CHAPTER TWO #2
Nyssa had spent most of the morning simply trailing around the cottage, from room to room, like some sort of unmoored spirit forced to wander through the memories of her childhood over and over again.
The kitchen was still cluttered with various copper pots and pans, the ceiling still adorned with dried herbs Nyssa had once helped her grandmother forage.
The living room was still filled with mismatched furniture and cushions made by Lisabeth Hawthorne’s skilled hands, and Nyssa’s old doll’s house was still tucked away in the far corner, next to the window seat where her old blanket and Nyx’s favoured cushion still sat.
The more Nyssa searched, the more remnants of her old life she found.
Toys and books she hadn’t touched in years.
Clothing she’d long outgrown and never thought she’d see again.
Even her old bedroom looked untouched by time.
The walls were still the same dark purple she’d begged her grandmother to paint them, and the bed was still covered in her old, worn sun-and-moon blanket.
Nyssa had honestly expected all traces of her to have been erased. Lisabeth Hawthorne was sentimental, yes, but after the way Nyssa had acted before she’d left, her grandma honestly would have had every right to throw all of Nyssa’s belongings into a particularly fierce fire.
‘Why didn’t you?’ Nyssa asked her grandma absently, trailing a finger over the dusty windowsill.
In the early-morning sunlight, the dust particles looked like dancing specks of light, and Nyx absently pawed at the ones closest to her before jumping up on to the blanket, circling three times, and curling into a ball.
Normally, such a sight would have alleviated Nyssa’s steadily worsening mood.
Instead, it conjured the memory of a much smaller Nyx in the exact same position.
Of Nyssa, aged sixteen, standing in this very spot, hands on her hips and tears pricking her eyes, as her grandma stood at the threshold of her room.
You’re making a mistake, Nyssa, her grandmother had said. A witch’s magic should belong to no one but herself. The coven will simply use you for their own gain!
You’re wrong! The coven helps people, Grandma, and the power being a part of one will help me wield is an opportunity I can’t pass up. You might be happy here, wasting your power on potions and tonics, but I’m not.
The words had flown out before she’d been able to stop them, and almost immediately, Nyssa had wished she could take them back. But her grandmother had stiffened, her eyes glazing over, and said, Then perhaps it is best that you leave, after all.
It would have hurt less if her grandma had struck her.
She could see Lisabeth now, her skirts trailing behind her as she turned and left Nyssa alone in her room.
She’d been too stubborn back then to chase after her.
Too afraid that she’d pushed hard enough that her grandmother now truly wanted her gone.
And so despite how badly it hurt, Nyssa had packed a bag of essentials, placed Nyx in the basket on the back of her broom, and only let her tears fall as she’d flown away from Nighthaven for the last time.
Back then, she’d been so certain she was right.
Her grandmother had been a powerful witch, and the community of Nighthaven had respected her immensely, but she’d never believed in the idea of organized magic.
It was why she’d hardly spoken to Nyssa’s late mother at all – only a handful of choice words each summer when Nyssa was left in her care so her mother could focus on coven matters, and little more than strained correspondence once Nyssa moved in for good at fourteen.
Nyssa had left Nighthaven for the last time two summers after her mother had left her under Lisabeth’s guardianship, determined to follow in her footsteps and become one of the greatest coven mages of all time.
Determined to prove to her grandma – and herself – that organized magic wasn’t the curse Lisabeth believed it to be.
Instead, she’d wound up burnt out and suspended. But worst of all?
She’d started to prove her grandmother right.
Nyx, who had jumped down from the windowsill, brushed up against her calves and stared up at her with sad, worried eyes.
Shaking herself, Nyssa scooped up her familiar, cradled her in her arms, and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
‘That’s enough moping about,’ she proclaimed.
Sitting around reminiscing would only make her feel worse.
She needed a project, something to keep her mind occupied.
And the cottage’s current state of cluttered disarray was the perfect place to start.
But first, she needed to refuel, both her body and her spirit, and in Nyssa’s humble opinion, there was no better way to do so than with a good cup of tea.
She made her way into the large kitchen, placed Nyx down on the windowsill above the carved wooden kitchen cabinets, and got to work.
Her grandma’s tea cupboard was, thank the ancestors, still stocked with various scribbled recipes and tea blends, and soon she found herself curled up in her favourite childhood armchair, the scent of spiced cinnamon in her nose.
With Nyx curled in her lap, and the roaring fire warming away the chill in her bones, Nyssa’s problems seemed a little less world-ending.
It was for this reason only that she found the courage to withdraw the envelope from her satchel, the one that had been shoved beneath her office door an hour after she’d retreated from the coven ritual chamber like a scalded cat.
She hadn’t opened it then. Had taken one look at the official wax symbol of her coven – a tawny owl with its wings spread in flight and its talons outstretched – and shoved it down into the depths of her enchanted bag.
But she couldn’t avoid it for ever. Not if she wanted to figure out exactly how she was going to reclaim everything she’d lost.
And so, with a long slurp of tea and the weight of Nyx on her lap, Nyssa tore open the seal and slid out her official notice of suspension.
For the attention of High Mage Nyssa Hawthorne,
As decreed by The Coven of the Sacred Owl, in accordance with mage law, you are hereby suspended from your position as coven leader until you can demonstrate a vast improvement in magical control.
As per the details of your suspension, you shall hereby be banned from participating in any coven activities, including but not limited to: rituals, weekly meetings, warding, coven sabbat celebrations, initiation ceremonies and coven fieldwork.
Should you decide to vacate the covenstead, please ensure the coven is provided with your new address, so that further details on how you may reclaim your position as Head Mage may be provided.
Blessed be,
Edith Kelster
Interim Head Mage of The Coven of The Sacred Owl
That was it. No ‘we’re sorry to see you go’ or ‘we wish you well’.
That wasn’t the coven’s way, at least not when it came to official business.
Still, it stung. Especially with the added blow of Edith stepping so readily into the role of head mage.
Nyssa had been leading them now for almost a year, and they’d suspended her like the bonds she’d formed with them meant nothing.
That is your fault, that voice in her head scolded, it was your failures that led them to this.
A sigh escaped Nyssa’s lips as she read the letter over for a second time. And then a third. With each readthrough, the pit in her stomach deepened, until not even the soothing effect of her tea or Nyx’s soft snores could distract her from her shame.
Her inner voice was right. This was all her fault.
The coven – her coven – were unprotected now because of her, and a small part of Nyssa didn’t want to write back to them to tell them where she’d ended up.
It would be easier to let them forget about her.
To hide away in her grandmother’s cottage and never have to face her shame.
But it would also be cowardly. And Nyssa Hawthorne might have been a failure, but she certainly was not a coward.
She’d just picked up her favourite quill – dark wood with a jade-green feather – when she heard the echo of footsteps on her grandmother’s porch.
Every muscle in her body tensed, and her magic, sleepy and content to finally be allowed to rest for the first time in months, leapt to her fingertips like the sparks of a fire.
Fur bristling, Nyx stood up on Nyssa’s lap, her green eyes wide and alert as they landed on the front door. Nyssa didn’t know whether her familiar was reacting to Nyssa’s own tension or sensing a danger of her own.
What she did know was that if whoever was outside was here to cause trouble, they were about to get the full force of Nyssa’s terrible mood.