Page 6 of These Charms Won't Fade
I’m sure she’ll have thoughts about Cal’s offer.
* * *
My grandmother’sbackyard is full of witches by the time we arrive for the summer solstice ceremony.
The coven’s numbers are higher than they’ve been in months, with all the college-age witches back in town for the summer. I pause at the corner of the house, taking in the familiar faces that I’ve known all my life. Holding space in my heart for the ones no longer here.
Mr. Blaise passed away a couple years ago, just shy of his ninetieth birthday. Now, Ellen Watson provides a steadying arm for his widow.
My high school girlfriend and covenmate, Veronica, never moved back after college. She stayed in a small town in New York, rarely returning to Salem for more than a weekend to see her family.
The one that hurts the most, though, the absence that weighs heaviest on my heart, is Dad. It’s hard to believe next month will mark eight years since we lost him. Eight years since the Witch Hunters attacked and burned down our home with him still inside.
Seeing Dad in the hospital. Hooked up to tubes and wires. The fire didn’t hurt him—itcan’thurt an Elemental—but the head injury was too severe for him to recover. Not even Morgan’s Blood Magic was enough to keep him with us.
A warm hand slides across my waist to settle at my hip. “You good?” There’s concern in Morgan’s blue eyes, worry in the crease of her brow.
I tip my head against her shoulder and breathe in the familiar eucalyptus-scented body wash that we share. “Yeah. Just missing the people who aren’t here.”
Morgan presses a kiss to my forehead in silent understanding and reassurance.
After another fortifying breath, I continue forward. At the tables set up near the deck, we diverge. Morgan slips away to place the brownies we brought with the rest of the after-ceremony food, while I head towards the central table where candles are set up to honor the three Sister Goddesses who gifted witches our power.
On the left, a candle for the Eldest Sister, who created Caster Witches.
On the right, a candle for the Youngest Sister, who gave Blood Witches like Morgan their gifts.
And in the center, the brightest candle burns for the Middle Sister, who created Elementals. I let my fingers dance through the flame, aware of all the bits of magic each coven member added to the fire as an offering. Though the Sisters were banished by Their Mother long ago, no longer permitted to interact with the witches they created, it’s soothing to honor Them in this small way.
“There’s my girl.”
Mom’s voice fills me with warmth, and when I turn to face her, she wraps me in a hug, squeezing so tight it’s hard to breathe.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, squeezing back and then carefully extricating myself. I hold her at arm’s length, taking her in. She stopped dyeing her hair last year, letting the gray at her temples come in naturally. The silver sparkles in the early evening sun, and it strikes me how much she’s aged in the last eight years. How alone she’s been since Dad died and I went off to college—then moved in with Morgan instead of coming home.
“Has Lady Ariana decided on her replacement yet?” I ask, referencing my grandmother and high priestess of our coven. Dad was supposed to take over, and it took Lady Ariana until last year to announce that she would evaluate coven members to determine her new successor.
Mom starts to shake her head, but she cuts herself off. “Well, I guess, technically, shetriedto make her decision. Lady Ariana asked if I’d step into the role.”
Looping my arm through Mom’s, I lead her away from the offering candles as other coven members arrive. “You turned her down? Why?”
“I don’t want to step into your father’s shoes. It’s not my place to take the role that should have been his.” She clears her throat, eyes glistening. “Besides, the next coven leader should be someone who grew up here. Someone whose magic was guided by your grandmother.”
There are plenty of witches here who fit that description. Nearly all of them, in fact. Only a handful of people’s partners came from outside the coven, including Sarah Gillow, who was from a southern coven before she met her wife, Rachel, and chose to join our coven instead of taking Rachel home with her.
“You’d make a fine high priestess,” Mom says, her voice gentle yet heavy with emotion. “When you’re ready.Ifyou want the role.”
“I don’t know…” I worry the bit of tourmaline dangling from the chain around my neck, a gift from my old boss, Lauren, from when I worked at the Fly By Night Cauldron. The stone settles some of the nerves swirling around my stomach. “Cal came to visit last night. He… sorta offered me a job.”
A flash of worry darkens Mom’s eyes. “To join the Council?”
“Not exactly.” I explain everything Cal told me about the planned Archer Walsh Academy and his request that I help select the first students. That Morgan and I could serve as faculty since we discovered the ability to combine Clan magics. “I want to dosomethingto help,” I admit once the explanations are finished, “but I don’t want to uproot my entire life for this. I don’t want to turn what happened to me into my whole life.”
“I get that.”
“But…”
Mom smiles at me. “No ‘buts.’ I think your dad would be proud of you.”
