Witch's Brew - Spellspinners 1 (Spellspinners of Melas County)

by Heidi R. Kling

  Moaning, she fiddled with the water pump. Under her breath she grumbled, “Ever since Frank left I haven’t been able to get this right.”

  Mom. Something happened.

  She looked shocked. “Something to do with Daddy?”

  “Um. No.” My stomach clenched up so tight I could barely squeeze out the words. I hated it when Mom dropped Dad’s name out of nowhere like that. It was like she chucked a knife at me when I was expecting a rubber ball. “Why would it be about Daddy?”

  “Well, I was just talking about the pump…he had a way with this thing.” She went on tinkering, and I watched quietly, waiting for her to pay attention to me.

  Inwardly, I was fuming. Witches are supposed to be these highly intuitive beings, the most perceptive creatures in the world, and in this one subject she was totally oblivious to my reaction. Every single time. It was like she had no idea how much hearing his name hurt me. Since she only mentioned him on random occasions, usually perfectly innocent occasions, I never had time to prepare, no time to protect myself.

  She was so casual about it, bringing his name up in the most ordinary of circumstances. One time the dough was too soggy, the sauce not spicy enough and it was “Daddy knew the best place to order pizza.”

  Oh yeah, I had wanted to say. Then why doesn’t he come home after work with a steaming box of pizza, then?

  Because he’s gone, that’s why.

  And who knows if he’s coming back?

  Dad had left a year ago to “go find himself” at some Ashram in India. Secretly, I thought he was too overwhelmed with my transition from sweet little girl to arse-kicking witch, though he would never admit as much. He just…started looking at me funny. And then he was gone.

  Iris promised he’d be back, every holiday, every birthday. On those days, she paced the front room glancing out the window, listening for his car. But he never comes.

  The longer he stays away the more suspicious I get. I ask. But Iris doesn’t say anything more than, “He is a wandering spirit. He’ll be back when he’s found what he’s looking for.”

  He does email from time to time, and he sends cards and gifts on holidays. Little wooden statues from Southeast Asia, blankets from India—I pile them in a corner in my room. I don’t want gifts. I want my dad back.

  But I couldn’t think about him right now. It only made me upset and unfocused. At this moment, I had to be strong. A warrior. A witch. I needed to tell Iris about Logan. And what I subsequently learned at the library.

  “What’s deireadh na n-amanna?”

  Iris jerked upright. Gone was the sweet singsong voice. Now she was all business. “It. It means the End of Times.”

  “Were you going to tell us about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “I was…we were…trying to figure out the right time.”

  “The right time to let us know our magic was being eradicated?”

  She sighed.

  “I also met a warlock.” Might as well drop all the bombs at once.

  “A war—” The word caught in her throat. “Are you sure?”

  “Jacob’s son, in fact.”

  Iris didn’t say anything.

  “Jacob, isn’t that the warlock master’s name?”

  “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  Iris cocked her head, her eyes ablaze with curiosity. “Did he attack you?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t charge?”

  “No. Well, there was a little spar, but it was more like a joke.”

  “A joke? There was an altercation? Did he say anything to you?”

  The chimes behind us jangled in the breeze. “Yes. Lots of things.”

  “Where were you?”

  I lowered my voice. “Near Black Mountain.”

  “Lily Rose! What in the world were you doing up there?”

  “Promise you won’t tell Camellia?”

  “No. I will definitely not promise. We don’t keep secrets in the coven.”

  “Um. Then what do you call not filling us in on deireadh na?”

  She held up her palm, which was aglow with crimson light. “You need to stop saying that.”

  “Why? If I say it out loud it won’t come true?”

  I was angry and wanted her to know it. Our coven elders had been holding so much back from us. I’d been worried about my failing magic to the point of cheating, when all along, it was out of my control?

  “You should have told me,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. I was going to. We were trying to protect you girls until we came up with a plan.”

  “Which is? Something to do with a broken magic man, right?”

  She blinked. “How do you know about that?”

  “I found a book on the Fifth Floor…”

  “Lily! That library is for elders only. You may use it only when I accompany you.”

  “Well, Mom. It’s a good thing I broke your rules, then. Otherwise, I’d be in the dark, fumbling around, thinking my magic was all jacked up, when really our coven is in grave danger.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, something passing between us. A reckoning. An understanding.

  Even as a young child, Iris always encouraged me to speak my mind.

  But she was still angry. “Tell me everything.”

  I did. Leaving nothing out. “I was looking for some euca leaves. I thought if I had a few, before the Gleaning, they could give me the energy I needed…”

  “So you were going to cheat? Instead of coming to me? Instead of going to your Mistress? Do you have any idea the penalty for cheating in the Gleaning, Lily…?”

  “I’m the leader, Mom. I can’t be…weak.”

  “So you break coven law? Congression law. The entire Spellspinning community would be involved. Believe me”—Mom’s face faded from rage-red to ghost-white—“you do not want to stand trial before the Congression.”

  “If we lose our magic, there will be no Congression. No law. Don’t you understand what I’m saying? I know what’s happening now. What Camellia meant during the coven prayer when she said, ‘Our Transition year.’ We’re going to be transitioning back into humans? Transitioning into a powerless community?”

