Birchwood’s very foundation was desperation. They were desperate to feel safe, desperate to be part of something, desperate to survive. It was the founding families who made the decisions that had to be made. They were responsible for the future of Birchwood, for the safety of the citizens. For the first time in her life, Aida Samuel understood how her forefathers must have felt. How her grandmother must have felt.
Because Mina was right. The Council could already know, they could have been the ones who hid it. They could be planning something even worse than Aida knew. Than any of them knew. Or it could have been planted by the hunters. By not destroying it, they could be unleashing something terrible. Or, by destroying it they could unleash something even worse than terrible. Something nasty, something evil.
A founding daughter of Birchwood, that’s what Aida was. But she wasn’t a council member. The greatest decision she could make was figuring out whether they could trust Alexander Booth or whether she was putting herself and Mina at risk.
She carried the tome – the nasty fucking tome – to her bag and slipped it inside, zipping it up and throwing it over her shoulder.
“Either way it’s a trap. If it’s the Council, we’re fucked. If it’s the hunters, we’re dead. But I mean, we’re fucked anyway and we’re dead anyway. So. You know. How much worse can it get?”
Famous last words and she knew it. She banged a fist on the wood table next to her. Knock on wood, right?
“I don’t know if we can actually trust Alex, but he’s not part of the founding families, so he’s the lesser of nine evils. And nothing in here is gonna fucking possess him like it could Micah – in case it’s haunted or some shit. If it someone on the council, my money’s on the Crowleys. They’ve always been evil motherfuckers.”
Her Grams had always said that the Crowleys were the ones who drowned Aidan Babet. She said that they needed to make sure a Babets would lose their place on the Council. Whether that was fact or fiction had never been discovered, but the suspicion was enough to make Aida hate them more than any other family in Birchwood.
“I’ll take it, if it’s council and he turns on us… Well, I’m founding family. They can’t do a whole lot to me. Babets own as much of this town as the rest of them. You know, unlike you. Being the local axe-murderer doesn’t earn you any special treatment. If it’s hunter… Well, I got it covered.”
How much worse can it get?
She almost laughed. Not a humorous, mirthful chuckle, but a derisive, sharp-edged exhalation. A wordless sound that said, you have no idea. If the bodies ornamenting the garden trees and left on the forest floor had rattled Aida, she wouldn’t have endured the horrors that Mina had witnessed in Los Angeles. It could always get worse.
As uncomfortable as she was with the idea of trusting someone who was fundamentally untrustworthy, Mina didn’t have a better suggestion. She didn’t know the Crowleys from the Pendles--that was to say, all of the founding families were the same from her view: rich, elitist, controlling, and power-hungry. Aida was the exception, but there were always moments--such as this one--that Mina was reminded of the advantages, the privilege of being blue blooded, the other witch possessed.
She shrugged. “If you think that’s the best solution... I’ll follow your lead.” Wasn’t like there was anything else she could do, at this point. She was in Aida’s house, on Aida’s property, and the book was in Aida’s hands. Whatever happened next wasn’t really up to her--and frankly, she was a little relieved by that. The less culpability she had if--more likely when--things went to hell because of the book, the better.
But there was one thing about Aida’s plan that continued to bother her, her unease manifested in tapping her fingers against the wooden table, a cascading rhythm. One, two, three, four. “But...what do you mean, you have it covered?” Again, her fingertips rose and fell against the surface, setting a beat steadier than her increasingly erratic pulse. She had missed something. Misjudged, maybe. Her mouth felt dry, but she managed to sound calm and only mildly concerned.
Virginia Babet would have known what to do. She would have formulated a plan and found the right answer. She would have told her fellow council members what to do. She would have known how to figure this all out, or at least she would have had an idea of who to talk to. But then, maybe she would have been clueless. Maybe she would have been just as lost as Aida was now, just as confused. What did someone do with something like this? Bury it, like Mina? Dig it up, like Stump? Whatever Virginia Babet might have known meant nothing.
Now, it was only about what Aida would do.
If Mina had found it in the trees, then why hadn’t someone found it before? Had it been placed there? By who? She thought of Nolan. Hunters are here. She thought of the killings. But Aida, who knew nothing of hunters other than they existed and she had loved one, couldn’t imagine they would have any sort of tome. Nothing like this. Nothing that seemed to carry the air of magick. Sour magick at that. Then, was it the Council? Were they trying to start something? Was this the first step in the grand plan. Was anyone on the council really smart enough to have an executable grand plan?
Either way, Mina was right to keep it to herself. Well, maybe not only to herself. But she had been right to keep it out of the hands of the Council at large. Not before they knew what it was. The mistake – of course – had been bringing it to the Babet house before they knew what to do with it.
And she was certainly right to warn Aida not to touch it.
Aida looked down at the tome and grimaced slightly. Between the strange air around it and the way it upset Stump, she couldn’t help but be wary of it. If it was cursed, the damage was done. If it was cursed, she wanted it off of her land. But where else could she take it? Who could she trust to look at the book and keep it to themselves? She could take it to Micah, but she worried he would be too sensitive. Rather, the spirits around him would be too sensitive. If there was something inherently dark about the tome, would it put him at risk?
Who could she trust without fearing for their safety?
“We should take this to Alex. If it’s cursed, it’s his problem. If it’s the Council’s, he’ll know. If not…” Then I know a hunter we can beat it out of. “If it’s a bad omen, we should make sure we’re not on the receiving end.”
Thankfully, the pyromancer didn’t seem too mad about the (relatively minor) deceit, and had already moved on to thinking about solutions to the problem at hand. That meant, to a certain degree, Aida actually believed her--she was trusting her word. Mina filed that knowledge away, blinking at the name brought up. “Alex?”
