The Coven History

by Lily Luchesi

“Do you vow to honour the plight of the Dark?” Robert asked.

  “Yes,” Salem, though he sounded hesitant to his own ears.

  “Do you promise to do what is necessary to keep Clan Fraser from rising to power again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you vow to remove halflings and apprentices from the magical community?”

  “Yes…”

  “And last, do you vow loyalty to The Company of Clan Munro … your birthright?”

  “Yes.”

  Smiling proudly, Robert reached forward and slipped the amulet around Salem’s neck. “Welcome to The Company of Clan Munro, Salem Sinclair. Welcome back to your birthright.”

  The amulet was light, it couldn’t have weighed more than a gram. Yet it felt heavy around Salem’s neck, as though he had chosen to don a thick coil of solid gold.

  “If we’re done with the pomp and circumstance?” Helga called. “We have one month before the plan you put in place four years ago actually comes to fruition. And the few people I pay to keep me supplied with mandrake have become unreliable. It’s not readily supplied outside of the Coven because of how it needs to be harvested.”

  Salem nodded. He had no idea what the plan was she was referencing, but he knew mandrakes needed to be picked on the full moon and soaked in milk that had been used to drown three vampire bats. Even in the magical area of London, it wasn’t easy to grow and use mandrake roots properly.

  Robert looked at the newest member of The Company. “Are you still on speaking terms with Piper Pennyblossom?”

  Salem nodded. “But she doesn’t grow the ingredients she uses. Mandrake comes from the castle gardens. I would have to get permission from Tilda Whitethorn, the botanist.”

  Robert pursed his lips. “I remember her. Better to steal it in the night than waste time trying to ask her.”

  “Isn’t that a bit beneath you?” Salem asked. “What is this so-called plan you were apparently working on while we were at school?”

  Robert smirked. “It’s to get rid of the one main obstacle to Clan Munro’s return and rise. Parts one and two have now been completed. Part three will be finished in one month. And then it is up to Fiona and me to finish it.” He put his arm around his wife, whose smile looked impish.

  “And that is?” Salem trailed off, waiting for them to respond.

  “Our child. We will bear a child with both Clans bloodline in their veins,” Fiona said. “Born with Fraser blood, but raised under the banner of the Dark. When he or she is grown, they will unite all magicians under one Clan, Clan Munro.” She left Robert’s side and went to a long table in the centre of the room, around which everyone sat. There were piles of parchment, one in particular older looking than the rest.

  She picked it up carefully and walked back to Salem. “It was prophesied in ancient Italy, by Profeta Firenze, the same woman who has also seen the coming of the Vampire Empress.” Clearing her throat, she began to read, “‘When a child is born of both bloodlines, the Clan Wars will cease and they shall bring about an age of peace. All magicians shall abide by one plight: either Darkness or Light.’”

  Salem refrained from saying what he was thinking: that a prophecy couldn’t be forced. It had to happen naturally. If they continued to try and force Fate’s hand, it would anger Gaia. He said nothing, however. He knew that neither of them would listen to him at that moment.

  “You actually have a plan,” he said sarcastically. “Why did you never have one for your homework?”

  A couple people laughed, Robert included. “You are a funny bloke, you know that? I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

  “So this plan…” Salem began. “You plan on conceiving a child and what? Waiting seventeen, eighteen years for them to grow up? Sounds awfully dull.”

  “That is not all we’re doing,” Fiona snipped. “We are building up The Company. We want to have as many magicians on our side as possible long before our child is grown.”

  “And keep the bloody Light in the dark about what we’re plotting,” Robert added. “That is my job. Fiona’s job is recruitment. Helga has been our prime potioneer, unless you prefer to take that job over?”

  “Hey!” Helga cried indignantly.

  “Not if I am to continue to pretend to be an Elder,” Salem said. “Despite the fact that Edelstone doesn’t seem to desire my presence, he cannot stop me from taking — and passing — the exam. Besides, Helga already doesn’t like me. No need to add onto her animosity.”

