We formed concentric circles around the yew tree. Morgan and her sisters naturally took places closest to the center. They were direct descendants of the original Summers sisters of Yew Hollow, which not only made them the most respected witches of the group but also the most powerful. As each circle formed, the witches joined hands, but each time I reached for one of the women beside me, they purposely took the hand of the sister or aunt opposite me. It was a new, dirty trick. In previous years, no one would dare challenge Morgan’s decision to include me in the family rituals. On the outside of the largest circle, ostracized from everything, I caught Aunt Thelma’s eye. She stood closer to the middle, hand in hand with Rosemary and Camryn—one of Morgan’s volatile cousins. When she saw me standing alone, she gave a satisfied smirk.
The witches began to cast their auras, and a rainbow of colors reached toward the yew tree, but the ritual would not begin until Morgan initiated it. She stood with her eyes closed, the pulsing blue light of her craft reflecting off her pale face. The yew tree seemed to lean toward her as if sensing that she beheld the majority of the power within the coven. The scar on her arm flared, glowing bright blue as it felt the power of the yew tree reach out to meet it. I hissed as pain shot through the matching scar on my arm. Morgan’s eyes flew open.
“Gwenlyn?” she called, searching the circles for a glimpse of me. “Where’s Gwenlyn?”
Thelma’s smirk morphed into a sneer as I raised my hand from beyond the circle and called back, “I’m here, Morgan!”
Morgan released Laurel’s hand to beckon me forward, and relief surged through me as I fought my way to the inner circle. This time, the witches let me through, unwilling to challenge Morgan’s call. I arrived at the yew tree.
“Here?” I asked, indicating the second circle behind Morgan’s where I usually stood.
Morgan shook her head and pointed to the space beside her. “Here.”
Laurel stepped aside to make room for me and smiled as I warily took the place between her and Morgan. Each sister grasped my hand firmly, and the power of the coven rushed into every bone of my body and set them alight with inexplicable energy. It was like plunging into the cold ocean on a hot day, then breaking through the surface with enviable refreshment. I closed my eyes and let it wash over me, ignoring the murmurs of the witches behind me. No doubt they were whispering about my inclusion in the first circle, which was meant to be reserved for only Morgan and her sisters. I had never stood here before.
Morgan thought nothing of it. She chanted in Latin, her accent disjointed and Americanized. Though she was the most powerful coven leader the Summerses had seen in several decades, she’d never gotten the rhythm of the dialect down. It wasn’t a flaw though. Morgan’s modern-day senses made her who she was.
Morgan called upon the yew tree, and the yew tree answered. Its roots glowed the same blue color of the scars on our wrists, a mark of the original ancient power that made the Summers coven what it was. The light traveled up the trunk of the tree and into its many limbs and leaves, until the entire tree illuminated the square. At this point, Morgan switched to English so that everyone could understand the purpose of the ritual spells.
“Hi, Mom.”
The coven groaned all at once, and Morgan grinned at her own joke. But there was some truth in the way she addressed the tree. Cassandra was one with the yew tree, so in a way, we honored the fallen witch every time we came to perform traditions.
“We’re here for the spring equinox, which occurred earlier today,” Morgan announced. “As you all know, this time of year is when the earth renews itself after months of hardship. There are new buds on the trees and plenty of baby rabbits hopping through the fields.”
“Pests!” one of the older witches called out. “They’re eating their way through my garden. Put them in a stew!”
The witches chortled, and Morgan cracked a grin. “How about we cast a spell to repel the baby rabbits from your garden instead, Aunt Thyme?”
Aunt Thyme grumbled under her breath.
“As I was saying,” Morgan went on, “it’s time for the coven to do a renewal of our own. We have several spells to update, mostly importantly our secrecy and protection spells. When everyone is ready, we can begin.”
A murmur of assent went through the coven, which was then reflected in the magic around the circle. Certainty and intention made the energy in the circle fat and profound. It swelled once more, bulging toward the yew tree.
