The Coven History

by Lily Luchesi

  “That’s why you can only get Sinclair to look at you: you’re so unpleasant for a girl,” he sneered. “Dunno why I ever even tried asking you out.”

  Daphne’s mouth dropped, and Salem could see she was hurt. “Because someone put it into your head that you’re irresistible. I wouldn’t date you if someone slipped me a love potion first!”

  Robert smirked at her comment and said, “Come on, calm down. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t date either of you gents.”

  Draven and Caelum burst into laughter, and Daphne giggled. Michael, meanwhile, huffed and stalked away.

  Good riddance, Salem thought. “Mate, I wouldn’t date you, either, so we’re even.”

  Robert winked and then he went into the castle as well, and Draven followed. Daphne’s arm was still wound through Salem’s, and he began to wonder when they had begun to talk about dating.

  “I apologise if I insinuated anything … you know…” He trailed off, embarrassed.

  Daphne smiled brightly and shook her head. “No, of course not. Smith brought it up, anyway. Not you. Come on, we’re going to be late!” She took his hand and ran with him up to the castle doors. And that moment, he couldn’t hide his smile if he’d tried.

  Draven had been correct in the potion that the students needed to brew for the exam. It was a wound solvent that was difficult for most intermediate potioneers. Even in this advanced class, fifteen and sixteen year olds were not likely to make it perfectly.

  However, Salem and Daphne weren’t normal teens. They took their usual seats next to each other when Mr. Fraser addressed them.

  “Fraser, Sinclair, separate.”

  “Why?” Daphne asked. “We have been partners since we were ten!”

  “There will be no partners for this exam, Miss Fraser,” he explained. “It is every magician for themselves. Now, please separate or I will write you both up.”

  They did so reluctantly, and Salem didn’t like the sound of this. They hadn’t been taught to brew without partners. Though he knew what to do on his own, it was still unfair to spring this on the rest of the class.

  The exam began, and no one was allowed to speak in case they distracted another student. Which was fine with Salem. He never spoke when brewing, he was always far too intent to hold a conversation. Instead, he held inner dialogue with himself to keep him on track.

  Six strands of Pege hair… Three ounces of finely ground witch hazel bark… Ten dried yarrow flowers, also finely ground… Twelve calendula petals, fresh and whole… Spring water that has been steeped with goldenrod for fourteen days…

  He smiled to himself as he brewed. This was what he loved to do, this was something he knew he was good at. One place where he couldn’t be made a fool of. It was one thing he could do and find that elusive emotion known as joy.

  By the end of the class, his brow was beaded with perspiration, his hair was lank with the fumes from the cauldron, and his hands were stiff from so much grinding in the mortar. However, he was pleased. He had done it, he had brewed the perfect wound solvent.

  He sat back in his seat as Mr. Fraser went around, checking each potion one by one to give the students their final grade.

  “How’d you do?” Robert whispered from Salem’s right. Daphne was to his left.

  “Well, I think. You?” Salem asked. He glanced at Robert’s potion. It looked like the right proper sheen, but a bit too liquidy in consistency.

  “We will find out, won’t we?”

  Fraser approached his table and began to test the potion with a bit of flesh that the PID had sent them, specially preserved to be used for this purpose. It was a little creepy to Salem, seeing some random person’s severed and bloody skin being dipped in each potion. He often wondered if the people who ran things there were mad.

  “Hmmm. Not to poor, Ainsley. I will give you a solid B grade,” he said. “But next time, use less spring water.” Then he went to Salem’s station.

  Salem sat back, trying not to look smug. He knew he did a perfect job. Just as Daphne must have as well.

  Fraser dipped the flesh into Salem’s cauldron, and when he pulled it up, Salem watched the bloody gash in the flesh begin to heal itself, closing the wound and not leaving even a hint of scar.

  “Well?” he asked when Fraser was silent.

  “Sinclair, I am not entirely convinced that you did not cheat on this exam,” he said finally.