It took a moment to remember to whom she was referring, then it clicked. Alexander Booth. “What, Mister Southern Charm? Didn’t know you two were on a first name basis...” she murmured with mild surprise. She’d met the councilman briefly at his fateful ‘little shindig’, remembering his syrupy drawl, and the way he’d been trying to appraise her allegiances with a line of none-too-subtle questions. And she’d only responded with the sort of answers she thought a man like him, proud bordering on pompous, wanted to hear. Something about him rubbed her the wrong way--probably because his polished demeanor reminded her a little too much of herself, as if he, too, had something to hide.
Besides the airbender and her sometimes-boss Naomi, the only other council member she’d met was Micah Shipley. But between the three of them... Maybe Aida was right. Maybe she was a better gauge of who to turn to, being a lifelong resident of Birchwood. At the very least, she knew Booth wasn’t a weak leader--he had a vision for his community, and he bore confidence about his magick that stemmed from experience.
Without realizing it, Mina had been biting at the inside of her lower lip while she thought, barely stopping short of puncturing the thin skin. “Okay. I mean... If you think he’d be discreet about it...” And responsible with it--god forbid they arm a lunatic with a volatile book of hidden power. She frowned. “What if the council doesn’t know jack shit about the tome, though? Or they do, and they lie about it?” Not their responsibility, she told herself. Except...
Her voice lowered to a rough whisper, “Do you think it’s a trap? Like, is it just dumb luck that I found it that night, or... Shit, would hunters be fucking around with this kind of thing?” Hypocritical as it would be for their enemies to turn the very thing they feared and despised into a weapon for themselves, Mina couldn’t put it past those assholes to bend their so-called principles to meet their ends. “God fucking damn it.’
Oh shit. The words flew out of Mina’s mouth before she – apparently – tried to back peddle. Aida used the tome like a pointing finger, an accusation. She had been making too many of those for her liking this week. Hopefully this one wouldn’t reveal any more nefarious plans or murderous tales. Even if she did suspect she was living with an axe-murderer.
“For fuck’s sake Mina,” she sighed and Stump licked the entire left side of her face. “What the fuck is this? Dude. Don’t bullshit me, do you know what it is? Is my dog cursed now? Did you curse my dog? What the fuck man?”
It seemed almost uncharacteristic for Mina to leave something potentially dangerous – or secretive, for that matter – in a conspicuous enough place for a dog to find it. But then, maybe she had overestimated Mina. Maybe – like Aida – Mina was playing to survive. Not playing to win. Or maybe Aida was projecting and Mina had nothing to hide. But it was hard to shake the feeling that everyone in Birchwood had an agenda.
But if they did, what was hers? And how did she know whose agenda to trust, and whose would go against her own undefined wants and needs? She couldn’t trust the council. The only member she could trust – her grandmother – was dead. The only one she didn’t think was evil was Alexander, and even then she had her doubts. She had her doubts about everyone.
Stump did his best to wrestle out of her arms, she tossed him onto the nearby sofa and he barked at the tome in her hands. Something was off about it, there had to be. If there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was to always trust the judgement of dogs.
It was too late to lie. But worth a try, anyway. Mina narrowed her eyes at the accusation. “Why the hell would I want to curse the dogs?” She added a beat too late, “Let alone anyone at all.” The dogs least of all, though. Maybe they could get a little annoying when they started barking at any passing cars from the front room while she was trying to take a nap, but she really was the type who got more upset at animals getting harmed in movies than when humans bit it.
If she’d thought Stump would go nosing around in an old dig spot for once, she wouldn’t have left it there--though in hindsight, she probably should’ve warded the hole against any living creature, rather than solely the bipedal kind. The spell she’d cast had rendered the dirt pile not invisible, but completely unremarkable; anyone looking at it would feel compelled to ignore it. That magick didn’t seem to work on hounds, however. Stump was circling their feet, still yapping and grumbling at the book.
“It’s not mine,” she sighed, her mask falling, exasperation plain on her face and in the slump of her shoulders as she crossed her arms defensively. “I found it in the woods, back when...you know. That night.” Mina didn’t have trouble talking about the murders as what they were, but Aida--like so many others in this town--seemed to be more shaken by what she’d seen, and so she handled the subject with greater sensitivity. “It was buried under some leaves, beneath a tree. I didn’t think I should leave it there, though, for some random kid to stumble across and hurt themselves, you know?”
Maybe she should’ve apologized then for bringing a bad omen onto the property. But as far as she was concerned, she’d done the right thing--though probably not the most sensible. “I know, I should’ve said something to you about it sooner. I just...” Didn’t know if I could trust you, either. “Didn’t want to put more shit on your plate. You look like he--like you’re having a bad enough week, and I thought I could take care of it myself.” It wasn’t an entirely fake answer. Even the sympathy was partly genuine.
There was another sharp bark. Mina’s gaze went from meeting Aida’s eyes and back to the fat tome. Just looking at it raised the hair on the nape of her neck. “You should probably put it down for now, though. Just in case someone really did curse it.”
Aida sat in the living room, her hair knotted up on the top of her head. She was sipping coffee and watching something on the television – she wasn’t sure what it was, only that it was on and it was distracting. It was about people living in small houses, much too small for full families. Aida thought it was a waste of money, but it was better than silence. She was on the verge of leaving the house. She considered getting a drink or three. But the combination of the curfew, the trauma, and the warmth of her blanket kept her planted to the couch.
She was only briefly distracted from a dining room table (which was also a wall), as Stump came rolling through the living room trailing dirt behind him.
