedly. Aaron got a small dragon that breathed fire and fit in the palm of his hands. Satisfied, the kids ran off to the backyard. Several strings of fairy lights illuminated the wide field behind the Summers house, and the faint sounds of numerous witches partying met my ears.

  “I am a twelve year old,” Arianna announced to Morgan in her defense. “Gwenlyn’s the one who’s acting immature.”

  “Way to sell me out,” I muttered.

  Morgan patted Arianna’s hand affectionately. Her blue aura glowed once more, and a book from the coven’s hidden archives popped into existence. Arianna’s eyes went wide as she examined the title.

  “Popular Spells from the Twenties and Thirties,” she gasped excitedly. “I’ve been wanting to read this for ages!”

  “Lucky you,” Morgan said. “Run along. There’s a party out back.” Arianna buried her nose in the book and stumbled off the porch steps. As she disappeared around the side of the house, Morgan patted the seat beside her. “Come talk to me, Gwen. What happened at the meeting? Is there trouble with the festival?”

  I settled in the swinging chair and propped my feet on the coffee table. “No, everything went smoothly, but I had a weird encounter with the mayor after everything wrapped up.”

  “Pilar? I can’t imagine why. She’s always been forthcoming with us.”

  “She was certainly forthcoming,” I said. “She warned the coven not to do any magic during the spring equinox.”

  Morgan was not stunned easily, but at this information, her eyebrows shot toward her scalp. “Is she a witch? I’ve never seen her aura.”

  “She can’t be,” I replied. “We would have known, wouldn’t we?”

  “Not always,” Morgan murmured. “How did she phrase it exactly?”

  “She said she’d heard about our ‘funny business.’”

  Morgan’s expression relaxed. “That’s all? How did you respond?”

  “I said the only funny business that happens at the festivals is the product of too much punch.”

  “You didn’t mention that Karma makes the punch, did you?”

  Karma, one of Morgan’s three sisters, was notorious for her love of booze. She also enchanted the punch every year with a spell of good fortune, the side effects of which included general wooziness and strange decision-making.

  “I did not.”

  Morgan squeezed my knee. “Good. Let’s not worry about it for now. The secrecy spell is due for renewal and reinforcement, which is probably why the rumors are going around. We’ll take care of it after the festival, and no one will be the wiser. Including the mayor.” She stood up and offered me her hand. “Come on. There’s nothing like a festival pre-party to get everyone’s energies moving.”

  The coven was a fan of parties in general. The Summerses valued family over everything else, and when we all got together, the shared energy and power invigorated everyone. It helped that the Summerses were one of the largest known covens in the nation. We were forty witches strong and always growing, which meant we had enough natural power to go around. If a few witches were feeling weak, a party was the best way to revive them.

  The backyard of the Summers house was lit up and lively. The fairy lights were actual fairies, lured out of the trees by Laurel, Morgan’s youngest sister, who had the ability to speak to the earth. The music was played by a set of enchanted instruments. The guitar strummed itself, the keyboard played its own keys, and the drum set was manned by an invisible marionette. Likewise, platters of food floated in between the guests, offering appetizers and other snacks to those in attendance. The witches danced, talked, and let their auras spring free without fear of discovery. At times like these, we were at the height of our truest selves.

  As soon as Morgan was spotted, she was whisked away by the other witches to join in on the celebration. Arianna sat under a cluster of fairies, who provided enough light for her to read by. Aaron and the girls had joined the other children in the middle of the dance floor. I snagged an appetizer off a passing tray and made to sit to enjoy the view. It wasn’t long before Rosemary, one of the eldest coven children at seventeen, came by to pull me out of my seat and onto the dance floor.

  As I spun Rosemary around to the frenetic music, the auras of the other witches reached out long tendrils and wrapped around us. Rosemary’s pink aura mingled with mine, creating beautiful blooming vines with pink flowers. I laughed as everyone’s energy flowed through me. There was a time when I thought I’d never know what true happiness felt like. Now, I cherished every moment like this one.

  Suddenly, a few auras detached from mine. I felt the breakage in my chest, as if someone had punched holes in between my ribs. Rosemary’s hand was ripped out of my grasp, and the abrupt loss of power forced me to my knees. I gasped for breath, trying to balance out my energy and fill the emptiness in my soul.

  Someone knocked aside the witches around me. Aunt Thelma, a domineering woman of nearly six feet, sneered down at me. “Morgan’s stray doesn’t deserve to mingle with my niece’s pure aura. This is not your true coven, Gwenlyn Bennett. Don’t forget that.”

  2

  “Completely uncalled for.”

  “Totally rude.”

  “Forget rude! She could have injured Gwenlyn.”

  Four faces swam above me as I came to a groggy consciousness. Morgan, of course, was there, along with her three sisters: Malia, Karma, and Laurel. Seeing each of them automatically relaxed me. This was my family. I was safe with them.

