“Two moons…ma’am,” Emily added after a heartbeat’s pause.
“Oh, no—no ma’am'ing me, most certainly. You must call me Aunt Sophia.”
“Yes, Aunt Sophia,” grinned Emily as Isabella tried desperately to contain her squeak of happiness. “I’m a Changer. I’ve lived all my life outside…I mean... in Benevolence. It’s a town of Changers.”
“I’ve heard of it, yes. Glimmer Mountain?” asked Sophia, brow raised until Emily nodded. “Isabella, are you working there now? As village magicmaker?”
“Sort…of…” said Isabella, chewing on a nail. She loved Aunt Sophia fiercely, but her aunt had a way of asking questions that ferreted out the truth, even when you didn’t particularly want to tell something quite so truthfully. “I am. They just don’t have much need of me. They only want one spell a year…” she trailed off.
“My darling girl, we’re always where we’re meant to be,” said Sophia softly, squeezing her shoulder again. “There’s no shame in being only needed once a year if you love the place and the place loves you. No threats of being run out of town, I take it?”
“Well…” Isabella swallowed. Yes, she’d been needed once that year. And had failed at it miserably. And before things had changed, there might have been some mention of being run out of town…
Emily noticed her discomfort, cleared her throat. “Tell me about the abbey,” the Changer said then, glancing up. “I’ve never been much outside of Benevolence, and the most impressive building there is the dry goods shop.”
Rising out of the trees, the abbey greeted them, sprawling far and wide, far too much to take in on one gaze. Sophia smiled up at it, holding onto her priestess scarf as she tilted her head back to take it all in.
“Lunarose Abbey was built over five hundred years ago,” said Sophia, voice louder to benefit the other witches. “It was built in dedication to the Rose Goddess Cordelia, the Lady of the World, She Who Gives Us Beauty, Love and Kindness. The Lunarose order of priestesses tend the temples here, take care of the abbey, and offer kindness to anyone who comes and says they need it. Imbolc is the day sacred to our lady, and that’s why—every year—we host the Imbolc play, ritual and celebration.” It was well-worn information to the older attendants, but Isabella could see one of the youngest witches scribbling a note on her hand with a magicked quill.
Sophia smiled at her niece, gesturing for the other witches to follow her into the abbey. “Go find your ladies,” she told Isabella, squeezing her in an embrace once more. Then Sophia turned, entering the twin oak doors that arched toward the heavens like clasped hands. Isabella stepped forward, too, pressed her palm against the stained wood as her aunt shooed the other witches inside, disappearing into the darkness beyond.
“Come in, come in,” she breathed happily to Emily, holding open the massive door for her. “I want you to meet some of my friends…the most important people…” she trailed off, shaking her head, inhaling the heady scent of roses that always permeated the abbey. “I’m just so grateful to be here,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to the door as it settled gently shut.
She turned and took in the front hall of the abbey, what Emily gazed about open-mouthed.
Down the long hall stretched a cobalt-colored rug, spangled with carefully woven stars and roses in riot over the worn and carefully mended cloth. Rising out of the floor to touch the distant, peaked ceiling was a long series of stained glass windows that stretched away on either side, depicting the story of the goddess Cordelia, her sister Lest, and Cordelia’s lover Sadara, the goddess of the sun.
Isabella still remembered—from having gone on practically ten thousand of the abbey’s tours with her aunt (and perhaps having given a few herself)—that tradition stated over a hundred years had passed before the stained glass windows were finished, that three great artists worked on each one, passing down the work of the window to their daughters when they eventually passed on from this world. Watching Emily take in the windows, the familiarity of them began to burn away from Isabella’s heart, and she stepped forward, putting an arm about Emily’s waist, staring up at them, too, with new eyes.
Isabella’s favorite of the windows had always been the second to the last, the one where Cordelia’s bewitched form had melted away, and the Goddess stepped forth into her lover Sadara’s arms. When she was very small, a child Isabella had stood beneath that window, gazing up at the stained glass expression on the goddess Sadara’s face. It was a fierce love, a triumphant love, a grateful love. All her days, Isabella had wished and hoped and prayed for someone to—just once—look at her like that.
