by Dianna Hardy
~*~
Nowadays, dinner – which they always ate at the breakfast table, because the dining room was her mother's second office – was the only time she and her mum ever talked. It hadn't always been that way, but Elena had committed a fatal crime when she was eight years old: she had brought a butterfly back from the dead. Of course, it was by accident. She'd seen it wilt in flight; she'd seen it fall. At eight years old, she hadn't been able to bear the sadness of it. She'd held out her hand, and the falling butterfly had landed in her palm. She had surrounded its still form in green light, felt life flow through her and into it; it had fluttered its wings once more and then flown away. It had been the first time her hands had ever glowed – the first time she had ever used her healing magic – and it had been nothing but pure instinct. Her mother had told her she was special – had told her about how she was a witch with a lot of power, but not in a million years would she have dreamed she could do that.
Karl had been with her. His ten-year-old self had been struck dumb, as they'd both watched the tiny creature climb the air currents towards the rays of the sun. She had turned towards him, beamed him a joyful smile, and giggled at the look of adoration on his face.
“You gave it wings,” he had said, awed. Then he had leaned in, pecked her on the cheek, and said, “I love you,” to which her giggle had turned into unrestrained laughter.
Her joy had plummeted as fast as it had soared when she'd caught sight of her mother off to the right, standing under a Willow tree. She knew instantly that she had seen the entire thing.
When she'd finally approached them, her face had been expressionless and for the first time ever, her eyes had been cold … and without being able to put it into words, Elena had known at that moment, that by giving life to the butterfly, she had killed a part of her mother. If she had known that would be the last time she'd see her laugh, or the last time they'd ever sing songs together as they sat on the swings in the park, she would have let the butterfly die.
“I need to talk to you, Elena, about sex.” Her mother's voice brought her out of her reverie, and she was disturbed to find her heart heavy with sorrow at the past memories. Then she realised what her mum had just said.
“Eeew, Mum,” she mumbled over her last forkful of noodles.
“No interruptions, please. I've been dreading this day…” In an unusual gesture, her mother reached across the breakfast table and took her hand. “Elena … you're special. Being the thirteenth in our family line makes you special … with that come certain responsibilities.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Mum, I know about condoms and stuff.”
“Well you don't know about this … you can't ever be in a relationship.”
She laughed, amused that her mum had finally cracked a joke after all these years. It faded as soon as she met her eyes. She was deadly serious.
“What?”
“Sex is a powerful thing for any witch, just like a first bleed is, but for you, it's ten times more potent…”
But Elena couldn't quite take in her mother's words, because all she could hear in her mind was 'can't ever be in a relationship'. Of course, it was Karl's face that instantly appeared in her mind's eye. Was this some kind of sick joke? Was this because her mum thought there was something going on between them? She knew it, knew she'd given something away in her eyes earlier when her mum had walked into the bedroom…
What was she saying now? Was she talking about her periods? Yeah, she remembered the first time she'd bled – what a weird experience that had been … but what did that have to do with 'can't ever be in a relationship'?
“Elena,” her mother squeezed her hand, drawing her back to the present. “If you have sex, you'll be giving away your power – literally. The man you sleep with will take on your magic and you will be left barren of it. You will no longer have any powers and you will never be able to get them back.”
“I don't understand,” she said dumbly, annoyed that her voice was shaking.
Her mother sighed. “You can't have sex, Elena – ever.”
“Mum, there's nothing going on between me and Karl—”
“This isn't about you and Karl, this is about any boy – or man – that you end up with.”
Elena sat back in her seat, bewildered. “Are you telling me, that because I'm a witch, I have to be a virgin forever?”
“Not just a witch, a thirteenth generation witch.”
“I didn't ask to be a thirteenth generation witch!”
“And I didn't ask to birth one!”
Elena froze. She wondered if she'd been slapped, because those words stung.
Her mother sagged. “Oh, Elena, I didn't mean it like that … I just meant that we can't always choose our path.”
“And my path is to be alone and die a virgin?” she snapped. “What if I want to give up my powers? What if I want someone else to have them?”
“Would you really place all that responsibility on someone else's shoulders? They'd have to learn the ways of the Craft, their entire life would change beyond measure … they'd have to answer to The Council. They'd never be able to lead a normal life again.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. This couldn't be real. “I can't believe this … I don't believe this.”
Her mother held out her right hand. “Check if you don't believe me,” she said, her voice calm and steady. She was referring to what all the kids at The Council dubbed the Lie Detector Spell. A brief touch with her mother's mind would ascertain the truth of the matter.
She couldn't stop her hand from trembling as she placed it in her mother's. She reached out with her mind, and touched hers briefly. Her eyes welled up, tears spilled over and a sob escaped her before she kicked back her chair, and ran to her room.
