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“We spoke, but there were no words. I felt it.” Leora closed her eyes to breathe in. When she opened them, her tears fell. “My parents, their energy, they were there. It was soft, and so delicate. It was them. I know it.They shared the feeling of peace and certainty, as if this was the path that was set for me, and for them. There was no anger or fear, only rest.” Leora looked downward, more tears falling. “They’re at rest.”
“Leora, I’m so sorry—” Thessa started.
“Don’t be. I felt their touch … their love. It was everything I could’ve asked for. Then, the goddess came to me."
“What?” Ivy cut in. “How do you know it was her?”
Leora wiped her eyes. “I just do. Her energy was pungent. Soothing all the same. She made me feel like my purpose is soon to come. But it was more like a push. A sensation to keep moving along this path.”
Beatrix smiled as she reached for Ivy’s hand. “I’m glad it helped, let us know if we can do anything else.”
Leora eyed Thessa. “Youcouldtry too, if you wanted to.”
After a brief pause Thessa replied, “Not tonight, thank you.”
Ivy said, “Well, you know where to find us. In the meantime, I’m hungry. We could eat in town? You two must be tired of the food here …”
While Thessa was thankful Ivy swayed the conversation, she just wanted to be alone.
Leora responded first, “That’d be so nice.”
As they all stood, Thessa said, “Sounds good but I’m going to rest for a bit, work was tiring.”
“You sure?” Leora asked.
She forced a smile and pushed words out of her mouth. “I’m sure, I smell like garlic anyway. I’ll pick something up from downstairs later.”
Leora scanned Thessa. “Do you need anything before we go?”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
Leora yielded.
Thessa sighed when the door shut, collapsing on the floor to cry.
Her breath hitched as a flurry of thoughts struck her. She was in a new place, surrounded by new witches, with relatively no time to herself, and too much time to think.
Using magic to communicate with the dead was something she’d thought about doing many times; daily. But she never had magic, funding, or friends to help her do it. She’d practiced the spell, her Communication Spell, over and over, except the thought of what would happen when she’d actually do it was nothing shy of terrifying. Her heart was poundinginside her chest—its cage. If she couldn’t find the strength to fight this mental siege, it would win.
Thessa unscrewed the pendant around her neck and breathed. While her body trembled, she traced her fingers along the remnants of stardust on the floorboard. It felt like powdery sea sand. She crumpled some of the shimmering substance between her magic-less fingertips … then some more.
A part of her wondered if maybe there was still some Celestial magic in the air, if her room was truly supercharged, and just how powerful Friday the thirteenth really was. In her next breath, she’d screwed the vial shut and was up, moving through her things with haste. She fetched her ceremonial dagger, her mortar, the pestle, clove, and mugwort.
Thessa sat inside the circle of salt, candles still aflame, grinding the herbs into a powder. Then she sliced the point of her dagger across her palm and hissed. With an angled fist, her blood dripped, mingling with the herbs. She blended it, not caring about her wounded hand.
Unbuttoning the top of her tunic, she swiped a finger into her bloodied herbs, then painted the five-pointed star on her chest. She had no family relic to add, only blood and her galloping heart.
“Blood, herbs, heart, and soul. Take my gift, take this toll. Seek my mother, not another. Goddess be, please help me.”
Nothing.
She repeated the spell, louder this time. “Blood, herbs, heart, and soul. Take my gift, take this?—"
The room went black.
6
LECTURE NOTES FROM SPELLCASTING AND CURATION: