Page 27 of The Bairwick Witches
“It is?” Schuyler only expected information and a point in the right direction. “May we impose upon you to collect one for our spell?”
“Absolutamente, no imposition at all. Please follow.” Sister Superiora turned with dramatic flair, allowing the billowing train of her habit to fan out behind her. Her habit was far more ornate than the others, her hat wider and taller, adorned with small diamonds and jewels on thin golden strings, as was the bodice of her habit, also dripping with jewels that made soft shuffling sounds as she moved. Her hands were gloved, and the nails on each finger were bejeweled. Her train flowed, fluttered, and sparkled behind her as she led them through the corridors to the garden.
Only a few turns from the holy center of the convent, at the end of a hall, was a large circular stone door. “You remember the rules of the garden?” she asked, facing the stone door.
Schuyler turned to Issac. “Touch absolutely nothing, unless she approves you too,” he said with all seriousness as he kicked off his sneakers and motioned for Issac to do the same. “We’re ready.”
Upon Schuyler’s word, Sister Superiora, with an impressive series of hand movements, unlocked the stone door, which slid aside, blinding them with a hit of bright midday sun. As they followed Sister Superiora across the threshold, she raised both of her hands, and they were lifted off their feet.
“What’s happening?” Issac asked, kicking his feet wildly as he was pulled off the ground.
“I told you, we aren’t permitted to touch anything. Goes for our feet, too.”
They floated like balloons she held by stings a hundred feet above the ground, seeing the expansive, unending garden laid out all around them. Beneath them, plots of bright colored roses, tulips, rhododendrons, poppies, lavender, and sunflowers went on for miles, and Sister Superiora’s black draped figure marched through the lush green and vibrant colors, her train growing longer, stretching from the door they entered.
As they approached the end of the flower field, their feet touched the ground in front of the stone path to the Nocturnal Nursery. The greenhouse plunged in darkness, except for the floating mini moons which floated over every species of night-blooming plant contained in the nursery. The sweet, flowery scent of Jasmine and Night Queen blossoms filled the nursery’s air.
They moved along a labyrinth of stone walkways lit by bioluminescence until she stopped them. “She is there,” Sister Superiora said, pointing to the darkened alcove in front of them. She then turned her hand, illuminating the mini moon which hung over the small desert plant which resembled a Joshua tree. “Once copious throughout the world, its powerful flowers were overharvested,” she remarked sadly, “but a couple still remain.”
When the mini moon was a quarter full, the tree’s flowers, the size of footballs, opened, revealing their gorgeous swirl of black, red, and indigo colored petals. They stood for a moment, bewitched by its gothic beauty, and Schuyler admitted he could feel the power emanating off the tree. Issac confessed he did not, and Schuyler spotted another look of concern arise on the Sister’s face.
“He wasn’t born in Bairwick,” Schuyler interjected. “His family hid the truth from him.”
“Ay! That’s it!” She exclaimed, looking relieved. “Since your arrival, I’ve felt your power is off, very…apretado…pressed.Compressed.Sí. Now it’s clear. I see why. Shame upon your family for withholding your truth. May your gifts blossom.” She extended her hand to Issac, and within a swirling glowing mist above her palm, a pair of garden sheers appeared. “You must collect the flower. Carefully. At the stem, leave one inch, so it may regrow. No more, no less. Cut incorrectly and the tree will die.”
“Isn’t it like the last one in existence?” Issac asked, his voice cracking as a look of sheer terror danced across his face. “The pressure.” He swallowed hard, refusing to move forward.
“This is your spell, so you must obtain the flower. There is the faintest green line on the stem—that will be where you cut. And thank the tree once you’ve removed the flower.”
Issac stepped into the alcove, approaching the tree. “Nice tree…very pretty tree,” he said playfully. “I’m going to borrow a flower.” As he neared with his hand and the sheers, a piercing scream erupted from the tree, sending him jumping back.
Schuyler swooned when Issac looked to him for support.You got this, he mouthed.
Issac attempted to get closer, yet every time the tree screamed, he retracted his hand. Realizing it would occur every time, he found a steady approach. He checked for the faint line, and when certain he had it, he cut the flower from the tree. Thanking it, which he did before rushing back to Schuyler, stopped the screaming.
“That tree screamed!” he exclaimed, shaken from the experience.
“They all do,” Sister Superiora solemnly confirmed, taking the flower from him. In her hands, a bright glow appeared; the flower shrank, encased in a small, clear ball, like a trinket, which she handed to Issac. “This will open when needed for your spell.With all blessings. And with that gentleman, I must make my exit.”
Schuyler hugged her. “Frances, I cannot thank you enough for this. I will be back soon.”
“My pleasure, especially after all you’ve done for us. I miss you being here, sitting in corners, writing.” She released their embrace, smiling warmly at both of them. “Buenos Noches.” With a wave of her arms the world melted around them. The Nocturnal Nursery faded, and they found themselves standing at the start of the path that led to the convent.
“Okay,” Issac said excitedly, “definitely living for the voguing nuns.” He admired the ball in his hands.
Schuyler laughed as he tookthem back to Issac’s room at the Inn. Amped up from his experience with the Hermanas and the garden, Schuyler further made Issac’s evening when he used a floating spell while they made love
Chapter Eleven
Schuyler sat up, unable to sleep. The glow of his phone, though dimmed, still shone in his face, but he turned the device off as it provided no real distraction from the restlessness. He’d already stared at Issac as much as he could, and honestly, it was teetering on the border of being creepy as fu-
Hey! I am just admiring him.
Schuyler watched Issac—in a totallynotcreepy way—as the young man remained asleep, wiped out from a second day in a row spent learning as much magic as he could handle, followed by round after round of rambunctious sexual Olympics.
Schuyler crept out of bed and settled into the chair by the window. On the nightstand across the room sat Uncle Yannif’s leather-bound journal. Issac remained dodgy on the details of the spell, only revealing the short list of ingredients needed. Sky was bothered by the lack of information since they’d grown so close. Part of him felt maybe Issac would reveal more by now. He regretted telling him how spellwork was personal and didn’t need to be shared—there should have been some caveats added to that.
I could just read it.