  Robert smiled. “Well, then. It’s settled. Let me know how the Elder exam goes tomorrow. Then you will have influence over dozens of young witches and wizards. You can recruit for us in an entirely new manner, one The Company has never had before.”

  If this is such a good thing, Salem thought, then why do I feel like someone just dropped a boulder in my stomach?

  The next day, Salem arrived at the castle as scheduled, expecting the worst. For Edelstone to try and have him removed from the premises. But no one did. Even Donahue welcomed him with open arms. He walked cautiously into the castle, following his former teacher.

  He was half expecting there to be a magical firing line of sorts inside, waiting to kill him on behalf of the PID for joining up with The Company.

  The amulet was hidden under his clothes, but that didn’t mean that someone hadn’t figured out where he had gone the previous day.

  He thought that, for once in his life, he’d have been able to sleep easy, knowing where he truly belonged. Instead, he had lain awake most of the night, the amulet an albatross around his neck. If this had been the wrong decision, there was no going back. There were no second chances.

  He entered the Main Hall behind Donahue, who turned around suddenly to face him. “Salem Sinclair, out of all my students, you are one of the two I always expected to go into a life of academia.”

  He was surprised; Donahue had never cared much for him when she was his teacher. “And who was the other?”

  “Draven Silver,” she replied. “Though I understand why he’d rather avoid anywhere where he would be under scrutiny. Did you hear, by the way, about Daphne?”

  If I have to hear about that godforsaken wedding, I will hex myself, Salem thought. “That she is getting married?”

  Donahue shook her head. “That is all well and nice, too, but no. She has expressed interest in becoming an Elder, too. After the wedding, she wants to begin her studies. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  She must need a dictionary, he thought. She confused ‘wonderful’ with ‘torturous’.

  “I had not heard that. She and I have not spoken for years now,” he admitted. “May we get on with the exam, please?” He had no idea what the exam was, exactly. If it was anything like school exams, or if they changed things for the adults. Not that he felt very much like an adult.

  Donahue cocked her head, and he knew that she knew about his rift with Daphne. So why had she brought her up, excited about the prospect of them working together?

  “If you wish,” she said to him with a sad smile on her face. “You passed the entrance exams for Brewing and Coven policies with flying colours. If you pass this final test, Edelstone has spoken of you working alongside Madam Iaso and Whitethorn, as the Brewing and Medicinal Magic 101 teacher.”

  At that, Salem was truly flabbergasted, and he let it show. “I assumed I would be doing paperwork. I am not even twenty yet.”

  “And yet you have behaved like a forty-year-old since you arrived here at age ten.” Donahue chuckled a bit, and Salem found himself doing so alongside her. “We trust you, Salem. And there is no one more knowledgeable than you in that area. You could have taught the class as a student. Now, onto your final task.” She turned on her heel and walked to the furthest edge of the Hall, leaving Salem in confusion. “You must duel me.”

  “What?” Salem said, unable to keep up his detached appearance. “I could never!”

  “Because I am old? Or female?” she wondered.

  “Because you we
re my teacher,” Salem corrected. “I respect you.” And he did. He didn’t like her very much, but he did respect her as a magician and Elder.

  Donahue’s smile widened. “Come now, it is better that you do respect me. It will make it an honest duel.”

  Salem still felt a nagging sense of wrongness about the whole situation. And he had long ago learnt not to discredit his instincts.

  “I was at the top of Duelling Club,” he said slowly. “While it taught us the basics, I never liked duelling for duelling’s sake. Why are we fighting? Why could we not discuss the issue? Duelling can be entertaining, but too much violence corrupts the soul. Just look at my old tormentors. They excelled at duelling, and delighted in violence outside of the club as well.

  “With all due respect, if a battle is how one becomes an Elder, then I do not care to do so any longer, Mrs. Donahue.”

