Welcome to Witchhood (Sister Witches Book 1)

by Colleen Luddington

  “Lemon, Lime, and Clementine are asleep,” Matthew reported, taking his wet jacket off before entering the house. He pulled off his boots and left them on the porch. “Brownie and Selkie seem to be taking the watch in shifts, Elsie is as mean as ever, and Hedgie is sitting on the bottom step of the porch. I think she is planning to tell Anona everything that happened.” Mirabelle laughed.

  “Thank you for doing that. I am not quite ready to go exploring in the dark.” She glanced at the clock: 9:30. Anona would be home soon. Matthew settled onto one of the couches, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

  “I moved my car over by the barn so Anona can park in her normal spot.” He added.

  “What’s your plan for the holidays?” He asked, making polite conversation.

  “We are going to go home for a little while around Christmas. Other than that, we’ll be staying around here. What does your family do?”

  “We usually come here for Thanksgiving. My mom’s family lives up in Vermont and every time we try to go there for Thanksgiving or Christmas, we end up getting stuck in some terrible snowstorm in some random town and having fast food for dinner. Now, we visit them in April, once the storms have stopped. We do Christmas with my dad’s family. Most of them live within fifty miles of here, so we switch off who hosts. It’s nice. A little strange now that my dad isn’t around. He was a big personality.” Mirabelle wandered over and sat next to him, tucking her feet beneath her. The couch wasn’t large, so her knees just brushed his hip.

  “I guess there will be one more at the Thanksgiving table this year. Any weird traditions I should know about?” She questioned. Matthew laughed and rubbed his chin, feigning deep thought.

  “Not really. We eat a mix of traditional food and what the Native Americans and Pilgrims actually ate at the first Thanksgiving. So be prepared for a nice spread of nuts and wild berries.”

  “Small pox, too?” Mirabelle joked. “I will have to put together some kind of pilgrim outfit. I look good in Puritan clothes. Bonnets fit me quite nicely.”

  They talked about favorite books (anything fantasy or mythology based was a deep love for both), music (Mirabelle tended towards the singular female, while Matthew was a Deadhead for life), and movies (Star Wars, LOTR, and anything Marvel). Before Mirabelle could realize it, 11:30 had rolled around, and Anona’s headlights shone through the front window. She hopped up the front stairs, and came in through the door.

  “Sorry you waited up-” Anona stopped upon seeing Matthew. “What’s going on?” Her voice suddenly had a motherly air to it.

  “I should ask you the same thing, young lady.” Mirabelle countered, laughing. “You were supposed to be home at 10. That’s 90 minutes past curfew.”

  “There was a weird guy hanging around. I came over to keep Mirie company while you were gone.” He looked at Mirabelle, gave her a quick smile, and stood. “I should go home; it’s late. Mirie can fill you in.” He started towards Mirabelle as if he was going to hug her, but then thought better of it, and left.

  “What happened?” Anona exclaimed. “You should have called me! Why does it smell like wet sheep in here?”

  “First, I’m fine and so are all the animals. I didn’t call you because you were an hour away. You were also on a first real nighttime date that you were very excited about, which I want to hear about later, and I didn’t want to bother you. Matthew got here in five minutes. He must have driven 70 miles per hour.” She paused. “And I was scared so I brought all the animals in here with me. It seemed the right thing to do.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened.” Mirabelle recounted going to the barn, Brownie getting spooked, Selkie crying, the pilgrimage of the animals to the main house, and finally the man.

  “He said he knew you; he knew my name.” Mirabelle continued. “Who was it?”

  “What did he look like?” Anona’s voice was unnaturally even.

  “Handsome, blond hair, really, really blue eyes. Like his eyes looked like waves crashing against the sand. He had weird clothes on, but I can’t quite place why they were weird, if that makes sense.” Anona nodded and stood up. She walked to the kitchen, put on the teakettle, and pulled out two mugs.

  “Okay, so you can see him.” She said to herself, rummaging through the cabinet for tea and sugar. “I knew this might happen. There was always a chance you would be able to see him, talk to him, and you can.”

  “What do you mean can?” Anona came back to the couch and sat down.

  “Don’t freak out.” She started.