“Dude!” She sat up and looked at him. “That’s fucking rude,” he payed her no attention as he gnawed on something big. Probably half the size of him at least. “Stump!” The dog perked up and ran towards him, dropping the thing. Aida rolled off the couch and picked up the terrier, she went to examine what he had. A book? She leaned in closer as the pup rested head on her shoulder and tried to eat strands of her hair. A book.
Aida opened it, and took a look inside. Not a book, a tome? It didn’t read like anything she had seen before. Latin? Greek? She couldn’t remember the difference. Where had it come from?
“Yo Mina,” she shouted up the stairs as she stood up, a dog on one arm and the tome in her other hand. “Come take a look at this shit.”
The book – tome? – didn’t look like Virginia’s grimoire. It looked older – which was impressive considering how old the Babet grimoire was. It was heavy, it set her on edge. It felt like something to worry about, and Aida didn’t need anything else to worry about.
Mina yanked the laces on her tennis shoes tight, looping them around her fingers and knotting the bow twice, just to be sure. She was rolling her leggings down when she heard Aida calling from downstairs, and yelled back, “Yeah?” Maybe she wanted to add something to the grocery list. It was getting late--the onset of autumn would eventually lead to fewer hours of daylight--but there was still plenty of time to jog to the store and back with a couple of bags.
She threw her light jersey hoodie on, tugging the zipper up while walking down the hall. “What is--” Mina reached the first tread of the steps when she saw Aida below, two things in her grasp: Stump tucked into one arm, and... “Oh. Shit.”
The tome. The fucking spooky-ass, ancient tome she’d buried that night (with more respect than the victims of the attack had received) in the backyard nearly a week ago. Judging by the dirt hanging off of the dog’s furry little muzzle, he’d found it before she could properly deal with it.
She hadn’t forgotten about the bundle, exactly--she just hadn’t had the time, between reconfiguring her work schedule to suit the curfew, and still make living wages. That, and she remained uncertain what she should’ve done with them, anyway. Bringing it to the council was still off the table--she didn’t trust any of them as far as she could throw them, and who knew if she hadn’t accidentally stolen them from one of the members in the first place? According to Willow, all of them had their own agendas, apparently--which meant, at this point, none of them could be believed.
Although she suspected her reaction had given away any chance of feigning ignorance about the book, Mina continued down the flight, each step groaning ominously under her minimal weight. Her expression was neutral as she reached the ground floor, hands tucked into her pockets as she looked over the tome, if it was the first time she’d ever laid eyes on it. Though, to be fair, it was the first time she’d actually gotten a clear visual. It was even more ragged than she remembered, but that might’ve been Stump’s doing. “Well, that looks creepy.”
Aquaria are the most docile of Witches. Their calm nature is much like the water, smooth and soothing, but like the ocean they can be deadly. Unlike mermaids they do not live in the water, but draw their power from it, often spending hours sitting in the waves, absorbing energy.
Flour tipped her nose and dusted her brow, broad streaks of fine white powder turning the messy sweep of her black hair silver. Combined with the sleepless half-moons below her eyes, Mina Drake looked like she had aged years in the past week since the harrowing evening of the masquerade. If it wasn’t for the fact that the borders were likely being watched for suspicious activity, by both hunters and coven alike, she would have skipped town already. As it was, she just had to bide her time, keeping up appearances and blending in with the community.
Mina leaned against the counter, trying hard not to yawn, and feeling dead on her feet. Normally, the baker didn’t leave the kitchen of Common Grounds to do more than restock the pastries in the display case, but normalcy had no place in Birchwood anymore. With some of the staff still reeling from the traumatic events, the coffee shop was short handed, leaving Mina to pick up the slack in front. If it wasn’t for the promised extra pay--enough to make up for the cut part-time hours at the Empty Bottle--she wouldn’t have taken on the double shifts. At this rate, if the hunters didn’t get her first, the stress and exhaustion might.
“Look, I’m sorry the sweet rolls are late, but you’re going to have to take that up with the council...” she said to the person at her register, her smile tight, brittle. “Curfew has us behind schedule.” A perfectly risen dough didn’t happen instantly. Certainly, there were corners she could cut in the process, but that would lead to an inferior product, which she refused to serve on principle. “The next batch will be ready in about ten minutes. Can I get you anything else, in the mean time?”
She’d always thought it stupid when the protagonists in slasher films decided it was a better idea to split up than stick together. (In general, Mina cringed at the gore, and complained the whole way through Jason’s horror flick marathons, while simultaneously refusing to leave the room.) And yet, as soon as they’d reached the thick of the woods, saw the rising smoke blotting out stars and moon above the pines, heard the distant shouts of strangers, she found herself telling Sidalee to go on ahead to the house alone.
It was such a dumb idea.
As Mina wandered through the dark forest, purse strap biting into her shoulder and sheer stockings getting shredded by the underbrush, she regretted volunteering to be the distraction, in case they were being pursued by more than just a stray child who needed to borrow a phone. After all, between the two of them, only Mina had any physically defensive powers. Only Mina had the experience to waylay any adversaries in their path--though that had gone unspoken. Conversely, only Sid knew the most direct route to the Babet house--and she was in possession of the keys. The plot was a gamble--both of them could make it, only one of them, or neither--but she’d been far more certain in that moment that the odds stood stronger in their favor if they weren’t caught together.
There was no taking back the decision, in any case. Mina had struck out in her own aimless direction, leaving false markers scratched into bark, and doubling back over prints left in the soft mulch. No one had caught up to her in the past twenty minutes, save for a startled deer that had taken off as quickly as it ran into sight. She knew better than to drop her guard while her surroundings conveyed a mere illusion of calm, but it seemed increasingly unlikely that anyone was tracking her. If she’d been careful, if she’d been smart, Sid would have made it to the house by now. And Mina would eventually reach the right forest trail leading back to civilization--hopefully before the break of dawn.
