Strange Brew

by Angela Colsin

  The dining room where they sat had deep blue walls with wooden floors, and the circular oak table in the center still carried traces of use beneath its new finish. The nearby cabinet was a match, displaying various sets of fine china, much of it antique.

  Several thought of their family as being on the wealthy side of the spectrum, but the term comfortable was more suiting. Being born witches, the Carmichaels made a decent living based on their magic and psychic abilities, though Miranda and her sister, Helen, also produced handmade crafts to sale at local shops and fairs.

  Aislinn always enjoyed her visits with them, but sometimes, she wished her family was just a tad more normal—like when her mother handed over obscure rituals for her to perform.

  “Don't mom me,” Miranda retorted, sitting back in her chair. “I'm not just handing this over because I thought it was a good idea.”

  “I know, you've been saving it. What does Helen think?”

  “She performed it at your age, just as I did, and it was successful.”

  Aislinn sighed, shaking her head as she lifted her mug to sip the contents. She wasn't adverse to performing it—she hadn't even looked the ritual over yet. It was simply more fulfilling to find things to do on her own.

  Still, she trusted her mother's judgment. Miranda was a solid foundation of strength and support, which was important when being a born witch wasn't always easy. As Miranda put it, merely practicing the Craft is grounds for societal scrutiny, but being born with a connection to magic and knowing the world is different from what the average person believes is to experience a whole new level of crazy.

  Those words had proven true on several occasions, and when you added a dash of psychic ability to the mix, it was even harder to deal with. Not only had Aislinn perceived things about people at a young age that not everyone could see through the Veil, but keeping up the pretense that nothing supernatural really existed with regular people could get frustrating.

  But Miranda and Helen taught their daughters to embrace their magical talents from a young age, which made life much easier and forged a strong family bond. Their visits were usually spent joking and gossiping, and this week, Aislinn even had something to show Miranda. Yet the moment she'd sat down for some hot cocoa and chocolate chip muffins, her mother was handing her an old parchment containing a ritual she'd been saving.

  “I'm also giving you this ritual because I know your psychic ability isn't what it could be,” Miranda explained, “and despite your talent, you've felt unstable with magic in the past.”

  Setting her mug down, Aislinn countered, “Hey, Annika's the real psychic, but I'll have you know I hazed for a red cabin last week, and my prediction was accurate.”

  Miranda smirked. “I know, Aislinn, but overall? I don't think this ritual would hurt.”

  “Okay, then let's see what we're dealing with,” she started, skimming over the parchment detailing the rite in her hand.

  At first, it seemed pretty basic, but reading through the words detailing the acts more thoroughly, Aislinn could sense the power in them. In fact, it wasn't long before her psychic intuition started saying yes, you should definitely do this.

  From the way it sounded, the ritual was old, used as a rite of magical passage for a young witch or warlock and said to increase prowess in the Craft by tenfold. It was also time sensitive. Because the young would abuse such an increase in power, and the ritual's potency decreased with age, it was to be performed on the night of the witch's twenty-fifth birthday.

  Aislinn was turning twenty-five in just over two months.

  Still, there were some parts that seemed really old-fashioned, which Aislinn sarcastically pointed out. “Oh, dancing naked under the moon, that's original. But there's no sacrifices or dismemberment. Where's the fun in that?”

  “You don't sacrifice,” Miranda chuckled. “Stop being a smartass and read it all.”

  Having come across a part she wasn't too fond of, Aislinn muttered, “I am, and I see you have to be celibate for two months before performing the ritual.”

  “So?”

  Aislinn grumbled. Abstaining from sex wasn't a problem, particularly when she didn't have a boyfriend, but this was an absolute no sex, no masturbating, no nothing clause.

  Ritualistic sex was a powerful tool to use in channeling and harnessing energy for spells. Even masturbation worked as a substitute where no partner was available, and the Rite of Romedra involved completely abstaining for two months beforehand to build reserves of energy. Or frustration, whatever.

