Page 22 of The Bairwick Witches
“Issac, what separates us from other witches is the fact our magic is tangible.” Schuyler whisked his right hand upwards, red energy erupting and surrounding his hand like a flame before forming into a ball which he controlled. “We’re born with a deeper connection to the source than other witches, and you need to know how to wield it. ‘Cause otherwise,” he flung the ball, which whizzed past Issac’s head and onto the tree behind him, immediately devouring it with ravenous flames before self-extinguishing, leaving the tree unscathed but Issac startled.
“You whip that wand around, trying toLagardieumor whatever the hell you were doing, and you could mis-cast, strike someone—like those assholes last night on the street. You could burn a forest down, especially if you don’t yet possess the skills to correct what you’ve done.
“I’m not trying to be a dick. You want your uncle’s spell to work correctly? Then you have to know a little something about what you’re doing, or believe me, your spell will backfire. And a backfire can rob you of your magic.”
Issac lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Schuyler went to reassure him it would be okay, but then he paused. Issac’s demeanor shifted: solemn to snarky. Jutting out his hip,cocking his head, and pursing his lips, he argued. “Though, in fairness, I’m just having some fun. Which you do not seem to be a fan of. And it’s not my fault I have to use this silly wand while you’re over there Voguing the damn house down with your overly expressive hands.”
Schuyler wanted to snap back, yet he couldn’t help but laugh at the accurate observation. “Yes, we have very talkative hands in the Croy family. But I used a wand when I was young, we all do, and I know people who still need to use them. Or their amulets, rings, a staff, which is just as ridiculous, but we don’t judge. They’re all conduits. With time and practice, you could harness yours to the surface the same way I do.
“Magic is conjuration,” Schuyler announced, waving his right hand and cupping his fingers slightly. A trail of blue energy began to follow his looping motion. “But it still requires a conductor.” With every flex of his fingers, the blue energy either rose in intensity or dulled. He pushed the circle he’d created forward, sending it toward Issac. It softly hit his chest, sending a rush of goosebumps and a scintillating tingle throughout his entire body.
“I’m not the enemy of fun here. You’re the one who wants to do your uncle’s spell solo, just you and him, which I admire, but you need to be ready. As easily as I made you feel good—it could have been painful.
“I could have twisted your body, tore your muscles apart, broke your bones. And what could you have done to counter that?” Schuyler noticed Issac’s handsome Laryngeal Prominence moving up and down as the young man swallowed hard, the gesture betraying his sudden understanding of Sky’s point. “Exactly, nothing. I get you’re learning, and all of this is new, and magic is so much fun. There is a serious side as well, one where witches twist magics any which way they want.”
Issac nodded and exhaled, understanding. Schuyler, slightly frustrated, still found himself smitten. Every movement the young man made, from the motion of rubbing the back of his right leg with his left, the way he jutted out his hip to get sassy, or licked his lips before casting a spell, enchanted him. As much as he wanted to strangle the entitled attitude out of him, he wanted to kiss him till the sun set and rose again. And the bouncing between the two was tiring.
“Why don’t we get some lunch.”
Schuyler took them back to the Tavern for burgers, hoping the ambiance would reset their afternoon. Issac went quiet on the walk, the non-stop chattering of the day no more, but he lit up once a pair of cloaked figures in the main room broke out into a fight.
He realized again the difference between them, and for the first time, thought about how Issac’s attraction to him probably ebbed and flowed with the day as well. He’d been dubbed an enemy of fun, certainly not a title that led to another round of hot sex. He’d corrected him dozens of times even while complimenting him. And yet, Issac still smiled at him when they locked eyes, still asked questions about magic, still made references to the enjoyable Analmancy the night before.
The dueling witches lashed spells at each other across their table. The rest of the patrons continued with their drinks and meals unfazed, throwing up shields when needed, while Issac kept remarking on how cool the scene was. Schuyler, however, would have used the termannoying, seeing only witches who couldn’t communicate, who needed to blast each other out of their chairs as opposed to figuring out their issue.
“Witches fight a lot. Aren’t there police?” Issac asked as the victorious, robed witch took his ale and removed himself to another table, sitting silently.
“Mainly, we self-govern,” Schuyler explained. “We don’t have a lot of issues, but when we do, you duel and call it a day. There’s always a witch going old school and hexing or throwing curses, but generally it’s always over small shit. We all live here because we want to exist in peace to practice our craft. No one is really trying to disturb that.
“We do have a few laws.” Schuyler realized those were topics he should have brought up sooner. “First, and I’d hope the most obvious, under no circumstance can you reveal the truth of Bairwick to a non-witch. Ever.”
“What would happen if I did?”
“The trio of witches who founded Bairwick—the Elders—well, they never left. They sleep, beneath us in their chambers, within deep caverns, continuing to protect their beloved town. They awaken when their Edicts are violated.
“If you were to tell someone about anything past Main Street, you’d be erased. You’d cease to exist in the mind of anyone who ever knew you, from your mother to the stranger on the street who thought you were handsome. You’d have no place in the outside world, and you’d be barred from Bairwick.”
“For serious?” The fun Issac appeared to be having faded. “Even my mother wouldn’t know me? That seems extreme.”
Schuyler nodded, though he realized maybe he should have advised Issac of this before showing him the real side of Bairwick. “There’s also no raising the dead, that’s a big no-no, mainly because it’s messy. I believe you’re stripped of magic and exiled—or just exiled. Who can remember. We learn all of this in grade school.
“The third Edict is about protecting the balance. If a single witch or a coven venture too far into the Dark or the Light, threatening the equilibrium of our magical ecosystem, the Elders awaken and restore the balance.
“The fourth Edict is about vengeance. There was a real issue once, with witches being unable to let their shit go, threatening others, their lineages. A lot of good witches lost their lives until the Elders stepped in. A witch cannot cast vengeance upon another witch, like our passed-out friend on the floor over there. He must accept defeat, lick his wounds, and return for another duel in the future once he’s recharged. That’s the four. Everything else we-”
Schuyler stopped upon noticing the green eyes that looked across the table at him so adoringly earlier, were now retreating behind narrowing lids. The charming nose—wrinkled. The delicious, kissable upper lip curled upward, as if the food Issac tasted had suddenly turned foul.
“Erase them?” Issac asked, still hung up on the first Edict. “Do you not realize how horrifying that sounds? Someone being erased, their own mother not knowing who they are. And with no trial? No defense?”
“Um… not really big on trials as a group, generally.”
“It borders on inhumane,” Issac stated, his tone sharp with a surprising amount of defensive attitude. “Old institutions like these need to be brought down, especially if they’re ruling with fear. It’s archaic. Unlimited cosmic power and everything, and you can’t find a better way?”
“No one in this town is living in fear, Issac.” Schuyler was confused by the dramatic shift. “And thisisthe better way.”
“Is it? You have these Elders swooping down, disappearing people, doling out punishments—it’s borderline barbaric. Thereare atrocities like this occurring all over the world. People just—taken! Authorities abusing their powers. I thought maybe this place was different, but clearly not.”
“Wait a tick, you’ve been here a couple of days. Bairwick’s history is not the sugarcoated story they told your ass in the museum,” Schuyler defended. “The laws work because we’ve learned the hard way what happens without them. Our history is soiled with ugliness and blood, because at the end of the day, witch or not, humans remain fallible. Power corrupts. Vengeance unchecked spreads like a plague, and it only takes one—one non-witch to find out the truth of Bairwick, and they’ll be here with their ignorance and their torches.
