Lost Magic

by Alexandria Clarke

  “And the ‘original’ version?”

  Morgan pointed a finger at my tea, and it reheated itself. “Drink that. It’ll help with the energy drain.”

  I took a slow sip. Sure enough, the warmth of the tea rushed through my entire body. Though it didn’t replace the power that had been taken from me, it did manage to dampen some of the newly-recharged depression I was experiencing.

  “You didn’t answer the question,” I told Morgan.

  She lifted her feet from the basin of water and dried them off with another spell. The basin disappeared. “The original version of the coming of age ritual was much more dangerous. Young witches had to travel far, accomplish advanced spells they had never practiced, venture between dimensions, et cetera. It was a draining practice, and some of them didn’t make it out alive. That’s why we eventually watered it down. Sure, the ritual was meant to separate the strong from the weak, but at some point, we realized all witches born into the coven—no matter their natural ability for the craft—deserved to be a part of the family.”

  “How long has it been since someone has completed the original ritual?” I asked.

  “My mother was the last,” Morgan answered. “It wasn’t required of her, but she chose to do it to prove that she would eventually be capable of leading the coven. It worked. More of the coven respected her at sixteen than they do of me now.”

  “I can’t exactly ask Cassandra for advice,” I reminded her.

  “I know,” she said. “Thyme and Alberta have completed the original ritual too. Go to them tomorrow. Ask for help. Goodness knows you’ll need it.”

  4

  “Don’t put that much!”

  “If you don’t like the way I make coffee, then make it yourself.”

  “Fine, give it to me.”

  “No way. Your coffee’s weak.”

  “Not all of us like to drink straight jet fuel in the morning.”

  The Summers sisters’ bickering was constant tradition. I woke up on the couch. Someone—Morgan, most likely—had tucked me in with a handwoven blanket and wedged an extra pillow under my head so my neck wouldn’t get sore. Normally, I slept in my own bed in the barn in the nearby woods that Morgan had restored as an apartment several years ago. When I was twenty, she had gifted the apartment to me, saying that every woman deserved a place of her own if she wanted it. I was grateful for my own space to retreat to, but it felt so natural to be with the rest of the Summerses that I rarely spent time at the barn during the day.

  I stretched and yawned then got up to see what all the fuss was about. All four sisters had squeezed into the long, thin kitchen, and all four of them were using spells to take control of a single coffee pot. Morgan and Karma, who liked their coffee dark and strong, lay waste to one side of the kitchen, while Malia and Laurel, who preferred more delicate tones to their cup of joe, fought from the opposite end. I hopped onto the counter and used a quick spell to amplify my voice.

  “In the left corner, Team Morgan and Karma are gaining ground!” I announced in a silly commentator’s voice. “Morgan fires an offensive spell at Laurel, but will it land? No! Laurel deflects with a perfectly-performed shield spell! Team Laurel and Malia have the advantage now. Can they finish what they started? Malia fires. Karma deflects and retaliates. Laurel attacks, and oh, it lands right on Karma’s nose! She’s got boils now, folks. That’s no good. Looks like today’s coffee will be light and watery.”

  Karma tapped her nose, and the boils disappeared with a glimmer of her aura. Morgan gritted her teeth and fired one more spell. As it crossed the kitchen, it split in two. Neither of her opponents were ready for it. Laurel and Malia dropped their spell on the coffee pot to defend themselves, each raising a shield made of their auras, but Morgan’s attack went up and over to blast the sisters with magically-conjured shaving cream. The coffee pot zoomed into Morgan’s grasp. She lifted it above her head in triumph.

  “And in a surprise comeback, Morgan and Karma take the win!” I shouted, jumping up and down. “What a game to behold! This one won’t be forgotten. I’ve never seen such a perfect win—” A tickle spell hit me in the stomach, and I doubled over with laughter. “Okay, okay! I’ll stop. Just quit with the tickling!”

  Malia withdrew the spell and allowed me to breathe again. I planted my hands on my knees as I recovered.

