Prophecy of Three

by Ashley McLeo

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Aye, tomorrow we start magic lessons.”

  Magic Lessons

  Autumn had always been Lily’s favorite season. Stocking up on teas, fuzzy socks, and new pencils were rituals she anticipated as the sun set on summer each year. But in Ireland, things were different. The forest around Fern Cottage had long been overtaken by red and orange before Lily even realized summer had slipped away.

  Since the unbinding, Lily had spent almost every waking minute learning and practicing magic. She collapsed into bed each night exhausted, positive her body couldn’t take another day. While Lily often thought the aching muscles and frequent fainting spells were reason enough to quit her training, she never went through with it. None of it mattered, when there was the rush. The pure elation she felt after a perfectly executed spell had the ability to erase all the bad from her mind. This reaction had Lily questioning her sanity because for her, executing a perfect spell was rare. After all, she was no Sara. Her youngest sister had yet to falter with any spell, charm, jinx, or hex thrown at her. Lily had nicknamed Sara Hermione, though only in her head.

  Healing was by far her favorite branch of magic. This was in no small way related to the fact that it was unequivocally her best subject. It also allowed her free reign in Brigit’s fabulous garden.

  As Brigit was part earth witch, her garden bloomed year round, unaffected by the changing seasons. It reminded Lily of a fairytale garden, overflowing with exotic flowers, healing herbs, spiraling vines, and berry-laden bushes. Lily spent hours there, sniffing the various herbs and flowers to commit their scents at various stages of development to memory. Her hands grew sensitive to the moisture gradient of mosses and the potential vitality of petals from a newly opened bud. Under Fiona’s and Aoife’s tutelage, Lily learned the art of creating healthful tinctures from arnica and milk thistle, how to brew a calming potion from witch hazel and mountain lovage, and how to coax the slippery healing compounds from the infamous belladonna plant. Aoife had even sold a few of Lily’s better tinctures at Aoife’s Apothecary in town.

  Most mornings the triplets had group lessons—usually charms, spells, and hexes having to do with defense or basic manipulation of elements. Spells Brigit claimed every witch should know, like producing fireballs from their palms to defend against hostile vampires or pulling iron from the earth to ward off rogue fae, neither of which felt basic to Lily. Specialty classes were in the afternoon and consisted of one-on-one lessons with a rotation of experts in their field.

  “There’s no need for you to take lessons from the strongest fire witch in all the Isles,” Aoife explained that morning when Lily expressed interest in attending one of Sara’s upcoming special lessons. “You aren’t able to perform at the caliber Deirdre Phoenix demands of her students yet. We can reassess in a couple months.”

  “How do we know how fast we need to progress anyway? What if Deirdre never comes back and we miss out? Or what if she dies? None of these masters have been spring chickens,” Evelyn asked, her tone snide.

  “It’s nearly a sure thing that the other side knows something is up here. We’ve heard reports of increasing power flows circulating all around the countryside. We can’t be certain when they’ll make a move, but we can be as efficient as possible until the time comes. Deirdre was my mentor. I know what she expects and I’ll not bother my mentor with two pupils whose fireballs still resemble a candle flame,” Aoife said slapping labels on brown tincture bottles without so much as a glance up.

  “Right. Keep working like little robots,” Evelyn replied, slamming her book shut and stalking out of the cottage.

  She’s so dramatic, Lily thought. Their relationship since the unbinding had reached an unprecedented degree of frigidity. It was as if the hours by the lake, laughing and telling stories had never happened. Even Sara, often the bridge between her older sisters, fell victim to Evelyn’s bad moods now.

  “Brigit did say we could emerge from the unbinding changed,” Sara whispered. Her fingers danced through the beads of her mala necklace as she watched Evelyn out the sitting room window.

  Lily nodded, though she didn’t agree. Sara’s eyes, so sensitive to the slightest flick of the hand during casting, seemed blind to the nuances of Evelyn Locksley, a topic Lily considered herself fluent in. Lily had seen the darkening of Evelyn’s blue eyes and the stiffening of her shoulders as Aoife spoke. This was not the “change” Brigit spoke of. It was envy, and Lily knew why. Sara’s magical excellence was enough to color almost anyone’s vision green. Add in the fact Lily and Sara had discovered their specialties, but Evelyn hadn’t—well, it didn’t take a genius to see why the girl used to having everything her way was pissed off most of the time.