  “What?” Salem asked, forgetting that he didn’t like drawing attention to himself. “You have got to be bloody joking!”

  “I most certainly am not. And I will have to write you up for cursing in class,” Fraser said. “Grade pending. You will pass this class, but I need time to decide what your final letter grade will be.”

  With that, he went along, as if he hadn’t just embarrassed Salem and destroyed whatever pride he had left. He was mortified and furious, a dangerous combination. He barely paid attention in his other classes the rest of the afternoon, trying to tamper down the rage building up within him.

  All because of a bloodline I did not get to choose, he thought as he gathered his books at the end of the day. All for nothing, and I am made to feel like a screw up and a failure.

  He was angrily chewing his lower lip as he exited the castle. The only thing that broke through the haze in his mind was Daphne.

  “Salem! Sal, wait up!”

  He stopped and watched her as she ran toward him, red hair flying out behind her.

  “Hey, what happened? I thought you were going to poison Fraser this afternoon. What he did was rotten and bigoted. And I will be telling Mother about it,” she said.

  Salem scoffed. “Like she will do anything about it for me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Daphne asked indignantly.

  “Daph, in case you haven’t noticed, your whole Clan sort of despises me just for existing. You tell your mum what happened and she will think it was what I deserved simply for being born.”

  “We are not all like that, you know,” she said.

  Salem replied, “Perhaps not, but I stand by what I just said. She will not give a damn about me. She already told you to stop talking to me once, lest you forget.”

  Daphne lowered her eyes, but before she could speak, of course they were interrupted.

  “Sinclair, you were finally found out, huh?” Caelum called.

  “Cheating on an exam? Pretty low even for a lowlife,” Michael added. He was smirking, arms crossed.

  “None of your business,” Salem replied. “Why don’t you leave me alone for once? From the moment you laid eyes on me you hated me, and I had not even said a single word! Lynx I get: he hates his own Clan. But you? What do you want from me? Are you mad that I’m more talented than you are? That I have a magical family? Because from where I sit, you have everything, Smith.

  “You have good looks, you play Pege Polo, everyone worships the bloody ground you walk on. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gaia herself came down and bestowed you with some sort of boon just for existing! What do I have that you want so badly that you have to torment me day after day? Huh?”

  They had gathered a small crowd, including Draven, Robert, and Kimberly. This time, Salem didn’t care about the dozens of eyes on him. He was beyond caring now, and he wanted to finish this.

  “I have done nothing but try to live my life. To survive. To become a great magician. I never asked to be your victim. And I am sick to death of your attitude!”

  Michael’s smirk had slipped away, and he was glaring at Salem now. “The fact that scum like you gets to be a part of this Coven irritates me. My parents almost didn't let me come. They argued with Donahue until she was forced to call Edelstone to intervene, and here you stroll, like your bloody name means something. Y’know what, it does: it means that unrepentant evil can still walk these halls, like the First Clan War never happened!” If looks could kill, the unchecked animosity in Michael’s eyes would have reduced Salem to ash.

  “Unrepentant evil, huh? What have I do
ne that’s so evil? Not my Clan, but me? I have done nothing. And you … you make this life miserable for me,” Salem admitted.

  Michael scoffed. “You being here makes me just as miserable, believe me, Sinclair. This Coven would be better off without you!”

  That one hurt, but Salem refused to let the pain show on his face. It was something his father had said before. Not about the Coven, but about him in general. He thought that, with his father dead, no one would ever talk like that to him again. And now here he was, in his safe place, being told the exact same thing.

  It felt like a physical ache inside of him and he had to fight back the tears now, just like he had to at home. Because crying only made his father ridicule and hit him more.

  Control, control, he thought. Control your emotions. Don’t let them see that they hurt you. They do not deserve your tears, just like he didn’t.

  Michael stepped right up to Salem and said, “If I had my way, freaks like you would be ousted in a heartbeat.” He was a hair’s breadth away.

