The Coven History

by Lily Luchesi

  How could I have been so stupid? How could I have believed he was different, that he was good, when he had all that Darkness inside? I should have known better. I should have listened to everyone else.

  Should you? another part of her mind whispered. Or is it because you let everyone influence you that you overreacted today?

  “Hey, is everything okay?”

  Daphne looked up to see Robert walking toward them. He was holding his hands up as if for peace.

  “I’m not here to fight. Just wanted to check in on Smith,” he continued.

  “Mike’s going to be fine,” Draven replied. “And it looks like Sinclair and Daphne had a bit of a falling out over his actions this afternoon.”

  Robert arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry to hear that, Daphne. But I must agree, he went too far. I know I am friends with him, but even I have to call him out here.”

  Hearing Robert, a high ranking Clan Munro magician, agree with her only made Daphne feel even worse. She wanted to be wrong about Salem so badly. She hiccupped as she held back more tears, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

  “Look at it this way,” Robert began, “you found out before you and he got any closer.”

  Salem kept to himself that weekend, not even coming out of his room to eat. He took his meals in there, not that he had much of an appetite. He wanted to go and find Daphne, try and explain himself, but he was rubbish at emotions. Unless he felt too strongly, he felt nothing at all. And when he felt too strongly, like how he felt about her, he was unable to properly explain himself verbally.

  He went to the library before classes started, because most of the students had exams for the next two weeks, so some classes were beginning later than usual. Mostly he went to study, but a part of him also went there because he knew that neither Daphne nor the other boys would be there that early. They’d be in the Common Room.

  He sat at a table, staring blankly, until Robert slid into the seat across from him. “Oi, you are alive. I was beginning to worry when you didn’t leave your room all weekend,” he commented with a smirk.

  “Funny. Are you quitting magic to become a comedian?” Salem grumbled.

  “Is it because you called your little girlfriend names, or because she thinks you’re some evil wizard bent on causing Hell here in the Coven?” he asked.

  “Tact is not your forte, is it? It’s everything all at once. I hate that I couldn’t control my magic. I hate that she cannot understand that I would never hurt someone on purpose. I mean, no, I don’t regret what I did, but it wasn’t a choice I consciously made. I wish … I wish she could feel what I feel, so she would know how sorry I am for how I acted toward her. I was hurt beyond measure, and I took it out on her. It was wrong of me. And all I want is for her to forgive me, to at least understand me.”

  Robert cocked his head. “Perhaps this is a radical idea, mate, but did you ever consider … I don’t know … telling her all of that instead of me?”

  Salem chuckled mirthlessly. “I can’t. That is where my problem lies. I … I get tongue tied around her. My heartbeat races and my mind suddenly loses IQ points by the dozen.”

  “That’s called love,” Robert said with a smirk. “At the very least a crush.”

  “Have any pointers on how I can make her understand me better?” Salem asked. “Anything at all?”

  Robert pursed his lips and appeared to think for a moment, long fingers tapping slowly on the redwood table. After a minute his eyes brightened and he said, “Hold your Peges! I think I have an idea!” He shot up from his chair and went to look in the stacks of books. The Brewing and Medicinal Magic section.

  Salem watched, mildly entertained, as his friend rapidly scanned the books, searching for a particular one. He had no idea what sort of potion could help him — confidence boosting potions were illegal for students to use or brew.

  Robert pulled a book off the shelf and began to flip through the pages. When it seemed he found what he was looking for, he bounded back to the table Salem was sitting at. “Here you go!” he said triumphantly.

  Salem looked down at the book, which was a collection of potions from the Middle Ages.

  “Mea Sensus,” he read. “‘Created in 1392 to help those in positions of wealth and/or power to find suitable spouses. Brewed properly, it will make the drinker discern the true feelings of the potioneer.’” His mouth opened a little in surprise. “I do not have any idea how you knew about this brew, Robert, but if it works, I will be forever in your debt.”

  Robert flapped a hand. “Personally, I think if you had hurt Smith out of malice and not on accident, he would have deserved it. But still … if you really want to win Fraser over, this is your best bet.”