  “Humans might not possess otherworldly powers, Lily, but they aren’t exactly powerless.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No. I don’t. We’ve always lived among humans; some of my best friends are humans. Even if we lost this,” she said, holding her glowing palms in the air, “would it really be all that bad?”

  “That bad?? Mom, this is all I know.”

  “Maybe you should know more then.”

  I shook my head, completely frustrated. Why wasn’t she fighting for our magic?

  “Maybe because I’m tired, Lily. Maybe because I’m sick of fighting. Sick of trying to repair something that can never be mended.”

  Basil and mint and clover, sweet garden earth perfumed the air. Making our argument seem less scary, more organic. It was natural to fight with your mom. It was natural not to want to lose something you love.

  I wouldn’t lose my magic the way I lost my dad.

  Not without a fight.

  “You’ve tried before then? To make peace with the warlocks?”

  “Too many times to count.”

  “And nothing worked?”

  “Lily.” She shook her head sadly. “You can’t make peace unless both parties are interested.”

  “Then what’s this riddle about the broken magic man? Here.” I handed her the origami rose. “I think it might be the warlock I met—Logan. Mom. Say something.”

  She chose her words the way she picks ripe apples off our tree. Carefully, methodically. “Did you see a mark on him? That looked like your amulet?”

  “I don’t know, I mean, it burnt his hand. And my chest. We were more concerned with putting it out and easing the pain than noting the shape.”

  She sta
red at my chest. My heart. The spot where my amulet hung, protecting me.

  “Mom, it’s okay. It’s here.”

  She fingered my amulet like it was poisoned. “What is this?”

  Finally, she looked at me the way she had on my sixteenth birthday, when she gave me the amulet—a strange expression of fear mixed with the slightest glimmer of hope. “This isn’t your great-grandmother’s amulet. The warlock switched it.”

  Now I was the startled one. “No way. He couldn’t have. I was right there the whole time…”

  But she wasn’t listening. I saw her fists clench and felt her fury rage within her. The rich dirt under our feet began to tremble. Her voice sharpened into an accusational blade. “This is Jacob’s doing. He knew you were wearing the amulet.”

  Grey clouds moved too fast over our heads, trying to cover the sun. The ground shook harder. I had to calm her down. “Mom. No. You’re wrong. This is my necklace.” I shook my head. “How could Logan have switched it? I was right there, watching…”

  Trying to ignore the thickening fog, the vibrating earth beneath our feet, I re-played the scene in my mind’s eye. When could he have done it? And how? He was only a Cerulean like me. He couldn’t transform a pebble into a precious indigo stone. There was no way.

  Unless Logan was lying.

  Unless he had lured me to sleep. That was the only way he could have made a replacement.

  “I guess it’s a possibility,” I admitted. “But you still don’t want to start an earthquake.”

  Iris’ jaw set firm. “There’s only one way to know for sure.” Carrying the necklace like it was a dead newt—simultaneously useful and foul—she dangled it over the birdbath.

  Instantly, the ground stopped shaking. But then the wind picked up, as she channeled a different goddess’s energy.

  When the amulet touched the birdbath the water shone purple and began to swirl like a tiny whirlpool. Iris clutched the chain, her back arched tight, as if the waters were a greedy mouth trying to swallow the stone.

  “See the colors darkening?” she nearly shouted over the wind whipping the backyard fruit trees. I nodded and then jumped as a loud thunderclap shook the sky, our yard…maybe even all of Melas.

  Iris tumbled onto the dirt, as if tossed by invisible hands.

  “Mom! Are you okay?”

  Her voice was wheezy. “This isn’t a fake,” she said, “It’s also not your amulet. Didn’t you notice the shape is different? But the likeness is remarkable.” I watched Iris’ eyes change. “This kind of amulet isn’t from the dark side of magic.”

  I tucked my whipping hair behind my ears. “So where did Logan get it?”

  “I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.”

  “Can you do me a favor first and try and chill out this storm?”

  Iris looked up at the trees. At scattered lemons and oranges and ripe plums split open, pouring red, pulpy juice, which as soon as the sun peeked back from around the magic-induced clouds would begin rotting on the dirt.

  “Oh. That,” she said like some stoner dude on the Boardwalk. Like it was the first time she’d noticed the storm.

  “Yeah,” I said, “The storm that just knocked you over?” I gestured up to the sky with my thumb. Then pointed it down to the earth. “I guess your magic still works?”

  I asked the question for a reason. I wanted to know. “Obviously you can spin a spell, but can you still control it?”

  “My power exists, but it is reckless. The surges wax and wane—I can’t control them like I used to. And soon, they may not exist at all.”

  The wind lulled to a gentle breeze, and the sun returned.

  The earth beneath my feet stilled.

  “If Logan stole my amulet, why would he give me his in return? Something so powerful?”

  Iris shook her head. “He must have had a reason. And we are going to find that out, too. But first, we need to get back your stone. It is meant to protect you, and you’ll need that protection. But in order to do that, you must confess everything to Camellia.”