  “That makes me want to freak out.” Mirabelle pointed out.

  “You’re a witch.” Anona shrugged. Mirabelle laughed.

  “Very funny. Are you high? Was that part of the date? I am going to be disappointed in you if you drove home stoned.”

  “I am not stoned. I didn’t even have a glass of wine today. We opted to have a romantic rendezvous instead of drink tonight.”

  “Anona, gross. Just say you got laid. And I still don’t believe you.” Mirabelle crossed her arms across her chest. Anona moved the books and cards off the coffee table, which Mirabelle now noticed was actually a trunk. She pulled a key out of the end table drawer, and eased open the trunk.

  “Look.”

  “Holy shit,” was all Mirabelle could muster. The trunk was full of dusty, old books, crystals, odd-looking talismans, rune stones, some tarot cards, and something that looked like a voodoo doll.

  “All this proves to me,” Mirabelle said shaking her head, “is that you are into the dark arts.”

  “Nothing in here is dark. White magic only.” Anona explained.

  “That’s a voodoo doll.” Mirabelle pointed out.

  “No it’s not,” Anona laughed. “It’s cornhusk doll used for Mabon rituals. That probably sounds like a foreign language.” The teakettle began to whistle. “We are going to have a long night at this, and we should probably start with the man you saw.”

  “Who was he? Someone you used to sleep with?”

  “He wishes. I don’t actually know his name, names are very important to his kind. He isn’t human.”

  “Isn’t human?” Mirabelle gawked. She was starting to have doubts about her sister’s sanity.

  “No, as far as I can tell, he bounces between our world and the realm of the Fae. He’s like a fairy, but obviously more masculine than you are accustomed to.”

  “A fairy? Like Tinkerbell?” Mirabelle was extremely confused. She was a witch? Fairies were real? Or Anona was having a mental breakdown. That seemed the most likely of any scenario.

  “No, not like Tinkerbell. Like Midsummer Night’s Dream or Queen Mab or the Faerie Queen. Fairies are otherworldly creatures that don’t give one thought to being kind to humans. They might take them as lovers or play harmless tricks, but more often they drive them mad. And they hate witches.” Anona explained. She pulled out a nearly falling apart tome and handed it to Mirabelle. “You should look through this tomorrow. It explains all the other races witches can see that normal humans can’t, what to worry about, what to ignore, etcetera.”

  Mirabelle felt like she was in some weird version of college in which she needed to study a world suddenly thrust upon her.

  “How do you know I’m a witch, or that you are for that matter.” She challenged.

  “To begin, you can see a member of the Fae. If Matthew were here, he might have seen him, but not the way you did. They definitely would not have spoken. Also, your mother and older sister are witches, so there was like a 99% chance you were going to end up one as well.”

  “Mom is a witch?! Why didn’t she tell me this, then?” Mirabelle was pissed. Had her mother explained everything to Anona and left her out?

  “Well, Mom doesn’t really know she’s a witch, but she is.” This began to sound unlikely. “Mom’s a protector witch. She gives us talismans that keep us safe in the form of sweaters, hats, gloves, anything she knits. It’s hard to notice if you aren’t looking for it, but you really can’t get hurt when weari
ng something Mom has made. It’s weird. Now that you know this, I recommend always wearing something made by Mom.” Anona rolled up her sleeve to show off a little knitted bracelet.

  “Prove it.” Mirabelle burst out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Prove that you are a witch. Or that we are witches. Prove it to me because right now I just think you have lost your mind and I am being stupid for beginning to believe you.” Mirabelle bit her bottom lip afraid of what her sister might do. Anona sighed and walked into the kitchen. She grabbed the small pot of basil growing under the window and brought it over to the couch. She sat across from Mirabelle and placed both hands on the dirt.

  “Grow.” She whispered. The leaves of the plant were suddenly larger, the entire plant two inches taller, and the entire house smelled like basil.

  “Holy fuck.” Mirabelle responded, perfectly annunciating every syllable.

  “Proof enough?” Anona asked, replacing the pot. Mirabelle nodded, her mouth open.

  “So,” Mirabelle said slowly, “Are you a protector also?” Anona shook her head.

  “I’m a Muse who dabbles in Nature Magic. When artists are near me, they can get insanely inspired, to the point that it drains me. It took me a while to figure out what exactly I was; I knew I was a witch before I knew I was a Muse.” So apparently it wasn’t Anona’s shining personality that George Andrew Stanton felt drawn to; she actually was a real Muse.

  “What am I?” Mirabelle asked, almost afraid to hear an answer.

  “I’m not sure.” Anona shrugged. “We can rule a few things out though. You aren’t a Muse because James never would have left your side for a minute if you were. You aren’t a Succubus.”

  “Um, pardon?” Mirabelle interjected.

  “Matthew never would have been able to sit beside you and not shag you if you were a Succubus.”

  “Good to know. How many different kinds of witches are there?”

  “I have no idea. I only know what I’ve read about, or met. Maybe you are a Healer?”

  “I am afraid of blood.” Mirabelle confessed.

  “Well, that would definitely be an obstacle to overcome. Do you have weird dreams that could be visions? Do you zone out a lot and see strange things that maybe later happen?”

  “No, my dreams are run of the mill naked at school dreams. Hopefully those never come true. I do often dream that I can fly… does that mean anything?”

  “It might. What else is there… Protector, Muse, Healer, Seer, Succubus… Oh! Speaker! Can you talk to animals?” Anona asked excitedly. Mirabelle glared at her.

  “I don’t think that is it. I’m pretty afraid of all of your animals.” Mirabelle huffed. For now, she seemed to be a witch of something, but that something was yet to be determined.

  “We’ll figure it out. For now, you are an undeclared witch.”

  “Do you have any other otherworldly creatures wandering around your property that I should worry about? Or demons?”

  “There’s a lot of random stuff around here, nothing you need to worry about besides Blondie. Keep something made by Mom on, and you’ll be fine.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me right away when I got here?” Mirabelle asked.

  “I didn’t know for sure that you were a witch, too. Didn’t want to scare you, or make you think I was crazy. I have no idea how magic works around the non-witches. I might have put my hands on that dirt and you could have seen nothing. Then you would tell Mom, and I would have to go stay at mental hospital for a little while. It seemed safer to just see what happened.”

  “Well, now I just think that we are both crazy.” Mirabelle could not fathom why she was believing everything Anona said. Maybe she was just tired and that’s why the plant seemed to grow. Or maybe she did feel something weird when she saw that guy; was that her witch sense going off? “Where did you learn all this? You didn’t have anyone to tell you about it.”

  “It’s a long story, but the short version is that I had Dottie. I’ll introduce you to her eventually. She’s a mentor of sorts, got me through the beginning. She has a shop in Philadelphia, that’s where I get all this stuff.”

  “Okay.” Mirabelle tried to let everything sink in. “I think I want to go to bed.”

  “Good idea. Have a sleep-in tomorrow. Pumpkin pancakes and bacon for breakfast! You deserve a rite of passage meal.”

  “Sounds as good as when Mom made milkshakes when I got my period.” Mirabelle joked.

  “Well, now that we are witches, we probably should have celebrated you losing you virginity as well. Too bad we missed that one.” Anona laughed.

  “I’ll settle for celebrating the birth of my first child. Less awkward.” Mirabelle walked to her room and flopped onto her bed without putting on her pajamas. A few hours ago all she wanted was a kiss goodnight from Matthew. Now, she had this deep need to figure out what kind of witch she was. It was very confusing.

  Chapter 6

  Mirabelle looked for any kind of sign of what type of witch she might be. She sat with the animals for hours to no avail, tried to transcribe her dreams (which lately were just constantly sex dreams about Matthew), and attempted to heal a cat scratch she obtain from trying to befriend Hedgie. Nothing seemed to be working. Her impatience was beginning to get the better of her, when Anona reminded her she had her entire life to figure out what kind of witch she was. It wasn’t a race.

  Mirabelle had requested a new knitted hat from her mother during one of their weekly phone calls. She had one sweater and one scarf, but she was getting tired of wearing one or the other everyday. At the moment, she was much too afraid to leave the house without one of those items, and was not sure what she would do once it got warm again. Over Christmas, she would ask for the knitted bracelet Anona had. That was a convenient talisman.