  Taking things a step further, during the night of the practitioner's twenty-fifth birthday, they were to say a prayer, dance to invoke the power of the Goddess of Manifestation, then engage in ritualistic sex meant to symbolize the union of masculine strength with feminine magic.

  Aislinn had performed ritualistic sex before, so that wasn't a problem. But sadly, she had a healthy libido, and tended to enjoy some self induced satisfaction on a regular basis. So in two month's time, she could easily envision herself as being grouchy and just generally irritated.

  Still, she wasn't going to make a big deal out of that with her mother of all people, answering instead, “So it says I'm supposed to sleep with someone that night, and I don't know anyone I'd qualify for the job.”

  That wasn't entirely true, but Miranda didn't need to hear her daughter naming off men she could call who'd potentially help out. Mom already has a talent for embarrassing me. She doesn't need the ammunition.

  As if on cue, Miranda reminded her, “It's not like you have to be in a relationship with the partner. Besides, sex isn't mandatory. There's always—”

  “Mom!” Aislinn shot out. If Miranda so much as whispered the first syllable of the word masturbation, she'd die. I'm having lunch with my mother, who's about to suggest … Ugh!

  There was a reason Aislinn and her cousin, Annika, had nicknamed Miranda the mother of shame, who started laughing just as her sister, Helen, stepped into the dining room from the kitchen. They looked a good bit alike, both tall and slender with classically defined features. But Miranda had graying streaks in her crimson hair and her eyes were crystal blue. Helen lacked the streaks and had brown eyes.

  Spying Aislinn's expression, Helen exclaimed, “Rand! What did you say? Aislinn's cheeks are as red as her hair!”

  “And she's a grown woman, too,” Miranda pointed out, looking as amused as she ever had over the fact that she could embarrass her fully grown child.

  “You're so immature,” Aislinn muttered.

  Sitting next to her at the table, Helen asked, “What were you talking about?”

  Aislinn handed the parchment over, which got her aunt to smirk. “So I see. Dancing naked and ritualistic sex. Always a good time.”

  Groaning, Aislinn leaned her elbow on the table. “Yeah, unless you're not in a relationship.”

  “Don't you know anyone who wouldn't mind having a fling?” Helen asked. “Or someone to start a relationship with?”

  “Oh goddess, I'm not starting something just to have sex for a ritual.”

  Helen grinned, “Hey, solid relationships have been built on a lot less.”

  Aislinn smirked. Maybe that was true, but she still wasn't going to start looking just because she was considering doing this. “Either way, there's plenty of time to prepare for it, and I have been feeling off kilter lately.”

  Miranda's lips pursed at her comment, and Aislinn didn't have to be psychic to know why, reassuring her mother, “It's not him, Mom, don't worry.”

  “No, but he fed it by leaving when you were so young, making you question yourself for so many years.”

  “I know,” she grumbled.

  The man they were speaking of was Aislinn's father, Derick Rowden. He'd abandoned the both of them when Aislinn was only five years old, and being so young, she thought it may have been her magical talents that drove him away. So she'd spent several years trying to ignore her gifts in the hopes that being a normal child would win her father back.
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  But he never returned, and it wasn't until she got a little older that she learned he was not only a warlock, but also a medium capable of detecting and communicating with spirits in Limbo. So her own abilities had nothing to do with his departure.

  Thankfully, Aislinn managed to undo most of the damage caused by the doubt planted in her mind when she was so young. But uncertainty still cropped up on her from time to time, making it seem as if nothing fit together—like now. Currently, she felt like she could write the letters g and o next to each other, and it'd say stop instead of go.

  So she wanted to give this ritual some serious consideration—just as she'd been considering another matter that was sure to surprise her mother and aunt alike.

