CHAPTER SEVEN #2
Enclosed in this envelope is a cursed object. In order to pass the test, you must overcome its defences and unravel the curse. This trial is meant to test both your magic and your ability to master your greatest fears. In order to succeed, one must be strong of mind.
On behalf of the coven, I wish you all the best,
Blessed be,
Edith Kelster
Interim Head Mage of The Coven of the Sacred Owl
Some of Nyssa’s earlier apprehension began to sink in as she withdrew the cursed object – a delicate, iron ring woven to resemble thorns – and held it in her hand.
She started to tremble almost instantly, the anxiety and fear she’d felt about using her magic for the first few weeks in Nighthaven returning with a vengeance.
You can’t do this, her inner voice mocked. There’s no point in even trying. You’re weak.
Nyssa was about to give in to the voice, to throw the ring down the garden’s old well and accept her fate as a failure, when the fallen autumn leaves at her feet began to swirl in a breeze that carried the gentle scent of her grandma’s magic.
Nyssa’s own magic stirred in response, bringing forth the same sensation she’d felt after successfully casting her enchantments at the café.
And as it did, the ring in her hand turned hot enough to burn.
Weak, you’re weak, you’re—
Nyssa dropped the ring onto the damp grass. The voice in her head cut off, leaving her with her own racing, frantic thoughts.
Well, I guess I know what the curse does.
It was a smart move on Edith’s part. A witch’s magic stemmed from their emotions and mental state, and with the incidents Nyssa had caused, her fellow mage had clearly concluded that Nyssa’s were both in disarray. No doubt she believed this to be a task Nyssa would fail.
Nyssa steeled herself.
She was going to prove Edith wrong.
Pulling her sleeve over her hand, Nyssa bent down and picked up the ring from where it had fallen, careful not to touch it with her skin, but only with the fabric of her sleeve.
She hurried the remaining few steps to her front door and pushed it open.
She quickly dropped the ring on the counter, before gathering it up safely in an old dishcloth.
With her free hand, she grabbed the enchanted candelabra from the cupboard she’d stored it in under the stairs and began the ascent up to the cottage’s attic, Nyx jumping from step to step in front of her, leading the way.
It had been her grandma’s favourite room in the house, and Nyssa could still picture her standing before the large, circular window with the moon at her back and candleflames flickering in her eyes as she walked Nyssa through her first spell circle.
It was the only room Nyssa had left untouched, aside from dusting away some cobwebs here and there.
After placing both the ring and the candelabra on the large circular altar in the centre of the space, Nyssa padded over the cold wooden floor to the large, oak chest beneath the window.
The hinges creaked as she opened the lid, releasing the soothing scent of Lisabeth Hawthorne’s magic into the air.
Some of Nyssa’s nerves were instantly eased as she breathed in the smell and reached in to pick up the large, worn leather spellbook nestled safely inside the chest. She hadn’t touched her grandma’s grimoire in years, but the weight of it, the feel of the cracked leather beneath her skin, was a sensation her body had never forgotten.
Nyssa ran her hand over the cover, feeling the magic that bound it shut slowly unravelling beneath her touch.
It was an ancient spell that meant the grimoire would only open for those of the same bloodline as the witch or warlock who had first claimed it, designed to protect the magic contained within.
The book seemed to warm beneath her touch, and Nyssa’s fingertips tingled with magic as she carefully opened it.
Nyx stood beside her, tail swishing and pupils wide, her small, lithe body vibrating with her purrs.
‘You can sense her too, huh?’ Nyssa asked. Nyx trilled at her in response and headbutted Nyssa’s calf, before gazing up at the grimoire in Nyssa’s hands, pupils blown wide. She’d been so young when she’d seen it – and Lisabeth – last, but clearly, she remembered both as vividly as Nyssa did.
‘A grimoire is a witch’s most powerful tool,’ Nyssa whispered the inscription on the first page. ‘If you are ever lost, let its wisdom guide you to the right path.’
Nyssa needed guidance now more than ever.
