Page 1 of Pure Magic
Chapter
One
SARA BETH
I’ve been making a market list for twenty minutes. Generations of Windsor witches have gathered at this long table for celebration and somber occasions. Today, I have the coven house to myself, a rare instance of solitude.
Great Mother Prudence left a month ago to spend some time in the country, and the resident witches went with her. Usually, noise would come from the kitchen behind me or activities downstairs in the gathering hall. The only sounds are my own sighs against the white-washed wooden walls. After ten years of running this coven, I feel twice my nine and twenty years. My closest friend, Minerva, has moved with her new husband to a small farm outside of town. I’m happy for her, but I miss her living in the coven house with me.
I’m being selfish and maudlin. I see her most days. She and Jonah run the apothecary shop, and she brings their baby to the coven house often. It’s just that things are changing, and I’ve never been very good at accepting change.
“What has put such a scowl on your face, Sara Beth?” Sylvia has a rasp to her voice, and there’s no need to look up to know the question came from her.
Surprised that my musings have a witness, I force my expression to soften. “I thought you were helping at Esme’s shop today.”
With a wave, she sashays to the bench across from me, sits, and props her chin on her fists. “I was just there helping with some spells. I thought you might like some company, so I came here before heading home.”
It was kind of her to think of me, and if I’m honest, I don’t like the coven house being empty. I love the bustle of witches at work and play. “Thank you.”
“So, what has you looking like the world weighs heavy on your brow?” Sylvia has no sense of easing into a topic. Whatever she wants to know or whatever she thinks, she is always at liberty to say.
“Just thinking about change.” The things I’ve allowed that my mother would have forbidden roll through my mind: witches marrying and men joining the Windsor coven. “Perhaps I have gone too far away from the old ways.”
“Nonsense!” She slaps the table. “All the new members, both male and female, have added great power and value to our lives. I think a bit of trousers in the mix is a good thing.” She winks.
I can’t help laughing. “You would.”
“The great mother returns today?” There’s a happy note to her tone.
“Yes. I was just making a list for the market. I plan to cook.” It’s rare that I get a chance to work in the kitchen, and I always love to fix a good meal.
“Oh, a treat. I’ll be staying for one of your meals. Shall I join you at the market?” Sylvia cranes her neck to look at my list of chicken, flour, and potatoes.
“I’ve been struggling to think of what to cook.” I cap the ink and rise to put it and the quill in the chest in my room.
Sylvia waits by the stairs, toying with the end of her thick, dark-blond braid.
I touch my tightly bound bun and think of how my mother rarely let her hair free of the same style. “Sylvia, why did you move out of the coven house?”
Shrugging, she gives me a rather sad smile. “I have a futile hope of finding love and having a child. It seemed more possible if I were out of the hen house full of younger, prettier chickens.”
My laugh is full of understanding. “I hope you find someone who sees you for the witch and woman you are, my friend. A man who chooses his chicken solely based on her youth is not the kind we want anyway.”
Threading her arm through mine, she takes the basket by the door, and we head into the street. “Perhaps not, but I’d like to find a man, and the young witches like Trina and June are harder to ignore in favor of a witch of five and thirty.”
“We witches live a long time. You have sixty or more years to find a mate and have a child.” I pat her hand. “I have faith in Goddess that if this is what you want, it will happen.”
She grins. “I hope not to wait until my centennial for the occasion.”
“There is one man who we both know favors you.” I’m only half teasing.
She lets out a humph. “Henry Dove is not a witch.”
I shrug but let the subject drop.
The market square, a long wide street filled with colorful tents and vendors selling their wares. Flags wave in the mild winter breeze, and people crowd the way.
Someone bumps my arm, and I stumble.
