Covens and Coffins

by Lily Webb

  “The point is, no one’s hopeless. It’ll take a lot of work for you to get where you need to be, but it’s far from impossible,” she said.

  “Speaking of Lydia, did you know her well?”

  “Not really. We spent a lot of time together, but she was far from an open book,” Helena said, and it wasn’t a surprise. Lydia and her sisters didn’t become some of the most powerful people in Moon Grove by wearing their hearts on their sleeves.

  “It’s hard to fathom anyone wanting to hurt her.”

  I could, but since Helena was in the mood to share, I kept my commentary to myself.

  “It really is,” I lied. “I can’t fathom for the life of me why anyone would want to come after her,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sure she made a few enemies along the way. Nobody gets to be that powerful without stepping on a few toes,” Helena said as if she’d read the words from my mind — not that I knew anything about that.

  “Any idea who?” I asked.

  Helena’s brow creased. She looked at me like she realized I was fishing for info and quickly broke eye contact, probably because she remembered that I was a mind reader. It wasn’t a secret anymore, far from it.

  “Like I said, she wasn’t an open book. Back on the broom, let’s give it another shot,” she said, and just like that, the moment passed.

  How could someone who spent hundreds of hours with Lydia fail to learn anything about her? Was Helena covering something up, or just afraid to speak up after what happened to Lydia? It was impossible to say.

  I kicked my leg over the broomstick and tried to place my hands like Helena had shown me.

  “Well done. You catch on fast,” she said, smiling, though she seemed uneasy.

  “Don’t jinx me. I haven’t left the ground yet,” I said, and she chuckled.

  “What did I say about confidence? Talking about yourself that way isn’t helping. The broom isn’t an obstacle to overcome; it’s a part of you. Do you have to consciously put one foot in front of the other to walk?” she asked.

  “No, I do it automatically.”

  “That’s exactly how flying should be. Stop thinking about it, and just do it,” she said.

  “Well, when you make it sound that easy…”

  “Try it. Close your eyes if it’ll help. I’ll tell you if you’ve gone too high,” she said.

  “Okay, but if I fall and break my face, it’s on you,” I said.

  “You won’t fall. Not this time.”

  Nodding, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the vibration of the broomstick. I couldn't imagine it as a part of myself when it felt I held a living thing between my fingers. But eventually, the vibration gave way to a feeling of calm that swept over me in waves as my breathing synced to its rhythm.

  Amazingly, when I opened my eyes, I found myself at least ten feet above the ground. Helena beamed up at me.

  “You said you’d tell me if I went too far!” I shouted down at her and she shrugged.

  “Why would I want to ruin something good like that? Besides, you aren’t that far up, but you can come back down,” she said as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Going up was never a challenge for me — getting down was the problem.

  My heart thundered in my ears, like the ocean crashing against the shore, and though I tried to point the broomstick down in one graceful motion, I wobbled to the left — and the wind tore at me as I plummeted toward the ground.

  Helena caught me in her arms, and the force knocked the wind out of my lungs. I opened my mouth to gape like a fish out of water and my broomstick smashed into my face, bounced off my head, and clattered to the ground.

  “That poor broom really deserves better than me,” I wheezed as I tried to catch my breath. Helena couldn’t help laughing.

  “Things took a sharp turn, but it’s still not a hopeless cause,” she said. “Honestly, when you kept drifting up and up, I doubted you’d ever open your eyes.”

  “I shouldn’t have,” I said. Helena put me upright and picked my broomstick off the ground. She held it out to me.

  “We should call it a night,” she said.

  “So soon? Darn,” I quipped, and Helena smiled at me.

  “You’ve taken enough of a beating for one night. Promise me you’ll try to practice at home between now and our next session?”

  “Our next session? Sorry, I didn’t realize there would be one,” I said.

  “Eden was, well, adamant about me taking you on.”

  “Which means there must be a fat pile of cash waiting for you on the other end, right?” I asked.

  Helena shrugged. “Busted,” she laughed.

  “I’m not excited about falling off my broom more, but if I can do it with you, it won’t be so bad,” I said.

  “Please, contain your enthusiasm,” Helena said.

  “I like you.”

  “Likewise. But I still need you to promise me you’ll practice,” she said, and offered me a hand.

  “Deal,” I said, and we shook on it. “I’ve got a date to get to anyway, so I guess it’s a good thing we’re calling it quits early,” I said.

  “Far be it for me to keep you from that,” Helena said.

  “Next time I should go on the date first. It might produce some bravery,” I said.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Helena said. “How does Monday evening work for you?”

  “Perfect. There’s nothing more important than learning how to fly this darn thing,” I said, holding the broom up in the air.

  “See you then,” Helena said, and left me in the middle of the stadium. With my broom over my shoulder, I headed for the exit. I’d been looking forward to my date with Beau for days. We’d barely seen each other since the start of the campaign, and not at all since the night of Lydia’s attack.

  It would be nice to forget about all that and decompress. Beau had an effortless way of putting me at ease, and I needed that now more than ever.

  I emerged at the entrance to Veilside Academy and headed south on Crescent Street toward Mooney’s Diner, our usual meeting place. I wished I had time to go home and clean up before the meeting Beau for dinner, but I didn’t — too bad I couldn’t fly, or at least not yet.

