9. Cauldron Bubble
Cauldron Bubble
Rumor Malefic
When I woke the next morning, I couldn’t recall telling Empath goodbye or passing members of my coven on my walk home.
It didn’t register until the sun rose that I may never see any of them again.
As I packed my backpack, it dawned on me that I may never see my cottage again, and I’d very likely just spent my last night in my own bed. In any bed.
After adding a few protective stick runes, a flint rock, a few slabs of dried meat, and a blanket to my pack, I pulled out the black leather mystery grimoire and flipped through its blank pages.
The previous spell was gone. I flipped through again, hoping for some sort of magic, hope, or deliverance.
Nothing appeared.
I stuffed the book back in my bag, anyway.
The floorboard near my bed creaked, and I resisted the urge to pull it open one last time. To flicker the candles to life and run my fingers over the grimoires of my mothers, their mothers, and their mothers’ mothers. I could drown myself in pity and loss and misery.
I wanted to.
As I touched the shells laminated into the hearth and sucked in the air of my only tangible legacy—the old magic that haunted the walls—I imagined all the vegetables grown and simmering in my mother’s cauldron.
The wooden rocking chair built by my matri watched on as I yearned for a way to go back in time and change everything.
Stop the rapture, eviscerate the monsters plaguing Willowspire—or get us out somehow.
Out of this town, where our overlords had withdrawn their protection.
Maybe I should have taken Prism back to the coast where Matri was from.
If I weren’t a complacent fool, I likely would have planned that journey years ago.
I would have had the foresight to flee before this trouble arrived at our door.
Though, it wasn’t likely Willowspire’s ruleship wards would have allowed it.
Clearly, that magic was already pissed off at me for not completing my wedding rite.
Which reminded me of Adder. Why the hell would he agree to marry me if not for some sick and twisted means of torturing me forever. He’d put me on pig-slopping duty on his farm and have me sleep in the hay with the goats as I begged for his family to search for Prism on their next hunt.
No doubt him and his brothers were sitting around some fire at that very moment, snickering and plotting over the possibilities of what they’d do to me after I was forced into accepting his proposal.
A morbid sense of satisfaction fell over me at the thought of how disappointed they’d be to learn I’d left.
How indignant Adder would feel after finding out I’d crawled through thorns into the Blackthorne Castle to very likely be killed over living a life with the Viper brothers.
I hoped the whole town found out immediately and that Adder was mortified a woman would go to such lengths to refuse his proposal.
His brother abandoned Prism.
My turn to return the favor to him.
Even if my pettiness got me killed—it was better than whatever fate was in store for me at the Viper’s farm. I sure as hell wouldn’t be standing on the willow stump for Adder or for any other man in this goddess forsaken town.
I chose door number two.
I chose the monster I didn’t know over the one I did.
But that led me to wonder what would I even do when I got to the Blackthorne estate?
I didn’t know the first thing about enacting hexes.
Sure, I’d heard stories of how dark witches of old would use hexes to sway, manipulate, and control their targets, but I didn’t know the spells or methods.
My only hope was that Empath was correct and I was indeed a gray witch.
If I were, then my soul would recognize the call and lead me towards awakening my spirit magic.
Once I found my way into the Blackthorne Castle and found the wretched Blackthorne Boys—I could only hope I’d just know what to do.
That my magic could sway them to help Prism.
Or force them too.
Or torture them into it.
Those were dark thoughts and even darker magic… but I would do much darker things to protect my sister—and the Blackthorne Boys deserved every flame of hell I’d reign upon them given the chance.
My chance was now .
Or I’d die trying.
But what a story I’d have to share with my mothers on the other side of the veil if I died confronting and attempting to hex our town’s lords to save my sister.
That sure seemed better than a life plucking chickens for Adder Viper.
Or a life hiding in my cozy cottage, fearful to make any sort of movements whatsoever.
I washed myself outside in a basin of lukewarm rainwater before changing into a simple gray frock. I combed my hair with my fingers, assessing myself in gray.
A gray witch.
Gray witch.
Rumor Malefic the Gray Witch.
Nothing buzzed under my skin. No magic stirred.
It would. My crone said it would. My crone knew more about this stuff than I did. Everything would click into place just like it did for my matri when she waded into the ocean for the first time.
With Soot on my heels, I trekked through Willowspire one final time. I passed by two little girls running with ribbons attached to sticks, laughing as the green and purple rippled in the wind behind them.
I walked forward for them.
Bishop Quarry knelt on the steps of our town’s tiny chapel, bandaging the wrist of a teenage boy. They waved as I passed.
I walked forward for them.
The sweet aroma of blueberry muffins wafted from Emp’s bakery. She paused as she swept and lifted her palm, saying goodbye. My throat tightened when all I could manage was a soft nod.
I walked forward for her, for my coven.
The thin soles of my shoes departed stone and met hard, cold, damp earth, each footfall bringing my trembling body closer toward the gates of no return.
Graves and headstones looked as if they’d been tossed onto the property.
There were no lines, aisles, or cohesive pathways through them.
These graves weren’t for mourners; they were haphazard and disjointed.
I dodged them, careful not to touch the stones.
No awareness within me alerted me to any ghosts present, but I wasn’t about to tempt fate, either.
The last thing I needed was to garner the attention of a stray poltergeist in need of a witch. I shuddered at the thought.
My neck ached as I craned my head up, following the massive, spiked gates up towards the sky. The wrought iron snaked with inky black thorns. Mother had a garden spell for cleaning thorns. I wondered if it would work well enough to get me through unbloodied.
My mother also had a wand and I did not.
Wands, of course, along with brooms, hats, cauldrons, crystals and the like were outlawed by Asunder.
Even the spells allowed were weakened by this fact.
Nevertheless, I called upon my spirit as I extended my hand toward the gloomy gate and its twisted, prickly vines and called upon my mother’s words.
Thimbled skin
No force too quick
Allow my garden
No scar, no prick
With a rustle and the thin screeching of thorns against iron, the vines parted, making a way for me to step through.
“Thanks,” I whispered to the plants on my way in. Mother always taught me to thank the earth for anything it gave, especially when asked, though I wasn’t sure if that were part of the spell work or simply because my mother was a kind witch.
I missed her.
I missed my matri.
I missed my sister.
I’d only just left home, and I missed Willowspire.
The shadow of the eerie dark castle washed over me, and my skin prickled with a curious sort of magic.
Its power like that of being watched by a pack of wolves.
My throat dried as I traversed the stone steps up to the high double doors.
Soot pranced casually ahead of me, swooshing his tail as if this were just another ordinary walk up to a common house.
Trepidation jolted my shoulders as the doors slowly crept open on their own—revealing nothing but dusty darkness within.
This was it, my calling as a newly discovered gray witch.
To kill these lords. They didn’t deserve death; they deserved to suffer in every way.
Mentally, physically, emotionally. Eventually, I’d grant them mercy and allow them to die, but in the meantime, what I’d bestow would be fit for their evil.
I was going to hex the Blackthorne Boys.
I may not have been a sea witch like my matri, but her blood and magic flowed through me just the same.
This castle and its land littered with graves and thorns was my ocean…
and I had no choice but to dive in head first. I clutched the sea glass necklace at my collar, took a deep breath… and stepped inside.