Warlock 3 - Preview Chapters

Chapter 15

“What’s a consanguinity rite?” I asked as the rest of the crowd murmured.

I remembered Sam telling me consanguinity had something to do with how closely someone was related, but she hadn’t said anything about a ritual.

“It’s used when we’re not really sure how closely someone’s related — if the records are vague or were lost,” Rachel whispered.

I frowned — if it could tell us that, why hadn’t Mel done it before, rather than just assuming based on my resonants?

Sam’s mother was looking at Cassandra’s, but the latter was staring at Mel, brow furrowed. Prima Rosethorn left the faculty seating and followed Mel’s path to us. The sounds of the crowd and the Council members grew until Archimagira Winthrop tapped her finger, sending another resounding crack cutting through the sounds and silencing them.

“I will have order, Magirae,” she said.

Sam’s mom was glaring at Cassandra’s now, who gave a quick glance at Mel, then swallowed. “Secundo,” she said quietly.

“Punctum ordinis,” Priscilla’s mom said. “Exceptio formae.”

“Now you object to form?” Magira Prescott asked. “After just hand-waving allowing a feral to address this Council?”

Magira Hearst shrugged. “A patrona is well within the rules. A second with no pending motion, is not.”

“Magira Hearst is correct,” Archimagira Winthrop said. “There is no motion to be seconded.”

“Fine! Punctum ordinis, Archimagira, probatum exhibe.”

“Let me guess,” I whispered to Rachel. “’Prove it, witch?’”

“Pretty much,” Rachel said.

Sam’s mom was staring at Cassandra’s expectantly, but Magira Blake was only looking at Mel — and, it seemed, the whole room was looking at her, as well, so it might have been only me who saw Magira Hearst look to Mel and raise an eyebrow.

I thought I saw Mel’s shoulders slump just the tiniest bit and an even tinier nod.

“Secundo,” Priscilla’s mom said.

Sam’s mom spun to look at her, clearly surprised.

Magira Hearst shrugged. “You have asked for proof, Magira.” She glanced around at the crowd and other council members, then smiled. “And I see others here desire it, as well. Tris echois.”

There were several gasps and when I looked at Rachel to find out what the fuck just happened, her eyes were wide.

She shook herself a little and leaned closer to me.

“‘Have it thrice,’” she whispered. “The full saying is ‘Aiteis ti? Tris echois.’ ‘You want this thing? Receive it thrice.’”

“Melaina?” Prima Rosethorn asked as she reached us, almost in a whisper.

Mel didn’t look at the Prima — her eyes were focused on Sam’s and Cassandra’s mothers with a frightening intensity.

“They wish proof, then they shall have it,” Mel said. “Assemble your coven, Evelina. The blame for this will not fall on you or yours.”

There was a quick vote, and the Council was divided, but the majority agreed to the motion.

“Prima Rosethorn, may we ask this of you?” Archimagira Winthrop asked.

The Prima glanced once more at Mel, then said, “My coven will perform the rite.”

“Would you prefer us to adjourn to your Grove? The rite will be less taxing there, I think.”

Prima Rosethorn turned her own gaze on Sam’s and Cassandra’s mothers, and if Mel’s gaze was icy, the Prima’s was a blazing furnace.

“I will not sully my Grove with this.”

A moment later, Magistra Fallowell left the cafeteria and the crowd rustled with nervous movement as we waited, I assumed, for her to return with Peter, the Willowmere coven’s warlock. Prima Rosethorn gestured for Mel to take a place on one side of the stage and me on the other, with the Council table stretching the length between us.

Cassandra, Sam, and Rachel started to climb the stairs behind me, but one of the adjutrices blocked their path. I hadn’t even turned around to object before I heard Cassandra.

“That is my warlock,” she practically snarled, glaring at the witch in her way. “I will fucking gut you, witch.”

“And I brought salt,” Sam snarled.

“Geez, you guys, you don’t need to make threats all the time,” Rachel said, elbowing her way between my other two witches to face the adjutrix and smiling, voice bright and friendly. “Hi! I am that warlock’s witch and patrona — bar me from his side at your own peril.”

The adjutrix shot a quick glance at Archimagira Winthrop who nodded, then moved out of the way. I turned back to face Mel, feeling my coven close in behind me.

“That was not making threats?” Cassandra whispered.

“I wasn’t threatening — I just reminded her of the rules and the natural consequences of her actions. More of a courtesy, really.”

Mel didn’t even glance at me, her gaze fixed on Sam’s mother, who’d resumed her seat behind the council table.

Prima Rosethorn approached Mel with a silver knife and a small bowl, and I winced as the Prima cut Mel’s finger and squeezed blood into the bowl. I kind of figured what was next, and, sure enough, the Prima’s next stop was in front of me.

I held out my hand to her.

“Open your shirt,” Prima Rosethorn said.

My hands went to my shirtfront automatically, but then I froze, staring at the knife Prima Rosethorn still held in the same hand as the bowl.

“Well?”

I undid a couple buttons and tentatively spread my shirt, wincing a little as I stared at the knife. I was pretty sure the witches would see carving my heart out to find out if I was a Lost One as counterproductive — but…

Prima Rosethorn’s eyes followed my gaze and she sighed, then dipped a finger in the blood and tapped me on the chest.

“It’s to form a connection,” she said, “not some sort of sacrifice — what has Magistra Cassian been teaching you?”

I had no chance to respond, because Magistra Fallowell returned with Peter, and the Prima went to join the other members of the Willowmere coven gathered around their warlock. They wore their regular clothing, not ritual robes, and the expressions of fury on their faces nearly equaled Prima Rosethorn’s.

There wasn’t any audible chanting or calling on the Goddess, they simply came together, hands clutching hands, arms around shoulders, heads bowed and eyes closed as they concentrated. They were saying something — the sound of their whispers and murmuring reached me, but it was too faint for me to understand.

“It takes a whole coven for this?” I whispered over my shoulder.

Rachel nodded. “They’re reaching back into the past, like Hannah’s Hindsight — the farther back, the more power they need. It would be way easier in the Grove, but I don’t blame Prima Rosethorn for not wanting those two anywhere near it.”

I had to agree with that — having Sam’s or Cassandra’s mothers anywhere near the Willowmere Grove would soil it.

I flipped the mental switch that let me see mana, something I think everyone in the room had done, and saw steady stream of it flowing from the school’s coven to Mel — surrounding her in its glow, but also seeming to disappear as though absorbed by something. That time stretched on, until I could tell the members of the Willowmere coven were straining, sweat streaming down their faces and their expressions changing from fury to even deeper concentration.

For several, long minutes nothing more happened, but the watching crowd was entirely silent — then a small, single ball of soft, red mana appeared next to Mel, connected to her by a brilliant, blue-white line.

Mel gave the red ball a single glance, then returned her icy stare to Sam’s mother.

“What is that?” I whispered.

“Her —” Cassandra broke off, closing her eyes and laying her hands over her stomach.

“Her first child,” Rachel whispered. “A daughter.”

“Archimagira,” Prima Rosethorn called from within her coven. “That the rite shows even one generation means there is relation enough. Must we continue?”

“Complete it,” Sam’s mother demanded. “I want to see. I want to see how far removed this relation we’re supposed to accept actually is.”

“Magira Prescott —” the Prima began.

“I will accept nothing less,” Magira Prescott cut her off. “If you are unwilling, shall I summon a coven of my own to perform the rite?”

“Insist on this horror, Magira, and no Prescott, witch or warlock, shall ever set foot on Willowmere’s grounds again.”

Sam’s mother chuckled. “We’ll see about that when a new board is convened, Prima. In the meantime, please continue.”

Prima Rosethorn gave a pleading look to Archimagira Winthrop, but she shook her head, face sad. “It has been called for, Evelina. Some will say a failure to disclose all must be in the cause of hiding something.” She turned to Mel. “Melaina, I am so —”

“Let it be finished,” Mel said, still glaring at Sam’s mom.

I knew this was wrong. I knew it never should have been asked of Mel, but I really didn’t understand how wrong it was.

“Why is everyone so furious?” I whispered to Rachel, and I saw her eyes were wet with tears.

“They’re going to make her watch her children die.”

The mana resumed flowing and more glowing balls appeared. Most red, but some blue — connecting first to Mel, then branching out in a wide, growing swathe. Over and over again.

Mel’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t take her eyes from Sam’s mom.

A moment later and I saw the reason for her sudden tension, as one of the glowing lights dimmed, turned grey, and faded. Then another. One or two at a time, even as the wave continued to grow and expand toward me. I didn’t need to ask the meaning of the grey; it was clear enough.

Each layer drew closer to me, extending from the last, and I noticed the anger of my coven begin to change to confusion.

“Where’s the Death?” Sam whispered. I glanced at her and her brow was furrowed with confusion.

“What?”

“That’s … twenty, maybe more, generations … and still…”

“How old is she?” Cassandra whispered.

Rachel nodded. “I knew Grandma’s stories about her were true.”

The mutterings from the watching witches grew along with the glowing wave leading toward me, on and on, until Mel closed her eyes, as though she knew, could count without seeing, every single one of those glowing dots and had the name of each burned into her very soul. And then the growth stopped — reversed, as light after light — first one at a time, then dozens — dimmed and turned grey.

I swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to run to Mel and comfort her.

When the witches had talked about her losing her children, I’d thought, given the witches’ fertility, they meant a few — bad enough, but this? I couldn’t count the number, there were too many, but Mel had lost her entire family, grown over hundreds of years — hundreds of them, maybe thousands, in a single event — and I was certain, without a doubt, that she’d known and loved every one of them.

All gone. All save one.

A single red ball appeared past the wall of the Death. Then another, and another, and another — daughter after daughter, witch after witch, stretching in an unbroken line toward me, until the next line ran to a glowing blue against my chest.

When I turned back, a wave of grey was crashing toward me along that line, light after light in the path from Mel to me going out.

I didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to know, but I couldn’t look away. I stared at the glowing, red ball nearest me, and felt my witches’ arms wrap around me as I waited for it, too, to dim and fade. But it didn’t, and my throat constricted as a lifelong question was answered.

My mother was alive.

A final line grew, stretching from me to where Cassandra’s hands hovered protectively over her stomach, and I concentrated on that and the new-found knowledge of my mother — something good in the face of what I’d just witnessed.

“It’s done,” Prima Rosethorn said, voice weak and shaking.

The mana between us faded and disappeared, then Mel turned from the Council and strode over to us. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her cheeks were dry. I couldn’t imagine the strength — or the fury — needed to keep from showing her sorrow to the witches on the Council.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as she reached me.

Mel shook her head and laid a hand on my cheek. “You’ve brought me joy again, dear.”

She turned to face the Council again, laying one hand on my shoulder, the other over Cassandra’s clasped hands.

“Some of you may have forgotten me. Tales are just tales, after all, and I’ve kept much to myself for some time.” She drew her shoulders back. “Let us be introduced anew, Magirae — I am Melainē tou Naou, Hē Theagennētē, Serafina che la Notte Arde, Die Schwarzwaldhexe[1]. After seven hundred years, that which I thought lost forever has been found — ponder long before you think to take them from me.”

*

The room was silent after Mel’s statement.

Prima Rosethorn and her coven staggered to the nearest row of seats, those already there hurrying out of their way. They sat, elbows on knees, taking deep breaths to steady themselves.

I don’t think … no, I’m certain they had no idea how far back they’d have to reach for what they’d just done.

Twenty or more generations before the plague? Witch generations, when a single witch would live over a hundred years. I couldn’t really grasp it. Mel had been there for … she’d seen everything. And endured far more.

We left the stage to return to our seats and I think I was the only one to notice as Mel staggered on one of the steps. My arms went around her immediately, trying to make it seem like I was only hugging, not supporting her, because I knew she wouldn’t want to let those witches see a moment’s weakness.

Mel and my girls sat, while I remained standing to wait for whatever was coming next. There was only silence for a moment until Archimagira Winthrop spoke.

“I … believe it might be best to take a short recess.”

“No,” I said.

“I beg your pardon?” Rachel’s grandmother asked, eyebrows raised.

I didn’t care. It had been too long, and we’d been through far too much.

My girls were still in tears — they couldn’t take any more. Mel was on the verge of breaking down — and I wouldn’t allow that in front of these people. This was my family and they’d been through enough.

We’d been at this so long that the kitchen staff were in there baking the dinner rolls, their scent filling the room — and they must have been distracted by the Council session, because it smelled like they’d burned a tray or two.

I shook my head.

“No. No more delays. It’s time for you to vote.” I pointed at the stage. “You had questions, now you’ve had proof — more proof than anyone should need and far more than anyone should be made to bear. I am descended from Melaina Seraphina Blackwood — a line thought lost for seven hundred years.” I picked up the Principium from the chair Rachel had placed it on and set it on the stage — I wanted to throw it at them, but Rachel would be upset if I treated a book like that. “I am the very definition of your ‘Lost One’. Your own rules, your own ancestors, demand this of you.”

I glanced back down at the girls who were still seated, still in tears except for Mel, who was struggling so hard to hide her pain.

Sam, who’d drawn a love from me I wouldn’t have believed possible. Rachel, the gentlest soul I knew — okay, not on the field, but everywhere else. Cassandra, the mother of my child, who was trying so hard to belong with us. And Mel, who I owed everything to.

And if you deny me, I thought, pray to the Goddess that your ancestor’s geas takes you before I can.

I looked back at the Council, keeping my eyes on Rachel’s grandmother, because I didn’t trust myself to look at Magira Prescott or Magira Blake.

“Let’s be done with this — it’s time I take my family home to grieve.”

*

“I call for a vote on the matter before us,” Priscilla’s mother said into the silence.

“Secunda,” someone else said, I think that was Magira Cartright.

“Very well,” Archimagira Winthrop said. “The matter before us is the recognition of the Ashe coven as a —”

“Blackwood,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

I heard Mel’s sharp intake of breath and reached my hand back to clasp hers.

I took a deep breath, trying to stay steady under the Archimagira’s gaze.

So far in our few meetings, I’d told the powerful head of the witches’ Council to wait a minute, get on with it, and now interrupted her — I had a feeling Rachel was going to get an earful about her warlock if she called her grandmother to chat this weekend.

“My coven is called Blackwood, Archimagira — the Blackwood line continues.”

Chapter 16

We left the cafeteria, surrounding Mel as we made our way to the administrative building and Mel’s rooms.

I’d have preferred to return to Mel’s townhouse with my family. I gave a weak chuckle — Family, now, I guess.

The vote hadn’t even been close — only two didn’t vote in favor of recognizing us. Guess who?

They abstained and I’d had a brief hope that doing so might trigger whatever ancient geas still remained, but Rachel told us it probably wouldn’t. By the time the vote got to them, the outcome was already certain, so they weren’t denying any succor to a Lost One by abstaining.

As the door to the building closed behind us, the school announcement system chimed, but it was Prima Rosethorn’s voice that sounded.

“Magirae Blake and Prescott, as well as all Council adjutrices — you may have five minutes to remove yourselves from this campus. Magistra Cassian, in five minutes’ time, please adjust the campus wards appropriately and take any additional steps you feel necessary to ensure the security of the grounds and the safety of the students. Magellae Susan Prescott, Kathleen Prescott, and Karen Prescott, report to my office immediately.”

I glanced at Sam.

“Cousins,” she said.

“You never —”

“Dominus, have you known me to be particularly close to the fucking Prescotts? I hate those witches — they made my life miserable.”

“All three of them?”

“All of them.” She sighed. “Okay, a few cousins were okay, but not those three, and I sort of miss Aunt Syl — she did her best, I suppose.”

I looked at Cassandra — did she have cousins here as well?

She sighed. “Yes, two — as though they’d have anything to do with me here. Whose lives do you think I made miserable when I was at home?” She sighed again. “I suppose I should apologize to them or something now. They’re going to love that shit.”

I wondered if Sam’s cousins were getting expelled, but had too many things on my mind to really care.

Rachel shut the door behind us as we entered Mel’s rooms.

“I’ll make tea, Melaina,” Sam said. “Please go sit and rest.”

“I’ll help,” Cassandra said.

“Thank you,” Mel whispered.

I guided her to her favorite chair. “Would you rather go to your room for a while and lie down?” I whispered. “Or we could leave and —”

Mel’s hand grasped mine. “I need you near, Noah. All of you.”

I nodded.

I sat with Rachel on the couch while Mel closed her eyes and took long, slow breaths.

“That was pretty impressive,” I whispered to Rachel.

She ducked her head and blushed, all signs of the steel she’d shown before the Council gone and back to being shy and quiet.

“I just told them what was right,” Rachel whispered.

“You sure did.”

“Um, Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, can you give me a quick drain before I explode?”

“Shit! Yeah!”

Rachel crawled into my lap. I cradled her there and gently slid one of my resonants into her Passion’s. Rachel shivered and let out a little moan … and nobody even blinked. It took me a second to realize I didn’t think there was anything weird about doing this with Rachel right out here in front of everyone.

Maybe there wasn’t. Maybe witches found themselves in need of a quick drain pretty often — it wasn’t like I was throwing her over the couch’s arm and taking her from behind … okay, ideas for later, but we weren’t doing that in front of everybody right now.

It only took a few seconds to drain Rachel’s Passion resonant to where it would no longer cause her discomfort. She’d been nearly empty this morning, but I guess getting worked up defending us before the Council had generated a lot of Passion for her.

Sam and Cassandra brought the tea tray and set it on the coffee table.

“What did you choose, dear?” Mel asked.

Sam looked flustered. “Um, chamomile for calming, lemon balm to soothe, rose petals for healing the heart, and just a bit of spearmint to uplift. You … have a lot of tea stuff.”

“Excellent choices, dear,” Mel said, taking a cup and sipping.

The tea really was excellent — I wouldn’t have thought spearmint would go with the others, but the blend left just the slightest hint of that at the end — and I let Sam know I appreciated her choices as well. When she’d finished half a cup, Mel held hers in her lap between cupped hands. I hated to see her so … vulnerable. Mel was … The Blackwood. She shouldn’t appear any way but powerful and in control.

Mel was quiet, sipping her tea, for what seemed like a long time, then she took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

“Hypaepa,” she whispered, then looked up at us and repeated louder, “Hypaepa. That’s where I was born.”