  Salem sighed. “How will I get these ingredients? I could never afford them all.”

  “The Brewing lab,” Robert said, rolling his eyes as if it were obvious.

  “In case you have forgotten, Mr. Fraser doesn’t exactly sing my praises. He’d never let me use his stores for personal gain,” Salem reminded him.

  Robert smirked. “He won’t be in office from noon till school ends. He’s supervising the graduating classes and then the first years in the Main Hall. So the room will be unattended until tomorrow morning.”

  Robert always had information like that, things other students wouldn’t readily know. Salem had no idea how he gained his intel, but frankly, at that point, he could not have cared less.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, reading over the brewing instructions. “If this doesn’t work, I fear nothing will.”

  “Bloody, insane, mental bastard,” Michael ranted. “I knew he was rotten to the core. Knew it! No offence, Caelum, but Clan Munro is evil.”

  Caelum knew that already, better than many others. His parents were evil. So was his extended family. “No offence taken. I happen to agree with you,” he said as he, Michael, and Draven were walking up the front steps to the castle.

  “I think saying a whole Clan is evil is as bad as saying a whole species is evil, like werewolves or vampires,” Draven spoke up.

  “I thought most vampires were evil,” Michael commented.

  Draven shook his head. “The saying is ‘not all vampires are evil’. In fact, most are pretty decent. Just a few who read too many Bram Stoker novels in their day.”

  “Still, I can’t think of anyone in Clan Munro who doesn’t have a checkered history except you, Cae,” Michael said.

  Caelum shrugged. “I still think we should get back at Sinclair for what he did, attacking you.”

  “Hell yeah we should,” Michael agreed. “The question is how? I can’t stand the bloke, but he is a great wizard. It would be hard to pull one over on him. Do we ambush him in the courtyard?”

  Caelum nodded. “Could work. If he doesn’t rush straight home and we miss him. What spell were you thinking of? Or d’you want me to just cold cock him?”

  “No way, Caelum,” Draven said, almost scoldingly.

  Michael laughed. “No, I was thinking of a spell. Maybe one to turn his clothes invisible?”

  Draven wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

  “How about a silencing hex?” Caelum wondered.

  “He’s already quiet,” Michael said, shooting down that idea. “How about crus moventur? Make him make a fool out of himself in front of everyone?”

  Draven rolled his eyes. “Anything to not make him get really hurt. Because then Caelum will be accused of Dark magic, just like Sinclair was.”

  “And that is the last thing I want,” Caelum added. “But I like your idea, Mike.”

  Draven sighed. “Leave me out of it. I don’t believe in revenge,” he commented. “Like I said, as long as it’s not a Dark spell or curse. I’ve got an exam soon. Tell me after school how it went … if both you idiots aren’t in detention.” He trotted into the school, leaving the two of them alone.

  “Goody two shoes,” Michael said with a smile. “So, you’re up for it, Cae?”

  “You bet.”

&nb
sp; The sound of a clearing throat made Caelum turn back to the doors of the castle. Robert stood there, arms crossed, smirk on his face.

  “You’ll both wind up unable to attend the end of year ball if you do what you’re planning.”

  “What’s it to you?” Michael asked, mimicking Robert’s stance.

  Robert shrugged. “Nothing. Only that I can tell you a simpler way to get back at him without anyone knowing it was you two.”

  Caelum scoffed. “How can we trust you? You’re his friend.”

  Robert walked toward them, hand extended. In his palm was a small burlap sack. “Inside here are flowers that will give him an allergic reaction. No harm done, but it will be mortifying for him to have to go to the Medic’s office for a cure. Extremely mortifying. Even better than making him dance in the courtyard.”

  Caelum was beginning to be intrigued. “How do you expect me to do that?”

  “He’ll be in the Brewing lab around four. Just switch out the dried white rose petals for these and he will be none the wiser.”

  “Why are you helping us do this?” Caelum asked. He didn’t trust Robert quite yet.

