Chapter 4
L ucy appeared in front of the temple entrance a few seconds later. Teleporting wasn’t one of her natural talents, and she would’ve preferred to use her bike. Placing a hand over her queasy tummy, she waited for it to settle, assuring herself the nausea was worth it. I don’t feel like replacing another set of tyres if he decided to melt them again to ensure I went with him. He’d probably do anything to follow my mother’s orders.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crunching leaves.
“You shouldn’t be so careless with your use of magic. The magless in the village tolerate us for history’s sake, but we’re supposed to use magic discreetly in public,” Benedict said, lifting his fancy shoes out of the muck.
Lucy heard him cursing under his breath as she bowed before the towering statues guarding the entrance: the Goddess of War carrying her sword, and the Goddess of Peace, a dove cradled in her hands. The entrance, stone engraved with protective symbols and shrouded in overgrown branches and woven ivy, opened for her.
“Pot, kettle,” she muttered, heading into the temple hidden in the mountain with him following close behind.
“Will you wait for a minute? I want to talk to you,” Benedict whispered as they walked the tunnel.
The smell of incense and clay comforted Lucy, but if the torches were already lit, she dreaded to think how long the coven had waited for them.
“Lucy!”
She stopped at the archway to the meeting hall, nearly causing a collision between them. He never called her Lucy. She hated his nickname for her – pumpkin, the food she hated more than any other– but her name on his lips was jarring.
“What?” she started, but an echoing clap interrupted her. The fires lining the temple shone brighter, highlighting the gods and goddesses, each the embodiment of the element and season they harnessed.
Lucy frowned when she saw all twenty-four families sat around the table: the Sundurns, Crawfords, Rodriguezes, Emerys and Larks, to name only those in higher standing positions. It was rare that everyone would attend, unless something serious was to be discussed. Lucy’s mum was at the head of the table, her robes shimmering in the moonlight cast in from above. Within the temple, her mum was their leader, and Lucy was just another witch subject to their laws.
“What is going on?” she whispered, nervous under the coven’s gaze. She offered them a faint smile as Benedict moved a hairsbreadth away from her.
“What makes you think I know?” he stressed as they took the remaining seats at the table.
She didn’t trust him. I should’ve known he was leading me into a trap. The thought did nothing to ease her fidgeting beneath the table. They were the only descendants in attendance, which meant they were here to discuss something far more important than the upcoming Autumn Festival.
“How good of you both to join us,” said Gwendoline, the head of the Matherson family, sitting at the right hand of the High Priestess.
“Sorry, Benedict had trouble with his car,” Lucy lied, happy to dump him in it. Benedict’s gaze bore into the side of her head, but she was too busy analysing the half-empty silver goblets on the table. It looked like the rest of the coven had arrived much earlier than both she and Benedict had been informed to attend.
“It’s not like the two of you to travel together,” Gwendoline commented, tucking a strand of her severely cropped silver bob behind her ear.
“I commissioned Benedict to collect her,” High Priestess Wilhelmina said, addressing the table. “Since they’re the topic of tonight’s meeting.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I had to portal us here,” Benedict conceded, leaving out Lucy’s refusal to go with him. At least she knew he’d been telling the truth about her mum requesting him to attend with her.
“It seems you’re both getting a little too comfortable using your magic in front of the magless,” Gwendoline said, her angular nose in the air.
Lucy’s surprise stopped her from fidgeting. The Mathersons believed magic shouldn’t be hidden; it wasn’t like her to scold them for its use.
She’s probably trying to show the rest of the coven that they have changed their ways, she thought, noticing how the coven watched Benedict favourably. Since he’d converted Matherson Manor into a hotel, bringing both magical beings and magless to the town from all over, he’d become the golden child. Lucy couldn’t resent his success entirely; he had increased the small town’s revenue, and she wanted Foxford to flourish.
“We didn’t wish to keep you all waiting,” Benedict apologised.
“You’re both here now. Let’s get down to it.” Gwendoline rose from her chair, her statuesque figure towering over the rest. Lucinda eyed her mum with a frown, wondering why Gwendoline was addressing them.
