Witch to Choose (Heart of a Witch #1)
Page 10
Paris was right about the overwhelming sensual experience I’d receive every time we stepped into a new cabin.
Each cabin contained a different set of witches working on potions and scales. They all seemed very hospitable, but at the same time, I felt they all gave me a watchful eye.
The whole experience was overwhelming...baptismal, in fact. The smells, the colors from the lights and the music—it was all so mesmerizing, overloading my senses as if I were on the greatest mind trip of all time.
The single room cabins had no beds. They were more like work stations, each with their own cozy feel. From the colors to the chants and the music throughout the experience, I’d never felt more at peace and the feeling of communion than I had on this night.
After visiting each of the small cabins, Paris and I walked toward the parking lot. Although I thought Paris had shown me the coven in its entirety, she still seemed somewhat eager to show me something else.
“Once you decide 100 percent that this is what you want,” Paris said, “you and I will get a cabin assigned to us.”
“Here? Assigned? Already?” I asked.
“No, not already,” Paris said. “I need more than words to show me that you’re committed. Words are just triggers for the spells. The decision to use a spell and live with its consequences, are the actions required that tell me everything I need to know about a person. Your demeanor will demonstrate how comfortable you are with the journey.”
“Do you have to check in and out of here somewhere?” I asked.
“No, Sahara. Quit being so silly. Wicca, in itself, is an individualized experience, and is given to us at no cost. A gift that must be treasured and never taken for granted. Each person guides their own path and doesn’t rely on others. We don’t rely on each other, because we are all capable, but if things get particularly hairy, we’re there for one another.”
I nodded. It was the most I could do as I was still in awe of the whole experience.
“Even though we are all individuals, no sister in the coven can bear false witness to one another. It is the worst thing you can do in the sisterhood and is punishable by banishment from the coven.”
“Sounds pretty harsh.”
“I’m not talking about exaggerations either. When a sister who is part of this coven confronts you, you must tell her the truth.”
“You guys take honesty and integrity seriously.”
“You have to be among family. Without it, you have nothing to stand on. The stuff we don’t want people to know, you don’t talk about.”
I was very intrigued by the rules of the coven. I prided myself in being a real honest and open person. If this was as far as the coven’s code of honor went, I was definitely game.
“It sounds all so intriguing,” I said to Paris. “But you promise you don’t worship Satan? I know it may sound like a silly question, but it’s just a nagging thought brought on by my old-school and somewhat conservative upbringing.”
“Sweetheart. Satan wasn’t a witch. We do believe there is a darkness out there that is direct opposition of good. We just don’t call it by one name like the devil or Satan.”
“Look,” I said, “I’ve seen things in this world that are unexplainable. Maybe magic is the answer for the unexplainable. But I want to tell you that what I’ve seen you do tonight with Magic, and what I’ve seen so far here at the Coven has wiped away any doubt I might’ve had about the existence of the craft.”
“Before you say all that,” Paris said, “I want to show you something.” Paris gave me an enticing look and then she led me to a giant chapel-looking building that was in front of all the cabins.
“This used to be a Mormon camp and this was their Mormon church,” Paris said, before opening the chapel’s large, decorative doors. She led me into the chapel. A breeze swooped deep inside me and gave me a joy I hadn’t felt since I was a kid tasting ice cream for the first time. It was one of the most beautiful, most settling places I had ever seen. A purple glow made everything look ethereal, and the most chilling music played, from an unknown source inside the chapel, loud enough to make you think you had entered heaven itself.
Paris continued to lead me deeper into the chapel to a small stage at the front.
On the stage I saw this giant book, a seemingly mystical and radiating book. “What is that?” I asked, pointing at it as it glowed brightly back at me.
“The Book of Shadows,” Paris said, as she grabbed and held my hand for comfort. “It’s where witches express their love in writing. We share our hopes and dreams with one another. We write out spells that will uplift one another. Others write out rituals to remind us of our place within the universe.”
I stood and stared. A glowing dust seemed to rise out from its cover and up into the air. Tiny particles darting through the purple haze like drunk fairies. I felt its power. I could sense something supernatural reaching out to me and embracing me emotionally.
There was another tiny breeze that was stronger as I got closer and closer to the book. “May I open it?” I asked.
“Are you an individual?” Paris asked.
“Of course I am,” I said, laughing.
“Then you can make an individual decision. If you’re afraid that it will get all Raiders of the Lost Ark in here if you open the book, then the answer to that question is no.”
“I just don’t want to make a mistake,” I said.
“You won’t, sweetie. Open the book. Go to the first page where there is nothing written. I want you to write down all your hopes and dreams. Spend a few minutes writing. Take it very seriously. We believe all dreams can happen. There’s always a way with magic.”
Paris’s words brought tears to my eyes. I had never experienced a religious or spiritual experience before, but this felt damn close. Because I had bought into her rhetoric, and suddenly been injected with a burst of idealism, I actually trusted her words that my dreams were about to come to life
I walked up and took the beautiful pink pen that was to the right of the book. I held my breath as I laid my hands on the very large binding. It was at least a yard long. I touched the cover of the book and the instant I touched it, something came over me emotionally and spiritually. It was love. It grew inside my soul, resonated like thunder, and enveloped my entire being.
I opened the book and went through it rather fast. I figured most stuff in this book were spells and rituals that you needed to work your way up to. Finally, toward the back of the giant book, I saw the empty page Paris had alluded to. If I intended to write a lot of thoughts, it had to be done with my best penmanship, as there were no lines on the pages. Luckily, I’d always been known to own mad calligraphy skills—just ask any of my relatives who have received birthday cards from me.
I held the pen in my hand. Something came over me because I began to write out my dreams. It was the first time since I was a little girl that I believed that dreams existed. I wrote from my heart and I left it all on the page. I wrote, “Dreams are something I’ve always been afraid to have. I’ always misread my dad. He always seemed angry, or he seemed disappointed about something I’d done. And I always knew deep, deep down that I was the cause of that anger, disappointment and resentment. Neither one of my parents gave me a reason to dream or to believe in the unknown. They were practical. They raised me to be practical.”
Paris nodded for me to go on. I continued, “This is my wish and this is my dream. All my life, I never gave myself permission to be exactly what I was born to be. My wish is that I can express exactly who I am to the core. I want to be able to love in a harmonic existence. I want to be able to cry out of happiness. I want to feel loved, and I want to offer my love to my family, friends and significant other.” I looked up from the book and said to Paris, “I feel like I’m just rambling on.”
“Sahara, open your heart to the book. Let your true self be reflected on the page.”
I nodded and looked back down at the giant page and began to write where I left off.
&n
bsp; “I want to live in that innocence within myself. But, what I truly want is for someone to receive my love and not reject it eventually. I just want to love and to be loved unconditionally—forever.”
I shut the book and felt pretty exposed. It wasn’t like I had signed it. Still, I had left my raw self-right there on the page.
It was time for us to go. I had absorbed so much, and needed some time to reflect.
Paris and I walked back to my Mazda in the camp parking lot.
Paris, with my keys still in hand, walked to the driver’s side door. I flashed her a sleepy and tired smile. She nodded and returned the gesture, letting her know I was fine with her driving me back home, and that she had earned my trust—in spades.
Chapter Ten