  The stars twinkled beyond their quizzical expressions, or had the fairies not yet retired for the night? The backyard was quiet. The party had ended, rather abruptly. Trash littered the grass and the wispy threads of different colored auras
wavered in the air.

  Laurel beckoned something with a wave-like undulation of her hand, and the stars gathered closer to my face, giving the sisters a better view of it. Definitely fairies then. Laurel crouched over me. Like many members of the coven, she had pale blonde hair and pretty gray eyes.

  “Gwenlyn?” Laurel said. “Can you hear us?”

  I groaned.

  “We’ll take that as a yes.” Karma, Morgan’s favorite sister though she’d never admit it, was a troublemaker in disguise. She and Morgan shared the same shade of honey brown hair, but Karma’s eyes were gray while Morgan’s were green. Nevertheless, they looked almost like twins.

  “Who did it?” Malia, the eldest of the sisters, questioned. Originally, Malia had been destined to take over the coven from Cassandra, the sisters’ mother, but when Morgan proved a better fit for the job, Malia respectfully declined the position. She was the definition of grace and wisdom. She also sported the Summers’ trademark pale hair and gray eyes combination, but out of the four sisters, she resembled her mother the most. “Gwenlyn, do you remember who pulled you out of the energy connection?”

  “It was Thelma,” Morgan answered tersely for me. “I saw Gwenlyn go down.”

  I coughed and tried to sit up. The atoms that made up my body sank into the ground, each one pulling me down like tiny, imperceptible bowling balls. I felt heavy and empty at the same time, like the energy sap had taken whatever essence made up my soul and left me with the limp shell of my existence.

  “Take it easy,” Karma warned, steadying her hand against my shoulder. “If you get up too quickly, it’ll make you retch.”

  Her advice came too late. My stomach turned over, and I whipped my head around to avoid splashing the sisters as I heaved. Laurel’s sky-blue aura flashed, and the grass reached up to catch the contents of my stomach. When I was finished, the grass retreated, and there was no sign of the mess. All four sisters laid a hand on me, and their auras lit up the patch of earth around me. Morgan’s dark blue, Laurel’s light blue, Karma’s lilac, and Malia’s violet. Like during the dance, I felt whatever connects us—the soul or wherever our power stems from—reach out and wrap around me. It wasn’t quite as strong this time, having only four witches around me instead of forty, but at the very least, the sisters’ power replenished some of the energy and magic I had lost.

  My foggy head cleared, and the muscle aches faded. My stomach settled. I was able to prop myself up on my elbows without hurling. Morgan brushed a sweaty strand of hair away from my face. The worry lines around her eyes—subtle but present nonetheless—deepened as she regarded me.

  “I’m fine,” I said in a hoarse voice. “What happened? Where did everyone go?”

  “Thelma disconnected you from the energy connection,” Morgan said.

  “And as soon as you collapsed, Morgan flew into a frenzy,” Karma added. “Her temper tantrum scared everyone off.”

  “Thelma snuck off beforehand,” Laurel said. “The trees told me.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Morgan rubbed my shoulders, infusing the muscle with more of her own aura. If she kept giving me her energy, she would start to weaken soon, but I couldn’t pull away from her comforting touch. “When I get ahold of Thelma—”

  “Morgan.” When Malia said Morgan’s name, she took on one of two tones: warning or glee. This was definitely a warning. “You can’t go after Thelma. She’s one of our elders.”

  Morgan plucked a nearby dandelion and crushed the fuzzy bulb in her fist, causing Laurel to wince. “I don’t care how old she is. What she did was unforgivable. She could have hindered Gwenlyn’s power for life.”

  Laurel patted my shin with affection. “Gwen, honey. Can you give us a little energy test? Just to make sure you’re functioning regularly.”

  I shook off the dregs of my magic-induced hangover and looked inside myself. Witchcraft, as a science, did not make sense. None of us knew how our power stored itself, nor the exact method of accessing it. Instinct guided us instead. Our craft was ancient and unfathomable, and accepting that fact was the key to becoming a great witch. If you thought too hard about it, it became elusive.

  I found the heart of my power and prodded at it. I envisioned a tiny electric ball of green light, sparking and flashing whenever I called upon it. As I let the magic escape—controlled, of course—the electricity reached out. Coils of power snaked their way through my body and eventually beyond it. When I opened my eyes, my skin glowed with the reflection of my forest-green aura.

  As always, Laurel delighted in the color, clapping her hands together with appreciation. Though the color of her own aura suited her, she loved my earthy tether to the magical world. Karma, Malia, and especially Morgan were similarly relieved to see my aura glow.

  Karma lightly punched my shoulder. “Good to have you back, Gwen.”

  “I still don’t understand.” I concentrated my aura in my palms, an old exercise Morgan taught me a long time ago to work on controlling my craft. “What happened at the energy draw? Why would Aunt Thelma do this to me? I’ve barely spoken to her.”

  Morgan looked at her sisters. “Would you mind leaving us alone? We have a few things to discuss.”

