by C. L. Bush
“I mean your overestimation of your abilities and lack of basic understanding of magic contributed to the loss of Clara and furthered disintegration of the Arch. The same way that contributed to the death of my brother.”
Sam skipped over Zoey’s words, filing them away in a dark corner of her mind where she had hidden all similar statements since her friend had disappeared into the Arch. Zoey was infuriating quite often, which was usually because she was right most of the time and even more because she was usually quite sure of her decisions. Clara was like that as well, and Sam envied them both for the ability to trust their own judgment at all times. But now, Sam was sure of her judgment as well, and she knew what she had to do. Or at least she thought so.
“That’s why I need to get stronger, Zoey,” Samantha explained, gathering all her willingness to cooperate and pushing a smile out. “I won’t get stronger by repairing broken glass over and over again. You have to agree with that.”
“You don’t need to get stronger. You need to get smarter and you need to grieve.”
“She’s not dead,” Sam retorted quickly, and Zoey turned her eyes away, unwilling to repeat a conversation that happened on weekly. “She’s not. We would know. Damen. JJ. I would’ve known if she were gone.”
“You’re not a fully formed coven, Sam. There is no way for you, or any of us, to know for sure. Sure, the emotional connections form early, especially when members have known each other from childhood, and yes, practicing magic does deepen the connection tremendously. But what you’re talking about is, at best¸ cross-world empathic connection in a non-coven of barely practicing teenagers. The likeliness of that happening is next to impossible and there’s no way for us to test that connection to Clara. If you were right and we tested it, we would put the three of you in danger, at least.”
“Well, if we can’t know for sure, then there’s no one to grieve, right?” Sam tried after granting her mentor a moment of acknowledging silence. She stood and picked up the Grimoire once again. “Can we go back to teaching? Do you want me to do the standard restoration spell or do you want me to try with the one for-”
“Sam, I’m not sure you understood me when I told you how fucked the situation is.” Zoey’s harsh voice cut her sentence in half and Samantha carefully pushed her hair behind ears. She was unwilling to get another scolding, but if it would get her to a proper lesson, she would hear it out - again. “You were an inch away from being stripped off your magic completely, do you understand? Christopher McDooley is not defending you anymore. I had to fight the whole coven to let you even keep learning. And not just you, all of you’re in huge trouble. This isn’t just about you losing your best friend or me losing a brother. You put the whole existence in danger with your careless use of magic and lack of respect for boundaries.”
Sam’s face colored in anger and shame, defiantly eyeing the Grimoire, but her fingers lingered, trapped by a dimmed sense of guilt, insecurity and fear. How often does an average teenager get blamed for potentially ending the world?
“So, we’ll go over the first steps, over and over and over, until you realize magic is not an individual’s tool, but one used for the collective good. Go too far either way, you’ll end up in a bad place and you’ll take a lot of people down that road with you.”
Sam remained silent, her hands now shaking. Zoey eyed her carefully before clearing her throat and offering Sam a tall glass of lavender lemonade.
“Now... How are Damen and JJ?” Zoey asked and Sam took a sip of the lilac drink, only mildly surprised by the change of subject.
“They’re fine. As fine as they can be.”
“JJ’s worried about you,” Zoey told Sam, and Sam shot her a surprised look. A sudden notion of betrayal formed in Sam’s mind. So, JJ had been not only taking in her emotions but also discussing them with others. Never befriend an empath, she noted mentally. “He mentioned that you seem to be handling your emotions quite well.”
“Oh,” Sam murmured, a bit taken aback. She had hoped it wouldn’t be that obvious. “Is that a reason to worry?”
“It is. Given what’s happened, I thought he’d easily pick up how distressed you’re.”
“Am I?”
“Your magic is weakened. Considering your potential, I would have expected you to be much stronger than you’re. Just three months ago, your raw magic was stronger than any of your future coven members. Even Xander’s, and he was unexpectedly strong for a beginner.” Zoey paused for a second, but gathered her thoughts quickly and continued in her equal, emotionally-depleted tone. “Your magic is poorly executed, and yet you manage to focus the sheer force well.”