  “Did it ever occur to you all to make two pots of coffee?” I asked the sisters.

  “That’s wasteful,” Karma said as she shoveled an enormous amount of fresh grounds into the coffee maker. “We wouldn’t drink it all.”

  “Fine, then you can cast a spell to make your coffee weaker or stronger,” I suggested as an alternative. “This constant battle isn’t necessary.”

  “It sure isn’t,” Morgan said. She winked at Malia and Laurel. “But it’s much more fun.”

  “How are you feeling, Gwen?” Laurel asked. “Since last night?”

  The emptiness swept over me again, and my smile dropped as the events of last night replayed in my mind. I’d almost forgotten that my part of the Summerses’ power had been stripped away from me. I scratched the scar on my wrist.

  “I’m okay,” I lied. “I’ll be better with some breakfast and coffee.”

  “Coming up,” said Morgan, turning to the stove.

  Half an hour later, the five of us sat on the back porch to enjoy breakfast and the chilly spring morning. The Summerses could put on a meal like no one else. Malia made Belgian waffles that could convince the Belgians to rename them after her. Laurel was particularly gifted with finding the sweetest, freshest fruits. Karma made the best cappuccinos I’d ever tasted, both sweet and bold despite the strength of the coffee beans. Morgan tied everything together with fried eggs, bacon, and sausage. When the sisters cooked, they worked like the gears of a clock, each performing a different task in perfect sync with the others. They worked like mortals and witches at the same time, cooking on the gas stove but using magic to keep things from burning or to infuse the food with more intense flavors. It resulted in the best food I’d ever been lucky enough to eat in my life. My heart dropped at the idea of being banned from the coven and never joining the sisters for a meal again.

  Morgan noticed my frown and tapped the underside of my chin to lift it. “What’s the matter? Did I overcook the eggs?”

  I stabbed my fork into a yolk. It burst and flooded across my plate. “No, they’re perfect.”

  “It’s the waffles then?” Malia asked. “Did I miss an ingredient by accident?”

  “It’s not the food,” I told the sisters. “It’s all of this. If I don’t complete this coming of age ritual successfully, I’m going to have to give this up.”

  Karma stabbed a breakfast potato a little too firmly. It shot away from her fork and landed in the grass, where one of the rogue rabbits picked it up and ran away with it. “First of all,” Karma said, trying for another potato, “you won’t fail the ritual. We all had to do it. It’s easy as pie.” Neither me or Morgan mentioned that I had to complete the original version of the ritual, whatever that entailed. “Secondly, you won’t ever have to give this up. It doesn’t matter what some random weird spirit says. You’re one of us. You can stay forever, even if you don’t share our power.”

  “Actually…” Malia began, then shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “Say it,” I told her. “What is it?”

  “Well, I was reading up on the ritual last night after everyone else went to bed,” Malia admitted. “Witches who failed the tasks but survived the ritual were cast out of the coven and banished with black salt.”

  If it was possible, my heart sank even more. “Black salt? Would you guys do that to me?”

  “Never.” Morgan glared at Malia for suggesting it. “As the leader of this coven, I’m the only one with the right to create black salt.”

  “That’s normally true,” Malia said, her tone apologetic. “But in this case, the coven leader doesn’t have the final say. The laws of the ancient magic are n
ot to be broken. If any member of the coven wishes to cast Gwenlyn out should she fail—which you won’t, of course—then they will have the power to do so.”

  Morgan’s teeth clashed together. “Then they’ll have to go through me afterward.”

  “Perhaps,” Malia said. “But you won’t be able to undo the banishment.”

  “Can we stop talking about this?” Laurel suggested. She called the baby bunnies out of the tall grasses with her craft and fed them watercress from the palms of her hands. “Gwenlyn hasn’t failed the ritual. It’s pointless to fill her mind with negativity. Why don’t we focus on getting her through the tasks? If she’s going to complete them all in time, she needs to start as soon as possible.”

  Karma chomped on an extra crispy piece of bacon. “I agree. We shouldn’t dwell on what could happen until we’re faced with no other options. What do we need to do to help Gwenlyn get started?”