  There was a beat of silence and then came a slow clap from somewhere behind Salem. He whirled around to see Edelstone standing in the threshold of the Hall. He was smiling.

  The bastard has the nerve to mock me? Salem thought, feeling his magic spark in his hands.

  “Excellent deflection, diplomacy, and mindset,” the old man said, walking closer. His eyes sparkled behind his half-moon spectacles. “You have passed the final test.”

  For the second time that day, Salem was floored. “I … what? But I refused the duel. I forfeited.”

  “I know. Every prospective Elder is given a different final test before acceptance or denial. Yours was to see if you finally had control over your temper and poor attitude. And you proved to me that you have. You learnt to speak first, hex second. You have a diplomatic outlook, and do not seek conflict.

  “And now you have become a Coven Elder. Congratulations, Salem Sinclair.” Edelstone held out a hand to shake, and Salem took it, still a little taken aback.

  Around his neck, against his chest, he felt the amulet begin to burn.

  Chapter 22

  Salem was to begin his position right away at the Coven school in Inverness. The school year had just begun, and he was in a rush to figure out how to write lesson plans and teach in any sort of suitable manner.

  I am not prepared for this whatsoever, he thought as he sat in his new office. He ran a hand through his long locks, trying to keep his panic under control. How do I spread Company ideals, while making sure a bunch of children don’t accidentally create a volatile potion and blow their eyebrows off?

  He made a note on a piece of parchment and then there came a knock on his door.

  “Enter,” he called.

  The door opened and Edelstone’s wrinkly face appeared in the space between the door and the jamb. “Already hard at work?”

  Salem nodded. “I haven’t got much time, sir. When did Fraser quit? He had been teaching Brewing for twenty years, had he not?”

  Edelstone gave a small smile. “Oh, he didn’t resign. I relieved him of his position as the previous school year ended. He had a tendency to unfairly treat children of one set, while praising those of another. And it made for a difficult learning environment for everyone involved.”

  “Well, it was about time,” Salem commented. “That man made my life a living Hell. Actually, I am not entirely convinced that he wasn’t sent from Hell.”

  Edelstone’s smile grew. Salem couldn’t believe the man’s audacity. He didn’t have need of him to work there any longer, but he had need of him to teach the Coven’s most malleable members?

  You have made a vital mistake, old man, he thought. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”

  “I was just checking in on our newest Elder,” he said. “I hope you know how glad we are to have you on board.”

  “Really?” Salem asked; the word slipped out before he could get control of his emotions. “It certainly seemed like you were singing a different tune in your letter.”

  Edelstone’s face looked blank for just a single moment before his usual placid expression was back in place. Salem thought that it was a long-practiced facade. A mask.

  “Well, I am sorry if there was any misunderstanding, Salem. Because you are valued here in the Coven and we are happy to have you. I will leave you to your work. Good afternoon.”

  He left then, closing the door softly behind him. Salem stared at the spot he had vacated, mind blank.

  Either the old rat has gone senile, or something is extremely suspicious here in the Coven.

  Three months later…

  Two months. They had been wed for two months and this was the third blow out row Daphne had had with her new husband, Michael. Something was wrong. Something inside of her, it seemed.

  “I don’t get it, Daph,” Michael said, hand on the doorknob. “When we left the Coven after the last year of our schooling, you told me you’d fallen in love with me. Then, suddenly, we’re married and you start acting like I do everything wrong, even folding my trousers.”

  “It would be nice if you actually did fold your trousers,” she replied.

  “You didn’t mind my messiness when you moved in with me after graduation,” he reminded her.

  It was true. She hadn’t minded any of the things that would normally have driven her mad. It was as if she had been, quite literally, wearing rose coloured spectacles. And slowly, ever since the wedding, the sheen had faded and she was seeing him exactly as she used to see him in school: arrogant, cocky, selfish, and rude. At that moment, she couldn’t come up with one thing to love about him. It was as if the past two and a half years had been a farce, a stage show, and now the curtain had been drawn and the audience was gone.

