Moving out of the woods, she came to the small house that they had occupied as a family. The yard, if it could be called that, was overgrown with long stiff grass that would have scraped Lydie's feet if she'd been walking in her body. When she was a child, a baby really, her mother filled the yard with flowers and herbs. Much of the vegetation was magic, the types of plants that humans did not grow, but none of her parents' friends, many of who were non-witches, knew the difference.
Now there were 'No Trespassing' signs nailed to the trees, which had not been there when Lydie's parents owned the house. The signs were marred with bullet holes and the nails were rusted, but they clung on, making Lydie sad for the pain that the trees had to experience for some flimsy signs.
Lydie remembered playing in the yard at night and falling asleep to the cacophony of crickets and mosquitoes that inhabited the woods. Now, in autumn, they were all gone, back to their beds to sleep the winter away.
The house was a small two-bedroom cabin constructed of hand-hewn logs that Lydie's great-grandfather had cut himself more than a century earlier. Lydie drifted onto the wide porch that wrapped around the lower level of the cabin, noticing the sagging eave overhead and remembering the brilliant display of bird feeders her mother had hung there. She stopped at a window, thick with dust, and looked into the open space where the sitting area and kitchen remained. The house was mostly empty, except for the dust balls and a few pieces of old, moth-eaten furniture. Lydie scanned the walls, but no pictures hung there and hadn't for years. No one lived in the cabin because Lydie owned it, though Faustine kept all of the details private and Lydie never had the nerve to ask for more information.
She looked at the kitchen and the peeling white counter-tops dotted with tiny red flowers. She could see the rim of the heavy porcelain sink that her mother washed dishes in when she felt like being domestic and not using her magic. Lydie's dad always used magic when doing dishes. A simple incantation and the water became a churning well of suds. He often used the same spell when Lydie was in the bathtub and her rubber sea monsters all but came to life.
She floated along the exterior of the house, but felt her body pulling her back to the island. At first she resisted, wanting to enter the house and return to her room and to the crawl space that she had been rescued from, but already the vision was growing blurry. With a jolt and another wave of dizziness, she returned to the sand dune at the coven.
She was lying face down in the dune and, when she sat up, her back hurt from being folded in half. She shook her head and scanned the horizon, wondering what jarred her travel. At first she saw nothing except a few seagulls flapping angrily against the wind, which had picked up. She looked back toward the second lagoon, her gaze passing over the greenhouse and the cherry blossoms. From her vantage point she could see the castle rising a hundred feet above the highest island peak. There she saw a strange image.
Dafne was emerging from a high window on the one of the turrets that twisted into the sky. Lydie knew the turret as Faustine's tower, the space that he went to connect telepathically to the witches in Ula and to witches in other covens. He spent most of his time there, but the other Ula witches rarely visited the tower.
Now Lydie watched as Dafne climbed out of the window and stepped onto a tiny stone ledge, pressing her body against the castle walls and skirting the perimeter of the tower. When she disappeared around the back, Lydie lost sight of her.
She would have to tell Elda. She had sensed tension in the castle and though she hated to tattle, she felt a strong urge to relay what she had seen to one of the elder witches.
She began to climb down the dune, but saw Oliver racing up, his muscular legs pumping beneath his athletic pants.
"Ha, I thought I'd find you up here," he laughed, diving into the sand next to her.
She giggled and sat down beside him.
"Let's go down that side." He pointed to the cliff side of the sand dune where the dune was a straight drop nearly thirteen hundred feet to the water below.
They had done the drop many times. Usually they started off running and jumping, but soon their legs scissored too quickly and they just fell the rest of the way. Oliver would hold her hand the whole way down and his lightness spell made their bodies practically dissolve into the water so that they barely felt the impact. The water would be cold, but they had only to grab a few bites of Bridget's Flaming Pepper Plants before they went in and they wouldn't even feel it.
"We better get the pepper plants," Lydie started, but Oliver interrupted her.
