The Coven History

by Lily Luchesi

  He chuckled. “Yes. I know I’ve not always been a great bloke, but I wouldn’t lie about something like that. I … never mind.” He looked away, cheeks red.

  “No, tell me,” Daphne insisted.

  “Let me at least get a drink first.” He got up and went into the kitchen, returning with two glasses half full of white wine. At eighteen, in England, imbibing wine was perfectly legal. He sat, set the glasses down, and raised his. “Salud,” he said as he drank half in a go, while Daphne sipped hers.

  “Well?” she asked, taking another sip. It was a warming wine, and she wondered if he had gotten it in the Magic District. She could feel a flame in her chest and belly. It was a pleasant reaction. “Pege got your tongue?”

  In response, he stuck his tongue out at her and they both laughed.

  “You are such a child.” It’s kinda cute, though, she thought. Then, Wait, why am I calling him cute? He might be handsome, but… Her thought process was making no sense to her, so she abruptly shut it down.

  “We’ve finally become friends, Daph. I don’t want to lose that,” he admitted. “I saw how you dropped Sinclair without looking back. I can’t have you do that to me.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t, I promise.” And where did that come from? I would never make a promise like that normally.

  Michael smiled a little and said, “I really like you. And I have ever since we were kids, when I didn’t even really know what having a crush was. And I was hurt that you turned me down every time I tried to ask you out.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. His skin was calloused and warm.

  “Give me a chance?” he asked quietly. “Please, Daph?”

  Daphne wasn’t sure what to say. Only recently had she even started liking Michael in any way, shape, or form. One part of her was screaming at her to tell him to piss off. But another part was telling her to give him a chance. It was as if the warmth from the wine, similar to the warmth of the tea he had given her at Evelyn’s wake, had addled her brain. Or, perhaps, had opened it to new possibilities.

  Feeling a blush creep into her cheeks, she nodded. “All right. I will give you a chance.”

  Michael’s smile was as wide as his face. He stood up and leaned across the table, capturing Daphne’s lips in a happy kiss.

  “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

  Chapter 20

  Salem watched as Daphne walked off the stage, their one shared glance enough to make his heart seem like it was being squeezed in a vice. For all he knew, this would be the last time he ever saw her.

  From general Coven gossip, he heard that she, Draven, Caelum, and Michael were moving to London to share a flat. She would be apprenticing at the PID under their Medics, and, unless she decided to come take Madam Iaso’s place one day, Salem didn’t think they’d ever meet again. The closest they would come would probably be furtive glances in the PID halls, were he to ever be called in to work on a potion on site.

  “Just get over her already, mate,” Robert complained that night when Salem was unburdening his heart. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but she dropped you like a hot potato the first chance she got, now she’s living with the people who made your life miserable. I know you love her, but you have to accept the fact that you two were never meant to be together. You’ll find someone else, someone who loves you and your Darkness.”

  What if I don’t want anyone else? Salem wondered. He had never told anyone about the magic that seemed to connect him and Daphne together. She had told him it was old soul magic, and she needed to research it more. She had never had the chance, however, before their breakup, thanks to the murders and Darkness.

  It might seem simple to others: just move on, there are other fish in the sea. But they would never truly understand. Unless they could feel what Salem felt, they would always act so callously. He could never love another. Daphne would always be tattooed onto his heart.

  He didn’t tell Robert that, however. It was his friend’s last night in the Coven as well, and he didn’t want to fight with him. It turned out, his avoidance was futile.

  “So, what are your plans?” Robert asked him.

  Salem thought about Angelica’s offer. “I think I might become the PID’s resident brewing expert, but still live in the Coven. I was offered a job. I plan to meet with the PID director in a few days to discuss what I will need to do.”

  “So, you will have complete control over new potions and updates to existing ones?” Robert asked, eyes lighting up.

  Salem nodded, feeling a bit of pride.

  “And still live here?”

  Again, Salem nodded.

  Robert’s face split into a smile. Salem knew that smile. Robert was scheming in his mind. And this could either be brilliant or utter shite.

  “Are you still willing to stick together with your Clan?”

  Salem nodded. “Until the threat of a second Clan War goes away, yes. Safety in numbers and all that rubbish.”

  The smile widened, silver eyes glittering. “I am going to tell you about my plans once I get back to the house in Keswick. And you have to promise to keep it between us for now. Well, us and a few other Clan members.

  “A part of this growing Darkness … is me.”

  Salem’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. He needed to let Robert speak first, to get as much information as he could.

  “I want to finish what was started centuries ago. I want to complete the work Clan Munro began before we were defeated in the First Clan War.”

  At that, Salem held his hands up. “Wait. Stop. You’re going to go on a mass murdering spree of apprentices? Are you out of your bloody mind?”

  “That isn’t all Clan Munro wanted, and you know that,” Robert said, crossing his arms. His smirk was gone. “We want to take down Clan Fraser, stop any future apprentices from joining the Coven, and of course make other species realise that we are dominant. We are far superior to werewolves and vampires, and of course we’re better than humans.” He spat the word like it was a curse. “I am going to lead our Clan to supremacy, and in turn, the rest of the magical world.”