Morgan resumed chanting in Latin, and I focused on translating the spells to English. “Tree of power, we are gathered here to pay tribute to your greatness. For years, you have afforded us the protection of your branches and energy. Today, we return some of this protection and energy to you as a gift of our gratefulness. We shall work together as one entity to protect the power that you house in your roots. Make our connection with this power new.”
The yew tree shuddered, as if shaking itself awake. The auras of the witches flashed as the tree accepted the spell, and another jolt of energy pushed through everyone. The hair on my arms stood on end. Laurel squeezed my hand tighter and focused on her ability. Magnified by the coven’s power, Laurel’s craft helped new, bright-green buds grow on the yew tree’s many branches, a welcome sight after months of winter gray.
“Thank you,” Morgan said. “In addition to this renewal of connection, we also request a new spell of secrecy to keep our doings quiet from the mortals of this realm. We mean them no harm, and we wish to keep them calm and rational in our presence. Let them turn their heads from curious happenings. Let them make excuses for strange sights. Let them accept our presence in Yew Hollow and remember that this town belongs to those who have ancient magic flowing through their veins.”
Once more, the scar on my wrist twinged, reminding me that I had come by the Summerses’ ancient magic by unnatural means. A silver flash emanated from the yew tree and rippled across the town. In the distance, it hit an imaginary wall and vanished. The secrecy spell was complete.
“Next, we ask you to renew our protection spell,” Morgan continued. “Since we first came to Yew Hollow, it has been a haven for our coven. We ask that you keep our swords sharp and our shields strong—”
The yew tree flashed before Morgan had finished the spell, startling the witches around it. The protection spell usually resulted in a gold shimmer that coated the town. Instead, a strange blue smoke poured from the tree. As the trunk began to split itself in two, Morgan dragged me away from it. The witches, sensing chaos, unclasped their hands from each other’s and raised them in defensive positions instead.
From the midst of the heavy blue fog came a being who appeared to be made of smoke herself. The gas solidified into a woman with an ever-changing face. One moment, she had high cheekbones and a pointed chin. The next, she sported a plump visage and a wide jaw. Every second, she looked different than during the previous one. She only manifested from the waist up. Everything below remained in the fog that billowed from the yew tree’s cleaved trunk.
Morgan, ever the confident—or perhaps arrogant—leader, stepped forward. “Who the hell are you?”
The woman’s smile shifted through many variations as she gazed upon Morgan. “I am you. You are me. Thankfully, that means I understand your brazen personality, Miss Morgan.”
The coven gasped as the strange woman solidified into an exact copy of Morgan, albeit her skin remained blue. Morgan glared suspiciously up at her.
“Tell us what you are,” she demanded.
“I am the embodiment of your power,” the woman announced. “I am the ancient energy from which you draw your craft. I am each and every one of the Summers sisters from now until eternity.”
“Then why haven’t I ever seen you before?” Morgan asked. “Or heard of your manifestation?”
“I do not often appear in this form,” said the woman, now taking on Malia’s appearance for several moments. Malia herself looked puzzled and alarmed. “But I have been called upon to address a situati
on.”
Morgan crossed her arms. “What kind of situation?”
“This is one among you who is not a true member of this coven,” the woman announced. “Yet she possesses a piece of the power I share with you. This was not sanctioned, and so it is an abomination.”
My throat closed up as Morgan’s eyes flickered toward me. I hid my scarred arm behind my back, hoping this wasn’t going the way I thought it would.
“Every woman here belongs to the Summerses,” Morgan declared. “We are one united family. There are no abominations here.”
“You cannot lie to me,” the genie-like woman replied. “You cannot fool me or deceive me. I know the truth of all your thoughts. I am familiar with every drop of blood this coven is made of. In this way, I am aware of the one who does not share our blood. That one.”
The figure raised a smoky finger and pointed straight at me. My heart dropped into my stomach with a resounding splash. After all these years, I was still an outsider.