And supposing she didn’t break her fucking neck. Though her sight had adjusted to the low light for the most part, there were some places where the canopy overhead was too dense, where the moon’s glow didn’t reach. She’d lost her footing along the trail several times already, but all of those stumbles were minor compared to the sudden shift and slide of litterfall underfoot that sent her skidding sideways off the path and down a steep decline. Scrabbling for purchase, her fingers scraped up nothing but dirt and dead leaves, sleeves barely protecting her skin from the rake of twigs and brambles as she twisted and fell.
Hurtling to a violent stop at the bottom of the ditch, her coccyx landed hard on a thick root, a yelp of pain escaping past her lips. Slightly dazed and completely breathless, Mina sat immobile in the hollow the roots had made in the earth beneath an enormous fir tree. I could sleep here, she thought, and for a moment, it almost seemed like a good idea. Not good enough. Even though it had been hours (or had it? she hadn’t worn a watch, and didn’t dare check her phone for fear that its cast-off light would give her away) since she’d left the Lodge, there were still hunters out there. As she lifted her arm to check it wasn’t broken, her fingertips brushed against something--
“Shit,” she hissed, withdrawing her hand quickly, as if she’d been bitten or stung or burnt or-- Mina looked down, seeing nothing at first. But then, then she saw the corner of a dark shape sticking out among the umber detritus. Carefully, she pulled her tattered sleeve over her hand and brushed back the damp mixture of soil and foliage, uncovering what appeared to be a set of leather-bound tomes. “...the fuck?”
Though there was little she could determine about their origins or contents, the worn exterior meant they were old. And the strange, unsettling aura they gave off meant they were powerful. What were these tomes for? Who would hide something like this out here, in the middle of nowhere? And...why? Whatever the answers, Mina couldn’t just leave them behind. They were dangerous. That, she knew for certain, beyond reason or doubt, down to her very core.
She pulled the silk scrap from her ruined dress out of her bag, stretched the fabric between her palms, then knelt in the dirt to lift the weighty, thick books in both hands. Despite her precautions against allowing the binding touch her bare skin again, a shiver ran down her spine as she held it, nonetheless. Mina hastily folded the cloth over itself, wrapping the tomes into a tight block. They wouldn’t fit inside her purse, so she tied a handle onto the bundle, letting it dangle a little in her grasp--just far enough that the waves of mysterious power it radiated no longer caused her skin to crawl.
The next step was finding a way back up to the trail. After that, the rest seemed easy.
Cresting the next rolling hill, she could see the familiar amber glow of electric street lamps peeking between lush pine branches below. Home--no, she couldn’t call it that yet--the house, wasn’t too far. The sight renewed her determination in spite of all her wounds and exhaustion. She could make it. And she would sleep beneath one of those roofs tonight, and pray to wake up finding that this grim evening had only been one long, terrible nightmare.
The distance between that last summit and the big back yard of the big blue house was greater than she’d estimated. Apart from all of the scrapes and bruises, her feet ached--the flats had been better than heels, but not made for hiking, devoid of any supportive insoles, and had accumulated enough rocks and pine needles to blister them raw. And her stomach twisted and churned, not from stress, but hunger, battered body running on fumes. Painful as it was, at least the extended walk had given her ample time to decide what to do with the items recovered from the cache.
Part of her still wished she had just left it the fuck alone. Not her books, not her woods, not her town, not her problem. But it was too late for that; whether it resulted from magick or sheer instinctual stupidity, the compulsion to take them with her had won out, and she was now in possession of a set of very dangerous tomes.
She didn’t want them. And yet she couldn’t just let any idiot walk away with them, either--and after tonight’s disastrous event, she couldn’t even tell who among this coven was sensible, and who was a goddamned fool.
Given their proud history, their long legacy of maintaining a haven, Mina had been under the impression that the council was made of smarter, better witches than she’d known before. But their hubris--a fault she knew too well--had cost the lives of three innocents, supposedly under their charge. How anyone could put their blind faith in the leadership at this point was beyond her understanding. Maybe some of those council members were genuinely capable in their lofty positions, but until she knew more about the coven...
Well, there was only one thing she could do.
By the time she finished patting the soil down with Virginia’s rusty garden trowel, the small mound of overturned earth looked like just another one of Stump’s excavations scattered across the unkempt field of weeds and grass.
He followed her through the narrow hallway, ducking under the door frame – he’d hit his head there so many times before, he was sure he’d left a dent in the wood. After about a dozen bruised foreheads, he learned to keep his head low. He made a half-circle around the living room while she busied herself with the cushions, running his finger-pad along dusty shelves, fingering a few of the knick-knacks, and book spines that faced him. Amos’ family home in Vancouver was nothing like this. It was sterile, and modern, and it didn’t feel lived-in. It was more like a museum, always ready to accept George Wilder’s important colleagues. The coat rack got more action than he did as a kid.
This place was still alive, even though it was cluttered with a dead woman’s artifacts.
“Ahh,” he answered, slinking down into the corner of the couch where he never really fit. Absurdly, his shins abutted the coffee table, and the plethora of throw pillows he’d narrowly tried to avoid spilled into the floor. Anyone else might have been embarrassed, but Amos was so accustomed to dwarfing everything around him, and being much too big for the spaces he found himself that he didn’t bat an eye. He was comfortable in his skin. Without missing a beat, the giant bent over to pick up the cast-off throw pillows.