  “Because I like mischief,” Robert replied with a wink. “Use these or not, whatever. It’s your call, mate.” He clapped Caelum on the shoulder and walked back into the castle.

  Caelum looked at the bag in his palm, then at Michael. “What do you say? Think we can trust his word, or is he sending us on a one way ticket to expulsion?”

  Michael glanced in the direction Robert had just gone in, and then down at the little bag. “I think he was telling the truth about one thing: he does like a little chaos. And so do I, for that matter. Do it.”

  Caelum nodded and pocketed the bag, making sure the drawstring was tied and knotted. He didn’t want to wind up with the allergic reaction after all. As he often got when he knew a prank was about to be played, or some other scheme hatched, he was distracted all day. He knew he’d need to cut his last class, which wasn’t an exam, to be sure he made it to the lab in time to switch the flowers.

  So he had to think up excuses, and he also had to make sure he wasn’t seen going to the dungeons. Which meant he was getting into small bits of trouble in every class for not paying attention.

  But his inattentiveness paid off. Mrs. Donahue was so frustrated with him, she kicked him out of his last class of the day.

  “Mr. Lynx, you would do more to learn at home than you are here at the present moment,” she scolded. “This is your last class. In order to allow me to teach the students actually paying attention, might I ask you to leave? And return tomorrow with a full report written about the evolution of Everyday Spells since Queen Mary’s day. Good day, Mr. Lynx.”

  Michael shot him a thumbs up as he gathered his things and stood up from the desk. He patted his pocket to be sure he still had the little bag, and it was there, settled against his hip.

  Showtime, he thought, walking down the hall that led to the dungeon staircase. He took the steps two at a time and made it into the unlocked lab. One of the tables was laid out to brew. A cauldron sat, filled with spring water, and sachets or piles of ingredients were carefully lined up on one side, tools on the other. No one was around, or so it looked.

  He walked up to the table and began to peek inside the sachets until he found one filled with dried, crushed white rose petals. Just as he was about to make the switch, he heard footsteps.

  “What the bloody Hell are you doing here?” Salem asked, holding a beaker in one hand.

  Caelum had to think quickly. “Came to nick some blue lotus.” It was a plant that could give one a high to mimic a sedative. “Then I found your tableau. What are you doing, brewing a love potion so Daph will like you back?”

  “Piss off, Lynx. What I’m doing is none of your business. Get lost.” Salem seemed to be in a wretched mood, not that Lynx could blame him.

  “You don’t want me to tell Donahue I found you down here, do you?” Caelum asked, trying to stall.

  “I don’t give a damn what you do,” Salem replied. He moved forward, going to push Caelum out of the way.

  He saw it as the perfect opportunity and moved right in Salem’s view, reaching behind him for the bag of rose petals. Using his lynx speed, he switched that bag with the one Robert had given him.

  At the last minute, when he thought perhaps Salem was going to bump right into him, he moved to the side. However, his fingernail was caught on the drawstring, and the bag of powder opened, spilling its contents all over the table. He moved away quickly, but the blast of powder hit Salem, who immediately began to cough.

  “Look what you did!” Salem cried, brushing powder off of his black robe. He looked like he’d been dusted with flour. It was all over his face, clothes, and hair.

  “My bad,” Caelum said as he backed away, trying not to smirk. “Maybe next time you shouldn’t go sneaking around. You never know what might go wrong.”

  Salem coughed as the flower dust invaded his nostrils. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his allergies or not, but it didn’t smell like roses. But that could have been because the flower had been pre-ground. Any good potioneer worth their salt knew that grinding all of the preserved ingredients fresh was the best practice.

  Another reason why Fraser is a rubbish teacher, he thought, furiously cleaning up what had spilled. He hoped that he had enough left for the potion. He kept coughing, which irritated him even more.

  Once everything was cleaned up, he began to brew the potion. It started, as most do, with spring water. Then he added everything else in order. Three stirs counter-clockwise, then six stirs clockwise. Finally, he had to add the crushed white rose petals. He measured out each spoonful, but as they hit the potion, they exploded in little puffs of dust, which got up his nose and made him cough more.

