25. Polaris
25
POLARIS
W hen I said I was ready, I didn't think that meant I was going to have a sack thrown over my head. I also didn't think they would literally kidnap me from the witches’ dorm and take me to God only knows where. But even as I sit here now, with only the sound of dripping water to keep me company, I don't feel scared.
Maybe I should, but it seems I’m all too familiar with the darkness.
I’m too focused on the fact that coven initiation isn't as exciting as they first made it out to be, that's for sure.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me of the reason I left my room to begin with, and it makes me shift in my seat. The wooden chair is hard beneath me, the grooves pressed against my thighs and the air cool, almost damp, as I try not to fidget.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound is impossible to escape. As the minutes stretch on around me, the uncertainty and fearful thoughts of the unknown make their presence known, and an unease threatens to trickle in. I clear my throat, swallowing down the gnawing emotions as I barely manage to keep it all at bay.
I remind myself I’m safe again and again. Bryony told me to dress to impress, to be ready; she wouldn’t have said that if whatever was happening was an actual threat to my safety. Despite my mantra, my fingers itch in my lap. I’m desperate to feel the coin tucked into my pocket, but the fear of revealing a vulnerability keeps it firmly locked away.
I could probably tug at the sack and reveal my surroundings to my unknowing eyes. I'm not bound in any way, but something tells me the restraint I'm showing is what they're searching for. If that test is a part of the initiation, then bring it on; darkness is my best friend. I've spent a long time there; what’s a little longer going to do?
The real issue is what comes with the darkness: the wandering thoughts. I don’t like them. I’m powerless against them, and I like control—or the illusion of it, at least. My mind swirls with possibilities, as secrets and mysteries reveal themselves to me while I continue my adventure at Trinity Falls Academy.
When Professor Juniper mentioned coven initiations, I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Despite my internal struggle, my breath remains steady, and just when I'm on the verge of throwing it all to hell, I feel the sack lift from my head.
I blink frantically, confusion clinging to me as I'm greeted with darkness, but then five figures come into view. My heart races and my breaths are shallow as the room floods with light, brought by flames that ignite around the exterior of the room. There must be one hundred of them, illuminating the space that holds me captive.
This is some theatrics.
Velvet robes shield all of them from view, keeping my audience a mystery to me.
My lips purse, nerves threading with a lick of excitement as one of them steps forward. Their head tilts, the hood moving with them as they assess me.
“You have been brought here to be considered for initiation into the Renegade coven.” Their words carry around the room, booming with pride and strength. “As much as we are the highest regarded coven within the witching world, it doesn't matter when it comes down to our core values. The foundations of any coven, any witch, remain the same for everyone. It’s a part of what makes us witches.” I don’t just listen to her words, but I try to focus on her voice. It’s not Bryony, I know that much, but I don’t think I recognize her voice at all.
“What you must understand before we proceed any further is what a coven stands for. We stand united as a found family, in a safety net that we call our home. We lean on each other while taking in each other's strength, and in doing so, we enhance our magic. Unfortunately, what comes along with that is the fact that there is no escaping us. Once you're in, you're in, and everyone knows everything that there is to know. To leave a coven would banish you from all covens. Luckily for you, here at the Renegade coven, we lost an elemental witch not too long ago, and if you prove to be the elemental witch we're looking for, you have a place among us.”
I blink, trying to process the words she’s firing at me.
A found family?
Safety?
Strength?
Enhanced magic?
How can they promise so much yet dangle it like a carrot before me?
What if I’m not who they’re in search of?
What did they call it?
An elemental witch?
How am I supposed to know that?
“So, are you ready?” The woman asks, the four other witches standing in unison behind her. She doesn’t seem to need an answer as she steps toward me, and I swiftly shake my head, instinctively rearing back as she draws closer.
“I’m going to need more information than that before I decide I’m ready,” I blurt, halting her in her tracks as I sense the four spectators shift with uncertainty. “You want me to be a what witch?” I add for clarity, but the elongated silence that wraps around the room threatens to steal my breath.
Nobody moves, but I sense irritation flooding from the woman hiding beneath the hood in front of me as she clears her throat, sweeping her hands out at her sides.