“What’s your point?” Sam blurted out as Zoey poured more lemonade for her with a calmness that seemed more of a threat than anything else. “You said it yourself. A lot of things happened, and I’m just dealing with it. You can’t expect me to do everything perfectly. Maybe it’s because you keep giving me beginner’s tasks instead of proper spells to practice.”
“When did you cast the dampener spell?” Zoey asked flatly and Sam instantly lowered her glass. Her mentor murmured words under her breath and the pieces of the broken mirror scattered themselves in front of Sam. “You know better than that, Samantha. Magic is something that comes from within, from being in sync with the nature around it. The magic, the mind, and the body have to work in synergy. You know that. You know better than this.”
Sam eyed the pieces of the mirror in front of her, nervously pushing her hair behind her ears and playing with the ends. It was her tell when nervous. Zoey’s tone annoyed her. Sam could distinguish pity and sympathy behind it more than scolding or disapproval, and it was almost unbearable.
“If you want to be as great as you can be, you can’t numb part of yourself,” Zoey continued, pushing the glass closer to her protégé with decisiveness that was hard to ignore. “Pain is awful, and guilt is awful, but partially feeling them right now will only make it worse once you feel them.”
“I can’t.” Without all the insanity clouding her mind, she clearly saw this was the only rational solution that would get her to her goal. Once Clara was back, she could fall apart all she wanted. Until then, it was a luxury she couldn’t afford. “I need to learn, and I need to focus and be strong. I can’t be strong if I’m feeling everything.”
“Feeling everything and understanding what you feel is how you become strong. Feeling things allows you to be fully aware of the situation and of your own abilities. Without that awareness, you’ll rarely be able to make any correct decisions for yourself or your coven. It’s what matters now. Take care of your people, Sam. Keep them alive, keep them focused and knit your way toward becoming an actual coven.”
“You don’t have a coven, and you’re fine,” Sam retorted before she could stop herself, and Zoey smiled sourly.
Indeed, Zoey was covenless. She took part as a representative of her family, or better said, as a representative of her mother who had almost fully disengaged herself from the activities of the Richmond coven. There once were many magical families in Richmond, but with time it came down to five families - her family, Damen’s, JJ’s, Clara’s and Xander’s. There were covenless practitioners, of course, like Zoey and Richard Gaskill, whose parents were coven members or who were close to the members but decided to be on their own. Some people joined other covens through marriage, like Damen’s mother Amber who had joined the Richmond coven and forwent her native New Orleans’ coven. Sure, having a coven seemed practical, and Sam could already feel the emerging bond between her future coven members, but with all that had happened previously, she had to wonder if the lifestyle Zoey had chosen was a less of a burden.
“Do you know that feeling of closeness you have when you talk with Damen? Or how you know if JJ is having a good or bad day? Or when you’re having a sleepless night and somehow, Clara would know, wake up and send you a random message?” Zoey asked and Sam nodded, pain dawning through her.
“And have you noticed that numbn
ess where connection with them all was, since you’ve put the dampening spell in place? Since Clara’s been gone? That’s how it feels to not be a part of a coven. It makes me vulnerable and lonely,” Zoey concluded before sharply pointing at mirror shards. “That’s why I can teach you to do better.”
Sam looked at the mirror shards and then back at her mentor.
“If I do it, will you go back to teaching me real magic?”
“This isn’t a negotiation, Samantha. If you don’t undo the spell on your own, I’m going to the coven and your parents, and they’ll restrict your magic entirely.”
Samantha closed her eyes, her knuckles paling as she gripped the table.
“Lemons and lavender aren’t the only things in the lemonade,” Zoey said softly, compassion in her words suffocating Samantha. “It won’t come in one wave. The feelings will gradually return in the following days. But, it’ll hurt. As it should.”
Sam took a deep breath and placed her hands over the pieces while Zoey handed her the empty mirror frame.
Samantha focused all her strength, ignoring the rising fire in her lungs, warning her of the incoming pain. Muttering just barely under her breath, she felt her body shake as if going through its own personal earthquake. Zoey observed her, listened carefully to her pronunciation of words while absently stroking her eyebrow. It was distracting. Being aware of Zoey, but being distracted was exactly what Samantha wanted to be at that moment. She wanted the spell to fail, but she knew if it did, Zoey would do just what she promised. They would take away her magic, and Clara would be left on her own in whatever place she was stuck in. So, Samantha chanted on, pronouncing each word perfectly, feeling the cold air grazing her skin and the rising temperature of her body.
“Cor contritum speculum absconditur, cor contritum speculum absconditur, cor contritum speculum absconditur.” Her chanting continued as the burning sensation grew stronger, as her eyes became blurry from forgotten tears.
Mirror pieces finally moved toward each other, each of them leaving a soft and shallow mark on Sam’s skin. It hurt like hell, but it didn’t hurt at all compared to the eruption in Sam’s mind. Paled completely compared to Clara’s last look over the shoulder. At the disappointment she felt when Damen said there was nothing they could do to get her best friend back. Seeing in JJ’s eyes how obvious her pain was. The moment her parents told her that the coven decided against even trying to contact Clara.
The small cuts were irrelevant compared to all that.
The shards were almost connecting, and this time, it wasn’t a repair charm that was synthesizing them. It was the spell that brought back each emotion sidelined for the previous weeks, emotions fragmenting her very soul. As the pieces molded together, and lavender burned through her body, Sam shook and sweated, resisting the sweet sensation of giving up just because of her. Because of the idea of Clara, somewhere, with her heart still beating.
Sam inhaled the cold air in one final moment, and let the glass connect to its frame. The scars on her body were numerous, but they felt like nothing more than a sting. Her lungs, her heart, her head, on the other hand, felt like they were on fire.
“The first step to healing is acknowledging your scars,” Zoey said, moving the mirror away and pouring another glass of lemonade. “Now it’s time you answer some of my questions honestly.”
Sam controlled her rage, trying to focus on anything but the tide of her reawakened feelings.
“Let it go. Don’t try to repress it,” Zoey insisted, avoiding her pupil’s gaze for a while. Her discomfort was obvious as she observed the trembling glass in her hand. “You’ll break every single glass in my house if you keep going like this.”
Samantha shot her a look, unable to decide what to let out first - her anger, her accusations, or her pain. She watched the windows shake around her, the glasses in the cupboards almost chiming in sync with Samantha’s feelings that were about to be set free. But Sam wasn’t ready for that yet. She was too scared of both the imagined and realistic repercussions of her emotional outburst. Instead, she let the verbal tide take over as she fought tears away.
“What’s the coven doing next?” Sam growled. “And when am I going to be allowed back to the meetings? Are you even doing anything? Where is she? Is she in that thing Richard talked about? The Arch? Has anyone even seen Richard since Clara went into the Arch? Is he in the barrier you put around the woods?”
Zoey patiently listened to her questions, but she denied her apprentice any answers. Instead, she poured calming lemonade into her glass and drank it hesitatingly, which would’ve surprised Sam if there were any room for brand new emotions in her body at the moment.
“You know I can’t answer any of your questions, Samantha. The reason for your ban is that you can’t be trusted to make proper decisions with the knowledge given to you.”
Samantha gripped the table once again, digging her nails into the wood. Guilt and rage mixed in the pit of her stomach.
“Here’s what you’ll do for your own wellbeing, for the good of your coven, and for Clara’s good. You’ll continue your training with me. You’ll no longer try to practice magic you know nothing about on your own. Don’t try to deny it. I’m aware of what you did. Next week, you’ll bring your family’s Grimoire here and show me every single spell you tried to do on your own. You’ll tell no one else about this, or they’ll take your magic away. You’ll focus on your school.” A bewildered scoff cut through Zoey’s words, but she continued flatly, “You’ll mend your relationships with Damen and JJ, and focus on your day-to-day life. You won’t try to summon Clara under any circumstances and risk your own life and lives of others for such idiotic ideas. And I’ll ask the coven to let you back into meetings in a month. Trust me, I’m trying to push you on the best possible path here.”