“Mel, you don’t have to.”

She smiled, but it was still so very sad.

“I’ve kept a great many secrets about myself over the years, dear, and more has been forgotten — I let the knowledge fade in others, at least. It’s easy for people to doubt the stories when all they see is an elderly cat-lady.” She shook her head. “But I have a family now and I’ll not keep things from you. I have so many stories to tell you, dear, and not all of them are filled with grief.”

She took a deep breath.

“I was born in the village of Hypaepa, near Ephesus in Ionia. That’s in what is Turkey today. You’ll ask when, but I’m afraid I couldn’t say exactly — it’s been a long time, and the dates were never that important to me, not to mention changes to the calendar. It was before the Temple burned, of course, but I’m not certain how long before.”

“The temple?”

Mel nodded. “The Temple of Artemis. I suppose I should start with that day; the day I first saw it. My father had business in the city and brought my mother and I along. Just a family, not a coven — those came later. As did witches.”

“You weren’t a witch?”

Mel smiled sadly. “No, just a young girl seeing wonders for the first time. The Temple of Artemis.” She closed her eyes and her smile became less sad. “It was so beautiful — I wish you could have seen it. White marble, gleaming in the sun. The pathway up the hill was so full … more people than my entire village on that one path. Pilgrims, servants, merchants selling images of the Goddess, flowers and honey for offerings. And, oh, the columns — over a hundred, all carved with different stories and painted in brilliant colors. I swear I’ve seen nothing in all these years to rival it.

“I was just … thirteen? But I ran from my parents, up the hill.” She laughed. “I think I must have knocked over a dozen carts and scattered their wares. My mother and father did more damage than that chasing after me. I didn’t care — I only knew I had to reach that building. I had to get inside. I had to know Her — I didn’t even know, really, who She was. Only that the sight of Her temple filled my heart like nothing before.

“When my parents caught up, I was already at an altar — not the main one, but one of the smaller ones around the Temple. Her aspects were fading into the One, then — She once told me that happens from time to time, in response to her children’s thoughts.

“I threw myself to the floor and begged, pleaded, for Her to take me — my pleas weren’t to the priestesses, they were all gathered around trying to decide what to do with me, but directly to Her. I made quite a spectacle of myself — the other priestesses teased me about it for years.

“So, yes, I was initiated into the Temple and eventually became a full priestess of Artemis. My parents objected initially, but … I was a bit stubborn in my youth. I convinced them. She helped with that, of course. I think She was … amused.

“I’ve no idea how long I served, but, eventually, some of us found things were changing. Our friends and fellows seemed to age more quickly than we were.” She smiled. “It couldn’t possibly be us who were changing, after all — that’s a certain blindness people have, but eventually we did accept that it was us. We weren’t aging, and began seeing things the others couldn’t see — then found powers, our magic.

“We weren’t the first of course — the Oracle was old even then, and there were others long into the past, but I think they were accidents. Those She simply touched, or merely grazed, in Her passing through the world. We were the first She made with intent.” Mel frowned and shook her head. “Or, perhaps She had acted with deliberation before and we were simply new, but She never spoke of any others — the Death did almost end us all, so there might have been others before who perished in different ways … that might explain the sorrow I so often saw in Her.”

Mel looked up and grinned at the expressions on our faces.

“I don’t see why you should look so surprised. I’ve always said my line is closer to the Goddess than others these days.”

She licked her lips nervously, even though she was grinning. I thought she might be worried what we might think of her, learning all this. I didn’t blame her — I was having trouble wrapping my head around the years involved.

“I think that … nearness stayed in my line longer because I still lived. Certain things faded from the lines as their founders left us. Of course we didn’t even start to discover such things until after the fire.”

Mel was silent for so long after that that I prompted her.

“The fire?”

Mel took a deep breath and her brow furrowed. “Why is it always fire?” She shook her head. “In any case, the Temple burned … and we left. Some of the priestesses stayed, but all of us, those who were made, couldn’t bear to remain. The very earth felt different after. I heard the city once rebuilt the temple, but I’m certain none of us ever returned to see it — they called it ‘grander than before,’ but nothing could ever be so grand without Her presence.”

Mel went to sip her tea and found the cup empty — Sam was up in an instant, taking up the pot and refilling it.

“Thank you, dear.” Mel brought the cup to her lips, inhaling deeply before sipping. “This is a fine blend,” she said, nodding to Sam. “Would you make a note of it for me?”

“Thank you, Melaina, of course.”

