Page 5 of Wooing the Wiccan
Ohhh. I can say that. I repeat it, but somehow it sounds different. Maybe it’s the accent? He doesn’t seem upset, though.
“Excellent.”
“It’s not quite right,” I apologize, and his smile widens.
“You’re close, and you’re trying. I appreciate that effort.”
God and goddess, could he be more perfect? I open my mouth, probably to ask if he wants me to be his sex toy, but thankfully I’m interrupted when three more people enter.
Raðulfr lingers for a moment, then turns to greet them, and I exhale deeply.
“Wow,” Lynn murmurs beside me.
“I know.”
“Thanks for asking about the name, by the way. I was definitely not going to get it right. I still might not.”
I make an agreeing noise, and she leans closer.
“He has the most beautiful aura of anyone I’ve ever seen. Do you see it?” she whispers.
I can’t see auras the way she can, but I know exactly what she means. “Yeah. There’s something about him.” And I don’t just mean whatever it is that’s causing my sexual attraction to him.
Finally, everyone’s arrived and settled, and Raðulfr straightens and bestows that gorgeous smile on us all. “I think you’ve all heard me introduce myself already, but in case you didn’t, my name is Raðulfr and I’m filling in for Pete tonight. I haven’t met his daughter myself, but I’ve been told she’s the sweetest baby and that Pete is completely in love with her—just as he should be.”
There are a few awws, and I wonder if, when Pete comes back, we can talk him into bringing his daughter to meet us. I adore kids of all ages, but there’s something special about the tiny ones.
“I’m given to understand that you’ve all been working independently, but if there’s anything I can help with or if you have any questions, just let me know.”
Henry, a young witch who grew up in a Wiccan family, half raises his hand. “I want to try gathering moisture for the first time. Could you watch me? I’d feel more confident that way.”
Lynn elbows me, muffling a snicker. Henry’s never lacked confidence in his life that I can tell—but he has flirted with every man to walk into this room. I try not to glare at the back of his head. It’s not his fault he’s attracted to Raðulfr.
We all break off to do our own thing, some people pairing up. I’ve done that a few times—it’s interesting to see the way our magic can work in tandem or play off each other—but tonight I’m concentrating on mastering a new skill.
I’m pretty good at moving small objects and creating fire, and I’ve managed to gather moisture from the air a few times, though it’s something I definitely need to practice. Next on my list, however, is manipulating air. We were all kind of surprised by how far down it was on the list we were given, but Pete just laughed and invited us to try it.
We failed. All of us. Air is barely tangible, and it’s not easy to work with something you can’t get hold of. Pete suggested we master some of the other magics first, to give ourselves experience with using it before tackling air. He was right—creating fire was exhausting the first time I did it, but now it’s as easy as a thought. I can even juggle tiny fireballs, though I’ve only done it in class to practice. It’s not practical or necessary in the real world.
So now that I have a better grasp on how to use magic and howIuse magic—because apparently it’s slightly different for everyone—I want to push myself to achieve more.
I close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath, then another, allowing the movement of the breath through my body to center me. From the moment Pete said meditation was a key part of learning magic, I knew I could trust what he was telling us. Magic is part of our connection with the world, part of the gift we’re given by the god and goddess. Of course our ability to use it needs to come from deep inside us.
It only takes a moment for me to feel the rush of energy throughout my body—my inner life force, carried to every part of me by my blood. I widen my sensory awareness and feel the way the energy in me ebbs and flows with the energy of nature, surrounding me. The life force of the world, so to speak—though I’d never say that out loud. Next, I visualize what I want to do—air isn’t exactly visible, so it’s probably easiest if I try to use my other senses. A tickle of breeze on the back of my hand, perhaps. I think about how that would feel, cementing the concept of it inmy mind. I’ll even leave my eyes closed, so I’m not tempted to rely on them and potentially miss other sensory input.
The final step is the spell. For small magics and ones I’m very familiar with, I don’t always use a spoken spell, but with something new or big or important, it’s helpful and respectful to use words to shape and focus my intent. Barely moving my lips, I whisper,
“Breath of life, breath sublime,
Stir the air, dance softly.
A gentle touch, a tiny eddy,
Breath of life, move for me.”
I’ll never make it as a poet, but the words themselves don’t necessarily matter—it’s the intent that speaking a spell creates.
But my intent clearly needs more direction, because the air doesn’t respond.