“Gwenlyn has been with our coven since she was sixteen,” Morgan said, squaring her shoulders. “She shares our power because she saved my life. She is as much a member of the Summerses as any other woman here is.”
But a whisper of disagreement made its way through the witches behind me, and that was all the odd spirit woman needed to fuel her reply.
“It appears not everyone believes this,” she said, acknowledging the other Summerses with a slow nod. When she rested her gaze on me, I shrank back. “Gwenlyn Bennett. Do you wish to become a full member of the Summers coven?”
“Y-yes,” I stammered. “The Summerses are my family. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Then it shall be so,” the woman said. “If you complete the traditional ritual.”
“What ritual?” I asked, stepping closer now that there seemed to be more hope. “I’ll do anything.”
“Don’t agree so quickly,” Morgan muttered in my ear. “I’m sensing there might be some strings involved with this.”
The woman in blue shifted into Karma’s body. “Not so. The coming-of-age ritual is traditionally completed by every member of the Summerses coven at sixteen years. Every woman among us has taken part in the ritual.”
“Is that true?” I asked Morgan. “I never heard of a coming-of-age ritual.”
“These days, it’s more celebrational than anything else,” Morgan answered. “It’s like a sweet sixteen. It’s when you technically become a full member of the coven.”
“Then what’s the issue?” I said. “If a bunch of sixteen-year-olds can do it, so can I.” Before Morgan could reply, I looked up at the spirit. “I accept your terms.”
“Excellent,” the woman said, and the smoke began to retreat into the tree, reeling her in with it. “You have two weeks.”
“Whoa, what?” Morgan waved her arms, trying to get the spirit to stay longer. “Hey, wait a second! The ritual traditionally takes years to prepare for, then hours of work for each task! Gwenlyn can’t complete it in two weeks.”
“The girl turns twenty-six in two weeks,” the spirit replied as she gradually disappeared. “Once the decade passes, it will be too late for her to complete the ritual, and she will never be considered a member of the Summers coven.”
“But it’s impossible—” Morgan started.
The spirit waved a hand, and the blue smoke extended tendrils that wrapped around my wrist. I yelped as my skin burned, but no amount of flailing cast the smoke from my body. When it finally dissipated, it took with it the blue glow that usually lit up the scar on my wrist. Now, the rough line on my skin was no more than a normal deviation in skin tone. In addition, I felt empty inside. Without the energy of the coven, I was back to square one: depressed, abandoned, and angry at the world for how it failed to serve me.
I sank to the ground. Morgan and her sisters immediately surrounded me. Though each of them attempted to lend me energy, it wasn’t the same as before. I could no longer share my craft with them, nor them with me.
“We’ll do it,” Morgan announced to the spirit. “Once Gwenlyn completes the ritual, I expect you to return every ounce of ancient power to her.”
“Follow the rules,” the spirit replied. “I am not against you, Gwenlyn. I hope you triumph.”
With that, the spirit disappeared completely. The blue smoke sucked itself back into the yew tree, and the trunk welded itself back together. The coven stood silent to process the enormity of what had just happened.
“Did we complete the equinox rituals?” someone called from the back of the group.
“No,” Morgan answered tersely. “The spirit interrupted the protection spell. Yew Hollow’s shield is weak.”
“We should finish now,” Malia suggested. “Else we have to wait until the next spring equinox.”
Morgan clenched her teeth as she examined the trunk of the yew tree. It looked completely normal, not at all like it had just been split in half by a magical spirit. “I’m afraid we can’t. The yew tree has closed itself off to us.”
The coven broke out in hushed conversation, and I felt their eyes rest on me. They blamed this on me, and for good reason. I couldn’t feel the yew tree’s presence because my link to the Summerses had been broken, but the Summerses couldn’t reach for the tree’s power because I had forced myself into their family without regard for their traditions.
“This is my fault,” I muttered, staring at the bland, lightless scar on my wrist. “I should never have come here.”