  This time, the cough was accompanied by a sharp pain in his chest. He gripped the edge of the table as he tried to steady himself. His calm demeanour began to melt away as the pain barely relented.

  Something’s wrong, he thought, trying to take deep breaths. Once the pain subsided a little, he moved away from the workbench. I have to see the Medic.

  He turned, but began to feel lightheaded and had to grip the nearest solid thing to keep himself from falling. It felt like vertigo, but vertigo didn’t make your limbs tremble or your chest feel like there was a snake constricting your lungs.

  He stumbled up the stairs to the main level of the castle, and there he fell to his knees with another coughing fit. This time, he felt hot liquid against his lips. Touching his fingertips to them, he pulled them back and saw bright red blood.

  It only doubled his efforts to get to the Medic office and get help. He hoped no one saw him as he stumbled through the halls, coughing and wheezing.

  It seemed to take an eternity, but he finally made it to Madam Iaso’s office. He was normally polite to the Elders, but he didn’t take the time to knock at that moment. He burst into the room, which held six cots, none of which were filled, two magical quarantine chambers, and Iaso’s office. The Medic looked up, eyes wide with surprise, as he stumbled in, legs too weak to hold him anymore. He fell to the floor, hacking and now nearly unable to breathe. Bright red blood dotted the floor in front of him.

  “Help,” he gasped. At that moment, his vision began to go black at the edges and he fainted dead away.

  “Mr. Sinclair? Salem Sinclair, can you hear me?”

  Salem’s head was heavy and pounding, and his mouth felt like a desert. But he could feel. Which meant that he wasn’t dead yet. He slowly opened his eyes, pupils assaulted by the bright sunlight streaming in from the windows.

  He was in the infirmary. The last thing he could recall was being unable to breathe without pain and then he remembered nothing at all. Madam Iaso stood over his bed, hands on her hips.

  “There. Welcome back to the waking world, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “What happened to me?” he asked, struggling to sit up. His voice was hoarse and his mouth was a desert
. “And may I please have some water?”

  Iaso nodded curtly and handed him a small glass as she began to speak. “You were poisoned, Sinclair.”

  Salem nearly choked on his water. “Poisoned? What do you mean? How?”

  “After you burst in here and I detected the poison in your bloodstream, I sent someone to see where you had been. They found the setup for a potion in Mr. Fraser’s classroom. He assured me that he never gave you permission to use his classroom or his stores for your own use.

  “So I must conclude that you brewed a potion with a volatile ingredient. But since I could not take time to discern what the ingredient was, I simply gave you the universal poison cure,” she explained.

  Salem’s head was spinning as he tried to keep up after his bout of unconsciousness. None of those ingredients should have been poisonous. Unless…

  “Lynx…” he whispered.

  “What was that?” Iaso asked.

  “While I was down there, I found Caelum Lynx with the ingredients I had laid out. He must have switched one with poison!” Salem explained with more force and bravado than he usually did.

  Iaso scoffed. “Really, Sinclair? You were caught stealing from an Elder and mixing a possibly deadly potion. You cannot try to pin this on Mr. Lynx.”

  “I am doing no such thing. It’s the truth, Madam,” Salem insisted. “He poisoned me! Aren’t you going to go get the King?”

  “King Edelstone does not need to be brought into a petty fight between children,” she snapped. “I did consult with Mrs. Donahue about your actions, and she said that, since we cannot prove what you were brewing, we cannot turn you over to the PID for attempted murder.”

  At that, Salem felt his magic spike inside of him. “I was brewing a perfectly legal potion! It is Lynx who tried to kill me! He should be turned into the PID!”

  “Sinclair, please be silent. Donahue recommended in school suspension. You may not attend any classes or events, exams and schoolwork will be done in the library with an Elder keeping watch until school ends for the summer holiday. Consider yourself lucky, Sinclair: this time tomorrow, the PID could have executed you.”