  It was as if those emotions hadn’t been her own at all.

  As the thought hit her, an idea blossomed in her mind. An idea that at once frightened her yet brought about a wealth of understanding. But in order to ruminate on it, she needed to get Michael out of the house.

  “You know what? Go and see Caelum. Or Robert. Or any of your friends. I really want to be alone right now,” she told him, putting on a show of being hurt. When, really, she was furious.

  His eyes dimmed and he said, “All right, then. I won’t be home till late. Don’t worry about dinner.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. When I cooked last night, you told me not even a starving werewolf would eat that roast. Fend for yourself, since you’re such a connoisseur.”

  Daphne wouldn’t have minded that comment from most people, because she knew she was a terrible cook. But Michael had always made everything he said seem so condescending, it added a new layer to her ever growing fury.

  Rolling his eyes, Michael turned and left, slamming the door behind him. Daphne let out a groan from her anger. Problem was, she was one of the people who cried when she was angry, so people often mistook her emotions for hurt or sadness, when in reality she was merely trying not to rip their throats out with her teeth.

  Right then, she needed to calm herself. She needed answers, technical answers. Just like when she was a student, when she needed assistance, she turned to books. Most of her family’s collection were at Fraser Manor in Inverness, but she had a few with her in her new home because she was studying for the Elder exam.

  She pulled three titles off her shelves: Spells and You: a Guide to Emotional Magick, Potions For The Soul, and Forbidden Magical Manipulation in History. Sitting at the kitchen table, she began to scour the tables of contents in each book, searching for a clue as to what she believed had happened to her.

  She found the first hint in Forbidden Magical Manipulation. It had to do with a witch in the seventeenth century trying to become the Queen of Spain, bewitching the king into marriage with a love potion. But the potion backfired, because the king had no warm feelings toward the witch whatsoever.

  She switched over to Spells and You for more information, and that yielded more of what she desired.

  “Love potions are highly restricted, though not illegal, because the effects they can have on a person are either extremely temporary or stem from true feelin
gs within the taker’s emotions. Many scholars, however, argue that all love potions should be illegal, as many people have taken advantage of the effects brought on by the latter situation.

  “People have been hoodwinked into romance because they felt merely one positive emotion toward the person providing them with said potion. Similarly, others have been roped into political battles and have changed the outcome of wars and even human elections. It is for these reasons that magical scholars and the Potioneers Association have tried to make them illegal.

  “The way it affects the magician’s body is thus: the magic works within your body as it breaks down the potion’s ingredients, latching onto your good feelings. Once it has taken hold of said good emotions, it makes it spread to other parts of your psyche. The potions alter your emotions, flooding your cells with serotonin and dopamine, typically toward one person in particular. It essentially creates fake emotions, rooted in one true feeling.

  “Love potions can last anywhere from two hours to two months, though they must be renewed in order for the taker to continue feeling the facetious love. If the love potion’s effects wear off, the taker will no longer feel love.

  “Most love potions take time to work themselves out of the taker’s system, and the longer the taker has been given the potion, the longer it will take for the potion to wear off. In addition, the worse the withdrawal will be.

  “If the taker has been taking the potion for a prolonged period of time and then is no longer given it, it could cause multiple issues, all of them emotional rather than physical, as it would be with human drugs.

  “These symptoms include: sadness, bouts of tearfulness, irrational anger, outbursts of anger, and arguing with the person the potion had forced them to love. It could even cause the taker to despise or possibly murder the person whom the potion had caused them to love.”

  Daphne looked up from the pages, not really seeing anything. Her mind was whirling with what she had just read, disgust and disbelief warring within her heart. It all was beginning to make sense. Her sudden crush on Michael, so soon after breaking up with Salem. Her readiness to ignore his faults and past crimes.