Slowly, she began flicking through the intricately decorated parchment, reading over each spell briefly in search of one that might help with her first trial.
Casting a protective circle, Invoking the Spirits, Divination, Enchantments and Curses …
Nyssa paused, her heart racing as she scanned her grandma’s looped handwriting at the bottom of the page.
To unweave a curse from a tainted object.
Nyssa brushed her thumb against the long-dried ink. ‘Thanks, Grandma.’
After gathering the ingredients required (a piece of string, an athame and a small cauldron) from the chest beneath her grandma’s old altar, Nyssa placed everything on the circular table.
The thought of touching the ring again made Nyssa’s stomach turn cold, and her fingers trembled slightly as she unwrapped it from the cloth and, taking as much care as she could, began to tie the piece of string around it.
‘This string I knot, once, twice, thrice.’
Nyssa’s voice echoed back to her in the otherwise empty attic, so much smaller than it used to be. The cold metal of the ring bit into her skin like ice water, bringing with it a wave of anxiety so strong it stole the breath from her lungs. This won’t work. You’ll fail, just like you always do.
Nyssa gritted her teeth. She focused on the tingling warmth of magic in her fingertips, on the faint aroma of her grandma’s magic that still clung to the pages of the grimoire and on Nyx’s comforting presence at her feet.
And as she did, she willed her magic to weave around the ring in the same pattern as the string, binding it – and its wicked magic – inside.
‘To undo the curse, I pay the price.’
She dropped the ring into the cauldron and pricked her fingertip with the athame, letting her blood drip on to the ring.
The metal hissed, the sound almost human-like, as smoke began to rise from it, thick with the rotten tang of sulphur.
The smell crept up Nyssa’s nose. Clogged the back of her throat.
Even if you pass this trial, you’ll fail the next, the curse whispered. You’re not fit to be head mage. You’re incompetent, and the next time you fail, it shall not be you who pays the price.
And then: Look.
Nyssa’s gaze immediately went to the image that appeared in the billowing smoke before her.
Her entire coven, their eyes bulging, mouths spewing black liquid as they choked in the same way Noah had.
The sight was so jarring that Nyssa had to grip the edge of the table to stop herself from turning away.
It isn’t real. She willed herself to believe the words, repeating them silently over and over.
But it will be real, the curse replied. There is a wound festering within you, and if you return to the coven, it will cause you to destroy them all.
Nyssa tried to turn her gaze back to the grimoire, to continue her spell, but the next part of the incantation stuck behind her lips. She was frozen, unable to look away from the image conjured in the smoke. All she could smell was rot, and death, and—
Apples. Sweet with cinnamon.
A gentle breeze blew through the attic, just powerful enough to distort the image in the smoke.
And through it, Nyssa could see the large, circular window where her grandma had once taught her how to cast a spell circle.
Could almost feel her grandma’s hand on her own and hear her voice, sure and reassuring, in her ear. Intent is just as important as power.
Nyssa had never intended to hurt Noah. Yes, she’d made a mistake. Gotten careless. But that wasn’t a reason to give up.
It was a reason to try.
Nyssa concentrated on the magical knots she’d tied around the ring, on commanding them to unravel, one by one.
‘Knots unravelled, one, two three;
I command this curse to no longer be.’
The ring began to rattle in the cauldron as the physical knots unravelled one by one, so violently that the cauldron itself began to shake.
But Nyssa kept her focus on the knots, on her intent to unweave the curse as she willed her magic to untie them.
And finally, when the third knot slipped loose, the ring fell still.
The smoke in the air dissipated, taking the foul stench with it. Nyx hopped up on to the table and peered into the cauldron, and then looked back up at Nyssa with a pleased trill.
‘Well, if you say it’s safe …’ Nyssa reached into the cauldron. Gently, she brushed one fingertip against the now not-freezing metal. When no awful voice crept through her thoughts, she scooped it into her palm and waited for the curse to trigger.
But the only voice in Nyssa’s head was her own, and when the first candle on the enchanted candelabra lit up, its bright flame was almost as fierce as the pride burning through her.