“I am a mind witch, specializing in tarot. I stand as the central piece to the Renegade coven. I’m the focal point, if you will—like a wolf’s Alpha. Every coven is made up of the same key elements. We currently have two elemental witches, a potions witch, and a charms witch. We need the third and final elemental witch to complete our coven. If you prove to be the elemental witch we’re looking for, you have a home with us forever.”
The room goes silent and I long for the sound of the dripping water to return, but it’s lost to the flickering flames that heat the room.
All of this rests on an…if?
What if I’m not an elemental witch? And more than that, how am I supposed to know?
“I don't know what I am,” I state feebly, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, nerves getting the better of me as my fingers twist together in my lap.
“That's not a problem. We can find out regardless.”
My spine stiffens at the flippant way her words fall from her mouth, and the panic burning a trail up my spine makes its presence known.
“How?”
My fingers curl around the arms of the chair, nausea churning in my gut. I don’t even know the answer yet, but something shifts inside of me.
Something is not right. I can feel it deep in my gut.
The hood moves slightly as the person beneath shakes their head. “It won't hurt…much.”
There’s almost a lingering hint of amusement to their tone, and it’s the wisp that I need to seal my fate.
“No.”
I move to stand, but two witches step from behind the woman before me, knocking me back down into my chair with enough force that I feel the front two legs lift and my body tilts backward just enough that I brace for an impact that never comes.
“You can't find out my magic. I haven't released my sigil,” I rush, panic clawing at me as I try to fight out of their hold, but it’s futile. “My bangles are still in place,” I insist, feeling the metal bite into my skin as they force my arms down on the chair.
“I told you, it won't take long. Just hold still,” she orders, and the panic intensifies.
I glare at the witches holding me in place, panic turning to anger and hysteria as I try to tug my arms free from their hold, but I’m locked in place against my will.
“No. No! No,” I plead, but it’s as if the words go unheard as another witch steps forward, but the fifth witch, remaining at the back to my right, with one foot in front of the other, seems to falter at my terror.
They don’t leap to my defense, though; they watch on in silence as fear consumes me, unraveling inside of me.
The apparent leader edges closer, her hand extended toward my face. Her fingers are curled and a glimmer seems to shift along her palm.
“I said no. Don't come near me,” I shout, horror laced into every syllable as she ignores me.
If this is what it’s like now, with them wondering if I fit their mold, what would it be like if I were indeed what they needed?
Would they listen to me then, or would I be ordered to fall in line?
I don’t want to find out.
As her hand gets within an inch of my face, I sense a shift in the air, as if her magic is palpable, and the panic that consumes me morphs into a physical form, filling my chest as I push against the witches holding me in place.
“Make it stop,” I scream, my throat burning as I yell. My head falls back, my breath stuttering in my lungs as I search deep inside for a strength I know I won’t find, when a knot of pressure expands in my chest, curling deep in my gut, and I scream, releasing the taut tension.
The sound ricochets off the walls around me, and with a force like I’ve never felt before, I snap my wrists out of the witches’ hold before pushing against their chests. The leader stumbles back in surprise, her hand still frozen in the air before her as the witches holding me in place fall to the floor.
The person at the back of the room remains frozen in place while the other idle witch edges toward me. My chest aches as I pant for breath, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible. I take a single step before I freeze, glancing down at the witch on the floor whose hood has fallen back to reveal a familiar face. My face screws up in disgust.
Foster. The guy who showed us the protection spell in class.
Asshat.
Snapping my gaze to my right, I see that the other witch on the floor is the girl from class who created the luck charm. Her name escapes me, and searing disappointment clings to my limbs. Nobody moves, and everyone seems as surprised by my outburst as I am.
I try to steady my breathing as I cast my gaze over everyone, settling on the person still hiding at the back of the room, and my gut tells me exactly who it is. I don’t want to stick around to find out, though. My breathing isn’t easing, it’s not going to in here, and I need to think clearly. That’s not going to happen with my heart pounding wildly in my chest, making it abundantly clear that I’m not as safe as I first thought.
With blurry eyes, I spin, looking beyond the witches to find a small space between the flickering flames around the room.
An exit.
Before I pass out and leave myself even more vulnerable to them, I make a run for it.
Sickness coils in my veins. This time, it's not from hunger, but from despair.
