Chapter Ten
The two languished in bed throughout the morning, kissing, cuddling, talking. The sex the night before—vigorous and satisfying. The hunger for more remained but they restrained themselves, more interested in teasing each other.
Between their plans for the day, which were minimal, and what they wanted to do to each other’s bodies, they focused on the spell.
Though Issac remained quiet on a lot of the details, which Schuyler respected, he shared the three items he’d deciphered from the Veilcrix. The first: La Medianoche del Diablo.
“The Devil’s Midnight,” Schuyler translated. “I’ve not heard of that, but I know someone who could help us.” He realized that could be a trip which would give Issac a big dose of witchy fun. “I think first, though, you need a history lesson.”
Schuyler rolled him over, sliding the young man face down until his rear was against Sky’s stomach. Issac’s legs rested on either side of Schuyler, who reached forward and rubbed the back of Issac’s head.
“Reflecte Praeteritum.”
He began to massage Issac’s head. Shimmering, rainbow-colored energy sparked from his fingers as he repeated the incantation; the energy grew stronger as he did, sparking and bubbling into ribbons which sunk through the curls of Issac’s hair and past the scalp.
Within his mind’s eye, the young man’s thoughts drifted away, and he saw only a blank, deep black chalkboard. Upon it, the holographic rainbow energy, like chalk, scribbled across the board with the flow of an ink pen, illustrating in picturesque detail everything Schuyler described.
“Once upon a time… well in this case 1826, a small coven of three witches—Siphen, Xenio, and Enos—began to dream about a lush field next to a lake, one they’d never seen in life. And every night, the field with its high grass and the blue water of the lake called out to them.
“Around a large bonfire, they performed rituals, sat with the ancestors, and sought the answer to the mystery in their dreams. The coven left New England one early spring morning, with no knowledge of their destination.”
Schuyler’s hand ran gently over Issac’s body, massaging him as he spoke.
“Months into their journey, they found themselves on the northern shore of Lake Arrawana, which of course, a bunch of white men later renamed Lake Never—but I digress.
There, they found a group of settlers, happily absent of religious authority, and who were venturing to the western side of the lake looking for a new home.
The coven compensated them handsomely and joined the expedition.
“On the western shore, the coven found the field they’d been dreaming about in an area which contained everything required for a settlement: fields for farming, a river fed by far off mountains leading into the lake, and thick forests to protect. A discovery that was the first of many.
“On their first night, they built a bonfire to celebrate, and as they performed their rituals of drums and dance, they learned why the land had called to them.
Their connection to the Goddesses, to the Mother, to the source of all Magic, whatever you wish to call it, was purest there, giving all witches a boost, but elevating Natural Witches to their full potential.
“Those who had crossed the lake with them, and who believed the coven were siblings looking for a new life, also saw the opportunity of the area, and they agreed to build a settlement together.
Siphen, blessed with the gift of divination, led the community to the perfect spot to build, and they advised on the best times and places to plant and to hunt.
Siphen also saw the arrival of a railroad surveyor a couple of years later.
The surveyor was originally meant to be hundreds of miles away, but the coven, sensing potential, intervened—causing the surveyor to become lost, disoriented, and injured, until he stumbled upon the small settlement of Bairwick.
There, Xenio aided in healing him and then kept him satisfied until he fully recovered, which led him to choose a new path for the planned railroad.
“Being a stop along the railway brought a whole different kind of life to the growing town. The main street quickly became a bustling strip of shops, along with the coven’s tavern and inn, the very same one we’re in right now.
Through spells, and the real magic—sex-work, the coven proved most successful, and generously shared the prosperity with the entire community, ensuring all of Bairwick thrived.
“As I told you the other night, it only takes one of them to wreak havoc. And Bairwick’s first one, and only, was John Hausman.
He’d led the settlers to and across the lake, but over time, he became disenchanted.
The settles chose the coven’s leadership, over his.
A role they had naturally assumed thanks to their mystical intuition, which brought them consecutive successes, bringing bounty to all.