  Though it guilted her a little, Lily couldn’t deny the perverse pleasure she often felt at Evelyn’s irritation. It was hard feeling sorry for a gorgeous blonde raised with a silver spoon in her perfect mouth.

  “Can we go over the types of magic again, Aoife?” Lily asked, hoping to distract herself from another round of mental Evelyn bashing.

  “Aye. There’ll be two types. The one referred to in movies is witchcraft, though they’ve got the specifics all wrong, as usual. Witchcraft is magic that relies on objects such as a potion, scrying bowl, or crystal. Healing is a good example. Witchcraft is what usually gets non-hereditary witches interested in magic.”

  “Like tarot cards?”

  “Hmm,” Aoife bowed her head to hide her disapproval at what she deemed carnival magic.

  Lily suppressed a grin. “Then there’s elemental, right?”

  “Some call it elemental. Others, like myself, call it blood magic. It’s the magic hereditary witches are born with. Blood magic thrives off power taken from the elements and gifted by the Goddess. It includes enhancements, ceremens, energy and element manipulation, spirit magic, and astral projection, to name a few. Anything you perform under your own steam or pulled from the surrounding elements. Most of what we are teaching you is blood magic. This is because you can bet fata and their cronies are not going to be cowed by a scrying bowl or a fecking tarot card.”

  Lily sighed. To her, blood magic was an umbrella term for magical subjects she was terrible at. Why can’t I fight off a fata with a crystal? She imagined herself battling a menacing blob with a stick of amethyst and chuckled.

  “Something funny?” Aoife said, peering up from her labeling.

  Lily shook her head, knowing Aoife would be unamused by that plan of attack.

  “So, what do fata look like? I always pictured them as some sort of blob,” she asked before Aoife sniffed out the hilarious image still running through Lily’s leaky mind.

  “You’re not far off. We’ve found a few documents claiming a handful of fata made it here after the triplets’ disappearance. Those sources indicate they looked a bit like a colorful ghost. That is, until they learned to transform themselves to fit in with humans like Lilith, Eve, and Seraphina,” Aoife said.

  “What happened to the ones that made it here?” Lily asked, captivated by where her off-the-cuff question had led them.

  “They bred, or at least they tried. Even here it seems most fata were weak and infertile. The few pure fata births that came to fruition on Earth produced magical offspring never before seen: daemons, fairies, vampires, shifters, sirens, djinn, all sorts of creatures. I spoke once with a wizard as knowledgeable as one could be on the subject. He thought this was because of the different magics found on Earth and Hecate. He explained that only fata-human unions produced the same type of creature with consistency and hypothesized this was due to the influence of human DNA, which belongs completely to the earth. Children born to fata and humans were always witches.”

  Lily’s head spun. They had learned a little about vampires and fae, but the others were mysteries to her. There must be different types of magic to consider? What would we use as weapons against them? Her eye began to twitch.

  “How do we fight other creatures?”

 
“Well, let’s see, where to start—”

  “Lily. Sara.” Brigit strode into the room, the scents of cinnamon and lavender wafted in behind her lazily. She cast a quizzical look at Aoife. “Where’s Evelyn? Morgane and Nora have been waiting outside for ages.”

  Lily brightened. She’d forgotten about their special group lesson that afternoon.

  “Mind magic,” Gwenn clarified the night before, with a roll of her eyes. “Aoife’s quite proud of her speciality, but I doubt you’ll hear anyone else call it ceremens at a coven gathering.”

  Mind magic, as Lily understood, indicated phase two of their training. They weren’t just standing behind shields as someone threw curses at them, or pulling tiny bits of metal from the ground. This was some real shit. They were going to read someone’s mind. Having been on the receiving end of ceremens for weeks, Lily was more than ready to learn how to defend herself.