I run from the room, relieved to find a set of stairs leading up to my freedom, and I climb them, two at a time, acutely aware that someone could overpower me at any moment. To my surprise, I barrel through the doors at the top into the early evening air without incident.
The building before me is familiar, but seeing the common room of the witches’ dorm does not ease my concerns.
The basement?
They had me in the basement. We hadn’t even left the building I’m supposed to call home.
Getting the hell out of there, I rush down the path, thankful that there are no other students around to see me crumble before I make a beeline for the trees. I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing, but it seems my brain does when I come to the familiar spot in the forest outlining the hedge-high maze.
I drop to a heap on the ground, pressing my back into the earth, just like I did the first time I was here. This time, my terror feels amplified. Curling my fingers into the blades of grass, I try to take steady breaths, willing the panic to leave my body.
Should I have run? I don't know. I don't know what this means for me and my future in a coven, but all I know is I did not feel safe, and there was no reason for them to touch my body. They didn't deserve to pry the answer of what kind of witch I am from me. That is something I deserve to learn on my own. They were going to take it without care. They were going against my wishes and pleas, without my consent.
Deep down, I know I did the right thing running, yet there's a niggling part of me that is worried I've just made my life a hell of a lot more complicated than it needed to be.
“Polaris?” I still, unable to speak as my next breath lodges in my throat at the sound of Bryony’s voice. “Polaris, are you here?”
I want to melt into the earth, hide beneath the mud and the soil, and wait for her to pass. But more than that, I want her gone, and for that to happen, I need to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Pressing up onto my elbows, I lift just enough to see her over the hedges. The sun still lights up the sky in a mixture of pinks and oranges, offering a pretty background even when my world is burning in turmoil.
Her eyes widen when she spots me, and she hurries to cut the remaining distance. “Polaris, I?—”
“You can stop right where you are,” I interject, lifting my hand. To my surprise, there is a witch among the madness who hears what I’m saying. She pauses in place, but it doesn’t stop the turmoil storming in her eyes.
“P—”
“Just don't come any closer,” I insist, aware that I’m repeating myself, but I need the distance. I have to have the distance.
“I won’t,” she murmurs, nervously wrapping her arms around herself. “What happened back there?” she asks, and I scoff.
Is she for real right now?
“How about you tell me,” I grumble, watching intently as she wipes a hand down her face. A robe no longer drapes over her body as she stands before me in a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top.
She unfolds her arms from around her waist, waving her hands at her side as she tries to find an explanation. Like she’s going to find one that she thinks will make sense of whatever the hell that was. If she can find one that good, I’ll be more than impressed because it’s impossible, that I do know.
“We were just trying to…” Her words trail off, failing before they even really start, and I stand, glaring at her as I wipe my hands down my thighs.
“You were trying to do what? Make me do something against my will? Don't you think I've been through enough of that already? Don't you think I've lived at the hands of somebody else for long enough?”
The rage that coils inside me is unbounded as I release all the pent-up devastation I've endured this far.
“Polaris, I?—”
“I was starting to trust you, Bryony. I was starting to trust you,” I growl, more than aware that I’m not even letting her speak, but she had plenty of time to talk back there and said nothing.
Nothing .
My heart hammers in my chest as she takes a step toward me. I lift my hand more firmly, halting her again.
“You still can,” she insists, and I cock my eyebrow.
“Can I? I said no, Bryony. I said stop, and my pleas went unheard. It was like I was in a room filled with…what did you call them? Cunts?”
Her head drops, her chin to her chest as she exhales heavily, silently admitting defeat. “Polaris, I'm sorry.”
An apology, yet the desperation inside of me doesn't subside. I turn away from her, unable to look at the reminder of what just happened.
The silence stretches between us, growing more uncomfortable with every passing minute, and I hear her shuffling from foot to foot. “I don't want to leave you here,” she says, and I scoff.
“And I don’t want to be near you right now.”
“We said we would stick together,” she pushes, and I shake my head, finally turning back to her.
“That was before,” I state, the emotion no longer clinging to my voice as defeat washes over me.
“Before what?” she asks, the sadness leaking into her tone, but I push on, letting the dejection take over me.
“Before I realized I'm safer being the loner I’ve always been.”