Sam's Birthday - Patreon Extra

So sometimes I write a little something to clarify a scene or some aspect of a character for myself, and it's fun to share those with you.

SAM COMES INTO HER POWER

A Warlock: Book 1 Short

Daniel Kensington

© 2025 Kensington, All Rights Reserved

This story is canon and depicts events prior to Warlock: Book 1, occurring on Sam’s eighteenth birthday. It covers the source of her oath’s personal connection and the reason she, as a onesie, is sent to Willowmere.

“May I assume you’ll be putting that thing in storage now?”

Samantha carefully laid the shotgun she was cleaning on her desk and turned to face the witch in her room’s doorway.

“Why would I do that, Aunt Syl? I may be coming into my power tomorrow, but I can still shoot after.”

“You know the rules — no competitions.”

Yeah, Sam thought to herself. Like I’ll have mana to spare for cheating at fucking skeet.

“I like shooting, Aunt Syl. I don’t need to compete and I don’t need to go to the club to do it. The estate has a range, remember?”

“I doubt you’ll have time, now you’re coming into your power — and the thing stinks.”

Sam sniffed, taking in the scent of gun oil and spent powder. It wasn’t that strong, even though she’d just returned from her last match at the club. Second place — not how she’d wanted to go out, but her mind was more on tomorrow than today.

“Samantha?”

“I’ll make time.”

“If it impacts your work or studies, your mother will have words for you.”

Ooo … words from Mom, maybe we’ll hit double digits this year.

“Is she coming tomorrow?”

Odds? Ten? Twenty? A hundred to one?

Aunt Syl paused, clearly uncomfortable. “She said she’ll try.”

Sam stifled a laugh.

Eighteenth birthday, coming into my power, the second most important day in a witch’s life — and the one most important in mine, because I’ll never get bound into a coven. She’ll try.

“Tell her it’s okay if she can’t make it.”

“How can you say that, Samantha? She’s your mother.”

Sam shrugged. “She’s busy — I know that. Lots to do.”

*

The beeping of Sam’s phone alarm woke her.

11:58

She doubled her pillow up behind her head and held her phone to her chest, waiting and watching the time.

11:59

She really wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Yeah, a lot of witches, at least the ones with resonants that mattered, made sure to see if their power came in exactly at midnight on their birthday, but what difference would it make for her? It wasn’t like the love of her life was going to come down the chimney at the stroke of twelve.

12:00

Sam turned her vision inward. A witch coming into her power wasn’t like flipping a switch. It was a gradual process, usually, and might even start a day or two ahead of time. Or it could slowly grow over weeks or even months.

She stared at the void-dark marble deep in her core.

Or, she thought, it couldn’t fucking matter when the “power” starts, because you’ve got the most useless resonant in the world.

Sam crawled out of bed and left her room, moving quietly so as not to wake anyone. Those watching the wards would note her passing, but unless she tried to go somewhere she wasn’t allowed, they’d leave her be.

She slipped through the back door, not bothering with shoes or a jacket — the Grove would be warm, no matter how chill the nights were.

Past the pool, the guest cottages, even past the gardens, she found the discrete, but well-trodden path, leading further into the estate’s forested grounds, finally arriving at the one place she felt at home.

As she had for as long as she could remember, Sam settled herself next to the block of stone and leaned back against it, as though the rock itself could hold and comfort her.

*

Hey, Goddesss! It’s me, Samantha. You can call me Sam — but you knew that, because … Goddessing Powers or whatever … and I tell You every time we talk. I talk. You don’t talk much.

She cleared her throat.

Anyway, it’s my birthday! Yeah, the old one-eight. Powers … yay.

She sighed.

What I wanted to talk about — I wanted to tell You I’m going to do a Thing tonight.

Well, it’s night now, but I mean the night that’s going to start later. It’s going to piss Mom off … but I want You to know that’s not the reason … not the whole reason, at least — a little of the reason has to be to piss her off, but most of the reason is … I want to. It feels … right.

