A Witch's Path

by N. E. Conneely

  Hopefully, they would be willing to tell me the rest now. I thought it would be satisfying to leverage the information out of them, but it was, at best, an empty satisfaction. I felt mean and rude. They had spent their lives trying to protect me and I was strong-arming them into divulging information. It didn't matter if I needed the information, getting it this way felt dirty.

  "The secrets end now," I finished and waited to hear what they had to say. At this point, I deserved honesty from them. It might be too late to keep my grandmother at bay, but it would save our relationships.

  The two of them exchanged another look, one of those looks people share when they spend a lot of time together. Some type of communication occurred, but I couldn't decipher it.

  "No, they don't," Mom said.

  The blood throbbed through my veins, and it was a fight to keep my voice even. "If you want to help your daughter, if you like seeing your daughter, you start sharing information with her."

  I didn't feel dirty or mean anymore. If this is what it took to get Mom to tell me what I needed to know to protect us, I would do it without regret.

  Greg turned to Mom, "We talked about this. You know what we need to do now."

  "I don't like it."

  His voice chilled, "We tried it your way, and it hasn't worked. It's my turn now. We need to tell her what she wants to know."

  Mom pursed her lips.

  Greg turned to me. "Ground rules. You don't make idle threats, and neither do we."

  I held his gaze. "What made you think it was an idle threat?"

  Whatever he saw in me decided him. Turning to Mom, he whispered, "My turn."

  Mom stomped out of the room. I could hear running water in the kitchen, and the stove click on.

  "Michelle, listen closely, because I will not tell you everything, and you won't cut us out of your life."

  I didn't bother to reply.

  "The story you heard is true. It isn't the complete truth, but it will serve for now. Nancy's clan answers to your grandmother. She wanted a powerful daughter, and Nancy didn't meet her standards. She can't have any more children, and wants to pass the ministry to her own blood. Without you, or your mom, she can't do that. Nancy and I have gone to great lengths to protect you. We don't know if your grandmother wants you to be her successor, or if she wants revenge."

  "Revenge for what? Why would she come after me? How would she know we're related?" All this cloak and dagger stuff was too much. They tiptoed around the truth like it would stay hidden if they ignored it. It wouldn't; secrets had a way of coming out.

  My already frayed temper was edging close to the breaking point. The secrets were driving me crazy. I was more of a lay my cards on the table, type of girl.

  "Revenge for making her look bad, for leaving the clan, being clan-less, being powerful. It's hard to say. She isn't a nice woman."

  I couldn't get a normal family. I had to get the patchwork family with secrets and a potentially homicidal grandmother. Lucky, me.

  He gave me a moment to digest that information before addressing my other questions. "How many clan-less witches have you met?"

  I didn't answer, but he knew what I would've said.

  He continued, "None. It's rare to find a witch without a clan. Stranger still is a young, strong witch. It wouldn't take much for her to put the clues together, and the family resemblance is strong enough to make the clues line up. You haven't done anything wrong, per se, but you've proven to be powerful, smart, and you're young. Lots of clans will want to acquire you."

  "I'm the new shiny thing they want to play with because I'm a talented witch?"

  Dad shrugged. "That's as good of an analogy as any. Plus, the clans are always eager to add a powerful witch to their ranks."

  "I have some questions about that too, but they can wait."

  Dad nodded.

  Mom returned with a tray of tea. We each took a mug, and she sat next to my father.

  "Did you explain it?" Mom asked.

  "Most of it," Dad answered. "This stays between the three of us for now. Can you do that Michelle?"

  "Yes, I can keep my mouth shut, though I'm getting sick of secrets." Now, I get to be one of the secret keepers. I took a sip of tea, praying it would sooth my stomach. He had me and he knew it. I wanted answers, and I wanted a chance at a real family life. It would be nice to have three people for the holidays rather than two, though it might be best if we didn't invite my grandmother to Thanksgiving dinner just yet.