She recognized that expression, now, on the face of her own sweetheart. Emily gazed down at her with equal parts astonishment, happiness and love, and brushed her warm lips against Isabella’s forehead. And Isabella sighed, content and grateful.
“This is all very mush-ridden,” said Alice, sighing, rolling her eyes heavenward, “but I missed my breakfast to come on this trip, and I really have a bunch of delicious Familiar gossip to catch up on. So you shall find me in the kitchens,” she announced, leaping off of Emily’s shoulder and trotting off at full speed down the corridor, around the corner and, in an eye blink, gone.
“Breakfast,” said Isabella, eyes widening. “And then you can meet them! Come on…this way…to the dining hall!” She took the Changer’s hand and all but dragged her after Alice, down the great corridor and around countless corners and down countless more halls. Emily’s eyes were fixed upward on all of the stained glass windows and flying buttresses and other impressive architectural wonders that Isabella could never have said quite what they were, but were marvelously beautiful all the same. Finally, the corridor branched out, and there, behind the arched and carved oak doors, was the dining hall.
The fireplace along the side of the near wall was as long as the town square in Benevolence and had several fires going in it at once, several worn, patched and stuffed chairs clustered around the lit fires, filled with witches sipping tea, talking loudly and passionately, laughing and eating scones. And sometimes a combination of all of these things, as was often the case when witches gathered together.
“Isabella!” came the cry from the fire, and before Isabella's eyes could adjust to the darker dining hall, she’d been hugged warmly three times, for three was the number of good friends she’d had at the Magicmaker Academy, and three was the number of women who’d gathered around that fire, saving Isabella not one, but two chairs.
“Oh, Belly, you look so happy,” sighed Tabitha in rapturous tones, stepping away from Isabella, but still gripping fiercely to her shoulders so her ability to descend with another much-too-tight hug at a moment’s notice was not hampered. Tabitha had long blonde hair and a sweet, kind face, and had been voted “Most Likely to Accidentally Bring about the End of the World” in their graduating class. She hadn’t changed a bit.
“That’s what a little bit of hay wrestling will get you, yeah, Isabella?” asked Pye, winking, tossing an imperious-and-measuring gaze in Emily’s direction. Emily blushed fiercely, though Isabella didn’t, because it was coming from Pye. Pye had short, spiky red hair, a mouth that was always grinning wickedly, and she usually wore an adoring girl on either arm. She hadn’t changed a bit, either (though there were two less adoring girls; Isabella could only assume they were waiting for her in her room).
“Honey, I’m so happy for you—for both of you,” said Bridey, saving her, as usual, from Tabitha’s tight embrace, and squeezing her warmly. Bridey's soft brown skin was glowing, and her straight black hair was intricately braided away from her smiling face. Bridey had graduated at the top of her class and had been voted “Will Probably Become the Queen of Everything.” She, unlike the others, was the only one remotely changed, for her belly was big and round, and Isabella spent the next few minutes dancing in place and feeling the baby kick through Bridey's stomach.
For a few heartbeats, it seemed that no time had passed since last year’s Imbolc, that, indeed, pe
rhaps it’d only been a moonrise ago…but the illusion vanished when Isabella felt the babe in her friend's belly, for that babe beneath Isabella’s fingers was a clear reminder that time had been constant in its ever-forward march.
The four witches gathered together about the fire, sinking into the chairs and folding the Changer easily into their midst, as if they’d always done so.
“Your letters have made me overjoyed,” said Bridey quietly, reaching across the space between them and squeezing Isabella’s hand. “Oh, Belly, seeing you happy… You don’t know what it does to me. My heart’s singing." She turned to the Changer. "Emily, I’m Bridey. This is Pye, and this is Tabitha—but we just call her Tabby.”
“I told you she’d be golden if she could get a girl,” said Pye, rolling her eyes. “But she didn’t even believe me! And now look at her, all glowy. Makes me a little ill, all that ‘so in love’ stuff she’s been spouting in her letters.” She winked, then got a little serious (which was pretty surprising—Pye was never serious.) “Emily, you’ve nabbed a lovely girl. Don’t break her heart or I’ll have to kill you.” Emily nodded thoughtfully, as if she received these sorts of threats frequently.
