by E. Latimer
She wasn’t sure about some of the others—the stone knife Brenna placed on the altar, or the withered branches Bronagh followed with. Seeing her staring, Grandma King—who was helping Cora distribute the herbs—spoke up. “Oak and ash,” she croaked, “for luck and protection.”
Dayna felt a flash of relief that the old woman was acting normal, and she glanced over at Meiner, who looked more at ease than she had a second ago.
“The stone knife for grounding,” Grandma King continued, “for cutting away attachments to this earth. Candles to light the way.” She waited while Faye came forward to place a silver hand mirror on the altar. “And the doorway, though they can use whatever entrance they well please.” She gestured at the apple trees on either side. “We’re at an entrance spot anyway. This works just as well.”
Beside her, Bronagh gave her a sharp, sideways glance and cleared her throat loudly. “If you don’t mind, King, I’ll be running the ceremony.”
Grandma King shrugged and said icily, “Only explaining what the witchlings didn’t seem to know.”
Bronagh set out the rest of the ceremony, scowling at Grandma King all the while. Reagan gave Dayna a wide-eyed look, mouthing, Oh my god, behind her hand, and Dayna bit the inside of her cheek, not sure whether to laugh or roll her eyes.
Thankfully Yemi joined them just then, and she placed the glass basin of oil at the center of the blanket.
“All in a circle, please.” She waved at Reagan, who had stooped down to dig through the picnic basket for cookies. “Enough of that, my girl. Those are for after, when you need a sugar kick. Don’t eat them all now.” She shook her head and sucked her teeth. “Well, come on, then, we’ll start as soon as the sun begins to set. Only a few minutes. Now, I know you girls have picked your goddesses.” She looked pointedly at her daughter.
Reagan nodded, speaking around a mouthful of cookie. “Aye. I was thinking of Moritasgus. You know, the badger god? Just think how fast I could dig tunnels.”
Dayna hid a smile behind her hand as Yemi blinked at her daughter in dismay. “Who?”
“I’m having you on, Ma. You know I’m pledging to Brigid. She’s had her arse appropriated by the church, so I’m taking her back.” Reagan laughed as Yemi shook her head.
“You give me wahala, girl. I’m going to have gray hairs. Dayna, what about you?”
“Danu.”
The others nodded. Danu was powerful and benevolent, the mother god. A good choice. It was hard to tell, but she thought she had the goddess’s approval. Sometimes when she performed simple spells she’d get a rush of power, or warmth flooding through her chest down to the tips of her toes, all signs your god favored you. Danu wouldn’t turn her down…at least she hoped. Her stomach twisted at the thought, as she pictured reaching out and getting nothing back.
She told herself firmly that it was ridiculous. It wouldn’t happen.
She was going to pledge to her goddess, and return home a full witch.
Home, where she could never ever let the reverend know what she’d just done. Where she’d have to be careful to hide her new power.
If he found out, they would have a reckoning far worse than the fight they’d had over Dayna being bisexual. Witchcraft was the ultimate sin. He would probably never speak to her again if he knew.
Dayna bit the inside of her cheek, feeling a little ill.
Yemi reached out, grasping Reagan’s and Dayna’s hands, surveying them both gravely. “Are you ready, girls? You will be full witches after this.”
They both nodded, though Dayna swallowed hard, shifting from one foot to the other. Yemi gave her a reassuring smile.
“You have doubts and fears. Your old friends, maybe, and your father?”
Dayna nodded slowly, and Yemi clasped her hand more firmly. “I was the same way when I ascended. I was sure my mother was rolling in her grave back in Nigeria, she was so Christian. Juju was evil in my house. I never dreamed I’d become a witch when I set up my stand next to this strange old white woman at the market years ago.” Yemi chuckled, tossing a teasing grin at Brenna.
“Aye, I bewitched her with my teas.” Brenna grinned back, and Yemi shook her head, rolling her eyes, before returning her focus back to Dayna and Reagan.
“You have both felt the magic and you know the truth of it. You know it is good, abi?” When they both nodded, she smiled and waved a hand at them. “Oya, we get in the circle now.”