“Some of us wandered while some of us tried to settle in one place. We did attempt to keep in touch, but that was much more difficult in those times … it’s not as though we had email, after all. A few of us learned how to speak over distances, but not all. It was enough for us to notice something wrong, though — when a hundred years pass and none of your friends has managed to get with child, you start to wonder. And, believe me, some of us were rather ardent in the attempt. That’s when the first warlock appeared.”

Mel covered her mouth and laughed.

“Oh, having to do that made Her so furious! She hadn’t thought Her touch would change us so much and She’d never been particularly fond of young men — well, perhaps fond, but never patient with them. Her aspects then still included The Huntress, you see, and The Maiden represented virtue and innocence.” She chuckled. “When it came to men, The Crone had no need, The Maiden had no interest, The Mother focused on her children, and The Huntress … well, she took what she wanted and moved on.

“I think that’s what changed Her — our needs, Her daughters’ needs. The Huntress faded, The Maiden changed, and The Child formed.” Mel’s face fell again. “Perhaps one day she’ll forgive me what I asked of her.”

Another sip of tea and she appeared composed again.

“There’s too much to tell all the rest of it tonight, I think, but I’m sure you have questions about what you saw and heard down there. About … after.”

“Melaina, you don’t —”

“It’s alright, dear. I want you all to understand.

“They say after the Death that I swore I’d never have children again, that the possibility of losing them again was too great for me to bear.” Mel shook her head. “That’s not the case at all. Oh, I grieved … I still do to this day, but, at first, I had no new children because I was searching for the old.

“For two hundred years I searched, and found nothing but graves; and, more often, not even that. I had a place I returned to from time to time, in case word was sent to me, but none came — and, I fear, that was a mistake to return to the same place so often over so long a time. My home was remote, but … it’s likely hard for you all to believe, having grown up in today’s world, but even then Europe was … crowded in the way that even a small village can feel so. ‘Remote’ is quite relative, and eventually the rumors started in the villages and towns near my home … even with a decade or two between visits home, such things linger and renew.”

Mel looked down and shook her head, snorting derision.

“‘Hütet euch! Die Schwarzwaldhexe wird eure Kinder holen!’” She sighed. “‘Beware! The Black Forest Witch will take your children!’ They’d heard, you see, that I’d lost mine — perhaps I mentioned it in passing at some tavern. I did drink a bit in that time, and had little interest in moderation. It was so hard to hear what they said of me — worse when the warning and tales changed to harm. As though I’d ever harm a child.” She shook her head. “Give one hungry child a bit of bread and the torches come alight.”

She sighed. “Always fire.”

“Then I heard of this new world — it sounded so fresh and exciting. A place to start anew. I decided it was time to go — I’d been everywhere I could think of thrice or more times over and found nothing … and the vampires were becoming increasingly vexed with me. Constantly popping up here and there and slowing me down.”

I thought about how the vampire we’d been locked up in the Patriarchy’s basement with had said vampire Makers would tell their progeny to behave or The Blackwood would stake them in their sleep.

“Why vampires?” I asked. I didn’t want to interrupt her story, but it just seemed so odd to take that on while searching for signs of her family.

Mel shrugged. “I hunted them while I searched. Made quite the nuisance of myself, I suppose.”

“Why?”

Mel took a deep breath. “For a time … I rather hoped I’d find one able to kill me.”

Rachel gasped.

Mel smiled gently. “I’m well past that, dear, no need to worry. Especially now I have you all.

“I suppose I should sum up — I’m rather tired, despite it being so early.” She chuckled. “Sum up — if one can say that about so many years.”

“I found Felicity at Salem.” Mel looked around as though looking for the cat-witch, then nodded. Felicity was watching over Morgan. “She needed me, so I suppose that filled a void and eased the pain somewhat.” She sighed. “I was so angry after Salem. I’d seen so much cruelty in my travels, I’d been driven from my home, they’d hurt Felicity in ways … I was done with mundanes and their cruelty.” She nodded at Rachel. “I found a Winthrop coven to perform a ritual and —” Another, longer sigh. “I suppose there was some truth to the tale I never wanted to feel such pain again. I made a bargain, it was accepted, and we received the Veil.” Mel laid a hand on her stomach. “It’s odd how we often grieve for what we thought we’d never miss.”

No one spoke. Sam quietly took the teapot to the kitchen and brewed a new batch, returning to fill Mel’s cup again.

“Would one of you write this down, please?” Mel said quietly. “I’d like to record it, for Noah, while the image is still fresh in my mind.”

Rachel grabbed her backpack from the floor beside my feet and pulled out a pencil and notebook.

“Thank you, dear.” Mel closed her eyes and her brow furrowed in concentration. She raised a hand and reached out to touch something only she was seeing.

“Xanthe,” she said softly, then moved her hand, as though laying her fingers on those balls of mana that had filled the space between us. “Callista, Daphne.”