“And to think,” Tabitha breathed out, closing her eyes rapturously, “after being run out of so many towns! And after screwing up one of the most important spells! And—”
“Not making me feel so warm-and-fuzzy there, Tabby,” said Isabella, lowering her voice but trying to keep the grin fixed on her face.
“Anyway, I’m so happy for you two,” said Bridey, gazing from Isabella to Emily. “It’s about time that something wonderful happened to you.” And then she was laughing, sighing a little as she glanced at Emily. “She sort of had the worst luck of any witch in Academy.”
“I got better,” said Isabella impishly, grin turning the corners of her mouth as she took up one of the teacups on the little table before them.
“So, you have to realize that we don’t think anyone’s good enough for our little Belly,” said Pye, sprawling back in her chair, fingers crossed over her slim stomach as she gazed at Emily with a single brow raised.
“Can I read you? Please let me read you,” said Tabby, eyes wide and pleading. Emily blinked twice before nodding, but Tabby was already digging under the table for her witch’s briefcase and her traveling crystal ball.
As she thumped it onto the table, Bridey leaned forward, tapping her fingers on Isabella’s arm. “Are you going to be in the play tonight?”
“Is that even a question?” Isabella snorted distractedly as Tabitha adjusted her witch’s hat and began oohing and ahhing over the crystal ball, tracing her fingers over the glass again and again.
“Tabby, you don’t have to do the theatrics if you’re not before non-witches,” sighed Bridey, rubbing at her temples. “As I’ve told you a hundred times.”
Tabby gave Bridey a pointed look, eyebrow raised, and continued along with more oohing and lots of ahhing.
“She’ll be out in a month,” said Bridey in answer to Isabella’s questioning glance to her belly again. “Rod is so worried about me. It’s very cute.” Her voice was flat when she said it, and she chuckled a little. “I had to leave him at home. It’s all, ‘Bridey, don’t do this. Bridey, I’ll get that off the highest shelf.' What does he think I am? A shard of glass, ready to break? But this little one,” she smiled, “she’s already kicked me until I’m black and blue, and I’m assuming she’s going to become a warrior queen or some such.” The words were dry, but her mouth turned up at the corners. Bridey glowed with pride as she laid a gentle, long-fingered hand against her belly.
“And, Pye? How have you been? Still conquering the ladies?” asked Isabella, laughing as Pye nodded, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Of course, darling—it’s what I live for.” She winked, straightening in her chair. “I’m actually dating two lovelies right now. Wait until you meet them. Samantha and Harmony. I’m in love with both of them.”
“Both of them?” asked Emily then. Pye nodded, grinning widely as she smoothed her freshly starched collar. She’d always been so well put together. Isabella was eternally envious of that.
“I follow the Seven-fold Goddess of Love. She’s a lesser known religion. You probably haven’t heard of it,” Pye said, leaning back in her chair again like a queen who’s just made an incredibly majestic proclamation.
“You follow Vania. I read her sacred text once; it was beautiful,” said Emily softly, cocking her head, closing her eyes. “Let me see if I remember… 'And thou art made for love, and by this rule be blessed—love is sacred when it is shared and open, without jealousy and with respect, kindness and a giving heart.’” She licked her lips, opened her shining eyes, a grin playing at the edges of her mouth. “It read like poetry—lovely.”
Pye shut her mouth with a snap. “Not so backwoods, after all. I’m impressed.”
“Pye,” Isabella hissed, her fingers curling into fists, but Pye waved her hand, shaking her head.
“C’mon, Isabella, she's literally from the woods. I just assumed—"
“You know,” said Tabby, looking up from her gazing into the crystal ball, “assuming makes an ass out of you.”
“Ever the jester,” said Pye, rolling her eyes, but Emily shook her head.
“No, she’s right,” the Changer said, standing, running her fingers distractedly through her hair. She looked uncomfortable. “I lived my entire life in the woods. She has the right to assume I’d be uneducated—perhaps that I eat my meat raw, right off the dead animal I’ve just killed with my hands.”