  “Hey, you! Yeah, I’m talking to you, the witch with the broom on her shoulder,” someone called, and I froze. It wasn’t late, and I was only a block away from the diner, but there wasn’t anyone on the street. I looked all around for the source of the voice but only found the black of night. Panicked, I kept walking, faster this time.

  “Don’t run away! We’ve got important business to cover,” the voice called. I whirled and screamed when a warlock with slick blonde hair and mocking blue eyes seized a fistful of my robes.

  “Who are—?”

  “I’m Rowley Darkmoore, president of the National Wand Association, and I have a question for you: should we elect an outsider to the most powerful position in all of Moon Grove?”

  Mr. Darkmoore must not have realized he was talking to the same person he was attacking.

  “I’ll take your silence as a yes. Zoe Clarke claims to be a witch for the people, but she can’t fly a broom,” Rowley said, and waved his hand. As if he were holding a projector, video footage appeared in front of my eyes — footage of me tumbling off my broom.

  My throat tightened. How on earth had the president of the NWA gotten hold of that? And why were they running attack ads against me if I didn’t scare them? Then it hit me: the warlock clutching my robes wasn’t real. It was a magical projection, an attack ad, designed to accost people on the street. It wasn’t the first time I’d fallen for such a thing, but this was far more aggressive than anything I’d seen before.

  “As if that wasn’t bad enough, Zoe Clarke has aligned herself with powerful forces who want nothing more than to take your wand and make sure you can’t use it to defend yourself if need be,” Rowley’s projection continued. “It’s all a part of our slow slide into tyranny.”

  Though I shoul
d’ve burned the flyer hanging on the nearest streetlight, the source of the projection’s magic, I couldn’t turn away. What else would he say about me?

  “Zoe? Zoe! Are you okay?” Beau called, tearing me away from the ad.

  Rowley scowled and let go of my robes, disappearing in a burst of shimmering sparkles.

  I straightened my clothes and Beau threw his arms around me.

  “I’m fine, it was just a dumb attack ad,” I said, though I couldn’t stop hearing and seeing the ad’s content in my mind. It was one thing for Rowley and the NWA to go after my inability to fly, but it was another thing entirely for them to accuse me of trying to take away anyone’s wand — and tyranny? I wasn’t sure which was more absurd.

  More than that, it was stunning to me that the NWA ran ads against me at all. My campaign hadn’t yet announced our partnership with the Crowes, so how had the news gotten out? Did the NWA have people following us, or did one of the Crowe sisters let something slip on accident — or on purpose?

  Regardless, the NWA was after me. I’d expected it at some point once we publicized my support of the wand restriction bill, but this soon?

  “Did you hear me?” Beau asked, tugging me out of my spiraling thoughts.

  “Sorry, no,” I admitted. Beau shook his head.

  “It doesn’t matter. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ve definitely been better. I spent the evening falling off my broom like a fool and I just found out the NWA is running ads attacking me for it,” I said.

  “Wait, that ad was about you?”

  “Sure was. It accused me of being an outsider who can’t fly a broom and who’s coming for everyone’s wands,” I laughed. Saying it out loud made it sound as ridiculous as it was. “The worst part is they had footage of me falling off my broom from a week ago.”

  “Seriously? How did they get that?” Beau asked, his brows stitched together.

  “It’s impossible to say. There were plenty of people in the stadium that day, between the crew recording it and the other racers practicing before we tried to shoot. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the crew members recorded me with their phone and turned it over,” I said.

  “But why would anybody do that?”

  “Why else? Money, most likely,” I said. “If you were the NWA, wouldn’t you pay top dollar to get your hands on footage of your political opponent literally falling on their face? It wouldn’t surprise me if they paid someone to join the crew.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Beau said and pulled me in for a hug. “Come inside, let’s have a Magishake and try to forget about it.”

  That wasn’t likely to work, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell Beau that. With an arm around my shoulder, he ushered me into the bright lights and doowop music in the retro diner. Mooney, the diner’s owner, beamed when he saw me.

  “Well, if it isn’t our next Head Witch!” Mooney shouted, leaning against the counter as we approached. Though I appreciated the sentiment, it never felt further from the truth as it did then.

  Beau and I slid into two stools built into the chrome bar and Mooney passed us each a menu.

  “What’ll it be tonight? It’s on the house,” Mooney said.

  “Mooney, no, you really don’t have to do that,” I argued, but Mooney held up a plump hand to silence me. When I turned to Beau for his support, he only smiled and shrugged. Had he planned this all along?

  “I won’t take no for an answer. You deserve it, and I’m sure you need it more than you know,” he said. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I heard about what happened with Lydia. What a terrible, awful thing.”

  “That’s putting it lightly,” I said. I didn’t doubt everyone in town had heard by now, but hearing it from Mooney did nothing to lift my mood.

  “You know what? I think I’ve got just the thing for you,” Mooney said. He produced his wand from under the counter, waved it at the instruments that lined the wall behind him, and they whirred to life.