They formed a circle, with Reagan and Dayna standing between Bronagh and Brenna, and Yemi across the basin from her daughter.
Bronagh clasped her hands and intoned, “We shall explain the ceremony. But before that, you’ll need a Second.” When they stared at her blankly she said, “Someone to stand behind you, to make sure you don’t fall during the ceremony. The ascension can be surprisingly powerful.”
Faye pointed a commanding finger at Meiner. “You’ll do, tall one. Go ahead and stand behind her.”
Meiner only glanced briefly at Dayna before obeying, her expression stony. Dayna was grateful the sun was beginning to sink behind the horizon, the shadows of the trees stretching over their circle. Hopefully no one would notice her burning face, or her horrified expression. She could feel how close Meiner was. And there was that laundry-soap-and-peppermint smell again, as the older girl moved past her. Dayna told herself not to think about it. To pretend Meiner wasn’t there.
Beside her, Yemi moved behind Reagan, and they all looked expectantly at Brenna to continue.
“You’ll call the gods three times.” Brenna nodded at Yemi, who reached into her canvas bag and brought out what looked like two shot glasses. “You’ll drink the elixir.”
The brown tealike substance in the basin, Dayna knew.
“Then we’ll mark you as daughters of the gods,” Faye said.
Yemi pulled the canvas bag onto her lap and out came two long crow feathers. “Feather for your right hand,” she said, and then removed a pair of smooth black rocks. “Onyx for your left.”
The rocks and feathers were passed down, and Reagan shot Dayna an amused look, accepting her feather and rock with a glib smile. “We really need this stuff?”
Faye gave her a sharp look from across the circle. “Magic is about meaning. The symbolism behind each object has power. Together they give words strength enough to reach the gods’ ears.”
Reagan looked sufficiently chastised, but her eyes still sparkled when she peered at Dayna from beneath her lashes.
Trying to hide her smile, Dayna accepted the rock and feather. Each of the women did the same, palms upturned, eyes shut.
That flutter in her stomach was back again, but this time it was a good feeling. Excitement rekindling. She could feel the low, expectant hum of magic in the circle already. It sent goose bumps crawling over her skin.
“Circle. Chloch. Cleite. Déanaimid gairmí ort.”
It was Bronagh chanting. Beside her, Cora stared around the circle, expression strangely smug. Or perhaps that was just her usual expression. She seemed to wear it a lot.
The sun started to dip behind the tree line, and Faye lit the candle ring. Tongues of flames flickered and danced in the dimming light. Dayna shut her eyes again, trying to concentrate on the words, on the way they should roll off her tongue. She could only tell what some of them meant, something about stones and feathers and gods.
They repeated it three times, the names of their gods at the end. On the third repetition, something changed. The wind, which had been rustling the apple trees and blowing Dayna’s hair back, suddenly died. With it, the sound of the birds chattering in the trees dropped off. It was eerily silent, save for the sound of Bronagh’s voice.
Dayna shivered, feeling the electric hum of power in the circle grow with each word. Something was happening now, something that made her chest swell with excitement. Something good.
“Now,” Bronagh said. “Drink.”
The potion was bitter on her tongue and burned going down. When she had finished, Dayna dropped the cup
on the grass, gagging. She’d tasted rum once. The burn was similar, though it tasted strongly of bergamot as well, like Earl Grey laced with strong liquor. She grimaced and then went still. Something had begun almost immediately. The fire trailed down her throat and into her belly, warming her entire body an inch at a time. Around her the orchard swayed, and the trees seemed impossibly tall.
The wind was back. At first, she heard the whisper of leaves, the sigh of the breeze rushing through the trees. She shut her eyes to listen, her hair caught by the wind, brushing her cheeks and throat. The distant sound of words came on the breeze, whispers in an ancient tongue.
She kept her eyes shut, feeling a heady rush of fear and exhilaration. Something told her not to look.