Rachel started trembling in my lap and I could see fresh tears in Cassandra’s eyes, but Mel’s face had become peaceful, with a gentle smile. My own chest was tight, but any trembling was because of Rachel’s — really.

“Chloe — it’s odd how so many names have lasted so long, isn’t it? Chloe would have liked that — she always noted the oddest things.” Her hand moved. “Eirene, Hypatia, Althea — she was quite adept at healing, she had the gentlest hands — Anya, Vesna, Zora — oh, she was a handful, drove Vesna to distraction — Milena, Mira, Katya, Irina, Wilhelmina, Bertha, Matilda, Adelheid, Ilsa, Frieda, Hildegard, Gertrud.” Mel paused and her face grew sad again. “I never knew Gertrud had a daughter … and the rest after her … so many I’ll never know.” Mel raised her eyes from the paper to meet mine. “We will find her, dear.”

I nodded. There was no oath, but that statement carried equal weight for both of us.

Mel held out her hand and Rachel, who’d dutifully written through her tears, handed her the notebook. She ran a finger down the list, nodding.

“May I have the pencil, dear?”

Rachel handed it to her and Mel wrote her own name, boldly, at the top of the list, then started writing above it.

“Eudameia and Thalesion were my parents. He was very patient with me, though I didn’t deserve it.” Mel grinned. “That day at the Temple wasn’t the first trouble I caused them.” She wrote again. “Father’s parents were Philyra and Anaximenes — not the philosopher, though Grandfather did go on and on about some things. Ianeira and Kresimos were Mother’s parents — I was closer to them. Father had traveled far from home, you see. Ianeira taught me to cook — Mother wasn’t much for it, though she did bring plakous melitous to the Temple every year on my birthday. The other priestesses much looked forward to that.”

Mel held the notebook out to me and I took it with a lot more reverence than the spiral-bound, blue-lined paper had ever brought to me.

“So much time. Do you see,” Mel asked, “why I didn’t think the relationship would mean much — to you?”

Mel had sort of dropped that on me during our first meeting with Prima Rosethorn. She’d thought, me being raised as a mundane, that the distance of the relationship wouldn’t mean anything to me. She’d said it was so distant the mundane DNA analysis would show no more relation than two random people off the street. At the time, I’d thought great-great-great-great-great grandmothery? But thirty or more greats?

“It means everything to me, Mel,” I whispered, running a finger down the list of names.

“I know that, now, dear.”

We sipped tea in silence, until, eventually, Mel’s eyes closed and her head drooped in sleep.

“I added more chamomile,” Sam whispered, “and a bit of Valerian. She needs to rest.”

I nodded, then stood, moving quietly and slowly so as not to disturb her. I gently picked Mel up and carried her toward her room — Sam hurried ahead to open the door for me.

When I went to put Mel down, though, I found she’d buried her fingers in my shirt, gripping tightly, so I just sat down and leaned back against the headboard, holding her.

One by one, my girls, Sam, Rachel, and Cassandra, came and kissed me on the cheek or forehead, then closed the door and left us alone.

The Child

The Goddess’ Grove was different — horrifyingly different.

Dark clouds covered the sky, flashing lightning, but even the thunder was drowned out by the pounding rain. Wind drove through the trees, causing them to sway and thrash about wildly.

I looked around for whichever aspect had brought me here, wondering why it was like this — the only other time I’d seen clouds darken the sky so much was —

“Aurora!”

I ran for the clearing.

“Aurora!”

The clearing was empty, lashed by wind-driven rain, unbroken by the trees surrounding it. I spun around, searching — I knew the little Goddess had to be there.

“Aurora!”

There was no answer, but my search led me behind the stone altar and I saw her — huddled against the cold stone, wet shift pulled over her knees, and face buried in her arms.

I rushed to her, not bothering to think that touching an upset deity might not be the wisest thing, and pulled her into my lap. She might be an aspect of the Goddess, but she was also so much a little girl — and I somehow knew that she’d seen everything Mel had seen and it had brought back those same terrible memories for her as well.

“We tried,” Aurora whispered, so low I could barely hear her over the rain, despite being sheltered somewhat by the altar. “I swear it, Noah, we tried, but we couldn’t stop it. It was too late when we saw what it was — it came out of the East so fast, like a giant wave, and washed them all away. So many — not just ours, but everyone’s.”

“Ssshh,” I whispered. “I know. I know you must’ve tried — if there was anything you could have done, you would.”

“It was our fault,” Aurora whispered. “Our fault she lost so much. We made her, and that closeness gave her line power, but it also … it made them so horribly vulnerable to it. All our fault.”

I shook my head. “You couldn’t have known that.”