  Strawberries danced through the air and marched into a large container. A banana lifted itself off the counter and slit into small pieces as if cut by an invisible knife. Last, a handful of blueberries rolled across the counter and leaped inside with the rest.

  Mooney tapped the container with his wand and muttered something I couldn’t hear and the contents blended together in a whirl of fruity color to create a smooth purple mixture, which Mooney poured into a large, decorative glass and topped it with whipped cream, a straw, and a tiny replica of a ballot on a stick.

  “Here we are, a Vote of Confidence,” Mooney said as he handed me the drink. It smelled delicious. “It’s magically infused with spells and foods to help boost your confidence. Go on, try it.”

  I popped the straw in my mouth and sucked a huge gulp of the mix into my mouth, where it exploded in flavor. As soon as I swallowed, my chest swelled, and I felt like I could take on the world.

  “Wow, that’s powerful,” I laughed. Mooney smiled and winked at Beau. “Wait a minute, you two orchestrated this, didn’t you?” I asked. Beau blushed and wrapped an arm around me.

  “I had a feeling the broom flying lesson wouldn’t be fun or motivating for you, so I thought you might need a pick-me-up afterward,” he said, resting his head against mine.

  “Little did you know how true that would be,” I sighed.

  “Ignore that ad. It won’t be the last,” Beau said.

  “No, especially not once the news about my partnership with the Crowes gets out,” I said.

  “You struck a deal with them?”

  “Just a few days ago. We haven’t announced it — I haven’t even told Raina yet — but it seems like the NWA already knows,” I said.

  “Well, that’s expected. The Crowes and their bill terrify the NWA, so of course they’d slam you for working with them. But everything will work out just fine,” Beau said and massaged my shoulder. “No matter what happens with the election, it’ll all be fine.”

  “You’re right. This shake was exactly what I needed. I’m done letting the NWA attack me unchecked,” I said. Beau’s brows joined and confusion spread over his face like a plague.

  “What do you mean? What are you gonna do?” Beau asked.

  “Well, since Rowley Darkmoore evidently has so much to say about me, we should have a little chat about the campaign and his organization’s involvement with Lydia’s murder,” I said as I reached into my robes for my phone.

  Beau rested a hand on my wrist. “Zoe, wait, that’s just your shake talking. Don’t draw more attention to yourself,” Beau said. Even Mooney looked concerned, his eyes as wide and white as his namesake.

  I dialed Raina’s number anyway and held the phone to my ear.

  “Hi, Zoe. How are—”

  “I think it’s time I met Rowley Darkmoore. Can you make that happen?” I interrupted. Raina coughed and cleared her throat.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “The president of the NWA. I want a meeting with him. They’re running attack ads against me, and I want to know who approved them,” I said.

  “Why?”

  I froze, dreading her reaction when I told her about my deal with Eden and Ivy, but I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

  “I agreed to help the Crowes pass their wand reform bill for their help,” I admitted.

  No answer came save for the crackle of static on the line.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  “I thought I had more time, but that was before I got cornered by an ad attacking me for it. Worse, I think they had a mole planted at our video shoot,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “The ad had footage of me falling off my broom and being saved by Lydia,” I said and Raina groaned.

  “Okay, I’ll call the NWA headquarters and see what I can do,” she said. “But please, no more surprises, Zoe.”

  “No promises,” I said and hung up — I had more than a few planned for Mr. Darkmoore.

  Chapter Eight

 
From the outside, the NWA headquarters was a fortress. Two symmetrical wings jutted out in a V-shape from a massive central glass tower that pierced the clouds.

  Had it not been for the gigantic red “NWA” letters hanging at the peak of the central tower, I never would’ve guessed it was related to the organization. Beyond the almost militaristic style of its exterior, it looked like a government building.

  Still, I couldn’t shake the fear I was walking into the belly of the beast when I stepped through the automatic front doors, and silently hoped I would come out again.

  I came into a grand atrium alive with the frenetic hustle and bustle of warlocks at work. Polished tile floors in a crossed wand pattern stretched as far as I could see, and matching white marble columns kept the huge central tower standing above the ornate, magical fountain at its base.

  Inside the rippling water, a statue depicted a lone warlock, his wand drawn and aimed at a mass of other statues that appeared to be the Council. Water jetted from the tip of the warlock’s wand and circled the Council members, forming a restrictive band around their waists. A plaque mounted in front of the fountain read, “National Wand Association — Protecting the Right to Bear Wands since 1700.”

  The NWA never missed an opportunity to make a statement.

  I walked around the fountain further into the building and though I passed more warlocks than I could count, I didn’t see a single witch. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but I couldn’t believe it. Surely there were witches who believed in wand rights…

  Unsure of where else to go, I approached the front desk and waited for the short, spectacled warlock behind it to hang up his phone call and notice me. He spoke so quietly I couldn’t hear a word he said to the person on the other end — not that I would’ve been able to hear it over the noise of his fingers hammering away at his keyboard, anyway.

  Dozens of warlocks passed, all of them in the same muted blue robes, but none seemed to notice or care about me. Maybe they were just too busy, or maybe they thought they were too good to stop and talk to a lost witch — because why else would she have wandered into the NWA headquarters?