  Mirabelle had been reading a chapter or so each night of Anona’s book of creatures and the realms that housed them. So far, she had learned about the 7 Courts of Fae (High, Dark, Water, Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer). Anona had seen Blondie all year round, and always on land, so that narrowed it either the High or Dark Court. The seasonal courts were very strange to read about. They controlled time, so whenever a non-Fae stumbled into their lands, time back in the human realm could go very slowly, very quickly, or backwards. They had a huge almost feudal like system of classes, which Mirabelle glazed over. She also learned that elementals were very real, and she could expect to see sylphs dancing through the air as her abilities became more attuned. Trolls lived in the Earthen Realm, as well as Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Finland, and a small corner of Russia, but had never been viewed in North America, so that was a plus. Anona had two very friendly gnomes living in a tree in the woods on her property and the Will-O-Wisp the campers told Mirabelle about was real. The gnomes would probably introduce themselves once they felt comfortable around Mirabelle, and she was supposed to steer clear of the Will-O-Wisp at all costs.

  With all of this suddenly thrust upon her, she was also trying to remain as normal as possible whenever Matthew came by. She busied herself with preparing for the last two Farmer’s Markets. When Matthew came over to winterize the apple orchard, Mirabelle politely said hello, then violently pureed pumpkin loudly in the kitchen.

  “We have an important holiday coming up.” Anona said, coming into the kitchen after a day of harvesting the last vegetables out of the garden. She had been canning since June, and it looked as if their veggies would last straight through winter. And if they didn’t, well there was a grocery store ten miles away.

  “Oh, yeah, Halloween is a big deal for witches, right?” Mirabelle started to wash off the pumpkin guts that had hardened up her arms and wedged beneath her fingernails.

  “It is. We call it Samhain, though.” Anona set to organizing the vegetables, what would be eaten today and tomorrow, what would be saved for later.

  “Are we going to dance naked around a bonfire? There is a primal part of me that feels I should spend at least one holiday in my new found witc
hhood nude under the stars.”

  “I wouldn’t pick Samhain for that. Maybe be the Summer Solstice? It would be much warmer. This year, we’ll hand out candy to the twenty or so trick or treaters we will get, then we’ll make a big bonfire, which we will sit around completely clothed, and do some blessings over the land, maybe a protection spell from Blondie, we’ll see.”

  “Do your spells work? I mean, are they just wishes or are there actually results?” Mirabelle questioned.

  “They work. You might notice that I am able to live on this farm undisturbed by artists looking for a Muse. I am also able to go to the Farmers’ Market on a weekly basis without being accosted by someone with a spark of artistic talent. I also was able to stand next to James without him attaching himself to my hip. First, have you heard of scrying? We’ll try it sometime. Basically, I used a crystal over a map to tell me where I would be furthest away from any artistic souls. I do a monthly spell to hide my “Museness” from any artists I may happen upon when I leave here or who might wander onto the farm.” Anona explained. “That Fae, Blondie? I’ve got some pretty heavy spell work around the house stopping him from entering without an invitation. There are always loopholes, though. No spell is 100% effective.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if I were to walk into an introduction to painting class at a college, no amount of spell work could protect me from that many artists. If Picasso suddenly rose from the dead, I couldn’t have lunch with him; his artistry is too strong, it would overcome the spell. And for these reasons, I do not go to art galleries, most college campuses, or coffee shops. Writers are the absolute worst.”

  “Do you really hate being a Muse? I think it would be exciting to incite inspiration in others.” Mirabelle was starting to think Anona hated her gift.

  “I don’t hate it, but it’s extremely inconvenient sometimes. At first, I loved it. I had a crazy amount of power over George, and he could barely stand to be away from me for an hour, much less a day. That was fine for a few months, but if I needed a day off, I couldn’t go ten minutes without a call or text from him. Artists are temperamental. So are their wives. Claudia, George’s wife, hated me. We never had any sort of physical relationship, but you’ve seen the artwork. I’m nothing if not pure sexuality in all of his paintings. Perhaps one day, I could be a Muse to someone that I loved, but until that happens, I am content to stay dormant.”