  “I actually have something to show you guys that might help me out.” Reaching into her purse, she produced a letter bearing a golden emblem of a circle surrounding a triangle with three stars on each side embossed on the envelope, and handed it to her mother. “It's an invitation to join a coven called The Trine. I was wondering if you'd ever heard of them.”

  Miranda looked the invitation over, then handed it to Helen, saying, “I'm not sure. It sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “Oh!” Helen suddenly drew out after momentarily staring at the emblem. “I know this coven. It's that really old one founded by The Abbott Sisters during the witch hunts in the seventeenth century.”

  “Oh, right, now I remember. They're ancient,” Miranda chuckled.

  Looking between them, Aislinn inquired, “Who are they?”

  With her mug in both hands, Miranda explained, “The Abbott Sisters were three witches who started a coven to protect our kind in colonial America.” Then she eyed her daughter suspiciously. “But you've always been a solitary witch outside of practicing with the family.”

  “I know, I just figured it might help me recenter myself, like maybe I'm off because I actually need to start working with a group.”

  Miranda could be incredibly laid back, but on the other hand, she had a discerning perception that not many things slipped past. Sometimes, her eyes almost seemed to darken in a manner that said she was about to make a serious assessment that Aislinn shouldn't dismiss—such as now.

  “Make sure you check them out thoroughly,” she started, settling her mug down. “Some covens don't adhere to the same values we do, and if you're initiated only to learn they practice unethically, it could be hard to get away from them.”

  Aislinn didn't argue with her, knowing that if this coven wasn't up to her standards, it would be better for her to move on completely, no matter how promising it seemed to be. “I know, Mom, you can trust me.”

  “It's not you I'm worried about,” Miranda countered, her tone suggesting she didn't need to say more.

  And Aislinn knew she didn't.

  “Wait a second,” Helen inquired after reading the invitation over, “did you ask to join them, or did they simply invite you out of the blue?”

  “Out of the blue,” Aislinn qualified. “I'd been looking for a suiting group to join, but then this letter came, and it stood out. My intuition was saying not to ignore it.”

  Miranda didn't look very pleased. “You do know they may have been mystically searching for witches they thought were powerful enough to join their cause, don't you?”

  “Yeah, I know. But they also could've heard about Strange Brew and found me that way. So I thought I'd reserve judgment for now.”

  Strange Brew was an occult shop in Arkin City that Aislinn co-owned with Annika, who was currently at school up north, and due to graduate in the Spring. Until then, Aislinn was running the shop alone, and at her suggestion that The Trine had probably located her through the business, Miranda exchanged a look with Helen, then sighed.

  “I won't stop you if it's what you want, but I'm asking you to keep all three eyes open.”

  Aislinn smiled, “I will, and I'll make sure to keep my protection wards updated just in case.”

  “That's my girl.”

  Aislinn knew her mother was just being cautious, which was well warranted when it came to group magic, or doing anything that changed the normal routine. If it's not broken, don't fix it Miranda liked to say, and Aislinn wondered just how right she was to worry. Covens didn't always invite someone without cause, which either meant The Trine was recruiting and desperate for numbers, or they'd sought her out for a particular reason.

  But whatever the case, Aislinn's intuition was clearly telling her there was something good to be had from looking into joining, and that's what she intended to do.

  Like Miranda said, she'd simply have to keep all three eyes open.

  Chapter 2

  Two Months Later

  Braddock's Estate, Arkin City, Georgia

  A merciless fist to Alec's face broke the werewolf's nose.

  “Troy, stop!”

  Andi yelled the command while her twin brother reeled, but Troy paid no attention. He'd reached his limit, no longer able to feign indifference over his growing frustration, grabbing his cousin by the throat to deliver another blow.

  But Alec wasn't going down without a fight. Despite being over a century younger, when Troy threw his fist a second time, Alec caught it, then used his free hand to slam into Troy's temple with a surprising amount of force.

