Chapter 5 #3
She pushes open the door, and we walk into the entryway.
Stone tiles lead to an old oak staircase.
Coats hang from a coat rack mounted on the wall with wellies and boots slopped on the floor in a pile underneath.
The smell of the familiar cinnamon and sage fills the cottage air.
We continue into a large kitchen where a kettle whistles on the Aga.
Aradia moves it off. The kitchen leads on to an open plan dining room with a large farmhouse style table and chairs.
Dried flowers and herbs hang from a bracket attached to the beams in the ceiling.
Bronze battered pans hang above the oven and shine in the orange light now coming through from the windows.
The sideboards are filled with jars of more dried flowers and trinkets.
The room leads out to French doors that go straight onto a patio and into a garden which matches the front, filled with wildflowers and surrounded by the picket fence at the edge of the tree line.
“I’ll grab your bags while you get to know each other.” Aradia nods at her mother and heads back outside.
My grandmother pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. She heads to the freshly boiled kettle and pours three cups of tea. She brings two over and sits opposite me.
“A lot to take in, right?” She stirs her cup and adds some honey. She offers me some and I accept. Something sweet might help right now.
“Very much so.” I breathe heavily, glad that she’s aware how weird this all is.
“I remember when I turned the age of knowing. Mind you, I was younger than you. I blame that awful city you’ve been in. No wonder you’re a late bloomer.”
“Age of knowing?” I ask, puzzled.
“You’ve been having dreams, right? Feelings that you can’t quite explain?” She looks at me intently.
“Yeah, Aradia mentioned something about you. Like, powers or something. I don’t know.” I feel absolutely ridiculous even asking that.
“Harriet, what I’m about to say will be strange and I’m not asking you to believe me, but maybe trust me to show you who you are, so you can decide if you want to know more.
Or you can head back to London and the feelings will eventually subside.
” A weird energy fills the room like the world has stopped to listen to my grandmother and what she is about to say.
“OK…” I say nervously.
“You’re a witch, Harriet.” She looks at me.
I laugh but stop once I realise she’s actually being serious. I wasn’t sure if Aradia was pulling my leg back in London but it’s clear she wasn’t.
“I… I don’t really get what you’re saying.” I’m aware I’m looking at her like she’s crazy. She must also see it. But she continues.
“The modern world has distorted the idea of a witch to black hats and broomsticks. It’s so much more than that.
It’s deep within our roots. For centuries, the women in our family have all had the same dreams as you.
All came to the age of knowing. Knowing who they truly are.
We are at one with the nature around us, its roots wrapped within our bodies.
We are capable of tuning in to thoughts and feelings of others.
We understand how Mother Earth provides us with gifts to create potions to heal, help and comfort others.
We respect the animals we meet who in turn respect us the same.
“Our souls are not damned like they tell you they are. Our ancestors, your ancestors, were persecuted for being different which led to the witch image you know today. It was born from power, greed and jealousy for our kind. Men were angry that they didn’t hold the same power.
Women were jealous that they were not from our bloodline.
Everything was done to try and wipe us out.
But we hid in plain sight, as we still do now, with only a few trusted to know who we are and where we come from. ”
“So, like spells and things like flying? That’s made up, right?”
“Flying, yes. We’re not birds, Harriet. Spells can be done with the right training and channelling your intentions.
It’s not a wave of a magic wand as such.
It’s more of a recipe and putting yourself into the universe to create the intention for the spell to work, and a little bit more.
Think of it as energy. Your body has more energy than someone who isn’t from the bloodline of the coven, so that energy sometimes needs to expel itself, making things move, spells and so on. ”
“And you guys are from the bloodline of witches?” I ask, trying to wrap my brain around this.
“Which means, so are you. And you, Harriet… well, you are special.”
I stare blankly at her, trying to let her words enter my brain without judgement and doubt.
“I’m sorry, it’s a lot to take in, especially when all I think of is stories and films and books, you know?
Especially because of my name. I mean, how ironic, right?
A magic Harri? Never in my wildest dreams did I even imagine this is real life. ”
She smiles softly, nodding at my scepticism. “The inspiration of stories always comes from real life, darling. Remember, I’m not asking you to believe me, just to trust me.”
“So, fairies and vampires are also real?” I really can’t tell whether this woman is kooky or full-on believes it all.
She laughs and sips her tea. “You have your mother’s fire, that’s for sure. Let’s just start with witches, shall we?”
I laugh nervously, not knowing if she’s being serious, but she sips her tea and smiles at me.
I let myself sink into the information I’ve just been told.
It explains a lot but it’s also way beyond my imagination that this would happen.
To me especially. Last week I was living with my banker fiancé in our swanky London apartment and today I’m in a fairytale cottage being told for the second time in two days that I am indeed from an extensive line of witches.
After the week I’ve had maybe being a witch isn’t such a dreadful thing. I could turn Greg into a frog.