  Mom sipped her tea, but from the look on her face you'd think it was poison.

  "Nancy and I are going to get married. She will become a member of my clan. That will break any remaining ties to her old clan. Once she is a member of my clan, she can live in the clan house. That will keep her safe."

  "You aren't married?" I had to check.

  "No, Michelle, we aren't," Mom said. "Clan bindings are tricky. I was young and scared when I left. I wasn't sure how completely they severed the bond. If there was something remaining, they would've known which clan was helping me. At this point, I'm confident that the tie was broken."

  "And with the two of you married and living in clan-induced bliss, what happens to me?"

  "Michelle, you must hide the extent of your power. I know you haven't spent much time with other witches your age, but you are more powerful than most." I opened my mouth to mention Cage, but his narrowed eyes and stern words stopped me. "Don't interrupt me. We may be new to this father-daughter thing, but you need to let me explain."

  Dad leaned forward, catching my eyes with his own. "Few witches ever learn to control their magic as well as you. Couple that with the power you control, and people take notice. Michelle, keep a low profile, and don't bother researching the clan tattoos. There are few accurate books on the topic, and your clan scar won't be in them anyway."

  Nice of him to mention things I already knew. "I tried to find out what my clan scar meant. Funny thing, all the witch I talked to could tell was that I had the mark of the Ieldra."

  Dad started rubbing his temples, and Mom sat next to him, eyes closed, lips moving.

  Mom looked at me with a mixture of sadness and pity. "I — we, never wanted you to know. No one, especially a child, needs to know that they are expected to do great things. We wanted to spare you that."

  "There are people who have been driven to the edge of madness simply from knowing that they have an expected path. You should choose your own path, with or without a symbol decreeing your destination." For the first time, they were in complete agreement.

  "I can't blame you for neglecting to mention that. It wasn't fun to hear about it now. I'm guessing you won't tell me what the rest of my clan scar means?"

  "No, we won't," Dad answered.

  I sighed. It didn't seem important anymore. The rest of this conversation wasn't going to be fun. If they didn't know how many flashy shows of power I'd done, they were in for a rude surprise. "I know I'm more powerful than other witches my age. I don't have a good grasp of my power level verses that of an average witch my age, but I think it's too late for me to pretend to be ordinary and keep a low profile. I've never tried to hide my power. Lots of people, most of the police departments in North Georgia, know what I can do."

  "What did you do, Michelle?" Mom asked.

  I threw my hands in the air. "What do you think? Have you thought about the power I pushed around during the cases you hear about? I managed to get one clan after me when I formed a barrier on a bathtub without using runes. I've blocked a car from running over children with a hastily cast shield. I cast the summoning spell on the trolls and sorceress. Lets' not forget the containment spell around a dinosaur using oil as the anchor points."

  Their faces were frozen in shock. Dad recovered first. "You used oil to anchor that spell?"

  "Yes, it worked just fine." They looked at my like I was sprouting two heads.

  "We'll have to talk about that later. I thought," he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You had one c
lan show interest?"

  "Yes, but I dealt with them. They won't be an issue again."

  Mom looked at Greg. "If she's been throwing around that kind of power, they already know about her."

  Greg squeezed Mom's hand. "I know. Michelle, you must be careful. Try not to be so obvious with your abilities. Few witches look kindly on a powerful, clan-less witch. The way they see it, no one holds you accountable for your actions. They will want you in a clan. You need to maintain your independence. If you commit to being a lone witch, they will leave you alone, eventually."

  "Awesome. All the clans will be after me?"

  "Not all, but yes, many will be after you, especially my mother's clan. You must not join a clan," Mom repeated. "It will bring my mother's attention to you, and she would stop at nothing to have you."

  I'd finally gotten the information I wanted. Unfortunately, it was giving me a pounding headache. If they'd told me all of this sooner, I would have done my best to avoid notice. As it was, I'd basically shot flares off the roof of the lodge. "What does stop at nothing mean?" Those words usually meant someone would do very bad things.