  The blow managed to shake Troy's hold on his cousin, but not his fury. Instead of knocking any sense into him, the tempest of rage brewing inside broke free. Troy stumbled back a step, but immediately righted himself, ready to show Alec exactly how savage he'd become—just as a stronger opponent intervened in their fight without warning.

  Before Troy could attack again, he found himself unexpectedly tackled from behind and knocked over onto the dining room floor with a heavy weight at his back. Judging by the looks on the twin's faces—or what little Troy registered of their expressions before his cheek smacked into a recently polished marble floor—they hadn't anticipated the intrusion either.

  “What the hell's going on?”

  His uncle, Bryant, growled the question while keeping Troy pinned down. He'd been absent for much of the day after teleporting to Canada with his mate, Adriana, to give Trisha a progress report.

  Apparently, they'd returned just in time to intervene.

  Struggling against his uncle's strength, Troy snarled, “Get the fuck off me and I'll show you!” It didn't matter who was on the receiving end of his rage—as long as he got a chance to take it out on someone, he'd be placated.

  But his taunt didn't work. Bryant never moved from his back as Andi explained the situation. “Alec was reminding Troy not to leave without us tonight, and I guess it irritated him because he snapped and broke Alec's nose.”

  Irritated was an understatement. With the full moon coming that night, Troy had no choice but to change—which meant he required supervision—and over time, Alec's insistence on keeping a watch out for him made Troy feel as if he couldn't take a piss without someone holding his hand.

  So his cousin's most recent reminder was like rubbing salt in a wound, and Troy snapped.

  Still furious, he growled, “Goddamn it, Bryant, let me the fuck up!”

  “That's not happening until you calm down, nephew.”

  Calm down? The mere suggestion was infuriating! If he could calm down, he wouldn't need to be babysat, and struggled even harder for his freedom. Still, Bryant was older, and mated. Both facts made him the stronger of the two, rendering Troy's efforts futile.

  From his limited view of the room, he could see Adriana stepping over to lean down not far away while Bryant asked, “Are his eyes glowing?”

  “Yep,” the fae confirmed, then added to the pinned werewolf, “Troy, I was just talking to Trisha, and I need to give you a message before you maul another of your cousins, okay?”

  The tone of her voice was gentle, even captivating, lulling the beast who'd grown so violent within him, and Troy hated it when all he wanted to think about was beating the hell out of the first person he could reach. Still, Adri
ana's natural fae charm managed to soothe just about any werewolf who'd lost control, unless they had red eyes, of course.

  But even in those situations, he'd witnessed other fae like her taming some of his savage clansmen long enough to allow them to be captured—or killed.

  Now was no different. Something in her voice, or maybe it was her very presence, appealed to his bestial nature, and the worst of Troy's rage started falling away until Adriana finally nodded at Bryant.

  “His eyes are clear now, you can let him up.”

  Immediately, Bryant climbed off his back, then held out a hand to help his nephew stand again. Grumbling, Troy took it, getting back on his feet before he turned to face Alec, who was sitting on the dining room table nearby with a cloth against his nose soaking up the blood.

  “Sorry, Alec,” he apologized.

  Alec shrugged, stating on a nasally voice, “No trouble, it'll heal.”

  Regardless, Troy groaned in shame over his actions, but there was nothing to be done for it. His rage had been tempered, and he was just glad to see his cousin wasn't holding it against him. Then again, Alec was unique when compared to other werewolves in that he usually only held a grudge if the offense was critical.

  “Would you like me to heal that?” Adriana inquired.

  Normally, werewolves regenerated fairly quickly on their own, so Alec would've said no. But considering they were living in a manor that was currently undergoing renovations—and the construction workers were all human—he answered, “I guess you should. The people around might start asking questions if they see my nose fucked up now and then healed tomorrow.”

  None of them were particularly used to having mortals close by, so it'd been a challenge remembering to practice habits that would keep what they were a secret. But after two months, the mortals didn't suspect anything, so they must've been doing something right.