Morgan knelt to be on my level. “Don’t you ever say that again. This is fixable, Gwenlyn. Yes, we’re going to have to rush you through the ritual tasks, but with help, it can be done. Don’t doubt yourself, and don’t you dare doubt me either.” Morgan’s eyes caught the reflection of the moonlight, the silver glint filled with determination and love.
“If there’s one thing I never doubted, it’s you,” I told Morgan.
With a grim smile, she helped me to my feet and slipped her arm through mine. Then she addressed the rest of the coven. “Return to your homes and await my instructions! In the meantime, be on the lookout for any suspicious behavior. While our protection spell is weak, we need to be more vigilant than ever. Keep Yew Hollow safe, everyone.”
The witches dispersed and headed home. Morgan, Karma, Laurel, and Malia flanked me as we began our journey from the square. Silence followed us at first. None of the sisters knew what to say. As we traveled beyond the streetlights and up the hill to the Summerses’ house, Laurel recruits more fairies to light our way. The tiny beings floated along in orbs of glowing golden light, but their usual playfulness was dampened by the unfortunate mood.
As we stepped onto the porch, the sisters bade me goodnight. Laurel kissed my forehead, Malia squeezed my shoulder, and Karma lightly punched me in the arm. I mustered a smile that didn’t extend to my eyes. As the other sisters headed upstairs to their rooms, Morgan tugged on my arm.
“Stay with me,” she said. “We need to discuss this.”
She lit a fire in the living room hearth. Though it was March, the large house was drafty at night. I settled into my favorite chair. A small gray cat, one of many that lingered around the Summers home, used the arm as a scratching post then leapt onto my knees. Her fluffy body rumbled as she purred. She settled on my lap and kneaded her paws against my stomach.
“You’ve been chosen,” Morgan joked as I stroked the cat’s head. She conjured a cup of tea out of thin air and handed it to me. Then she sat on the sofa and curled her legs under her body, relatively catlike herself. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now.”
“Empty.” I kept my focus on the cat’s long whiskers. This conversation was easier with a distraction. “Like nothing matters anymore. Like everything I do or say is pointless.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Why now?” I asked. “I’ve been living with you all for years. I’ve participated in the yew tree rituals tens of times before. Then all of a sudden, this weird goddess
shows up? I don’t get it.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.” Morgan kicked off her slippers and dug her thumbs into the arch of her foot. “My guess is someone went to the yew tree before tonight’s rituals and ended up summoning her. Someone who doesn’t want you to be a member of this coven anymore.”
“Aunt Thelma,” I grumbled.
“Most likely.”
“What did I ever do to her?”
Morgan’s fingers glowed as she pressed magic into her aching feet. “Gwen, some people are just jerks. No amount of sense or justification will change that. Thelma’s a traditionalist. She doesn’t believe in sharing the ancient power with outsiders.”
“So now I have to complete this absurd coming of age ritual?”
“Yeah, the original version.”
“What does that mean?”
She snapped her fingers, and a bowl full of steaming water appeared on the floor in front of the sofa. She eased her feet into it and sighed. Her body relaxed for the first time all day. Meanwhile, every muscle of mine was tense and taught.
“Like I said earlier, the ritual is more ceremonial these days,” Morgan said. “When a witch turns fifteen, she has one year to complete three tasks: the community, self, and soul tasks. The soul tasks takes place on the day of her sixteenth birthday, and if she succeeds, she becomes a true adult witch in the eyes of the coven.”
“Hang on, didn’t Rosemary just have her ritual last year?” I asked.
“She did,” Morgan confirmed, “which is probably why it occurred to Thelma to use this as a way to boot you out of the coven.”
“Then why did she wait to challenge me?”
“So you’d have less time to complete the tasks,” she answered.
I swirled my tea around and watched the leaves at the bottom of the cup float to and fro. “Two weeks instead of an entire year. Do you really think I can do it?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’ll help you.”
Lost Magic Page 4