Goddess … You … I don’t know which would be more embarrassing: finding out You’re not real and I’ve been talking to nothing all these years; or, finding out You are real and You’ve been listening to all the angsty shit I’ve said.

The Thing. I want to, yeah. Not that it’s going to change anything for me, other than I’ll feel better.

I mean, it’s not like we have nunneries I’m going to wind up in, right?

Maybe we should start a nunnery.

Is that what You’re calling me to do? Start a nunnery? That could be fun…

Never mind; I tease.

Unless…

Oh, well, maybe another time, this time’s for … the Thing. Yeah.

I really do mean it — I do love You. The idea of You, even if You’re probably not real. You’re maybe the only … person? I’ve ever loved. Not like that … unless, maybe, the Maiden wants a — never mind. Sorry. Too far, yeah? Well, that’s me. Too far is usually my destination, right?

So, agape, not eros or the others, obviously. Just lovin’ the ol’ Goddess in that divine way, right?

One out of eight ain’t bad. I can live with that, I guess — not that I have a choice.

Oh, yeah, The Thing.

Mom’s got this new requirement, You know? Well, of course You know, since it’s an oath … You’re what makes the oaths … be kept, right? You’ve got, like, a really, really, really big file cabinet, or something?

The thing is, I really, really, really, really don’t want to take Mom’s oath. It’s all about loyalty to the Family and giving the Family as much power as you can and … it all feels wrong. Icky. I don’t feel particularly loyal to these fuckers anyway, but if I don’t swear something … Mom’ll just keep after me over and over until I do. I need something … bigger than hers.

So, not to get into details, because I’m sure You already know all those … and if you don’t, well You can’t really blame me for thinking that You do and not wanting to waste Your time explaining it when You already know, right?

If you’ve got a better idea, I’m listening.

Anything?

Speak now…

Cool. Thanks! See you tonight!

Sam started to stand, then thumped back to the ground and leaned back against the stone.

Oops. Almost forgot … well, not really. Never gonna forget, I think. I know I tell you this every time, but it’s important:

I’m sorry about Jeffery. I didn’t mean for anything to happen to him. Do you think he knows that?

*

Sam entered the circle deosil, then stopped before the altar.

It was her Aunt Syl’s coven and her in the high priestess’ space, not her mother — not much of a surprise, really. Still, she’d really rather be looking into her mother’s eyes when she did this — Aunt Syl really wasn’t that bad and didn’t deserve to have to tell Judith Prescott that her daughter had dumped a giant turd on the Family Grove’s altar.

Even aside from the obvious problem of not taking the required oath, this was going to be a pretty public FU to her mother.

“Samantha Prescott,” Aunt Syl said. “This day you come into your power as a witch. It is fitting that the first use of your power should be the pledging of it to the Family which nurtured you. Have you prepared your oath?”

“Yeah — yes,” Sam said. She licked her lips, suddenly nervous, then a sense of calm enfolded her. “Yes, I have prepared my oath and hold it, ready, on my tongue.”

“Do you swear this oath freely, of your own will, and with no reservations?”

“I swear this oath with an open heart, a clear mind, and a willing soul.”

“Very well, Samantha. The altar has been imbued with mana by this coven. It is ready to power your oath well beyond your own means. Place your hands on the altar, the power will engulf you, then speak your oath.”

Sam wasted no time. She placed her hands, palms down, on the altar’s top. Mana poured from the stone, climbing up her arms to cascade over her face and down her back, encasing her in power.

“Speak your oath,” Aunt Syl prompted.

Sam took a deep breath. Oh, this was going to piss some people off. Hopefully not the oath’s subject, but she’d spent a good amount of time working on the words and thought they carried her intent perfectly — and her plea.

Fuck you and the broom you rode in on, Mom.

“I, Samantha Prescott, on this, the day of my power, swear myself to the Goddess.”

Because You’re the only one I can honestly say I ever felt loved me.

“Samantha!”

“To The Child, I swear my heart, that She might fill it with love to bestow on others.”