  Without thinking, something Salem rarely did, he stood up, nearly knocking the chair he had been sitting in over. “Then you may leave me out of it,” he snapped. “While I do believe we are superior to other species, while I do think Clan Fraser has tried for too long to ruin us, I cannot be a part of your plan.”

  Robert sneered. “Why? Because of your poor mum?”

  “No, because I have a conscience,” Salem retorted. “How many will die during your quest for supremacy? How many of them will be our allies? Will it truly be worth it? I doubt it.”

  Robert stood up, too, hands out in an imploring gesture. “Salem, you are by far the most talented wizard I know. Perhaps the most talented in the entire Coven. We need you. Your Clan needs you. You are descended from the original Munro. There would be no great loss if you were to join us. But there would be revenge, power … power beyond your wildest dreams.

  “You could get back at everyone who hurt you, and make sure that they would never get that chance again. Them … or anyone else.” Robert’s eyes flashed.

  Salem wouldn’t deny that the allure of getting revenge was tempting. He had dreamt of it for a long time. As well as finally having power, of having people too afraid to ever try and hurt him again. But at the same time, he thought about Angelica. About Daphne. Even Edelstone. People who had once tried to see the good in him, even when he couldn’t. Daphne didn’t care anymore, and he was unsure about Edelstone, but what would Angelica say? It would almost be a betrayal to the vamplet. And he didn’t want to give in to what he had tried so damn hard to control for all these years.

  He shook his head. “I cannot. As much as I would love power, to lord it over Lynx and Smith. I have to try to stay on this path. You must understand.”

  Robert scoffed. “I really don’t. How could you pass this up? At one time, it was exactly what you wanted. Or are you going to te
ll me you’ve changed?”

  Salem shook his head. “I’m trying to change. Trying to not let myself fall down a path that could get me executed. I will not join you, Robert. I’m sorry. But nor will I try to hinder you. Were you to succeed, I would toast your victory. Were you to fail, I would also toast to your valiant death.”

  Robert burst into laughter. “What a way to walk the line, Sinclair! You know what? As hurt as I am that you won’t join me, join us, I respect that. And know that, should you ever come to your senses about these bloody hypocrites and your beloved Angelica Cross, my door will always be open to you. Once you’re a part of our Clan, you can’t leave. It’s in your blood. It’s who you are. And even you cannot escape destiny.”

  Salem wondered if he should tell the PID what Robert was planning. But to do that would mean he was turning on his Clan, and possibly the Coven as a whole. As a rule, the Coven handled matters themselves, without needing the PID to come snooping around. If anything were to happen, Salem was confident that whomever was destined to win would win. And neither side would require any assistance from him.

  Decision made, he walked into the PID in London a few days after Robert left the Coven with a clear conscience. He had an appointment to see the director, and was admitted right away.

  The director was a small man with blond hair and warm eyes, stockily built, and wore a horrible cable knit sweater. His face showed that he was quite young still, not much older than Salem. He stood as Salem entered, holding his hand out.

  “You must be Mr. Sinclair. I am Director Mark Evans. Nice to meet you. Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” Salem said politely, smoothing his cloak down under him. “I assume you were told why I am here?”

  Mark nodded. “Indeed, Angelica briefed me. Forgive the clutter.” He gestured to his haphazard desk. “I am really quite new to the job.”

  “It’s fine,” Salem said.

  Mark apparently located the file he needed and handed Salem some papers. “With Angelica’s personal recommendation, I really don’t need to interview you. I think you might have realised by now, but her word is law around here.”

  Salem smirked. “Oh yes, I figured that out when she silenced our King in front of the entire Coven, and shooed our head Elder as though she were a fly.”

  Mark laughed out loud. “That’s Angelica all right. Okay … so, for our files, please fill out this form, sign and date where indicated. There are only two requirements for you to keep this position. One is a short test in our labs here, probably no different than what you went through at the Coven school.”

  Salem nodded, already reading the contract and form. His eyes widened as he came across the second item that needed to be completed in order to solidify his position at the PID as brewing expert.

  “As a Coven liaison, in order to remain official with both the Coven and PID, the resident brewing expert must also be a Coven Elder, in high standing with the magical community. While we know it typically takes over a year to attain such status, the liaison may still be employed as long as we receive a signed letter from the Coven Leader and/or Senior Coven Elder that the employee is currently in training to be an Elder.”

  “Bloody Hell, I’m eighteen!” Salem cried, momentarily forgetting to put up his emotional shield and appear calm and detached.

  Mark chuckled. “I know it sounds like a lot to ask, and I will understand if you prefer not to take the position. I’m sure Angelica would, too.”

  Salem ignored him and finished reading the contract. The sum was four thousand pounds per week. Not month. Week. It was a staggering amount of money, with bonuses if he personally created a new brew.

  He had always wanted to be in a position of power. Controlling the distributed potions for the entire world, not just the United Kingdom, would give him that power. Money meant freedom. It was too much to resist.