“Before your arrival, Lucinda, Wilhelmina informed us of your progress with the Order. We’re all impressed by how much you have improved our relations with our ancient enemies,” Gwendoline said. Lucy followed her piercing blue gaze cutting through the members around the table, gauging their reaction to her working with the Order. The Crawfords, ever stoic, both offered Lucy what she perceived to be an attempt at a smile. Lucy wanted to tell them not to hurt themselves.
“You could call our families ancient enemies, but like my work with the Order, we overcame our differences for the greater good,” she replied to Gwendoline, hearing everyone hold their breath. She needed to remind the coven that she wasn’t a supporter of those who had hunted them. “We called a truce for the sake of the formation of Foxford, and this coven, my work with the Order, ensures that a mutual understanding and respect continues to grow between us. We can and have learned a lot from each other. I do my best to ensure that relationship continues to develop and doesn’t sour, for all our sakes.”
“A Hawthorne through and through.” Gwendoline beamed. “Your power for forgiveness has no limit. Everyone here can attest to it. We all know you’ll do great things, for both this coven and Foxford.” Gwendoline rested a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “As your mother’s right hand, I’m happy to inform you that our dearest High Priestess has expressed her intention to retire her position this coming All Hallow’s Eve.”
There was a round of applause, but Lucy froze. All she could do was stare wide-eyed at her mum. She barely noticed Benedict tense beside her. At breakfast this morning, her mum hadn’t uttered a single word.
She swallowed her surprise, forcing her expression to remain neutral. She knew how much her parents wanted to travel, and didn’t blame the High Priestess for wanting to retire. The women in her family had sacrificed themselves for five generations, and Lucy had accepted long ago that she’d be next.
Taking a steadying breath, she addressed the coven.“I’ll do my best to fill the position to the utmost of my ability. I hope you’ll put as much faith in me as you have in those who have come before me. I can only hope for your support and guidance during this time,” she said, playing up to the egos of those nodding in agreement.
“How can we be sure you’re ready to handle such a responsibility?” Mrs Crawford chimed in, resting her elbows on the table.
“I don’t speak as her mother, but as a member of this coven who wishes the best for each citizen of Foxford.” Lucy’s mum finally spoke, offering the table some assurance. “I wouldn’t consider stepping down if I were not sure of my daughter’s ability. In Lucinda’s work with the Order, I’ve witnessed her ability to navigate relationships with those who seek any excuse to harm our kind with grace and patience.”
The words helped ease the tension in the temple. At home, Mum was light-hearted and playful, and never did anything without music to dance along to. In this temple, however, she was downright fierce. Lucy was proud to be her daughter.
“There is no arguing about Lucinda’s love nor dedication to our town, but we have to take into account her recent actions,” Gwendoline said. The rest of the table nodded.
The other shoe finally dropped.Lucy pressed her lips together; Gwendoline’s earlier comments must have been merely a show of politics, and this was her true intention.
“My actions?” Lucy asked, resisting the urge to look at Benedict.
“Did you not put piranhas in the manor fountain?” Gwendoline purred sweetly. “Or jinx our teacups to turn into butterflies?”
“I admit that.” Lucy blushed at her childish behaviour being outed. “I may have taken the prank too far, but they were only koi fish. Even if they didn’t present that way at first. And who doesn’t love butterflies?”
“Our guests, who stampeded out of the breakfast room in fright!” Gwendoline produced a magazine from the pocket of her silver robe. “And then there is this.” She cleared her throat, and the rest of the families leaned forward in their chairs, eager to listen.
“‘Last month, my family and I visited the luxurious and classically designed Matherson Manor in the quaint town of Foxford. The isolated town is known for its mystical shops and yearly Autumn Festival. Previously when assigned to review a hotel, I have always attended alone. However, after reading so many glowing reviews from others enchanted by the town, I thought it would be the perfect place to bring my family. Upon arrival, the woods surrounding the town created the landscape for the perfect escape into nature, and the boat ride on the lake was utterly breathtaking. I understood immediately why this town was winning over the hearts of so many, and I was sure that by the end of the stay, myself and my family would be vowing to return.