“This path sucks,” Samantha snapped, and Zoey unexpectedly laughed.
“The good ones usually do,” she confirmed. “Now go home, and be kind to yourself. Talk with Damen and JJ. Be kind to them as well. This night will be hard for you, so let your future coven be there for you.”
“Clara was my coven,” Sam retorted, reluctantly picking up her bag. She could feel the tide in her rising, and she wanted to be long gone once the tears started swelling up.
“That spell you did.” Zoey stopped her, absentmindedly puckering her lips. “That was a proper spell. Try closing your eyes next time. It’ll help you focus your energy better.”
With that, she escorted Samantha to the doors and left her dumbfounded at the unassuming compliment. In any other situation, Sam would’ve been thrilled to get such words from Zoey, but today they just rang empty.
The freezing air helped Sam gather her thoughts but only for a second. She picked up Clara’s bike, as she had gotten used to using it in the previous weeks. She placed mittens carefully over her freshly cut hands and put her hat on. She could feel Zoey watching her through the window, and her phone rang like crazy with notifications in her backpack, once again functional now that it was out of the magical cloud around the Fredricks’ house. It was Damen, she knew, out from practice, probably hanging out with JJ and wanting her to be just as in denial about their future as he was. Her parents texting her, as well, trying to mend what couldn’t be mended with a warm dinner and hugs they offered. She couldn’t deal with their expectations of her tonight.
The icy wind mercilessly scratched her face, but she was only half-aware of it. Pedaling against it, she headed straight for what would be one of the hardest, loneliest, pain-filled nights of her life.
CHAPTER FOUR
Day Two
CLARA
Clara’s first night in the Arch was sleepless, but there was no fatigue other than the bruises and cuts from yesterday. There were, of course, the consequences of her first lesson with Helen and Christina. She hadn’t managed to do the spell properly, mostly because - well, she didn’t want to learn it. Lack of experience, knowledge and confidence led her down a path she didn’t want to tread. Du
ring her training, Clara had managed to misdirect her spell from a wood board to Christina somehow and inflicted her with tens of cuts before Helen counteracted Clara’s spell.
Unlike Clara, Christina was fine. Her wounds slowly opened and slowly bled due to her prolonged stay in the Arch. She told Clara all about the changes she had experienced in the months of her captivity while she gave her the tour of the Parker manor. Sadly, Clara didn’t pay much attention to Christina. She was more focused on the house dominating her surroundings, but she could recall several things Christina mentioned. She explained how, with each passing day, Clara would be aware of the lack of usual physiological needs she was used to.
Not even a full twenty-four hours inside of the Arch, and Clara felt no hunger, no sleep deprivation, no thirst. Christina informed her that she had only eaten once since entering the Arch on her own, but she gave little more indication of the life inside of the Arch than that. That was also the only time Christina was willing to mention her own entrance in the Arch, and she awkwardly avoided the subject of Clara’s father. She would slip up occasionally to point out similarities between them, which, in turn, made Clara feel awkward.
Christina did, however, guide her to her father’s room eventually, and that was where Clara spent most of her night. She carefully went through the drawers, assessing with utmost attention and respect to the books found around the room. Her father was an avid reader. That much was obvious based on stacks and stacks of books lying around. He had a copy of Churchill’s memoirs next to his bed with fading pencil markings and unforgivable bent corners on several pages. Clara’s curiosity pushed her to peak at the markings, and she spent much of her time reading the noted chapters and paragraphs. She was mesmerized, as if they could give her some insight into her parental ancestry. During her rummage, she came across a lone photograph. It was a yellow-cornered polaroid of her parents, nervously smiling at the camera. Her mother was beautiful, lean, with ivy leaves stuck in her long hair. Her father had his arm around her while the other one remained hidden in his front pocket. He was obviously older, quietly confident and rather handsome.