Page 2 of Filthy Little Witch
When we got to the mansion-turned-clubhouse way up in the mountains, we parked the bikes in the long row of motorcycles belonging to my sisters and walked to the treeline on the right. Rituals like this always happened outside during a full moon in our ancestral forest, one that had belonged to the witches in the Harlots for over a hundred years. Some could trace their lineage through Indigenous roots; their families had been practicing here for even longer.
I paused at the entrance to the woods and took a deep breath, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans as I stared at the lit torches lining the trail deeper into the trees.
“It’s too late to back out now,” Bridge said, coming to stand on my right. She nudged me with her shoulder and smiled. “Your mom would be proud of you, ya know? So would your dad.”
I thought of my parents and blinked back tears as I envisioned younger versions of them standing at this very spot, walking this path, making the same vow to pledge themselves to their coven. They had lived and died by that promise, and while some part of me resented that they’d been taken from me so young, I also understood that they’d died heroes. They’d gone down fighting, protecting the world, saving people, and I was proud to call myself their daughter.
“There you are,” came a voice from in front of us. “We’ve been looking for you.”
Our resident nomad, Valkyrie, walked forward, her dark hair pulled back in a braid, her leather cut firmly on her shoulders. She flashed a friendly smile and glanced between me and my cousin.
“All set?” Valkyrie asked.
“Just nerves,” Bridge answered.
I scoffed and bumped my hip into hers. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry,” Valkyrie said with a roll of her bright blue eyes. “We won’t go easy on you. It’ll be better that way.”
I snorted and followed as Val led Bridge and me through the woods. The birds chirped in the distance, settling in for the night, and the cicadas buzzed through the pines and cedars. Lightning bugs had just started flashing around us, waking up for the night, and the frogs bellowed out their own version of a mating call, adding the perfect chorus to the September night. Our boots crunched on the dirt as we made the walk, and the closer we got, the more my heart pounded against my ribs.
No, wait.
That drumming sound wasn’t coming from inside my body. It was up ahead, the riotous orchestra of voices chanting in time with each other, accompanied by the rhythmic dum-dum-dum of mallets on drums. We paused when we got to the clearing, and I forced myself to pull my shoulders back, to stand up straight, to not let the sight overwhelm me.
The entirety of the patched Harlots stood in a circle, singing to welcome the land spirits, to ask them for their grace as we performed our ceremony. Though the official members of the coven totaled thirty, another fifty stood around them on the outskirts of the clearing, near the trees. Some banged on drums, some clapped and danced to raise the energy of the spell, and others stood stoically in contemplation.
The warriors.
I recognized some of them as being bonded to Harlots, here to lend their energy should they need to. But a lot of them were unbonded. Any unbounded warrior was obliged to attend in case the magic selected them. I gulped and stepped closer to the circle, knowing I had to wait until Lilith called me forth to join.
I eyed the crowd, picking out a few people I’d known most of my life. Off to the left stood Leander, brother to the Harlots’ secretary, Isobel. Next to him was his best friend, Lyr, twin brother to the treasurer, Lorelei. A few other family members milled around, but my attention caught on the Colt brothers in the far corner, standing in the darkness, shrouded by the trees and the impending twilight.
Atlas Colt stood on the end, dressed in a black jacket, matching jeans, and boots. He was the eldest at thirty-two, standing nearly six-three with broad shoulders and a strong jaw that gave way to lips permanently etched in a sneer. His dirty blond hair complemented his bright green eyes that sparkled in the firelight.
Wesson, his younger brother, stood next to him. He wasn’t related to Atlas by blood, but he’d been the only child of Atlas’s father’s second wife, and when she died, he’d taken the boy on as his own. Wesson was taller than Atlas, nearly six-five, with dark, curly hair he kept cut short and skin almost as tawny as mine.
Neither of the Colts liked me, and truth be said, I didn’t like them, either. Their father had been my mother’s warrior, and three of them had been with my parents when they died. I didn’t trust that they had nothing to do with it. They said my father died protecting my mother, and once he was gone, my mother went quickly after him. But if the brothers were close enough to see it, why hadn’t they stopped it? Of course, they’d been new to missions at the time, but that mattered little when the result was the same.
Rage simmered in my blood for one heartbeat before I swallowed it back, remembering they had no other choice but to be here. Atlas and Wesson worked for the Harlots. Even if they weren’t bonded warriors, they were family, whether I liked it or not.
The chanting stopped, and the sudden silence brought me back to the present, refocusing my attention on the witches around the fire. Circe, the vice president and second in command, walked to the center and held her arms above her head, her black hair tumbling down to her waist.
“On this night, we have gathered on sacred land to protect one of our sisters. She will complete her patching ceremony by bonding a warrior chosen for her.” She turned in the direction opposite to me to call in the elements: North, East, South, and West, respectively.
Once the witches had finished their chant, the atmosphere changed. A chilling vibrancy now floated above us like an invisible mist, coating our skin and giving us an ethereal link to the world. Circe turned to Lilith, our president, and nodded, indicating she was done.
Lilith came to the center and took her place, looking toward the heavens, her deep umber skin shimmering in the firelight, her eyes completely white with the power of trance, the irises and pupils gone. “Great ancestors, grandmothers, grandfathers, all those who lived like us, loved like us, and thought like us, hear our call. Be with us tonight. Give us your wisdom and your strength as we seal an ancient rite. Hail and welcome.”
The moon had fully risen now, shining in the sky like a heavenly beacon, illuminating us in a divine glow. A whoosh went through the air, lifting the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck as a loving warmth sank into my gut. I’d grown up with magic. My tita was powerful, and I’d learned to control my own energy from the very women in this circle. But this…This was the most potent and electrifying experience I’d ever felt. It was the ancestors letting me know they were here. It was the hundreds that came before me, whose blood still lived in my veins, and they would bear witness to my induction.
I thought again of my parents and chewed my lip, wondering if they’d made the journey. Were they here in the astral realm? Were they just beyond the veil, waiting with smiles and joyful expressions, hoping my bonding went according to plan?
Of course, I’d never heard of anyone not surviving the bond, but as with any magic, your mileage may vary.
“Elizabeta Marta Maria McDonnell-Ruiz, come forward.” Lilith held her hand out to me, waving her fingers to gesture me toward her.
I took a deep breath and stepped closer, sensing the increased vibration from the circle as I did. It hummed against my skin and coated my tongue as I breathed, and when I reached the magical boundary, it rattled through my heart, twisting my stomach with excitement and anticipation. It wasn’t evil, but it wasn’t altogether good, either. It felt like the unknown, like a dark shape in the woods on a new moon.