There’d been many times she’d brushed the edge of power. As a witchling she prayed to many gods and got a mere taste of the magic. Enough to do small spells here and there. Doing spells filled her with a kind of tingling electricity, but the results were subtle. A premonition here and there, a day that went especially well when you needed it to. But this…this was different. This was coming face-to-face with the source of her power.
As soon as the whispers started, the fire in her belly grew, extending tendrils of warmth through her arms and legs. Her limbs tingled, like she’d come in from the cold and sat down by the fire. It was the feeling she got doing magic, magnified several times over.
Bronagh had finished the chant, and now she said softly, “Hold still. Do not open your eyes.”
Dayna squeezed them shut harder. There came the rustle of someone moving, then something brushed her cheek. A soft touch. The scent of bergamot and the jingle of bangles told her it was Brenna. A waft of some acidic smell hit her next, and she felt the cool touch of liquid on her face as Brenna painted lines and swirls on her cheek. The tree of life.
A moment later Brenna’s touch receded.
“Thrice you will call on your gods.”
She felt Reagan shift beside her. Dayna took a deep, shaky breath; the breeze was still whispering, and she wanted to be still and listen, but she forced herself to recite the beginning of the chant with Reagan.
Even as she chanted, she felt gooseflesh creep over her arms and legs. The wind was blowing harder now, dragging her hair over her face. She didn’t lift a hand to brush it away. On the third verse the thing that had been stirring around her grew stronger, and the voices on the wind grew louder.
Now they were finished, and she could make out individual words. Stone and feather, the voices were saying. Oak and ash. We see you, daughters.
The burning inside Dayna’s skin had increased, so hot it was almost uncomfortable. Despite this, she forced herself to stand perfectly still.
The wind rushed in her ears, and then it spoke. I have seen the circle and I honor it. Will you accept me, daughter of oak?
The goddess’s voice was both strange and familiar. As though she’d heard it before, in a dream, maybe, or in the state between waking and sleep. Dayna’s breath came out in a rush, and on it was the word yes.
Something hit her, a physical blow that passed through her body and vibrated her bones. She was knocked backward with a startled cry. Someone caught her. Meiner, she remembered a second later. She felt callused hands on her bare arms, though they gripped her gently enough, helping her upright. She caught the scent of laundry soap again and knew somewhat distantly in the back of her mind that Meiner was the only thing keeping her upright. Her bones were liquid, her blood fire.
You are remade, daughter.
Dayna could feel the magic now, surging beneath her breast. It was an electric kind of energy, full of endless possibility. Bigger than anything she’d felt until now. A sense of peace drifted over her like a woolen blanket, heavy and warm.
And then something shifted.
The wind was the first warning. It died abruptly, and Dayna’s ears rang in the silence. Then the scent hit her, overpowering Meiner’s soap smell. It was burning hair and rotting flesh. The sickly scent of overripe fruit and the putrid skunk smell of still water.
The burning in her veins flared hotter in response, and Dayna shifted. Beside her Reagan gasped.
Dayna opened her eyes.
Cora was directly across from her. She was on her knees, her face pale and frightened.
In the split second before it happened, she met Dayna’s gaze. Cora’s eyes, usually wide and light brown, had changed. Shadows crawled and skittered behind them, like cockroaches running from the light.
Behind Cora, three of the pillar candles went out at once, leaving a gap in the circle, a thin slice of darkness. Trickles of smoke twisted into the sky.
The sight sent a flash of cold panic through her.
Cora opened her mouth and screamed, a high, horrible sound. Her entire body shook, and she snapped upright. Her body bent unnaturally, horribly contorted, as if some invisible giant was twisting her back on herself like a plastic doll. On either side the Callighan women stared in shock, and for a moment it seemed someone had frozen the circle members.
Grandma King was the first to move, and she placed a withered hand on Cora’s shoulder. She opened her mouth, and then paused, expression stricken.
Cora snapped upright, her mocking laughter echoing across the field. Her arm swept out, and she batted the old woman aside. Grandma King fell back, off the blanket and onto the grass, knocking her shoulder against the trunk of the apple tree with a startled cry.