“You’re a deer Changer. I assumed you ate grass,” said Pye sharply.
“Does anyone need more tea?” asked Emily, and before anyone could quite reply, she’d turned and walked to the center table without a backward glance.
Isabella watched her go, mouth open. “Pye, how could you? Things have been so hard for her lately…” Anger bubbled up within her, but Pye held out her hands, shrugging.
“Your letters were mush,” she said flatly. “How was I supposed to know what she was actually like?”
“I never assume anything about your lovers,” Isabella hissed. “What gives you the right to judge mine?”
“Because you haven’t exactly had the best judgment in that department?” shot Pye, one brow raised.
“If this…” Isabella spluttered, mind racing. “Is this about…”
“The Changers I’ve known were terrible, small-minded people who didn’t care about breaking hearts,” said Pye fiercely, leaning forward and locking Isabella’s eyes. “What did you expect me to do? Embrace her like a sister and bless your relationship?”
“You can’t be serious,” Isabella breathed. “Is this about that girl… The one you dated when you were fifteen, Pye?”
Pye stiffened, leaning back and refusing to gaze at Isabella.
“Pye, seriously, I know she broke your heart, but isn’t she the only Changer you’ve ever known? I can’t believe I have to say this, but you can’t judge an entire group of people based on—”
“Was it your heart that she trampled all over with her cloven hooves?” hissed Pye, eyes flashing.
“Ladies, please,” said Bridey, staring at Pye, sighing. “Pye, seriously, when Emily comes back, you should apologize.”
Tabby quivered a little. Isabella had almost forgotten that she’d been reading her crystal ball until she breathed out, twitched. “Beware,” she intoned then, eyes wide, stabbing her finger against the glass. “Beware!”
Pye, Bridey and Isabella stared at Tabby, mouths open. “Tabby…what are you doing?” Isabella hissed.
“I’m only reading what it says,” she muttered, peering closer at the ball. Tabby stabbed at the glass ball again. “Mischief!” she muttered, then shook the ball. “Ghosts are full of mischief, and that’s exactly what they’ll bring. But if you leave a plate of milk and cookies outside your door, they’ll leave you well enough alone. Let’s not forget about that o
ne time one possessed poor Alice. Milk and cookies—that’s the ticket!” She dropped the ball back into her briefcase and shut the clasp with a sharp snap, glancing up. “Oh—where’d Emily go? She missed her own reading!”
“Ghosts?” Isabella whispered.
“Milk and cookies,” said Pye with a perfectly straight face. “Like Father Yule?”
“No,” said Tabby, sincerely. “Like ghosts.”
Isabella glanced around at the other witches helplessly, then up and at the table where Emily turned a teacup over and over in her hands, unseeing. The witch felt her heart flip-flopping with a strange foreboding.
“Tabby’s about as terrible at oracle reading as you are at spell casting,” said Pye easily, shaking her head as Isabella squirmed in her seat. “Seriously, Belly, don’t give it a second thought.” Her voice was softer, now, the bite gone.
Isabella pushed away her cup of tea.
She no longer had the stomach for it.
---
This wasn’t turning out at all as Isabella had hoped it might.
“Emily…”
Her sweetheart gazed out of the little round iron-and-glass window, sighed and stiffened at the sound of Isabella's voice.
Their room was the one Sophia saved for Isabella every Imbolc. Once, it had been because it was close to Sophia’s room, and when Isabella was very small, she’d had many nightmares and would often sleepily wander to Sophia’s bedside and ask for milk, a spell for sleep or—more often—a hug. And now this was Isabella’s room for Imbolc because it had always been that way. Which was how most things were done at the abbey: by tradition.
It was a small room, very plain and practical, but with two windows in the far east wall, one stained glass, intricate and beautiful with a moon and a spangling of stars done in countless hues of blue. The bed was big enough for two people—if you didn’t wiggle much—and the table in the corner held a pottery pitcher filled with bright, blooming roses, a bowl and hand-thrown goddess statue, made by Sophia, once upon a time, and painted by a very careless and very non-artistic eight-year-old Isabella.
Under Her Spell Page 9