  “I’ll go get her. She went to get some sun,” Sara lied, and rushed outside to collect Evelyn, her fringed top swaying as she ran.

  “Alright, ladies,” Morgane said, clapping her veiny hands together as they assembled on the lawn. “I’ve got to be getting back to Trinity by nightfall, so let’s get started.

  “Ceremens is a slippery branch of magic. Most can manage a bit, especially with those close to them or who share an element—like Gwenn can with Lily, though she’s not a great ceremens otherwise. Few are truly powerful. We’re hoping you three are in the minority. Our enemies would be foolish not to have a few prodigious ceremens. If you’re not a ceremens and they get ahold of you . . . well, that would be what my students call a mind fuck.”

  Lily giggled. Morgane, she’d learned, had a refreshing disregard for social etiquette.

  “Ceremens is used to invade others’ thoughts, project your thoughts—or, in Aoife’s case, memories—plant falsehoods, read emotions, and most pertinent for our situation, bend others to your will. There’s a charm and a technique for each scenario except reading emotions. That’s more a natural ability. We shall begin with the first two, which are mirrors of each other.”

  “Reading emotions would be an empath?” Sara asked.

  “Correct,” Morgane beamed. “Empaths can be quite nice to have around. Wouldn’t you agree, Lily?”

  “Excuse me?” Lily cocked her head to the side.

  Morgane mirrored the gesture, confusion clouding her eyes.

  Nora interjected, a knowing smirk on her face. “They haven’t told you yet? What are they dragging their arses about? Well, I suppose someone’s got to tell you now. Emily is an empath. Oh, and Selma de Avila is one of the most famous sirens of our time. Sirens possess a specialized, usually genetic, branch of mind magic. Selma’s powers have likely gone unused for decades, being around all those women, though rumor has it she practiced quite a bit in her youth.”

  Lily’s mouth fell open at the strange words used to describe two of the people she loved best. She flipped frantically through memories of anything resembling magic at the commune. It didn’t take long to hit on one. The adult tent! Selma belly dancing before a captivated group of men, twirling on the stage as if floating on water. Lily had never seen anyone move in quite that way. Her mind raced on, but most of her memories from that night were vague, unplaceable.

  “Now she remembers. Rena did mention she obscured some of that night for you. A few other times, too, until you were ready to digest them,” Nora said, studying Lily’s reaction with a smug smile.

  Lily glared at Nora. Why is she enjoying this so much?

  “Don’t worry. Rena is too noble to do it often,” Nora said, as if being noble were something too ridiculous to fathom. “Most of the time they were simply careful around you. It wasn’t difficult. There aren’t many strong witches at Terramar. Rena, Annika, and Selma are the only ones who would register against our lot, and Annika only if she could use her wand. Unlike your mother and aunts, Annika has trouble without a channeling agent. Emily is a moderate empath, but she’d never manipulate anyone.”

  Lily’s shoulders softened. A call to Rena would still be necessary, but for now she could live with the knowledge that she hadn’t been toyed with her entire life.

  “I didn’t show up to learn all about commune drama. Could we move on?” Evelyn interrupted.

  For once, Lily was grateful for her intrusion.

  “Aye,” Aoife nodded, “What do you ladies say we partner up, and we’ll break into your heads?”

  Evelyn tensed.

  Lily made a beeline for Morgane. There was no way she wanted Nora in her head. She already knew too much as it was.

  Sara and Aoife, a natural pair, gravitated toward the orchard together without a word.

  Evelyn’s face fell as she realized what had happened.

  Lily smirked. Apparently, Nora hadn’t been Evelyn’s first choice either.

  Morgane claimed one of Lily’s favorite patches of garden filled with buttercups as their battleground. She pulled Lily to the far side, under a trestle decorated with a stained glass triquetra and rose bushes crawling up it’s wood frame. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I thought you knew by now.”

  Despite the shock she felt, a small part of Lily agreed with Morgane. She had known, on an intuitive level, though she’d never taken time to think about it. She found she wasn’t even mad at her Terramar family. Despite the enchantments on their cell phones being lifted, service at Fern Cottage was poor. Her calls home had become rare, short, and she always seemed to be the one ending them, claiming mental exhaustion. No wonder they hadn’t told her yet.