“Nah, I’ll wait,” he answered, waving his hand in dismissal of her idea. “And I’ve come prepared.” He rattled a silver flask free from his breast pocket. “Don’t go anywhere without it.” A warm grin lit up his features. “But, I mean, if you wanna have a beer with me, that’d be awesome.” Amos did his best to fill the down hours with people, with distractions, with adventures. He self-medicated with beer, and with drugs, in order to keep himself from buzzing right out of his skin. Others usually obliged him when he asked for their company over a beer or on a drug-addled trip, and he was thankful for every minute he didn’t have to spend alone.
Still holding her glass, Mina circled the living room as he settled down, meandering towards kitchen at the suggestion of beer. “Yeah, think there’s a few cold ones in here,” she nodded, and attempted to flash a nonchalant smile before ducking through the doorway between rooms. She went to the sink to empty her glass first, then to the refrigerator, which, in its old age, let out a constant low, rattling hum. There were a few bottles in the back of the tallest shelf, not hers, but she didn’t think Aida would miss them. If she made it to the grocery later on, she wouldn’t even know they’d been taken. Unable to locate the opener, she set the lip of the first bottle’s cap to the tile counter and gave it a whack. Rinse and repeat.
Hands occupied, she’d already come back with the beers and was passing one over to Amos when she realized she’d forgotten her defensive measure: the water glass. But looking at the way Amos sank into the couch in a state of calm repose, Mina felt remarkably less anxious than before. He was a big guy, but he wasn’t a threat to her--and even if he meant her any harm, beer was a water-based liquid. There was space enough left on one end of the couch next to him, but she chose to perch on the adjacent armchair, instead. A good angle to face him, and keep an eye on the front door in the hallway beyond. She wasn’t going to make the mistake of neglecting it again.
“So, uh...” Small talk. Ugh. She was still too tired for this. “I’d ask how you know Aida, but that’s about the only thing I know about you...” Mina said wryly, vaguely gesturing at the bag of goods waiting to be inhaled with the end of her bottle. “You another Birchwood born-and-raised local, or...?”
“Perhaps,” Willow shrugged. “Though it could very well just be me. Not too many of us here have had the more traditionally-based Wiccan upbringingI did, so I suppose I sound a trifle archaic at times.” She deftly drained her champagne glass and replaced it on the tray, inwardly debating for a moment whether or not to reach for another. Ultimately, she determined if might not suit here to stumble about drunk in search of her parents, which would probably be her next goal once she was done conversing with Mina.
“Do you…do you want to be in a coven? No one will force you here,” she shook her head, frowning at the mention of the other woman losing her mother. “I’m sorry to hear of your loss. I know there’s no replacing a family member, I do, but…having people to belong with can help. This town is all about our kind living freely with one another, without judgment or persecution.” If she hadn’t known of Mina’s magic for herself, she would have assumed that flick of her wrist summoned the spectacle of the phoenix soaring and dissolving over the crowd, but as she wasn’t a pyromancer, it was highly unlikely. Still, her rapt gaze followed the firebird, the bright reds and oranges reflecting in her eyes until the flames dissipated.
Once it was gone, her eyes dropped back to Mina, an apologetic look in them. “Sorry to cut this conversation short, but I have…I need to find some people,” she explained, gesturing at the throng around them.
‘A trifle archaic’ was an understatement. Mina felt a little bad for the girl--Willow seemed incredibly sheltered, to an extent rivaling what she assumed the Amish were like, only...well, witchier. She took a longer sip of her warming drink, condensation making the glass slick beneath her fingers. The champagne was losing its appeal. Her gaze shifted back to the terraformer. “I don’t know if I do. Maybe. It depends...” Upon what the coven would want to know about her, what they might ask of her, what their agenda was, what they would do if they knew--
“Thanks,” she murmured at the proffered condolence, hearing something in Willow’s words to indicate she’d experienced a similar pain of her own. Not necessarily involving hunters--and not likely on such a widespread scale as Mina had endured--but a loss, nonetheless. That she had healed, at least partially, with the aid of companionship should’ve sounded comforting and hopeful. But Mina just felt...bitter. And tired. When was it acceptable to turn in for the night? She wanted sweatpants and a pint of ice cream, not an itchy mask and forced smiles.
“Oh, no, go ahead,” she shook her head, waving Willow on. “I’m sure I’ll catch you later tonight. Good luck with the contest. And have fun.”
Does your character practice their magick on the down-low or openly? Specify. Are they open about being a witch, but not about their specific vein of magick? Are they more of a modern witch of sorts or more traditional? Do they keep it secret from certain individuals? Would a person be able to piece together that they’re a witch by observing them and their living spaces? Or are they more careful and subtle about it all?
“Unless you’ve got a Vegas show as a cover, you’d be fucking stupid to practice in front of anyone you don’t know, and you don’t trust. We’re living in the twenty-first century. Burning at the stake isn’t the worst thing that can happen anymore. If I think you need to know about me? You’ll know.”
(LOGOS) Mina is incredibly secretive about her magick--for obvious reasons. Unless she knows the other party is definitively a witch, or has clear, close ties to one, she won’t confess to being a hydrosophist. Even non-hunters can’t be readily trusted to accept magick--those driven by science can be just as dangerous as those driven by faith.
Raised in a non-Wiccan household within a multicultural community, she doesn’t adhere to “traditional“ practices or rituals, and tends to be open-minded about veins of magick that have been historically shunned. Intent and control of the individual witch is more important than perceived inherent dangers of a particular type of magick. Even the most common, ‘acceptable’ elements can be fatal when used effectively.
Having lived in the second largest urban center in America, Mina is accustomed to blending in with mundane society and keeping a low profile. Being a witch was not her entire identity, just a piece of it--at least, that’s how she felt before her entire life came crashing down. Now, it feels like the only thing anyone cares about.