Just, maybe, I could keep a little bit? Once in a while?

“To The Maiden —”

“Samantha! Stop this!”

“To The Maiden, I swear my joy, that we might meet the dawn as one, beginning all anew.”

Let’s party, honey. If I can’t have love, I can have fun, right?

Some of the witches reached for her, but Sam wasn’t sure what they thought they might accomplish. The moment she’d opened her mouth the ritual’s power had engulfed her, and nothing short of an all-out, magical effort by the entire coven would reach her until some oath was complete. The ritual didn’t care what the oath was, only that it was going to super-up the power on whatever it turned out to be.

“To The Mother, I swear my hands, that She might guide me to comfort and nurture those I … I love.”

Please? If I ever do get some of those, please help me never make them feel like this?

“To The Crone, I swear my thoughts, that She might guide me in the Goddess’ will.”

I promise not to get confused and think You’re guiding me to translocate a cup of chocolate pudding into Mom’s pants during a speech to the Council. At least, not often — ‘cause I’d probably have to cut off a toe to generate enough incidental mana to manage that in the moment. Totally worth it.

Sam took another deep breath.

“By my power, by my Grove, and by the Goddess I adore, I swear it.”

I love you.

*

“Judith? Are you there?”

Sam kicked her feet idly against the chair’s legs.

Sitting in front of her mother’s desk, waiting to be yelled at, wasn’t exactly a strange experience for her. Neither was her mother being on speakerphone instead of present.

“Yes, I’m here, Syl. Is my daughter there?”

“Yes, she is.”

“Samantha?”

Sam sighed. “Aunt Syl just said I was here — what are you looking for? Confirmation? Sure, I’m here — Aunt Syl didn’t lie to you.”

“You shouldn’t be so comfortable after your little stunt that you think you can talk back to me, Samantha.”

Sam cocked her head, waiting — there hadn’t been a question there, after all.

“Samantha?”

“Still here.” Sam threw her hands in the air. “Pretty sure Aunt Syl would have told you if I’d walked out.”

Sam thought, if the connection were just a bit better, she might be able to hear the grinding of her mother’s teeth.

“Samantha, what are you hoping to get out of this nonsense? Swearing yourself to the Goddess, for Crone’s sake.”

“I have a calling.”

“Calling? What are you talking about? We’re not Papists — nobody swears herself to the Goddess. What does that even mean?”

“Means I’ll … work Her will. Whatever She wants … all She has to do is ask.”

Safe bet, since You’ve never talked to me.

“Ask? As though the Goddess has time for you. Samantha, one day you’ll go too far in your irreverence.”

“So it’s not today? That’s a relief.”

Sam’s mother went silent and Sam wondered if the little flecks of foam had appeared at the corners of her mouth yet.

“Syl? What’s the consensus of the high priestesses?”

“As you thought, Judith,” Aunt Syl said, “meaningless. The oath is binding, but it likely has no effect on anything.”

“Likely?”

“Ah,” Syl darted a glance at Sam. “There could be issues ordering her to do something she believes is contrary to the Goddess’ will.”

Sam perked up at that.

Get out of work free card?

“Truly, honestly believes,” Aunt Syl added, narrowing her eyes at Sam.

A loud snort came from the phone.

“As though we could trust her to say what she honestly believes. Syl, would you please allow me to speak to my daughter privately?”

“Of course.”

Aunt Syl left the room and Sam had to wonder what her mother might have to say that the other witch couldn’t hear. Aunt Syl would be the one executing any punishment Sam’s mother decided on, after all.

“Samantha, you truly are a trial. I should leave you to your own devices; to make your own way within the Family, without my aid.”

Please?

Her mother sighed. “Still, you are my daughter. My youngest daughter, and likely my last — no, don’t protest.”

Wasn’t, really.

“I’m old enough to acknowledge I’ll not likely have that blessing again.”

I was a blessing once? I’ll have to work harder to make up for that.