  Greg broke in, "Let's not worry about that now. It isn't an issue yet, and it won't be an issue unless you join another clan."

  I nodded.

  "For now," Mom said, "be suspicious of any clan that approaches you, and try to avoid blatant displays of power. And be careful because they might try to take you by force."

  Sitting there, I began to understand why they hadn't mentioned clans to me in the past. We'd gone from a simple conversation about family skeletons to a maze of clan politics. They didn't need to talk me out of joining a clan. Now, I needed to find a way out of the clan kerfuffle.

  "We need a better plan," I said.

  "I know, but you're smart and strong," Mom said. "You can protect yourself, and Greg and I will find permanent solutions."

  "How long will that take?"

  "I don't know. I don't know, but you have to stay safe until we do," Mom said.

  "Great, what do I do if my homicidal grandmother comes after me?"

  This time Dad's smile was feral. "You are my daughter."

  He was right, I was his daughter, and he'd taught me how to defend myself.

  *******

  It took hours of charms, spells, and tests to check, and recheck, the book for trickery. In the end, there was nothing to be found. I had a completely ordinary book in my hands.

  I started reading the book. It was a diary of an elven woman, Sylvia. She had been attacked by trolls while riding through the woods. Sylvia awakened to find herself in a room without windows. The first time Sylvia saw her captor, he was polite, but later, things changed. He was not an ordinary man, but the demon, Gremory. The body was simply a vessel for him to use until it was too worn to be useful. Gremory hadn't taken her by chance. He wanted her to be his next vessel.

  Gremory had grown tired of occupying human bodies. They weren't robust enough to stand up long term, even if they were easy to acquire.

  Elves were seldom possessed. Not only was it difficult to move into their bodies, but with their affinity for nature, they actively hindered a demon. Sylvia was different, though the demon was reluctant to reveal why he could slide in an out of her body with ease, and he found her physical form welcoming.

  In the beginning, Sylvia was unaware of what transpired when Gremory was in charge of her physical form. He would slide out of his human vessel and into her. That would be the last thing she remembered until she was alone in her body again. Over time, Sylvia grew used to him sliding in and out of her body. Gremory always kept a male vessel as well, because he identified himself in more masculine terms, though demons were by nature sexless.

  Through the repeated transitions, Sylvia learned to keep an awareness. Once she could observe what he did, she began to learn his secrets, and keep her own. It was at this point that she began the diary, and quickly recorded as much as she could remember about her time with him.

  The diary went on to explain Gremory's behavior and what she was able to discover about demons. The entry about demons ended in mid-sentence.

  I flipped to the next page and the text began again. This time it wasn't in dark seeping ink, but a fine blue line.

  I was married before Gremory captured me. My husband was loving, kind, and strong. He was a good man. No elf easily overcomes the death of a mate, but I fear he would have been more grief-stricken than most. If you are reading this, please find Elron. Tell him it wasn't his fault. He couldn't have saved me. I loved him. He should be happy, and live the rest of his life. Our paths do not mingle anymore.

  Should he doubt the honesty of your words, remind him of the time I broke my arm. We told everyone I slipped on wet rocks. The truth is that I slipped on wet rocks after stripping down to surprise him while he was tending plants by the river.

  If this book was lucky enough to find a reader, heed my words. Gremory must be stopped. Do not seek to spare me in your quest to kill him. Be prepared to kill me. It is unlikely that you will find a way to destroy him without my death. Know that I go willingly. This is my path.

  Sylvia

  I rubbed tears off my cheeks and set the book on the table so I wouldn't damage it. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd read the story of Elron's wife. Regardless of her words at the end of the book, I had been on a date with a married man. I couldn't see it any other way. Elron wouldn't see it any other way. It had been hundreds of years since he first believed her dead, and he wasn't over her yet.