How does your character view magick objectively? Is it a tool or a gift? Is it something to be used to attain power, or is it something that requires responsibility to govern? Does being able to practice magick make them better than others without?
“It’s just part of who I am, for better or worse. I didn’t ask for this, but I’m not ashamed, and my connection to magick certainly doesn’t entitle me to anything. Being ‘better’ has nothing to do with a trait won in the genetic lottery. Just because someone has access to power doesn’t necessarily mean they know how to use it.”
(ETHOS) Magick has kept her alive, but it’s also the very same power that has condemned her. Whether it’s a tool or a gift is what one makes of it--magick is, objectively, a force without intrinsic alignment. In theory, the user should be guiding it, not allowing it to consume them.
That said, she does believe in ethical use of said power--not to cause harm or to gain at another’s expense, unless absolutely necessary. But that morality is derived from the “Golden Rule” of reciprocity instilled in her as a child, not from any old order mandates. Any form of power shouldn’t be abused--and that is why, in spite all of the logic behind her decision (it was just, it was practical, it was what he would’ve done to her), she still carries guilt over using hydromancy to take a man’s life.
Mina wasn’t aware of what she, or her mother, truly was until she was somewhat older, and it took time to fully embrace her differences with pride. She has never thought herself above the rest of humanity, especially when her family has dealt with so much oppression unrelated to magick in the past.
What do they think of hunters, objectively? Have they any past experiences or encounters with hunters? What led your character to reach their conjectures?
“Fuck them.”
(PATHOS) What else can she think about them besides viewing every single adult hunter as a completely inhumane monster? She doesn’t give a flying fuck about their “tragic” boo-hoo backstories involving a terrible, mean witch who hurt them--if their actions were pardoned on that bullshit excuse, she should be allowed to murder any average person on the street just for being human, in exchange for the atrocities inflicted on her. She hasn’t, though everyone she has ever loved and every member of her coven was brutally killed by a hunter--including the untriggered, including young children.
Ultimately, Mina has no room in her heart for forgiveness or mercy when it comes to those unrepentant psychopaths. Once, she may have felt an ounce of sympathy for those brainwashed, lost souls--but she knows better now. They have no boundaries, no conscience, and they aren’t worth saving.
She was a bit steadier in her sipping of the champagne. It wasn’t her first glass of the night, in any case–she found the effervescence lifted her spirits, and the spirits steadied the fine tremble in her hands. It wasn’t easy for her to be in such a big enclosed space, drowning in chatter from foreign faces. For a couple of minutes, Willow was clearly distracted, skimming the crowd in search of something, but her attention was pulled, reluctant, back to Mina’s pretty painted face at her talk of dead cats. Her lips turned down into a troubled frown, head tipping just off-center. “Why would anyone swing a dead animal about?” she asked, genuinely perplexed and perturbed by the thought. “Never mind striking someone with one.”
Willow wanted to ask which one she’d met, but the thought occurred to her that Mina would have provided that information had she been in a position to. Though her curiosity was strong and nearly incessant, she’d been cautioning herself not to dig too deeply in her venture to make alliances. Most people, she’d learned, preferred to keep some things concealed, and pulling back curtains only repelled potential associates. “I’ve met some of them, but I know them all, were I to see one,” Willow nodded, chewing her lip in contemplation. “So far as I can tell, it varies among them, how involved they are. And they all have their own reasons for taking up their respective throne of power, though I cannot profess to understand them. Only one that I know of seems to have little interest in engaging with our coven, and it has been difficult to ascertain his motives in any respect, much less a political one. I daresay he doesn’t even have an interest in leading, but I have no doubt he’s a force to be reckoned with, should he have cause to bring about a reckoning.”
“’Throne of power’?” She blinked. “You guys really are old school up here.” Maybe it was a Canadian thing--being deferential to traditional modes of thought. They still sang God Save the Queen, after all. But maybe the fact that they were still standing strong after all this time meant there was something to preserving structured governance, to placing reverence upon the most powerful. Joe always wanted to be a friend first, not an enforcer, make everyone who stepped into their circle feel like family--and that blindness had been their undoing.
“I’m not used to it, I mean. I don’t really know much about being part of a coven,” she shrugged. She lied. It was almost easier now, with Willow seeming somewhat distracted, and apparently very naive in general. And the more times she told this version of her story to other people, the more convincing it sounded, even to herself. “I’ve just been on my own for a while, since my...since my mom passed. I ran into a few people like me--us, over the years, but...not like this.” Her wrist flicked toward the crowd; simultaneously, a burst of fire in the shape of a bird shot over the heads of the audience murmuring in awe, the perfect emphasis to her point. Even that, she had to admit, looked pretty cool.
“Sort of. Aida’s got first aid supplies in her house, I get the feeling she needs them,” she said glancing off at her friend who had yelled out for them and scurried off with a larger group. The crowd of people looking for protection obscured her vision “Forest is the fastest way to get them, so a shortcut to town.”
The forest was a good short cut and a better way to shake off the attention of any hunters that may be lurking in the area, the last thing Sid wanted to do was have to be in any sort of fight. No way any of them knew the forest like she did - which unfortunately Mina didn’t have any hope of navigating it alone either, Sid would have to pay close attention - so at least there was very little chance at being caught by anything. Most of all, it wasn’t here. It wasn’t with bodies and frantic voices and energy. The only real downside is the very real possibility that her shoes would be ruined, worst case she’d damage her gown.