“The trouble, Samantha, is that your sisters are all old enough to have established names for themselves independently. While you, you are still tied to my name, and likely will be even after I’m gone. My youngest daughter. The most closely associated with me in these later years, and certain to be mentioned as part of my legacy.” She sighed. “The one who seems intent on accomplishing absolutely nothing worthwhile.”

I made you so mad you bit your tongue and spit blood all over Aunt Lucille’s potato salad at that Lammas party. That was pretty worthwhile — who the fuck puts celery in potato salad?

“I’ve made a decision. It may be foolish and a waste, but it will be your one chance to stop being a disappointment to me. I’ve decided that you will be taking one of the Prescott beds at Willowmere this year.”

What? That’s … unexpected. Willowmere might actually be fun — Hannah’s there, and Brittany’s starting this year, too. But what’s the catch?

“You will do two things at Willowmere, Samantha. Firstly, you will excel at an accelerated potions curriculum. If my daughter is to be relegated to mixing cocktails as her only contribution to the Family, she will be the best in the Family at it. Do you understand?”

“What’s the second one?”

“Do you understand?”

“Potions, do good, got it.”

Sam grinned, listening to her mother get her breathing under control.

There were things she longed to say, but if Willowmere was on the table … no, she’d keep her mouth shut for that.

“That wheeze doesn’t sound good, Mother. Are you getting enough exercise?”

Stupid mouth.

“Should you manage to get through your first week at Willowmere without one of the teachers strangling you,” her mother went on, “you will seek out a particular book in the Willowmere library. It is a potions book — I’ll have Syl give you the details, but you will find it in the restricted section of the library, or possibly in the Potions instructress’ private rooms.”

That didn’t sound good — restricted things were usually restricted for a reason. Not that Sam was particularly mindful of such things — note the incident with the Family Grove’s mead supply when she was thirteen and being sent to her third summer camp of the year.

She’d learned a valuable lesson from that, though.

Lesson: Brittany Fielding’s a riot when she’s drunk … and her sister gets a little handsy. Should’ve packed more than six bottles.

“You want me to steal a book from Willowmere?”

“Borrow,” Sam’s mother said. “You’ll only need one potion from the book.”

“Which one? What does it do?”

“If you retrieve the correct book, you’ll know the potion when you see it. Its effects will greatly increase your power.”

“It’s a love potion?”

Her mother just didn’t get it. Never had. Sam had done the research on her resonant, and understood its limitations — she’d have to love someone, truly, romantically love them, and be loved in return. A love potion would be useless for that, because everything about it was fake.

“It’s not a love potion.”

“So what is it? Some kind of summoning? My one true love is going to suddenly look up from her cereal and make her way unerringly to my side?”

That … doesn’t sound so bad, actually.

“No.”

Of course not.

“I’m told the potion will trigger greatly increased mana production, which will stretch your resonant — the result will be far greater influence on you from that resonant, which should provide for an adequate growth cycle.”

Sam frowned. That might work for some resonants, but she couldn’t imagine it working for hers. Maybe a resized resonant would influence her, even empty, but that wouldn’t matter unless her feelings were returned.

It could have an effect on her, even empty, though — but certainly not a good one.

I can see it now — I fall in love with everybody, but nobody fucking returns it. Sixty-forty that’s even what Mom wants? Maybe she found out about — never mind.

“I don’t think this is how love works, Mom.”

“I don’t care if that’s how Love works, Samantha, it is your final chance. No matter how much you excel at potions, without the mana to actually infuse them, you will never have value to this Family. If you fail in this, I will buy an estate in Arkansas to hide you from sight until the memory of you no longer tarnishes my legacy.”

*

Samantha entered the Grove hesitantly.

She didn’t normally visit this often — three times in three nights? Hopefully she wasn’t interrupting anything. Who knows, maybe the Aspects were watching a movie or something.

Hey, Sam thought, sitting back against the stone. Me again. Sorry to be a pain.

She bit her lip.

You, ah, got anything you want me to do? Anything that could build up some points with You?

I think I’m going to need some help.