Witch Season: Does she have what it takes to outsmart the craft?

by Larissa May

  “Breeda.” My mother’s voice, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. I put my face to hers, a sob escaping my throat as I touched her skin. “My girl,” she whispered in my ear. “My girl.”

  The sisters sat together at the kitchen table, holding hands. When I’d finally let go of my mother, Evie sat next to her, tears running down her face. My mother caught one, kissed it, and they drew their raven heads together, a silent peace between them.

  In the hours that passed since we’d brought them down from the tower, my parents regained some color in their cheeks, though their hands shook as they sipped the tisanes Shelley concocted. Their eyes had sunk deep in their sockets, and were surrounded by dark bruising. I knew they needed rest, but I didn’t want to let them out of my sight.

  I leaned against my dad, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in. We talked, telling our stories. “Your mother and I fought,” he said, “but Brandon had a bewitched demon with him. He forced us into the church and trapped us inside.”

  “We could still feel you, even without our talismans,” he continued, his voice growing raspy. “More so when you were in the church. It nearly drove us insane to know you were in such danger, but deep down we knew you’d be okay.”

  My mother smiled sadly. “Brandon thought your magic could purify the demons within him, but nothing could do that. I pitied him, honey. I hated him and I pitied him—but once I’d loved him.”

  I had, too. But it was difficult to remember who he was, who any of us were, even just a few short weeks ago.

  “Love and hate reside in close quarters,” Evie said. “We all know that.”

  Miro cleared his throat. He’d been quiet, wanting to leave us to our reunion, but I’d asked him to stay. I wanted him to stay. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I think you need to make a decision,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Brandon needs a proper burial, or—”

  “We’re not burning him,” my mother said. “Destroy what’s left of his talisman, but don’t burn that poor boy.”

  Miro nodded. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  I couldn’t let him do that alone. As much as I wanted to stay with my parents, dawn approached, and the task needed to get done. “I’ll help you,” I said. “Mom, Dad, you should lie down. We’ll have all of tomorrow to talk things through.”

  Shelley gathered their mugs. “Seralina and Ion are still in the front bedroom,” she said. “I don’t think she wants to move him.” It was the first thing she’d said in hours. I approached her, not knowing what to say or do but wanting her to understand I was there for her.

  Shelley held up her hand and said, “Not yet, Breeda.” I deserved the pain that caused, but she deserved nothing. Everything she’d done in the past few days she’d done for me. It was childish to think I could even begin to make it up to her, but I would try as soon as she gave me the opportunity.

  I glanced at my parents, who both looked like they could pass out right at the kitchen table.

  “Come on, you two,” Evie said, placing her ringed hands on their shoulders.

  “If they sleep in the back bedroom,” I said to Evie, “I want to sleep on the floor, okay?”

  “Right next to me,” she said. “If you think I’m letting any of you out of my sight you’re crazy.”

  I squatted next to Brandon, staring as his hair began to shine gold in the early-morning light. “He really was good once.”

  “I’m sure he was,” Miro said gently.

  I worked to remove the destroyed talisman from Brandon’s grasp. The sun sent its first rays, hitting my bracelet and illuminating the stone.

  “Breeda, do you see—your talisman.”

  I ran a finger over the thick, black line marring the stone. I couldn’t rub it away; it was mine—it was who I was. I fell back onto the grass, staring at my wrist, sorrow leaving me breathless. I flashed to Seralina choking me, to my murderous thoughts. “I know. Do I have Black Magic in me now?”

  My question brought Miro to my side. He sat next to me, lacing his fingers through mine. “It doesn’t matter,” he assured me. “You’ll deal with it. I know you can resist it. You’re definitely strong enough.”

  I didn’t feel strong at all. Black Magic destroyed a witch from the inside out, exploiting weakness in its uniquely cruel way. I wondered which part of me it would twist to serve its purposes.

  “When I did magic earlier, at the church, I didn’t have any visions.” I swallowed. “Is that the Black Magic messing with me?”

  “No,” Miro said, smiling faintly. “It means you’ve survived your initiation into the transition. You might still get them off and on, but they won’t be like before.”

  I hadn’t minded them. The visions kept me close to my past, to the people I’d loved.

  “You’ll need a coven,” Miro said, interrupting my thoughts. “Gavin’s death broke any oaths you had with him.” He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Your family has a home with our coven. If you want it.”

  “But Shelley—”

  “In the coming days, Shelley will need a friend. I’m not enough.”

  “After what happened with Vadim,” I replied, “how could I ask that of any of you?”

  “I just offered,” Miro said, his voice serious. “My friendship with Vadim is separate from my feelings about you.”

  “Dobra will never allow it.”

  “Dobra can’t refuse a witch in need,” Miro replied. “But if he does, I’ll fight for you.”

  I drew his face to mine. “I know you would, and that means so much, but I’ll never let anyone fight on my behalf again. Not now. I know what there is to lose.”

  Miro traced the lines of my face, ending with his thumb on the spot where he kissed the jasmine oil onto my lips. “If I don’t fight, then I’ll lose you,” he said. “And I don’t want to lose you.”

  The sun rose higher in the sky. We stood to face it, preparing ourselves for what the day would bring.

  Together.

  EPILOGUE

  A WITCH’S OATH

  The coven danced around the fire pit, holding hands, mending hearts. The circle broke for just a moment, and we three filled the open space: My beautiful, raven-haired mother, my brave bear of a father, and me, a girl with shining eyes.

  We all joined hands, and raised our voices as one:

  The circle never ends,

  but always begins.

  Its strength binds the heart,

  and through blood,

  it speaks a solemn vow.

  To the moon

  our witness,

  we pledge our sacred oath.

  We offered our wrists. Threads of crimson bled into the waiting chalice.

  The fire was then fed. It flared with the lifeblood it had been given, sealing the oath.

  My mom and dad smiled their relief.

  Conscious of the shared sacrifice, I clasped the hand of Miro beside me and hoped the moon was merciful, and would shine upon us.

  END

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