  “She needs a mentor,” Malia said. “It’s required that one of the elder witches take Gwenlyn under her wing.”

  “I want Morgan,” I declared at once. “She’s always been my mentor. I trust her more than anyone.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Karma teased.

  Morgan shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

  My chest tightened. “Why not?”

  “Coven leaders can’t act as mentors,” Laurel said. “It’s considered cheating. The coven leader is usually strongest, and she could pull strings for her mentee that other witches aren’t able to do. As a rule, the coven leader nor any of her closest relatives can be a mentor.”

  “Let me get this straight.” I pointed to each witch in turn with a piece of bacon. “None of you can be my mentor because you’re related to Morgan?”

  “That’s the rule,” Morgan confirmed. “You’re going to have to find another witch to sponsor you.”

  I tossed the bacon into the grass, but a crow swooped down and caught it in its beak before it landed. “Were you guys there last night? The coven is totally unsure of me now. That goddess lady made them all nervous to trust or help me. Even the ones who didn’t hate me before aren’t going to want to be my mentor.”

  “That’s not true,” Malia said. “There are plenty of witches in this coven who love you, Gwen. You just have to find one who’s willing to take this journey with you.”

  “What exactly does this journey entail?” I asked. “Everyone keeps talking about the three tasks, but no one’s told me what they are.”

  “Community, self, and soul,” Karma replied, ticking them off on her fingers. “First of all, you have to do something that serves your community. Back in the day, that meant doing something major to assist your coven, but it kind of extends to all of Yew Hollow now. You can help out the mortals or whatever.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Your tasks are assigned by the ancient power,” Morgan said. “You’ll have to go back to the yew tree to find out what they are.”

  “I have to talk to that psycho again?”

  “I doubt it,” Morgan answered. “The tree will most likely send one of our former sisters to deliver the task. They’ll tell you what to do.”

  Laurel stole a handful of strawberries from the table to offer to the bunnies. “Your self task is a bit trickier. You’ll have to confront your innermost flaw and overcome it.”

  “How am I supposed to know what my innermost flaw is?” I asked.

  “That’s part of the task,” Laurel replied. “Finding out the thing that holds you back the most.”

  “Last is the soul task,” Morgan said. “It’s the hardest and most dangerous of the three. You have to enter the soul realm to complete it.”

  I drizzled syrup across my waffled to avoid eye contact with the sisters. If they read my expression, they’d know I was both dumbfounded and terrified. “What exactly is the soul realm?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like.” Morgan refilled her coffee with a wave of her hand. “It’s an off-branch of the otherworld, where all souls—living, dead, and yet to be born—are housed.”

  “I thought our souls are housed in our bodies,” I said. “Or in the otherworld.”

  “They are,” Morgan said, “but not completely. Your true soul—the root of your power—remains in the soul realm.”

  “What does the realm look like?”

  “It’s appears differently to everyone,” Malia answered. “And you only enter it once: to complete your soul task.”

  I stuffed a bite of waffle into my mouth and tried to take comfort in the fluffy, sweet taste. “What do I have to do in the soul realm?”

  “You’ll be presented with a situation that will be impossible to resolve,” Morgan explained. “And then you’ll have to resolve it.”

  I stopped chewing. “How am I supposed to fix an unfixable problem?”

  “That’s the whole point,” the four sisters chorused in unison, as if they had all once asked the exact same question.

  “What was yours like?” I asked all of them.

  “You’re not supposed to talk about it,” Laurel said.

  “It’s like Vegas,” Karma added. “What happens in the soul realm stays in the soul realm.”

  I stabbed another piece of waffle. “Great. Really helpful.”

  Morgan stifled a laugh. “The soul task is two weeks away. Don’t worry about it quite yet. Your first order of business is finding a mentor. You better get to it. The sooner someone agrees to sponsor you, the sooner you can get the rest of this over with.”