Someone else. Sid pursed her lips and looked around again. It would be nice to have someone who could do damage if they ran into trouble. Not that she was expecting trouble or expecting someone to out maneuver them in the forest, but she also didn’t want to be the next body in a tree. In a fight she would be useless and she had no idea what Mina could do, but relying on just one person against more than one hunter was stupid. Finding someone who wasn’t already splintering off however was looking difficult. The council was busy, and no way was she going to take anyone young if she could avoid it. No way was she taking any other strangers either, they were another liability she wouldn’t risk. If she could find Willow quickly it would be ideal, who better to take than someone with mastery over plants?
There was no sight of her though, and anyone else Sid might have asked seemed busy with more important things. No sense is wasting more time trying to find someone to tag along. A small group would move faster anyway.
“If we find any stragglers as we move forward, I don’t want to waste time here going around asking everyone.” She nodded to herself in confidence. Better to get the supplies and meet up with Aida and her group as soon as possible. Or find a council member who wasn’t overwhelmed on the other side. Time to move. The sight of the bodies made her antsy to move out of the crowds and to start the search for other survivors. “Let’s make our way towards the edge, more chances of finding others.”
Mina suppressed a small smile at the fact that they were apparently headed for the same place she’d wanted to go--back to the house. “Lucky thing I’ve got keys,” she murmured, holding up her black leather purse. It carried more than just the spare set, though she’d hoped not to have to use any of those items tonight. She lifted the strap so it slung across her body, instead of hanging loose from her shoulder, and wished there could be more done about the rest of her ensemble. The shoes were fine, but the dress wasn’t going to survive a long trek through the woods. A shame; it was actually nice, for being found in a dead woman’s dusty wardrobe. Aida would be getting a nice bonus to the rent this month--if they even made it through the rest of this night.
“I’ve never gone through the forest to get there, though.“ She’d only been living at the house for a couple of weeks, and the most sensible way to get to work was to take the main road. But if Sid knew where she was going, Mina believed she had a better chance of getting them to their destination than Mina did on her own. While the other woman scanned the crowd, she took her utility knife from her bag, making a careful slice into the fine silk below her knees. Slicing across the warp, she gave it a firm tug with her opposite hand, gathering the material up as it tore neatly.
Straightening, she eyed Sid’s elegantly draped gown, though she decided she probably wasn’t as eager to ruin her outfit and closed the blade. “Alright, if you’re ready.” Sweeping an arm out, a gesture of ‘lead the way’, she kept quick pace behind Sid as they navigated a route to the garden’s exit. Walking through the distressed crowd was akin to swimming upstream--most people wanted to get inside, to get away from the horror show, to feel protected by their all-powerful council. A few stragglers, like themselves, were headed the opposite direction, as far away from the scene as they could get while they had a chance. She couldn’t decide who was being a bigger idiot in this situation--though she supposed joining in the effort to ‘help’ landed her in the company of fools.
Pausing at the edge of the laid brick path, there was a long stretch of open grass between the garden’s outer fence and the forest on the horizon. From there, only the front line of trees were illuminated; anything beyond that was nearly pitch black. Maybe it would be a little brighter under the canopy of stars and away from the harsh artificial Lodge lighting--but probably not by much. Fan-fucking-tastic. “I’ve got a flashlight,” she remembered aloud, shifting around in her bag for the mini-LED on her key ring. Knowing she had to keep at least one hand free, she passed the handful of metal and plastic to Sid. “Here. I’ve got us covered.” One might have assumed she was referring to the knife still in her hand, but Mina was really thinking about the water bottle poking out of the top of her bag. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Next time, she’d look up the easiest way to get her hands on a hunting rifle.
They crossed the lawn quickly, their hurried pace suddenly much louder on detritus than on grass--the crackle of pine needles underfoot made Mina’s heart race a little harder. Her jaw hurt. The air felt thicker in here, the heady scent of decomposed vegetation sharpening her headache. Somewhere nearby, she heard the bright snap of a branch. Mina reached to stop Sid in her tracks, dragging her down into a crouch when the sounds persisted. Someone was following them.
Micah Shipley leveled his eyes on hers. They were just as fathomless as his own, but almond-shaped, and in those beveled spheres, he saw real fear. Despite this realization (and it was monumental for a man with the emotional range of a doorstop), he couldn’t quite dismiss the notion that the hunters had targeted her specifically. Firstly, she was a new face. New faces only cropped up in Birchwood when things were going south on the outside. Secondly, it was extraordinarily unlikely that a group of stealthy beings clad all in black had organized a very strategic attack on a random (and from the looks of it) unarmed girl in the middle of town. No. Whoever had attacked her had targeted her specifically. Their grace and accuracy with a crossbow had only further solidified his suspicions that they were, in fact, hunters. But he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t blindly make accusations unless he had the evidence to support his claim. And frankly, all he had right now was a nameless girl – barely free of a well-executed trap and shaking like a brittle leaf in his mudroom.
He let her speak as he stood, straightening the flannel shirt that hung loosely on his shoulders. The stitching in the shoulder had pulled loose, and that irritated him just as much, if not more, than the disturbance he’d just endured. This was why he hadn’t gotten more involved with the Council. This was way he kept to himself and avoided the discomfort that came with saving lives and keeping order and negotiating territory. It was wholly uncomfortable, and it required more than he was willing to give.
“They seem to know you,” he answered, a dull grumble.
The question of why he’d scrambled to save a stranger’s life was one to which he didn’t have an answer – it had absolutely nothing to do with his sworn fealty to the Council and its Coven. His involvement with The Nine was simple: he was the only necromancer in Birchwood, to his knowledge, and definitely the only one with any sort of measurable power. If anything threatened to dismantle the security Birchwood offered, he never really considered stepping up and throwing himself into the fray, after all. He was simply a place-keeper. He offered his counsel when it was needed, and supplemented the library’s texts with his own collection when necessary. He didn’t dissolve disputes instigated by outside Covens, he didn’t host masquerades. He didn’t mentor the young, and he damn sure didn’t offer accommodations to the hunted.