  “Of course,” Malia said, pushing herself up from the dewy ground. Laurel followed suit, but Karma refused to budge. Malia beckoned to her. “Come on, Karma.”

  “I could stick pins in her,” Karma offered. She had a gift for voodoo, though she did not use her ability unless absolutely necessary due to the inherent danger associated with it. “If you want to get back at Thelma.”

  “Get out of here, troublemaker,” Morgan said.

  Karma rolled her eyes and joined the others. “You used to be fun, Morgan. Good luck, Gwen. See you tomorrow.”

  I feebly waved goodbye as the sisters went inside the house. When the kitchen light turned on, Karma and Laurel pressed their noses against the window to watch us. Malia drew them away from the glass and closed the curtains with a quick snap of magic.

  “Up you get,” Morgan said, taking my elbow to help me stand. We walked up the creaky porch steps and settled in the Adirondack chairs behind the kitchen window. “There you go. Comfortable?”

  “You’re coddling me.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Since when?” I leaned into the wooden braces of the chair, letting the rods massage my spine. “You’ve always enjoyed throwing me into the deep end. Why is this any different? Just be straight with me, and tell me what happened.”

  Morgan’s teeth clenched together. “It appears Aunt Thelma didn’t like that you were involved with the energy connection.”

  “Why not? I’ve been to a bunch of these parties.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose. The headache lingered a bit. “All of a sudden, Thelma decides to get offended by it?”

  “Rosemary is Thelma’s direct niece,” Morgan explained. “Traditionally, you only share energies with the witches within your own lineage. When you and Rosemary started trading powers, Thelma took it poorly.”

  “Rosemary pulled me into the dance, not the other way around,” I argued. “Besides, that idea is completely archaic. I’m sure there are plenty of witches from different covens that share power.”

  “I agree with you,” Morgan said, “but here in Yew Hollow, we’ve always stuck to our guns. I’m trying to change that, but you’ve witnessed firsthand what happened when you stray from tradition. Thelma and many of the older witches in our coven remember what it was like before I became the leader. My mother didn’t push boundaries. She believed in the old ways because they had served us so well.”

  “But you adopted me,” I reminded Morgan. “I’m a part of this coven, no matter what Thelma thinks.”

  Morgan rewarded me with a wry smile. “Yes, you are, and I couldn’t be prouder to have you as my apprentice. Unfortunately, not everyone considers you a true member here.”

  The weight of this truth often lived inside me, but every once in a while, when I was reminded of my heritage, i
t came out to sit on my shoulders, in plain sight for everyone to see. No matter how far I traveled from my outrageous youth, no matter how hard I worked to develop my character, I would never truly be seen as a part of the family.

  “Maybe Aaron’s right,” I muttered.

  “The boy?” Morgan asked. “What do you mean?”

  “He asked me earlier about not feeling like he belonged,” I said. “I told him it was his choice whether or not to be a part of the family, but that’s not true, is it?”

  Morgan’s lips turned downward. “I would like it to be true, and maybe one day, it will be. For now, while the coven is still home to so many elders, it’s difficult to accept things we considered unruly and wrong for so long.”

  “Like outsiders.”

  “You’re not an outsider, Gwen. Don’t you dare call yourself that.”

  I turned over my arm and traced the blue scar along my wrist. “It doesn’t matter that I share this with you?”

  Morgan presented her own scar to me, and we pressed our arms together as we had so many years ago to bring Morgan back to life. The ancient magic within us flared like a signal in the sky, reacting to its presence in both of us.

  “It matters,” Morgan said. “It will always matter.”

  The week preceding the festival was one of the busiest of my life. I had underestimated the amount of work to be done as the head of the festival committee. Not only did I have to prepare the town square for the party the following Sunday, but I also had to answer to almost every single person who lived in Yew Hollow. Everyone had a request for the festivities, including everything from the available flavors of cotton candy to an advanced support system for the performance stage. Since I couldn’t say the stage would be reinforced by the coven’s magic, I hired a craftsman to build the extra supports and ordered an extra two cotton candy flavors from a vendor online.

  I returned to the Summers house for one reason that week: to sleep. Otherwise, I scrambled around the town, usually with a few of the kids in tow to teach them the responsibilities of living as a member of the Summers family in Yew Hollow. Thankfully, they were helpful rather than a handful. I assigned the older kids, with Rosemary in charge, to important tasks I didn’t have time for myself, such as getting approval signatures on booth arrangement from the local business owners. The little kids, I designated to decoration, but this proved alarming when a few of the girls used their craft as a shortcut when they couldn’t reach the lamp posts to hang garlands of flowers. When I caught wind of the incident, I rushed to the square and put a blanket spell on the girls, suspending their magic for a few minutes so they were unable to cast any spells. Then I quickly rescinded the memories of the surrounding locals and made up a story about how strong the wind was that day to have lifted those heavy garlands all the way to the top of the lamp posts.