Jealous, and unable to ever fully accept their help, or their non-binary presenting selves as the rest of the town had.
Hausman turned to the drink. And the drink turned him into a violent, angry man.
“One night, convinced the devil was behind their success, he followed the coven and found himself vindicated when he spied on one of their rituals.
He stirred up the first trouble the town ever saw—driving people to pick sides, turning families against each other.
His side: newly found righteous entitlement.
Or theirs: the heathens, the sinners, the witches.
“The town, so infantile and fragile, began to collapse. And Hausman led the charge, delighted at the results. It took only two nights from the moment he saw the coven under the full moon to having the stakes erected to burn them.
“The mob he enraged dragged the coven out of the inn and into the streets, ignoring their pleas for mercy, as they bound them to the stakes.
Hausman declared himself newly appointed by god to deliver justice, charging the coven with witchcraft, collusion with the devil, seducing men, all the fun stuff they like to say we do.
He set the torches down on each pyre, happily watching them burn.
“Men are dumb. Witches are not. The coven revealed themselves before the mob, stepping out from behind the fire, clapping sarcastically. Hausman, confused, looked upon the burning stakes now that the Glamour was removed, and saw his wife and children engulfed in flames.
“They knew the act was extreme, but they also knew they could not let their claim to the land go easily.
They offered Hausman, offered all who held torches and hate in their heart, a choice: leave, go back across the lake, and never return—or perish right then and there.
Hausman refused, and the mob backed him, even as they watched him self-immolate in front of their eyes.
The others retaliated, and the night was filled with fire and fear.
“The settlers’ bodies, all of them, were sent to the bottom of the lake.
The areas where their blood touched the earth were salted and burned.
They cleansed the land and then fortified it, vowing no non-witch would ever desecrate their town again, and sent out a call to all witches, urging them in dreams to come find Bairwick.
And they did, making this place what it is today. ”
Schuyler retracted his hands, knowing the chalkboard vision was wrapping up. Issac twisted around and sat up, kissing him, no longer interested in teasing.
Schuyler led Issac down a path that was little more than thin glints of red clay and grey rocks popping peeking through the thick green covering the path.
Schuyler knew the way and navigated the trail quickly, while Issac, more studious in his exploration, fell a little behind.
He caught up when they reached flatter terrain, which followed along the Bairwick River for the rest of the three-mile hike ahead of them.
“Three miles?” Issac questioned, shocked, looking down at his pristine grey high-tops, “I would have worn different shoes.”
“A witch would be able to fix that.” Schuyler didn’t slow down; he lifted his left hand and circled each finger clockwise individually from pinky to thumb. “Kaeru.” Issac watched his high-tops glow brightly then change into brown hiking boots.
“Are you going to teach me how to do that?”
“Intention: think of the item you want to replace, and what with. Incantation: Kaeru. The finger dance—well, that was for funsies; you would use your wand.” Schuyler stopped and took a seat on half a fallen tree trunk that had once blocked the trail. “Go on, you try.”
“Right here?” he questioned. “I don’t want a repeat of the other day.” Issac shuffled in his spot. “You sure?”
Schuyler nodded, “Of course, and we won’t.” He repeated the steps again for him.
Issac pulled the wand out of his back pocket, loosened up as his arm, and repeated what had been instructed.
It took Issac a moment to get it, like a car struggling to warm up in the winter, but soon he changed hiking boots into Chanel clogs, then a pair of Air Force Ones, sassy thigh-high boots, and monster-foot slippers—before he returned to the hiking boots Schuyler had chosen.
He looked up when finished, his face bright with pride and excitement.
Sky bounced up from his seat and scooped up Issac, hugging him.
“You did great.” He held him for a moment, then spun him around in a slow dance.
They held each other tightly on the grassy bank of the river.
They acknowledged the moment with a deep, passionate kiss before resuming their stride.
Issac changed his footwear a couple more times, admiring each one, the wand, and his own skills.