  This would hurt him, and undo the healing that had been done. It had already undone us. The tears burned my eyes. It would have been better if I'd never seen past his cutting remarks to the vulnerable man underneath.

  The tears fell until I was empty. After washing my face, and brewing a cup a tea, I tried to be logical. Our relationship, or lack of one, was a petty problem in light of the information.

  Sylvia was alive. She had been in my dream, at Adder's house, and had dropped the book. I had conflicting information from every direction. By her own admission, I shouldn't trust her, but I should trust the book. The book read like an unfinished fairy tale, with the damsel in distress waiting for her knight in shining armor to come to her rescue.

  At first glance, I wanted to do just that, rescue her. However, Sylvia had been Gremory's vessel for a long time, long enough that she might not be the person she had been before. It was hard to say if the demon was still using her against her will. The last two entries were alarming. One cut off mid-sentence and the next was written after the evolution of modern pens, suddenly proclaiming that she would die if I killed the demon. For all I knew, Gremory had planned all of this. Why else would he let the book be found?

  The demon's name was teasing me. Gremory. I'd heard that name before, but it wouldn't come to me.

  Sylvia and Gremory were only one part of this puzzle. This was Elron's wife. He should know the truth. I hoped he could reconcile the new reality with the old one. It wouldn't be healthy for him to go on a quest to save a woman who no longer existed, or to slip back into the depression that had taken him before. His reactions were out of my control; even if he was never the same man, I couldn't keep this from him.

  I knocked on his door with a heavy heart. He didn't answer so I knocked again. At last I heard a faint enter. I pushed open the door to find Elron sitting in his living room.

  "What do you want?" He asked.

  "To see how you're doing. You seemed upset."

  "Perceptive. I am upset." He turned to look at me, eyes vacant. "I cannot get the woman out of my head. She brought back memories that were better left undisturbed."

  I sat next to him. Wanting to comfort him, but not sure what to do. "What memories did she revive?"

  "My wife, she looked like my wife. Tall, with golden hair, a delicate nose, and a scar on her cheek from when she'd been thrown from a horse as a child." The look on his face was a heart wrenching blend of loss and desperation.

&n
bsp; "Can I tell you who I saw?" Elron nodded. "I saw a tall elven woman, with golden hair, a small nose, a scar on her cheek, flames in her eyes, and magic emanating from her." I studied him, watching him work through what I'd said.

  "Elves have neither unnatural eyes nor magic."

  "I know, but the woman I saw looked elven except for those features."

  If he'd been human, his brow would've wrinkled while he pondered, but he was an elf and had better control of his face. "I do not understand."

  I sighed, trying to find a way from here to what I'd come to tell him. I couldn't find a good transition. It turns out I'm not any good at introducing difficult topics. "The woman dropped a book before she vanished. This morning I read it. It's a diary, detailing the life of a woman who was captured by a demon."

  Elron looked at me, clearly puzzled.

  "Elron, I think your wife is alive." I flipped the book open to the last entry and shoved it in his hands. "You should read this."

  "I felt her die. She can't be alive."

  "Please read the book?" I held it out again.

  "Why? I wouldn't trust anything I read here." He held the book out to me.

  I crossed my arms. "I'll take it back after you read that section."

  He muttered something unflattering under his breath before focusing on the words. Seconds ticked by. Elron sucked in a deep breath, fingers digging into the pages. A moment later the book tumbled from his hands. I snatched it off the floor before it could sustain further damage.

  "It cannot be." His voice sent chills down my spine, and I was glad I couldn't see his face. Any expression that matched that voice would not be kind.

  I didn't have any answers. "Is the story true?"

  "Which story?" He paused, but not long enough for me to reply. "It matters not. To the best of my knowledge the story is true, but she could have confided in a friend. It is the type of story women like to tell one another. I have difficulties believing my mate is still alive. I felt her die. I felt our bond break."