  She inhaled and the scents of thyme, lady’s mantle, lemon balm, and roses washed over her as truth seeped in. She felt it distill down into the deepest parts of her, clarifying her memories. Even her grade school years had whispered of magic. Lily recalled her shock the first day of high school when she discovered no one else had studied botany or occult religions. The truth hadn’t been hidden so deep after all, she realized. Her chest warmed as lessons with Rena came rushing back in a new light.

  “No changing the past,” she said, her face softening into a smile. “Now what do you say you have a go at my head?”

  Three hours later, Lily, Evelyn, and Sara were practiced, though not entirely successful, at keeping their partners’ advancements at bay. Having employed crude, inefficient mind barriers for weeks, Lily found the correct way, while still difficult, was far easier than her self-taught method. Never again would she have to envision a large iron gate around her head, or keep it there through sheer willpower, because there was a charm for that. One word and poof! A barrier that would suffice for the day-to-day surrounded her mind. It was only in cases of probing or stress that force of will and mental stamina would be needed for protection. Despite exercising her mental muscles vigorously since arriving at Fern Cottage, Lily still found herself woefully unprepared to fend off Morgane’s advanced attacks.

  “You’ll not be keeping a master ceremens from dipping in until you’ve built up the strength, though you will be able to protect yourself around most witches,” Morgane admitted.

  Cludo, cludo, cludo. Lily repeated her new favorite charm to herself.

  “Alright, ladies, it’s near supper time. What do you say we do a few rounds where you three are the intruders for a bit of fun? The charm is inruo. You will have to project your mind out as Aoife does, though without the memory attached. Try to empty your mind of extraneous thoughts before searching for another mind. Eye contact helps when first learning, but often develops into a crutch. And don’t be too hard on yourself if you don’t succeed the first time. Offense is more difficult than defense in this case,” Morgane said.

  Lily tried to hide her groan of exhaustion beneath a loud cough. She took small solace in seeing that she wasn’t the only one feeling the stress. Both Evelyn and Sara looked spent, too.

  “New casters often find it easiest to imagine their minds being thrown out, as a fisherman would when casting for salmon. Leave it out there a wee bit,
wait for the mind to catch on, and reel it back in if you come up empty.” Morgane’s voice was oddly encouraging for a person who theoretically was about to have their mind broken into.

  Like a fishing line it is then, Lily thought, trying to recall if she’d ever handled a fishing pole. Growing up with a bunch of hippie vegetarians had the oddest drawbacks sometimes.

  Empty your mind, she thought, closing her eyes and breathing deep.

  “Inruo,” she whispered, and threw. Instinct took over and Lily felt her own sluggish thoughts dissolve into black. Her back arched and face angled toward the sky as a sensation of lightness overcame her. She became aware that a small but strong part of herself was missing. Is it working? she wondered, before shoving the question down into oblivion.

  “Goddess be!” Morgane screeched.

  Lily’s tenuous grasp on the charm broke at the sound and her mind snapped back into place. She opened her eyes wide and her limbs tingled as feeling returned. Did I hurt Morgane? What did I do wrong? What the hell?

  Morgane was no longer in the buttercup patch but jogging toward a lump in the mint patch near a glassy eyed Evelyn. Lily squinted and realized the lump was Nora, her body curled in on itself like a sleeping dog.

  “What happened, Nora? Are you alright?” Morgane asked, dropping to the ground.

  Nora peeked up.

  “Her,” she said, locking eyes with Morgane and pointing her finger at Evelyn. “She did it,” her voice fell into a low whisper before trailing off into silence.

  “Evelyn broke in?” Morgane asked disbelievingly.

  Nora’s eyes flicked up to see a group gathering around her before resuming staring at the ground.

  “Goddess be,” Aoife said, whirling to face Evelyn.

  Evelyn winced and her eyes cleared a bit.

  Lily guessed that Aoife was performing her sophisticated variant of ceremens on Evelyn.

  “Nora’s right, Morgane,” Aoife said, turning back to the old witch.