  Salem was sick of being a victim, sick of being abused. Sick of being the only one who had to hide and cower while bullies got away with all and sundry. His anger built up in him, bubbling like a cauldron with the flame turned on high. It was about to boil over, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

  He took a breath and went to walk away when Michael opened his mouth again.

  “When a purge of Darkness comes, I’m going to be the one to get rid of you.”

  The anger within him boiled over and he felt the magic building inside of him do the same. Something violently snapped and because Michael was so close, he got the brunt of Salem’s uncontrolled magic. Green shot out from his very pores, attacking Michael and sending him flying across the courtyard.

  Some people gasped, a few yelled out in surprise. Michael landed hard in the grass, and Caelum and Draven ran to him to see if he was okay. Salem wasn’t sure about anything else, but his mouth sure wasn’t broken.

  “See?” Michael cried as Caelum helped to lift him up. “See what I mean? Bloody evil you are, filled with Darkness. Soon everyone will see it.”

  Salem looked down at his hands. His power burst surprised him, but he couldn’t say that he was repentant. In fact, he felt just the opposite. Michael had deserved much more than this for his past actions.

  However, no one else seemed to think so as they went to check on Michael. Including Daphne. Her worry filled eyes made Salem’s chest constrict. He was the one who had been threatened and harassed, not Michael.

  Daphne stood up with Caelum helped Michael to his feet. “Take him home, Mother will check him over,” she said.

  Robert was looking at the crowd and called, “All right, show’s over. Nothing to see here, ladies and gents. Get lost.” He ushered a large group away, looking back at Salem with an expression Salem couldn’t quite read. But it wasn’t Robert’s reaction or emotions he was concerned with. It was Daphne’s.

  Despite the fact that Caelum, Draven, and Michael were still in earshot, Daphne stalked toward Salem, anger flashing in her usually sparkling blue eyes. “What in Gaia’s name was that, Sal?”

  “What was what?” he asked. “Unasked for harassment? Literal death threats?” He didn’t like where this was going; he knew this road. It wasn’t paved, it was riddled with potholes. He could sink into one and be broken if he didn’t tread carefully now.

  “Your magic! Michael didn’t touch you, and you attacked him!” she cried.

  “I did no such thing,” Salem insisted.

  “No?” She gestured to the space between them. “Then what would you call sending your magic out? A love tap?”

  Salem’s mouth dropped. “It was an accident. Daphne, you know how my magic goes. You know I can have a hard time…”

  She interrupted him. “That’s not an excuse! You never let your magic lash out at your father. But you did now, to Michael. I know you don’t get along, but—”

  This time it was Salem’s turn to interrupt. “That’s like saying Hitler and Churchill merely ‘didn’t get along’.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know about human affairs. All I know is that Michael didn’t touch you, and you hurt him first. In a way only people like you could!”

  At that, Salem’s heart stuttered in his chest. People like you. She meant Clan Munro, of course. Bile rose in Salem’s throat, knowing that Robert was right about her.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, people like me?” Salem asked, heat rising in his face. His collar was too tight, the soft fabric nearly choking him.

  He expected Daphne to change her tune, to look ashamed or apologise for her judgmental statement, but she did not.

  “It means that Clan Munro has a history of hurting those who disagreed with them and their views of the world,” she said, hands on her hips.

  It was as though someone had injected his veins with ice at her words.

  “You of all people are going to judge me by my Clan?” he cried. “You, who has told me time and time again that no one is defined by their Clans?”

  She crossed her arms now and said, “If you act like the rest of your Clan, I am going to judge you like I do the rest. You just hurt someone, Sal. And show no remorse.”

  Because I don’t feel any. “Not like he didn’t deserve it. Maybe if it had been Silver, I’d feel sort of bad, but you know what Smith has done to me literally since the moment we met!”