"Already got 'em." He held up two of the flaming peppers, both black, and handed her one.
"Down the hatch," he said and stuffed the pepper into his mouth, his face immediately glowing.
Lydie followed and forgot entirely about Dafne's strange trip outside of the tower.
****
Sebastian lay on the floor of his room and reached beneath the bed, pulling out the box that Abby had discovered. He was not happy that she had stumbled across it. He had barely looked at it and he didn't want her uncovering something that might prove valuable. He set the box on the bed and returned once more to the door, listening for footsteps on the stairs. There were none and, though he hated to do it, he turned the heavy bolt and locked it.
He had discovered the box in the dungeon in a strange room stuffed with unfamiliar artifacts He still did not know what led him to the box--intuition he thought--but something had drawn him to the room that day and it could not have been luck that it was unlocked. He wondered if Claire was communicating with him from the other side. His dreams of her had grown increasingly regular.
It was a simple wooden box without a lid. He peered in at the peculiar arrangement. Claire's journals were stacked in the bottom and photos of her, along with incense and dried herbs, were pinned to the sides. It appeared to be a shrine, but knew little of what that meant. Who in the castle would have made a shrine for Claire? And to what ends? Beneath the journals, he discovered a simple silver band. The inside was etched with tiny inscriptions that he could not read. He slid the ring on his pinky.
He suspected that Elda had created the box. After all, he had given her Claire's journals, but something in that thought didn't sit right. Elda had implied that his preoccupation with Claire's death was natural, but not truly helpful, a belief that he disagreed with. A belief that also made it less likely that she created the shrine. Unless the shrine worked as a magical tool that helped Elda and the other witches of Ula to discover the whereabouts of Tobias. Were they intentionally keeping him in the dark?
He carefully reached into the box and lifted Claire's journals out, setting them on the bed beside him.
A muffled scrape drew his attention up from the box and his eyes darted to the door. The bolt firmly in place, no one could barge in; however, the light beneath the door was marred by two shapes--feet.
He quickly stuffed everything back into the box and shoved it under the bed. His heart raced and he wiped his clammy palms on his pants. A sense of suspicion plagued him and he could not seem to shake it.
It had to be Abby. The other witches rarely, if ever visited his room. Still he did not open the door. He couldn't. They, the witches, Abby and the others, would suspect him. She would sense his evasion. She would know that he was hiding something. Already in the previous weeks she had come to suspect him. He knew it. He felt her suspicious gaze follow his every move and he hated that she was right. He lied to her and crept into the dungeons. He concealed the box concerning Claire. He hid his dreams. He had no other choice. Claire needed him.
He looked back at the door, but the shadows were gone.
****
"I have something to show you," Helena twittered, dancing into Abby's room with a pile of garment bags.
Abby finished copying the spells that Elda had requested into her notebook and set it aside. Her hand ached and her eyes were nearly crossed from shuffling through all the old texts on incantations for strengthening the goddess.
> "Ooh, the Goddess," Helena said peering over Abby's shoulder at the spell book . "It's your power, know it well."
Abby yawned. She enjoyed learning the Goddess spells, but longed for a break. Elda had kept her so busy with practicing and learning and training and repeating that she had hardly eaten in two days.
Helena set the bags on her bed and pulled out a hunk of tin foil.
"Pecan roll from Sebastian," she said with a wink. "He's quite the little chef, you know?"
"Yes, I know," Abby said a bit too sharply. She smiled apologetically at Helena. She wasn't mad exactly, just worn out. She missed Sebastian and wanted to cook with him. She wanted to set the books aside and spend the day doing anything that didn't involve study.
"It gets easier, honey," Helena said, pulling the chaise across the room and settling onto it. "Right now you're building the foundation."
"Great. What's it like to build the whole house?" she asked, exasperated.
"Easier, believe it or not."
"So what have you got in here?" Abby fingered the edge of a bag preferring to change the subject. "Dead bodies that I have to conjure back to life?"