  “All right,” he said, signing the form. “I will take the test to become an Elder. As soon as I return to the Coven, I will inform Edelstone of my decision and begin my secondary education forthwith.”

  Mark gave an almost amused little smile. “Don’t think I’ve ever met a teenager who speaks like you.”

  Salem merely shrugged. He didn’t want to tell the director that he spoke slowly and precisely, using the words he did, because it not only helped calm him down, but made him feel important. When he spoke when he was younger, people ignored him. Now, they listened to him more. His hope was to one day be like Angelica: make an entire crowd be silent at the mere clearing of his throat.

  Mark looked uncomfortable under Salem’s gaze and quickly looked away. “All right then, please follow me. As I said, I’m sure this test will be rudimentary for you.” He stood up and Salem did as well.

  Mark led him to a lift and went to the second floor. “Most of the experimental offices are here, mostly belonging to Coven members. Some human scientists have them as well. Here, this is the one set aside for you today.”

  He opened a door and led them into a long white room with equally white tables and white stools. Beneath the tables were cubbies and drawers, presumably to store ingredients. Salem thought it looked awfully modern to create potions in.

  Oh well, he thought. I won’t be doing my brewing here after today.

  He sat down at one of the stools, and Mark began laying out ingredients for potions, but each bundle of ingredients had something wrong with them, or something missing. It was Salem’s job to find what was incorrect, or use a substitution where something was missing.

  It was highly more difficult than the Coven’s Brewing 101 tests, mainly because there was nothing to study, nothing to reference. Salem was relying only on his instincts, creativity, and analytical brain. As well as more than a little ambition.

  He wasn’t sure how long it took him to modify the ingredients and brewing instructions, it could have been well over an hour, but eventually he was finished and satisfied with his work. Turning to Mark, he said, “Everything here will either brew the potion exactly the same as the spellbooks tell us, or has done something to improve the original formula. If you can give me some paper and a pen, I will write down the new instructions for you to keep on file.”

  Mark’s face went slack for a moment and then he barked a laugh. “Well, when Angelica said you were brilliant, she wasn’t kidding, was she? Sure, I’ll get you some paper, mate.”

  Once Salem was done writing down his improved recipes, Mark handed him a cheque.

  “And what is this?” Salem wondered.

  “Payment. You read the contract, you get a bonus for new brews. That also includes vastly improved ones like these.” The director laughed. “Enjoy, mate. I know the PID is now much better off than we were before.”

  Salem returned to the Coven that night, glad that they had recently opened up their first bank. Before, most people kept their money in cash, and for the vastly wealthy, like the Frasers, they had underground vaults with multiple charms to ward against burglars in their homes.

  But with the new influx of younger magicians working in London and other cities, there had been a demand for places to cash cheques made at work, as well as keep their money safe, since most of them didn’t have their own vaults like the older families did. Plus, they needed an ATM. Credit cards were also something being brought into the Coven. Salem, personally, hated them.

  After taking his money, a rather large sum for something that was, for him, so simple, he immediately went to the castle to see Edelstone.

  The King admitted him to his office. “How did your interview go, my boy?” he asked before Salem had even sat down.

  “How did you know that is where I was going today?” Salem asked, wary.

  Edelstone spread his hands and gave a rueful smile. “I’m the King. It is my job to know these things. So?”

  Not entirely satisfied with that response, Salem explained what happened and why he had to come see Edelstone that night.

  “In conclusion,” he said after everythi
ng else had been explained, “I would like to begin studying for an Elder position. Perhaps also assist in Piper’s Potion Shoppe as well, to be able to work on my own brews in her lab.”

  Edelstone nodded as Salem spoke, eyes half-lidded beneath his half-moon spectacles. “It is a noble pursuit, to want to improve and create potions to assist the magical community the world over. And I do love that you want to remain here, in the Coven, when you have a home just across the Thames from the PID office.”

  Salem simply shrugged. The little cottage in Lambeth was the last place he wanted to return to. There were too many horrible memories there. Too much pain. Too little Light. He had given away or sold his parents’ things after his mother had passed, and that was the last time he had been there. Why he didn’t simply sell the house itself was a mystery even to him.

  “I prefer the Coven,” was all he would say.

  Edelstone nodded, seeming to understand everything Salem didn’t say. Dropping the subject, he said, “Please report to Mrs. Donahue on Monday to begin. As you know, training takes up to two years, but it will be worthwhile in the end. I, for one, am quite pleased to have you on-board, working for us.” Shrewd violet eyes stared into Salem’s black ones, and he was now acutely nervous.

  “And I would have another task for you, were you to agree.”

  Salem inclined his head. “Go on.”

  “I would like for you, as part of Clan Munro, to keep an eye and an ear out for trouble on the horizon. You are immensely valuable, Salem Sinclair. To both the Light and the Darkness. And I know that the Dark will try to recruit you. I would like for you to try and see what they are planning, and report back to me so that I, and possibly the PID, can do something before we start the Second Clan War.”

  Salem listened in silence. What would you do if I told you they already tried to drag me in? And I almost agreed?

  “I will do my best,” was what he said out loud.