  I wished I could disappear into the earth beneath me.

  Maybe I could go find Dad? Join him on his yoga quest for fulfillment?

  “No. You’re going to tell Camellia.”

  I swallowed back tears. “Fine. I’ll tell Camellia, Mom. But you need to tell me about my amulet.”

  She nodded quickly, then took my hand—a small act of motherly kindness to let me know her making me confess to Camellia wasn’t personal. She wasn’t trying to be a mean and dictatorial mom. It was just business.

  Strict coven business.

  Her first priority.

  Her first honor.

  But I’d make her come through on her promise to me. She wasn’t going to skirt these questions like she did with questions about my dad. A lot was on the line—my place in the coven, my reputation, and most importantly, my magic.

  I needed to understand why my grandmother’s amulet was so much more than an heirloom. And why Logan risked so much to steal it.

  Logan

  Logan had to tell someone about the witch’s amulet. He waited until the rest of the warlocks were busy with other things to convince Chance to leave the grounds and head to the water. The ocean was the place he felt the safest.

  They were on their boards, waiting for a decent set of waves, when he confessed the whole story: meeting Lily, swapping the amulets, everything.

  “Whoa, back the hackles up, a witch? A real deal Melas coven female? Do you have any idea how crazy this sounds, not to mention so unlike you?”

  “I know, I know. It wasn’t as if I went looking for her. I literally just stumbled upon her.”

  Chance shook his head. He was sitting up, straddling his board. “You can’t do it again.”

  “Do what?”

  “Stumble upon a witch! You know, unless you’re knocking one out with your sword in the Gleaning. Then step all over that.” He laughed wickedly while Logan frowned.

  The thought of Lily on the ground injured by something he’d done made him sick. “But her amulet looked so much like mine. I guess I followed her to find out more. I know it was reckless.”

  “As long as you get that, it should be cool. I won’t say anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  They floated over the waves in silence. Logan was grateful Chance didn’t dig in his point. Logan made a mistake, Chance told him how he felt about it. The end.

  “Chance, if you could become a human, would you?” Logan paused. “I mean entirely human.”

  “I couldn’t be. Voudoun is in my blood.”

  “But hypothetically, if you could be born again without it. With no knowledge of any of it, would you?”

  Chance held back to let a few human kids take the first set. He glanced at Logan sidelong. “You have to be dead to start over. And I don’t want to die.” Chance glanced over his shoulder eying the next set of waves. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Besides, magic is all I’ve ever known. I see how humans live. I was there during Katrina, remember? It was a tragic mess—the worst of the human condition. I can transcend all that now. The inevitable death and dying. The rot. The struggle to work, reproduce, just to start heading downhill toward death? No thanks.”

  “Hate to point out the obvious, but have you looked at Jacob lately?” Logan said. “It’s not exactly like he’s avoiding the downhill spiral toward death. He looks like he’s already accepted the invitation and is knocking on the front door.”

  “But it won’t happen to us. Not for awhile anyway. So this witch? Was she unbelievably hot? You know they cling on to that fountain of youth perk of theirs like crack.”

  “She was…yeah, she was very pretty.”

  Understatement of the century.

  “Would be nice to have that perk again.”

  “Yeah, it does seem like Jacob would be more eager to mend things with the witches, for vanity’s sake alone.”

  “Mending things? Jacob? Peace would be the last
option on his list. He likes fighting them. Loves stealing back part of what he feels was rightfully his.”

  “But he doesn’t even fight anymore, we do.”

  “Maybe he’s living vicariously? Dude, I don’t know.”

  Logan confided in Chance what he’d been thinking about all day. “What if that’s why he’s so intent on winning in the Gleaning? What if some of the energy we glean off the witches is the key to age reversal?”

  “How would that benefit him then?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But I do know I’m feeling a little wary about the whole idea of the Gleaning now. I mean, if she's not evil, then wouldn't it be evil to destroy her?"

  “We’re warlocks,” he said by means of explanation. “You’re acting really weird, dude. Since when have you been bothered by using aggression?”

  “Since…”

  His word caught in the air.

  Since meeting Lily.

  Since stealing her amulet.

  Of course. Her amulet. It was making him all…weak minded. And adversarial. Making him think treasonous thoughts.

  “Am I really being weird?”

  “You are Leader of the Sons of Darkness, Logan. And you just now said…”

  “I know what I said.”

  “Give me the charm.” Chance reached over the water.

  “I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t protect you.”

  “I don’t need protection from her. She’s not evil, Chance, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s like we’re…fated or something."

  Logan flashed on the moment he saw her for the first time, curled on the rock, sheets of white-blonde hair spilling over her shoulders like new-fallen snow.

  “You have to drop this line of thought, Cheese. You know exactly who you are. Who we all are. It’s treason to talk this way. It’s her amulet taking hold of you.”

  Logan felt the waves rise under him. Chance wasn’t on board yet. He had to drop it, or he risked getting Chance in trouble, too.

  “You’re right, I’ll stop worrying about it. We all have enough on our minds without adding a witch into the mix.”

  “Good man,” Chance said.

  The waves rose beneath them, and they took off for the shore.