Helena grimaced and Abby realized that maybe her comment was out of line. Elda had once told her that Vepars could do just that thing.
"No bodies here, love. Just marvelous costumes for All Hallow's Eve!" She stood and swept off her maroon robe. Beneath it, she wore a shimmering orange dress with bright red and orange wings that curved seductively against her bare back.
"I have chosen the Phoenix," she gushed. "It's far from done, but what do you think."
Abby grinned and touched the silken fabric.
"It's breathtaking."
Helena replaced her robe and gave Abby a hug.
"I will design yours as well. It will be magnificent. This is, after all, your first All Hallow's Ball."
Abby munched on the roll and lolled her head from side to side trying to stretch the kink out of her neck.
"I don't think I'm going to have time to do any costume planning at this rate." She held up the stack of books on the bed beside her and grimaced.
"You won't have to." Helena smiled. "Just leave that up to me. Your focus is best served right here." She tapped the pile of books.
"Why so much preparation?" Abby asked. "I mean, I get the impression Elda is trying to prime me for something."
"The Ball is an initiation of sorts, honey. It will be your first real experience with other witches, beyond your coven, of course."
"Will I need to know all of this though? Am I going to be tested?"
"No, no. Not a test per se, but witches often perform magic when they're gathered. I mean, why wouldn't we, right?" She grinned and blew a puff of air into her palm. A dusting of sparkly powder flew into Abby's face.
Abby sneezed and wiped the sparkles from her nose, but there was nothing on her hand.
"Where did it go?"
"It was never there."
****
"Something is wrong," Faustine sighed, rubbing his tired eyes.
"Wrong?" Max was meticulously separating a pile of tiny stones, his face only inches from the table.
"My vision is suffering." Faustine blinked hard once, twice. "It started with Dafne, but now..."
Max picked up tweezers and plucked a bright green stone, the color of jade, but more crystal-like, and set it aside.
"Your connection?" Max stopped and peered at Faustine surprised. Was his old friend changing? Perhaps growing weaker with age?
"Yes, my connection. It's as if there's interference."
Max scrunched his eyebrows and listened intuitively for the barrier. Sometimes answers simply appeared in his mind, but now nothing.
"Strange weather lately and we are approaching All Hallow's Eve," Max said absently scratching his head.
It was true that All Hallow's Eve muddled the witches' powers. It was a mysterious time of year--the thinning of the veil between the living and the dead--and all of the witches experienced it in some form. Some years Max found that he could not astral-travel in the weeks before October thirty-first. In nineteen ninety-eight, Elda lost her ability to manipulate water for two weeks, and that same year all of Helena's insomnia tinctures became toxic.
"I hadn't considered All Hallow's," Faustine said, nodding his head slowly. He did not fully believe it, but he understood better than most the strange and magnificent changes that arrived with the October holiday.
"Surely that's all it is," Max added, returning to his stones. He lifted a magnifying glass up to one and held it towards Faustine.
"Look like diopside to you?"
Faustine touched it, but the stone did not reveal itself to him. Strange.
He looked at it more closely.
"Yes, it's diopside."
Faustine stared up at the stone ceiling. Opening his mind, he scanned the library, but he felt none of his witches. It may have been empty, all of the witches tending to matters elsewhere, but he didn't think so. He bowed his head and reached into the space, but no heartbeat sounded in his ears and no thoughts found him. If the room was not empty, he was even more disconnected than he had realized.
****
"Melusine," Helena laughed triumphantly pushing into Abby's room the following day.
Abby sat on the floor, a spell book open in her lap and two empty bottles of Concentrate resting by her knee.
She peered up at Helena through clear, agitated eyes.
"Melusine?"
"Yes, it is your persona for the Ball, your creature, your mythology. It came to me in a dream last night and I have already begun your costume." Helena's eyes sparkled and her auburn hair was wild in the morning light.
"I don't know who Melusine is," Abby snapped, and then put a hand self-consciously to her mouth. "Sorry, I may have overdone it last night." She pointed at the bottles of Concentrate.