“‘I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“‘Let me preface this by saying that I cannot fault the town, nor the locals. It was during our stay in the Manor itself that our nightmare began. Two days before we were due to leave, I came upon my child playing by the fountain in the gardens – a fountain whose rippling waters, I was horrified to realise, contained flesh-eating piranhas! When I went to confront the owner of the establishment, Mr Benedict Matherson, I was almost caught in a stampede of guests fleeing the breakfast room as it suddenly filled with butterflies. Taken entirely by surprise during their peaceful breakfast, the guests were clearly unnerved and alarmed, and more than one bruise must have been sustained in the process. I’ve never stayed in any establishment that would pull such elaborate pranks on their guests, and if they continue to show such utter disregard for the safety and comfort of their clientele, then it won’t be long before their doors are closed for good.
“‘2/10 stars. Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone with a pulse.’”
“At least that doesn’t rule out all your clientele,” Lucy said weakly, sinking into her chair. Vampires didn’t have a pulse, nor did ghouls or ghosts… She decided it was more important to focus on Gwendoline glowering at her than trying to think of all the magical folk without a heartbeat.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing.” Gwendoline slapped the magazine down on the table. Lucy wished there was a fountain in the temple filled with piranhas to gobble her up.
“No one was harmed during either incident, and the guests received every attempt to rectify the situation,” Benedict interjected. He might not be defending her, but she was somewhat relieved he didn’t make it worse.
“I had hoped that you’d both put these petty tricks and schemes behind you,” Mrs Crawford sighed, tucking a strand of tangerine-coloured hair behind her ear.
“We have,” Lucy and Benedict said in unison. They stared at each other.
“How are we to believe an event like this won’t happen again? Last year, Benedict nearly set the library on fire—” Mrs Crawford began.
“That damn broom was chasing me!”
Lucy rolled her eyes. She couldn’t blame Broomhilda for being protective of her.
“—and Lucinda flooded the community pool at the start of the summer—”
“Only because Benedict put hot sauce in my tea while I was on lifeguard duty!”
“Enough. You are both to blame for these events,” announced the High Priestess.
“At least those prior events weren’t shared with the world. This time, your actions have gone too far,” Gwendoline said, reclaiming her seat. “I don’t want to hear what Benedict did to justify your actions; this review could seriously affect our tourism. With the Autumn Festival in the coming weeks, this is the worst time for such a stunt, and that’s not even taking into account what might happen if word got to the Order that you were using magic that could have harmed a magless. We might’ve woken up to Hunters on our doorstep! We must consider if these are the actions of someone who can lead us.”
Lucy looked at Benedict, who avoided her gaze. The attention of the room had shifted not only to her, but to him by her side. She couldn’t help but think this was how he was getting back at her – by using what had happened at the manor to make her unsuitable to lead them. It was a bold move… one she’d have respected him for, if she hadn’t been the target.
“You wish for another to claim my mother’s seat?” she asked, trying to sound neutral. The thought of losing the position her family had maintained for generations caused a cold sweat to break out on the back of her neck. To have the balance of their sanctuary threatened by a struggle for power would do nothing for the magical and magless who called their village home.
“The Hawthornes have guided this coven since its establishment. If we’re no longer fit to lead, then I trust this coven will decide on someone worthy of the position,” Wilhelmina said.
Lucy gripped her thighs under the table to stop herself from rising, telling her mum they shouldn’t concede so easily.
“I believe Lucy should remain a candidate for the position. However, I’d like to nominate another for the seat,” Gwendoline said.
“Who?” Mr. Emery asked.
The Emery family had sided with the Mathersons for generations. They were also descents of darker magic with a questionable past. It made sense they’d pick whoever Gwendoline nominated. And there was only one obvious choice. Lucy noted that the only descendant amongst them, other than herself, was Benedict. She noticed him clutch the armrest and wondered if he was readying himself to accept, or if he was as blindsided as she was.
Gwendoline strode past Lucy and stood behind her son. “My son, Benedict Matherson.”