Hexen's Binding

by J. Kowallis

  I lick my lips and nod. “Okay, but what am I afraid of?”

  Angie squints. “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “I want you to do something else first.”

  Confused, I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “Okay, what is that?”

  Angie snaps her fingers and a thin book—well, thin compared to a grimoire—appears in her hand. “I want you to understand Coll a little better.”

  “Coll? What does all of this have to do with him? I thought you were trying to train me so I could build up my knowledge base and have the skills to—”

  “This is part of that,” she nods, handing me the book. “This is Coll’s first spell book. He hasn’t used it since he built out his own grimoire. Left it here when he moved out. I want you to look through it. Copy out any spells you want to keep and learn from him. That’s your assignment this morning.”

  I reach out tentatively and take the book. It’s an old composition notebook that’s been covered in gum wrapper foil. At some point in time, Coll etched his name into its surface about ten different times in different ways. Numbers. “Private – Do not open” is also etched right in the corner. My personal favorite is the Fruit by the Foot stickers stuck along the spine.

  “Angie, I feel like this is a bit of a violation. This is Coll’s. I mean,” I chuckle, “he’s got private, do not open written here at the top.”

  “What my kids leave at my house becomes mine. He left it behind, therefore, it’s mine.” She stands up and moves to the sink, putting her empty tea mug in the sink. “Have fun.” Angie winks and heads back up the stairs.

  Despite my initial argument, curiosity does win out and I open the notebook to the first page. The handwriting isn’t a lot different from the handwriting I know so well, except harder to decipher and a lot bigger. Right on the inside cover before the first page is a large symbol and I nearly gasp. The sun cross. Woden’s cross. Written all around it, like a doodle, is the prophesy that Rheda gave on the stone table. Coll knew about the prophesy as a kid?

  I nervously exhale and look at the first page. Simple spells. The basics. One after another. As I turn page after page, I copy some of them into my own grimoire. Some, I just look at. A lot of these are meant to aid peace, give comfort.

  I swallow.

  Of course, he focused on those. He watched someone murder his parents. This may be a new timeline, but it’s still the same Coll. Hurting. Fractured.

  I place my lower face in my hands and scan the next page. My breath warms my chilled fingers and blankets my chin. Why did he call me? Over and over.

  Because something’s wrong, I finally admit it to myself. I don’t know what, and I don’t know why I feel it, but something . . . something is off. Despite everything, I’m worried about him.

  Dropping my hands back to the page, I run my fingertips over the pen and penciled handwriting of a young pre-teen Coll.

  “What are you looking at, Bug?” Alaric asks, his feet stomping down the stairs.

  With a smile I turn around and glance at him. Angie stops briefly at the top of the stairs behind him and then makes her way down. “Coll’s childhood spell book.”

  “Did you learn anything?” Alaric rolls his sleeves up.

  I nod. “A little.”

  “Good. I want you to keep it. Keep studying it. For now,” Angie walks to the front day with a sly smile, “let’s go outside for a while. Then you can come back. Bring your grimoire and the pen.’

  I stand and pick up the large leather book, tucking it under my arm. The moment I turn to put my shoes on she clicks her tongue.

  “Leave your shoes off.”

  “But—”

  “Off,” her voice gets harsher. Although I can see the hint of a smile on her lips, her eyes are firm. She means it.

  I look down at myself. One large men’s Adidas t-shirt and my white panties. No shoes. “We’re not going outside to dance naked under the afternoon sun, are we?” I joke.

  Angie winks at me and unties her long gray and maroon hair.

  “What?” My “T” clips. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “You’ll just have to come and find out,” the middle-aged woman’s voice bounces. She opens the front door and saunters outside.

  “Oh, you want to join, Alaric?” she asks.

  I whirl around. Oh, hell no.

  Alaric lifts an eyebrow. “Training?”

  “Elementalism.”

  He nods. “I’d love to help.”

  “Wonderful!” Angie smiles, her eyebrows lifting as her gaze lingers on me before turning and continuing down the path toward the lake.

  I hug the book to my chest. Wanting to avoid Alaric’s taunting eyes, I quickly follow Angie out. The chill of the gray, misty day prickles the hair on my arms and legs causing little pinpricks of stubble every time my legs brush against each other.

  “If you expect me to do magic with my naked father, you can forget it,” I shiver.

  “Who said anything about being naked?” Alaric laughs out loud, his eyebrows cocked.

  “Well, Angie said that,” I turn to point at her. This time, she’s absolutely beaming with delight. “Oh . . .” I nod. “It was a joke.”

  “Of course, it was,” she chirps. “We only dance naked to welcome the ancestors back to earth in the fall.”

  Alaric laughs again, this time at the shock on my face. “Stop it, Angie. By the spirits, no one dances naked.”

  My stomach churns one last time and my face relaxes. “Good.”

  I pivot on the moist moss and grass under my feet and follow Angie and Alaric toward the lake’s edge. The closer we get to the shore, the wetter the ground becomes. My feet begin to sink into the mud like I’m walking on soft artisan clay. The moment the cold mud starts to squish between my bare toes, Angie comes to a stop.

  “Now, Elementalism comes naturally for Grims. In fact, it’s so natural, that most other covens can’t even connect to the three elements outside of fire.”

  I nod. “Coll told me that once. He said he couldn’t control the weather even if he tried.”

  Angie shakes her head. “I’m not talking about harnessing the natural world. Elementalism and yoking the powers of nature aren’t exactly the same. However, you are right. Even basic elementalism can be nearly impossible for other clans. You can get past that however.”

  “How?” I ask.

  “Blood trades,” Alaric answers, his hands in his pockets.

  My focus bounces back and forth between them. “What’s a blood trade? Blood magic?” I ask with a frown, involuntarily stepping back.

  Alaric shakes his head. “No. While it does involve blood, it’s not considered traditional blood magic since it doesn’t involve a loss. A sacrifice. It’s a trade. A sharing.”

  “When I trained Coll,” Angie chimes in, “I did the same with him. As a Geri, he had no ability to engage in spells dealing with thought and memory. Knowing what I do about my own clan, I knew he needed to be protected.”

  “How?” Another chill kisses my bare legs, a sudden curiosity building inside me. “Show me.”

  “It involves a short spell, and the obvious exchange of blood. It doesn’t give each party the ability to utilize all of the other coven’s genetic fortes, but it will help them to engage in some basic magic that they wouldn’t be able to otherwise. It’s also how other clans can strengthen their use of elemental magic.”

  Coll. “You said you did this with Coll?” I ask.

  Angie pauses, glancing to my dad. “Yes.”

  “That’s how he was able to restore my memory,” I mutter to myself. That day in Bryden when Garrit hit me with the memory hex. Something happened, and all I remember was this momentary “hiccup.” Even now, things are a bit foggy, but I remember Coll reversing the spell so I could keep casting.

  Angie takes a deep breath. “Your father didn’t tell me about that. But, yes. If Coll was able to restore your memory at one point, it was because of the blood trade I
performed on him.”

  I nod, realizing that even if Coll and Sera allowed me into the apartment that day, I never would have been able to restore his memory. Only Angie could do that.

  I frown. “Why haven’t you helped him? Ever since you found out that he lost his memory, why haven’t you gone to him and offered to help? I mean, it’s only a couple of weeks he’s missing, but still.”

  She sucks on her cheek, a breeze beginning to pick up. I don’t even have to wonder if I’m the one affecting it. I know I am.

  “For one very important reason. The ancestors restrained me.”

  My frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

  “I felt their guidance. And they said it wasn’t my job.”

  I swallow. “And whose job is it?”

  Angie squares off her shoulders and her face hardens. “I think you already know.”

  A stronger wind plows into me from behind, whipping my hair around my face. A sprinkling of rain from above, and a deep chill settles into my bones. The weather plays off my nerves with frigid waves of icy wind and a threatening downpour.

  “If I’m supposed to restore his memory, then you and I need to perform the blood trade. Right?”

  “Not until you’re ready. Today is all about elemental magic. Not—”

  “I want to do it,” I cut her off. “Right now. Before we start on anything else.”

  Neither my dad nor Angie say anything. Instead, they both look at each other. Alaric sighs, and his jaw shifts.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I will perform the blood trade with you,” Angie pipes up. “But not yet. That’s not what we’re studying today.”

  “Then we can do this too,” I insist.

  Angie’s eyes narrow and the effect makes me pause. “I said no,” her voice hardens. “Your impatience is going to get you into trouble.”

  Though there’s a simmering of irritation in my stomach, I nod. After all, I haven’t forgotten the moment where I thought I turned Móraí’s family heirloom grimoire into ash.

  “Listen, I promise to perform a blood trade on you when the time is right. Can you just trust me?”

  I scratch my head, frustrated to the core. “By the time we get to the right moment, it might be too late.”

  Angie snorts. “He’s only missing two weeks’ of memories. What do you think is going to happen?”

  “I don’t know. I—I just have a feeling.”

  “You have guilt,” Alaric cuts in. “That’s all. Brief memory lapses never hurt anyone. You should know that.”

  Angie nods. “When you’re ready, I promise we’ll do it. Now,” she holds her hand out to the side and curls her fingers in a way that looks like she’s summoning something. A tennis-ball sized water blob—if you can call it that—rises from the lake behind her and plops away from the main body of water. It drifts through the air lazily as Angie whirls her hand. When it reaches her, she cups her hand and it hovers directly over her palm.

  My mouth hangs open, my tongue drying out. “How . . . how did you do that?” I ask.

  “It’s called water manipulation. Now, I could never command the skies or the creation of wind, but I’ve schooled myself to be able to do this.” She rolls the small ball of water over her wrist and around her forearm, beckoning it back into her palm. “You’re turn.” Angie looks to me and settles the ball of water on the ground, allowing it to absorb back into the earth.

  My tongue feels thick and swollen in my mouth. I take a step closer to the lake. “How do I do it?” I ask.

  “Teand komce. Teand adlyen,” Angie instructs from behind me. “For now, just say the words out loud, and visualize what you want the water to do. If you do it right, the element will obey you. Of course, that’s if you do it right.”

  I offer Angie a sidelong glance, not exactly disrespectful, but one that tries to communicate how much I’d really like to flip her off right now.

  She simply smiles.

  I turn back to the water and hold out my hand. It’s no different than any other spell, I tell myself. This is nothing I haven’t already done before . . . in this reality. I just need to pretend that I remember how to do this.

  With my eyes closed, I concentrate on the slight rippling sounds of the lake. I visualize the cold water, the smooth silken feel of its makeup. “Teand komce. Teand adlyen,” I say.

  Like Angie, I open my eyes again and beckon toward the lake. The surface pulses and a giant seam cuts through the center, pushing the water to the west and to the east. The shock of my Moses-like magic makes me recoil and the water collapses inside itself, covering the muddy bottom once more.

  “Taran—” my dad whispers.

  Not waiting for him to complete his thought, I beckon to the water once more, this time with an entirely new thought in my head. I pull upwards from the bottom of the lake and what shoots through the surface is a weeping willow—formed entirely of water. Each leaf drips with crystal-like beads of water, swinging in the energetic air. With my other hand, I form roses, grass, wild flowers, and a lone liquescent replica of a great white swan. Its wings rise from the depths of the water in a sweeping, raining arch.

  My breathing shakes as I hold the formations, trying to take them all in, stunned by my own work. It’s . . . amazing. I never knew my magic had the power to make something so beautiful. Sunlight sparkles off the dripping leaves of the willow, looking like drizzling diamonds. The swan arches its wings in the air with a twist of my thoughts.

  A quivering set of fingers touches my arm and my hold on the lake water collapses as I spin around. The water crashes back into the lake, splashing down on us and licking feverishly at the shore’s edge.

  I stand there, water droplets sliding down my face with my arms up in the air, failing to protect me from the cascade. Slowly, I turn to look at the person next to me. Alaric still has his hand on my arm, but his gaze is fixed on the lake and his hair soaked.

  A breath escapes my throat.

  “I’d say she did it right, Angie,” his voice rumbles with excitement.

  Six

  “She’s more powerful than I originally thought,” Alaric’s voice floats up to the room I took over. I woke up this morning and started to dress just as those two started talking about me. Only got my pants halfway over my ass before I heard my name.

  “Are we going to have a problem?” Alaric asks.

  “A problem? How?” Angie’s voice is worn. Tired.

  “That much magic housed in my daughter? Someone unpracticed? Sure, this timeline’s Taran developed all of this power, but that version of my daughter?” He goes silent. “She doesn’t know how to control it. Not long term.”

  “That’s why we practice, Alaric.”

  Footsteps pace back and forth. My dad’s.

  I slip my pants all the way on and pull up the zipper. I feel a bit like a sleuth, listening in. The pounding of my heart actually takes me back to my teenage years when I used to listen to Mom and Móraí from my room while they argued over me at night. Móraí wanted me to focus on the craft. Mom wanted me to be happy.

  “Ah! Happiness will come,” Móraí would always say.

  It felt like they were the ones telling me what I could do, what I was allowed to do. Controlling my life from sunup to sundown. And honestly, this conversation doesn’t feel much different.

  “I know, I know.” Even from up here, I hear him sigh. There’s a lot of disappointment in that sigh. Though, I don’t really think he’s disappointed in me, as much as he’s disappointed in something else. The situation, perhaps? Maybe the hard place I’m jammed into.

  “I’m doing my best. She is too, I might add. Granted, it’s only been a couple days, but she’s doing better than I planned. And that’s a good thing.”

  My eyebrows perk. Better than she planned? At least that sounds better than she doesn’t know how to control it.

  “I know it is,” Alaric sighs.

  I reach for one of the shirts I summoned from my home closet and slip it
over my head. Just a simple brown khaki tee. I give it a little French tuck and slip into a pair of black flats. With a snap of my fingers, my black hair whips up into a ponytail and I leave my bedroom to brave the conversation happening below me.

  “I just wish that she’d . . .” Alaric stops talking and pauses in the middle of the kitchen. Hearing my footsteps on the stairs makes him turn around and give me a pathetic look. Somewhere between concern and embarrassment. Like a puppy caught in the middle of rummaging through the garbage.

  My shoulders droop. “Oh, please. You might as well finish your sentence. I could hear you all the way upstairs. It’s like I’m seven years old all over again. Even then Móraí and mom thought I couldn’t hear them through our paper-thin walls.”

  Angie smiles at me, holding out a mug of Earl Grey. I take it from her graciously and sip. Perfect temperature.

  “I know.” Alaric folds his arms, squinting at me. “I’m just worried about you.”

  “Listen,” I grunt. “I’ve already faced Ruhmactír. While it may not have been entirely successful, I think the fact that I survived is pretty damn good.”

  “Don’t get cocky,” Angie’s voice hardens. She crosses her legs, still standing, and braces herself against the countertop. “After all, you weren’t facing him alone. Isn’t there someone else you should be calling, by the way? Someone you should have called last night?”

  I slowly roll my eyes over to her. “Right now?” My pulse skyrockets. I freeze, holding the mug less than an inch from my mouth.

  “Call who?” he asks, folding his arms. His violet eyes narrow. Snapping through my memory is an image. I was three. I lied about who got into the kitchen flour and made pictures with it all over the cupboards. He’d folded his arms, just like that. Narrowed his eyes, just like that.

  My eyes dart to his. “Coll,” I say with resign.

  “I thought he didn’t remember you. Wouldn’t you just scare him?”

  Angie gives me a look that tells me that she’s going to let me take this one. Accepting her nudge, I set the mug down on the counter and mimic Alaric’s folded arms.

  “He called me. A few times.”

  “And what did he say?”