"Half of one bottle is more than adequate for a twenty-four hour period, you know?" Helena said, plopping onto Abby's bed. She pushed a toe against the book on Abby's lap and it toppled to the floor.
"I know, but I kept thinking that I needed more."
"Well, that is because you're concentrating on something other than your studies. The potion works, but your mind tells it where to go."
Abby ground her teeth and stood, pacing the room and ringing her hands anxiously.
"I don't have time for costumes, or for a party or for a life," she muttered, glancing angrily at the spell book and fighting the urge to boot it across the room. "Elda has me studying constantly, and you know what? I am completely exhausted."
Helena smiled sympathetically and patted the bed next to her, but Abby was too wound up for sitting.
"This is only a brief time, Abby, and all new witches must experience it. You have to be capable of the spells, of performing your rite. As your coven, it's our responsibility, and Elda as your mentor's responsibility to prepare you. And remember what I told you about puberty for witches? A little irritability comes with the package."
Abby had heard versions of the same thing from Elda and Oliver, though she appreciated Oliver's version most of all. He had described his first two months of training as Catholic Reform School run by nuns who had magic powers.
Abby groaned and threw her hands up.
"I still don't see why this is so important. Will there be sorcerers at this party throwing fireballs in my face that I have to turn into canaries?"
"Ha, wouldn't that be something?" Helena giggled and shook her head. "Nothing like that, but it's a powerful night, a night where strange and wonderful things happen. Usually the events are lovely and fun and mysterious, but they are also dangerous and you must be capable of protecting yourself in all moments."
"Why can't anyone actually tell me more about the party itself? I feel like I'm walking through a dark tunnel wearing a blindfold."
"Because it is part of your initiation. It's as simple as that. I know that the modern world pays little heed to ritual, but witches
know the importance of it. If you do not receive a proper initiation, the world will make up for it in other ways."
"Like?"
"How can I say what is to come if you are not initiated? Those answers only exist when fate brings them into your life."
"Fine," Abby said dismissively, knowing that she would only get more ambiguities. "Tell me about Melusine."
"Well," Helena started, clearly moving into her arena. "Melusine, most importantly, was a water spirit. She is mythically known as the daughter of Pressyne, a lady of the forest. Pressyne punished Melusine for betraying her father by turning the lower part of her body into that of a serpent."
Abby grimaced.
"A serpent? "
"Yes, but you will have both the serpent's lower body and two bat-like wings."
"This sounds a bit morbid for a Ball."
"No, no. All Hallow's is a costume party. It is a tribute to the dead, to the spirits of the other world, and we honor them by taking their form."
"And you dreamed this?"
"Yes, and so it shall be, my dear," Helena chimed. "Dreams of this kind have great significance."
Abby nodded her head gravely. She had not yet begun her study of dreams, but Elda had warned her it was lengthy and imperative for all witches to grasp the basics of dream divination.
****
Dafne stared hard at her reflection in the mirror and wiped off her red lipstick for the second time. She would not bother with makeup for dinner because there no longer seemed anyone to please. Oliver had aligned himself with Abby and, though Dafne felt an empty prickling in her stomach when she thought of them together, she had to admit that it aided her plan. With Oliver close, Abby was distracted. She barely registered Sebastian's growing distance. The others, Dafne felt confident, were attributing the blocks to All Hallow's and would not realize the true culprit behind their weakened powers until long after the Ball and, if all went well, never.
She dropped the lipstick into the trash and glared at it until the red tip melted into the can and formed a crimson glob. Returning to the mirror, she met her dark eyes and ignored the flickers of guilt at the betrayal of her coven. It was not a betrayal, not truly, but if they were to know her intentions, they would see it as thus. So she cloaked her behavior, buried her thoughts and muddled them with distractions. Smoke and mirrors, as a common person would say. But Dafne relied on much greater strengths than illusion to lure their focus elsewhere.
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