  Finding a mentor felt a bit like campaigning for a hated political party or selling something that no one wanted. For the rest of the day, I went from house to house, witch to witch, and asked various members of the coven if they would be willing to sponsor me throughout the duration of my ritual. Though I only knocked on the doors of witches who I’d interacted pleasantly with in the past, none of them wanted the risk of being my mentor.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Great-Aunt Poppy said, the fifteenth witch to reject me. “I’d like to, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

  I put a hand on her front door to prevent her from closing it in my face. “Can I ask why? You and I have always been friendly, right? Did I do something to offend you?”

  Great Aunt Poppy covered her hand with her heart. “No, of course not, honey. I think you have every right to be a part of this coven.”

  “Then why not help me?”

  Poppy glanced in each direction of her house then beckoned me forward and whispered, “One of your less-favorite aunts is spreading dissent about you. She’s threatening the others not to support you in these tasks.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Thelma?”

  Poppy’s eyes widened. “I can neither confirm or deny that.”

  “What is she telling everyone?”

  She lowered her voice even more, so that I could hardly hear her. “She’s saying the coven will suffer if you’re made a full member. She claims it will anger the being we met last night to let an outsider have access to our power.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know that’s crap, right? If that genie lady didn’t want me to be a part of the coven, she would have said so and not given me the opportunity to complete the ritual.”

  “I know that, and so do many of the other witches,” Poppy said. “But they’re scared of what might happen. I love you, Gwen. I really do, but if it puts me and my family at risk to accept you into the coven, I can’t take that chance.”

  Glumly, I stepped off her porch. “Understood. Thanks anyway, Poppy. Can you think of anyone who might be willing to mentor me? I’ve been around the block already.”

  “Did you check with Noelle?” Poppy asked. “Your talents aren’t exactly equivalent, but she’s always been independent in her own way. She might not buy into Thelma’s threats.”

  “Isn’t Noelle only a few years older than me? Shouldn’t my mentor be older and wiser?”

  “Honey,” Poppy said. “At this rate, you’ll be lucky to find a mentor at all.”


  Noelle was the ice witch who lived above the bakery in town. As Poppy said, she had a distinct personality away from the coven, preferred to mingle with mortals, and only showed up to coven parties if she felt like it. Noelle was also a little notorious for finding trouble herself. Once, she’d accidentally put Christmas on repeat in Yew Hollow, lured a child-eating witch with a demonic pet wolf to the area, and subsequently defeated the foe with Morgan’s help. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of asking her for help before.

  Noelle worked as a teacher at the elementary school, so I waited until the afternoon to go see her. Around two o’clock, I took up a post in the bakery. The owner Belinda was mortal, but her wares tasted magical. I bought a cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun and sat near the door to enjoy my afternoon snack. Soon, Noelle trotted up the bakery’s front walk.

  Noelle was one of the few witches in the coven whose looks deviated from the classic Summerses’ traits. She had white-blonde hair and pale blue eyes, both of which reflected her chilly ability to control ice and snow. Today, she wore a massive hat to protect her face from the sun, huge sunglasses, and a light jacket with UV protection. When she entered the bakery and tossed the hat off, her forehead was beaded with sweat.

  “I am positively boiling,” she announced to whoever bothered to be listening. “Belinda, please, for the love of all things in this ninety-degree heat, wash away my sorrows with an iced coffee.”

  “It’s sixty-seven degrees outside, my love,” Belinda called from behind the counter as she bustled to fill her customers’ orders. “The heat hasn’t gotten started yet. Wait until July.”

  “I’d rather pass the summer over entirely.” Noelle shed her jacket, revealing skin so pale that each indigo vein was visible in her arms. She caught sight of me sitting in the corner. “Gwenlyn, hi! What brings you in, the cinnamon bun? I don’t blame you. They’re downright holy.”

  “Actually, I came to talk to you,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure.” She draped her coat over the back of an empty chair, sat down, and blotted her face with a spare napkin. “Does this have to do with that wacky interruption in the town square last night? I was in the back, so I didn’t quite hear what was happening.”