“You think that? We should have seen.”

“I do think that,” I assured her, holding her tighter. A thought occurred to me, maybe something to distract her from her grief. “It’s Mel, isn’t it? She’s who you want me to tell you wouldn’t do something. That there was a mistake.”

Rachel had said the Goddess wouldn’t like the sacrifice a coven had made to power the Lost One geas, and I couldn’t imagine Her accepting Mel’s either.

Aurora nodded, sniffing, but no longer in tears — the rain was lessening, but the sky was still dark with heavy clouds.

“We heard her, but we were so busy. The Death was returning, all over, and we couldn’t let it get a foothold again — and the Little Pox, as well. The world had gone so cold and there was hunger everywhere. The mundanes were horrified by what they’d done at Salem — laws were undone, they even apologized — but we’d seen the same before and they always, always, went back to hating us.

“We heard what our last daughter asked of us, demanded, and it was good. The Veil was the answer — something to hide them, all of them, not just our own, but everyone the mundanes hated so much, even those they should. Melaina offered us her children … but she was so angry, so hurt by what they’d done to Felicity, that it masked her intent. We thought…” Aurora’s tiny body trembled against me and she sobbed. “… we thought she meant the children she’d lost, those we’d failed so horribly — that she was demanding payment for a debt, and we paid it willingly.”

The little Goddess clutched at me and sobbed.

“I swear we didn’t understand she meant those to come,” Aurora whispered.

I squeezed her tightly.

“We’d never take that from her, Noah. We’d never accept that. Never. When we realized … Viera was so angry with herself. She’s the wise one, after all, and thought she should have seen. Aveline was in a fury — she threatened to walk the Earth again, no matter the cost, and shake some sense into Melaina. Idalia cried every day. Melaina was our last true daughter — the last of those we made, and now we couldn’t reach her. Once she thought it was done, once she came to regret it, she pulled so far from us that we could barely see her — sometimes only through Felicity’s eyes.”

I squeezed Aurora hard.

“So you didn’t take that?” I asked. “She can still —”

Aurora shook her head. “That’s not how magic works — her intent drove the bargain, we agreed, we can’t take it back. She’d have to understand, believe there was a mistake, know, truly know, it was true — that’s all that will invalidate the bargain.”

“I’ll tell her as soon as we wake up.”

Aurora shook her head. “She’s not ready. She’s only just got you back and now she’s grieving again for what she lost — joy and sadness all muddled together. She needs more time.”

“When?”

“I don’t know,” Aurora whispered. “I can’t see it, but you will. I know you will. I know you’ll help her stop hating me.”

“Aurora, Mel doesn’t hate you — she thinks you haven’t forgiven her for asking.”

The little goddess sniffed. “That’s what Idalia says, but, Noah, Melaina always … she always spoke to me the most, and I wasn’t listening … when it was most important for her. I was too busy and I failed her. Maybe Viera’s right, but I don’t know how to.”

“Right about what?”

Aurora sniffed and buried her face in my chest. “She says it’s hardest to believe you’ve been forgiven when you haven’t forgiven yourself.”

I didn’t try to argue that I thought Viera was absolutely right. Aurora was too upset to listen, and if Viera hadn’t convinced her, I didn’t think I could. I just held her until she calmed again.

I sat back against the cold stone of the altar. The rain had stopped while we talked and Aurora snuggled closer to me. The Goddess’ Grove was growing pleasantly warm and even my damp clothes were rapidly drying.

“Wait,” I said, realizing something as my mind wandered, “if Mel really can have children, then I’m not the last of a Lost Line, am I?”

“Technically, no,” Aurora mumbled.

“You’re telling me I just became head of a recognized witch Family over a technicality?”

“Technicalities are important, Noah. Fortinbras became king just by showing up, you know.”

“No, I don’t, actually.”

Aurora sniffed. “You should have Cassandra add literature to your tutoring.”

I blinked, trying to figure out if an aspect of the Goddess was fucking with me, then Aurora giggled.

“Hey!” I objected, poking her in the side. “I get enough of that from the girls!”

Aurora giggled again, then sobered. She laid a tiny hand on my chest next to her cheek.

“Thank you for coming, Noah. Your visits always make me feel better. You’re going to fix everything — I know you will.” She sighed. “I’m going to sleep now.”

I tried not to react to the weight of that quiet statement settling on my shoulders, a bit glad that I wouldn’t remember it once I woke, and marveled that Aurora could still have such certainty, trust, and love after everything she must have seen.

I laid my head back against the stone of the altar and held The Child until I woke.

[1]. The Dark One of the Temple. Goddess-born. The Flaming One Who Burns the Night. The Black Forest Witch.