  “It doesn’t matter! You sent your Munro powers out to hurt him!”

  “Not on purpose!” he cried. He was trying to implore her to understand, he didn’t set out to hurt anyone. Just because he didn’t feel bad about what had happened didn’t mean that he wanted it to, or would do it again in the future.

  “How can I believe you?” Daphne asked, eyes hard and yet sad at the same time.

  “Because I’m your friend, Daph. Since we were ten years old,” he reminded her. “And I have never done anything like this before.” Please believe me. Please. I can’t see you walk away from me. I am not sure my heart could take it.

  Daphne sighed. “I — I don’t think I can be friends with someone who hurts others and feels nothing.”

  Salem’s mouth dropped and he couldn’t have kept the hurt from his face if he’d tried. He watched as Daphne took a few steps backward, shaking her head at him. Still with that sad look, as if she actually had a heart. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, Salem turned his pain and anger on her. In three sentences, he ruined the best thing in his life.

  “I should have known. Everyone warned me. I thought you were different, but you’re nothing more than a typical, stuck up Clan Fraser witch.”

  Chapter 4

  At that moment, Salem knew he had stepped in it. His words, his anger, had created a rift that he feared would never heal.

  Daphne’s eyes began to fill with tears she tried to blink back. Of course she didn’t want him to see her cry. She was too strong, too much of a bad arse to want that. She began to back up slowly. “How dare you, Salem Sinclair? How could you?”

  “How could you?” he responded. “If you can lump me in with psychos and murderers, then I suppose I can lump you in with judgemental bastards just as easily.”

  Shut up, a rational part of his mind cried. Shut up or you’ll lose her forever.

  “Go to Hell,” Daphne spat before she turned around and ran away.

  Salem watched her go, feeling like someone had punched him in the gut.

  I believe I have just ruined everything.

  Daphne ran away from the courtyard as fast as she could. Her eyes were brimming with hot tears she refused to let fall. Not because of Salem. She was so furious with him, with his blatant use of Dark magic. And terribly hurt by his words.

  How could he say that to me? I thought he was my friend!

  “Daphne?”

  Hearing her name startled her, and she saw that Draven and Caelum were sitting on a bench near a patch of grass where dandelions and poppies were given free r
ein to grow and be used in potions for the locals.

  “How’s Michael?” she asked, wiping her eyes and clearing her throat to try and sound like she wasn’t on the verge of breaking down.

  “Your mum’s looking him over for injuries,” Draven said. “And to be sure no Dark magic is still inside of him. I doubt it, though. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Yeah, you look like rubbish,” Caelum commented.

  “Aren’t you polite,” Daphne snipped. “It’s Salem. What he did … it crossed a line. He promised me he’d never use Dark magic. Never!”

  Caelum scoffed. “It’s not that easy, Daph. Not by a long shot. But attacking Mike because of a little ribbing? That went too bloody far.” He cocked his head, and she knew shifters could sense emotions better than humans or magicians. “But that’s not the only reason you’re upset.”

  Draven moved over on the bench, making room for her between them. “Come on, sit down,” he offered. “Talk to us.”

  She debated on his offer. He had always been nice to her, but Caelum hadn’t. Could she trust that they wouldn’t make fun of her for her emotions? Draven’s kind eyes, however, made her decision for her and she sat down heavily. Tears returned to her eyes and this time she couldn’t hold them back. She was too hurt, too betrayed, too broken hearted to hold them back.

  “I tried to call him out on what he did,” she gasped between sobs. “And he — he said I was nothing more than another stuck up Fraser witch.”

  Draven patted her back, his always cold hands somehow comforting as she cried.

  “Bloody bastard,” Caelum muttered. “He’s a big part of why I hate my own Clan. He embraces the Dark like it’s his best friend.”

  “But it is his friend,” Draven countered. “Until Daphne, the Darkness was his only friend. His only source of comfort.”

  That didn’t make Daphne feel any better, however.