It had nothing to do with his moral compass, did it?; he wasn’t even sure he had one.
His thoughts were interrupted by her apology. It was received by a spell of wordlessness that, in proper company, would have been considered rude. But he felt faint, and the weariness of expending energy after a night of sin-eating sunk in like two, sharp fangs. He moved away from her, and into the dark rooms beyond. He could hear them outside, casing the shop, and the ghosts that clung to him of their own volition whispered in his ear: “Not safe.” “By the back window.” “They’ve come!”
“Quiet,” he whispered sharply, a finger coming up to his lips.
In their private sea of shadows, in the low, blue light of dawn, he found her eyes.
The man was laconic as they came, but even through that brief exchange of words, she could tell he wasn’t quite buying the act. No matter; Mina didn’t know him well enough to break character and expect him to continue protecting her after she’d lied. And the fear coursing through her body was very real as she remained on the floor, recouping her focus and energy, trying to decide on the next course of action. Unfortunately, that seemed to be out of her hands. She was, to her disgust and shame, at the mercy of a stranger, whose intentions she found indecipherable. He didn’t acknowledge her gratitude, giving her the distinct impression that her arrival was an inconvenience. But why even bother helping, then?
It was like he hadn’t actually heard anything she’d said. Was it the tension of lingering dangers outside the shop that had him so distracted, or...something else? Necromancers had always been perceptibly weird, in her experience, and Micah Shipley seemed to be no exception. When he stalked into the darker depths of his space, she forced herself to follow, despite the furious protest of her aching limbs. The back door was sealed with more than a metal bolt, but that wasn’t an absolute deterrent against intrusion. Glass could be shattered. Wards could be broken with the right set of tools.
Ahead, the other witch whispered for silence--but she hadn’t said a word in minutes, and tread so lightly through the room that she might have been another phantom skimming the floorboards. Still, she stopped in her tracks half a meter behind Micah, keeping her breaths shallow and slow, straining to hear any sign of the hunters. Facing the front of the shop, Mina realized he was looking at her, his steady gaze carrying an unsettling intensity that was impossible to maintain contact with for more than a few seconds.
She broke first. Glancing back, there was a blurry movement through the panes of the windows, accompanied by muffled, low voices. At least three hunters, judging by the difference in timbres. Their words were unintelligible, but the sudden rise in volume and pitch meant they were arguing. None of the barking idiots standing at the backside of the building were the pack leader, then. They’d fucked up, delivering their target into the shelter of another witch (not knowing he wasn’t even at his full strength), and didn’t know what to do about it. Alone, Mina wasn’t any threat to them--she may have taken out one of their members, and eluded their grasp ever since--but she appeared to have gained a formidable ally to make them reconsider their plans.
Twilight had already begun to shift into the pale hues of dawn, lifting the veil of secrecy and discretion provided by a moonless night sky. The hunters couldn’t stand there forever, unless they wanted to attract attention and lose the advantage of anonymity. Either they took the uncalculated risk of striking now against unknown defenses and unmeasured power, or they gave up the hunt for another night.
“They’re going to leave,” she murmured pensively, with a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, keeping her gaze fixed on the long shadows wavering in the entryway. Mina bit her lip, trying not to seem so assured when she was supposed to be clueless. “I mean, I think they are... Look,” she pointed as the echo of retreating footsteps faded, and the light outside brightened.
For a passing moment, Mina looked like Willow had slapped her in the face with the invitation. She fumbled at an excuse that was blatantly an excuse, and Willow had to wonder what the real reason was that Mina declined to dance. She could have argued the point, could have insisted she wasn’t terribly composed on the dance floor either, could have said she didn’t mind being stepped on, but she didn’t have the heart to give her recent acquaintance a hard time about it.
“Oh, I could definitely use a drink. There’s probably a reason everyone at these functions tends to get a bit inebriated. I’m probably feel a bit better about being here is I were to follow suit.” She tipped her head toward the nearest champagne tray and made a beeline for it, grabbing them each a flute, quick to hand Mina her own. She wondered how many of these delicate glasses had already been broken during the event, then threw back about half of the contents, licking her lips of the bright-tasting liquid. “So, have you met any interesting…people like us in town yet? I’m sure the room brims with the buzz of power as we speak. The council is here.”
She was relieved that Willow didn’t press the matter, even though Mina was certain she hadn’t concealed her discomfort well enough for it to go unnoticed. Graciousness about other social missteps had been rewarded in kind, it seemed. She accepted the champagne with a smile, but only took a small sip, trying to pace her intake throughout the evening. Better to save the heavy drinking for the promised after party, in the relative safety of their backyard.
“Well, depends on what you consider interesting,” the woman shrugged, thinking about the ‘characters’ she’d come across in the last few days. Some were definitely more distinctive than others, and almost everyone happened to be a witch. “But yes, I’ve met people like us. I even live and work with some. Feels like you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one.” Her brow furrowed, mouth twisting to one side wryly. “Whatever that phrase means...”
Looking up and around the room, as if she might be able to see the power that Willow spoke of, there was an indistinct yet palpable energy in the air--was it traces of magick, or just the atmospheric excitement of a small town with little else to look forward to in a year? “I met one of the council members before.” But that was another subject, another experience, she didn’t want to elaborate upon. “Are you familiar with any of them? Personally, I mean. How...involved are they with the community?”
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