Meiner’s grip tightened on Dayna’s arms as Cora paused in the middle of the blanket and stared around at them. Her gaze came to Dayna last and settled there. She smiled.
It was not Cora’s usual smile. In fact, it did not seem like her face at all. It was as if something wore Cora like a poorly made mask. The sight raised the hairs on the back of Dayna’s neck, as some primal instinct inside screamed at her to run, run, run.
“You. Suas ón luaithreach. Suas ón talamh.”
She knew the words ashes and earth, but that was it. Dayna found herself clutching Meiner’s hands on her shoulder tightly.
Cora launched herself forward, and Dayna shrieked as Cora’s hands stretched toward her face, fingers crooked into claws. Then Meiner’s arm shot out, and the heel of her hand crashed into Cora’s face. There was a horrible-sounding pop, and blood gushed from her nose, down her chin and onto her neck, instantly soaking the collar of her shirt. She stumbled back, and then recovered almost instantly, smiling with blood-coated teeth.
Dayna stiffened, half crouched now and ready to run, adrenaline making her blood pump hot. But Bronagh was there, standing stern and tall beneath the apple tree. Her voice thundered through the orchard, impossibly loud, an electric buzz beneath her words.
“A bheith imithe as an gciorcal seo.”
Cora jerked upright and then turned to the Callighans. Her grisly smile stayed in place, her movements eerie, puppetlike.
“You have no power over me.” Her voice was the hum of a thousand voices. It made Dayna want to clap her hands over her ears.
“Leave this place.” Bronagh drew herself up. In spite of the cardigan and the brooch, she was somehow imposing.
“Or we force your name from you…” Faye’s expression was stony.
“And cast you into the underworld,” Brenna finished.
Cora shrieked again, eyes wide as she stared at the three women. Then she was laughing, bloody mouth wide open. “After so long, sisters. This is how you treat me?”
Something crossed Bronagh’s face, a flash of confusion—and perhaps, Dayna thought, fear. Then it was gone. She jabbed a finger at the thing that was not Cora. “Out. Out of the circle. Out of the orchard. You are not welcome here.”
Not-Cora’s smile only stretched wider. “Beidh mé ag ardú. I will see you soon, sister.”
Cora’s grin faltered, then disappeared, and her face went suddenly blank.
“Catch her,” Bronagh barked, and Brenna stepped forward just as Cora crumpled, her body slumping forward into Brenna’s arms.
Reagan’s face was pale, and Yemi, who was sitting on the blanket, looked completely shell-shocked. Grandma King was sitting up slowly beneath the apple tree, gingerly dabbing one finger at the bruise spreading near her eye.
Bronagh spoke at last, her voice full of exhaustion. “We should take her inside. She’ll need something to get her blood sugar back up, and I believe her nose is broken.”
They packed everything away, the silence among them heavy. Dayna looked over at Reagan, half startled to see the black symbol of the tree of life on her cheek. They had ascended, she’d almost forgot. She was officially a witch now, had more access to power than ever before.
But, as she looked at the bloody figure of Cora draped between Faye and Brenna, no amount of power seemed like enough.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MEINER
The effects of the potion seemed slow to wear off, and both girls staggered as they made their way to the house.
Since Meiner had been Dayna’s Second, she caught her elbow and steered her straight ahead. Dayna started at her touch, then jerked away. “Hey. What are you doing?”
“You’re going to fall on your face.”
“I’m fine.” Dayna waved her off, and Meiner raised a brow, watching the shorter girl take an experimental step forward. She swayed dangerously, then paused, face flushed, and mumbled something about feeling dizzy.
If the situation hadn’t been so dire Meiner might have enjoyed this. She stepped forward and took her firmly by the arm, and this time Dayna didn’t protest.
No one said much as they walked to the house. Their gazes were repeatedly drawn to the limp form of Cora hanging between Faye and Brenna. Meiner shuddered. She butted heads with Cora at least once a day, but never had she seen that ugly look on her face. That hadn’t been Cora; it had been something that wore her like a Halloween costume. Something that puppeted her, moved her lips and her body and tore at Dayna’s face with her nails.