1 #2
I’ve been training for this my whole life. Now that it’s almost here, of course I would have some nerves. I just need to shake those nerves out and I’ll be right as rain. Ready to come back and step into the life that’s always been waiting for me.
“I just need a little bit of time. Meet you at the Veil after your meeting with Esme?”
“Sure, I should be done in about an hour. I’ll see you there.”
Allie heads toward the stairs, and I leave in the opposite direction, doing my best not to break into a run.
I have an escape.
A tenuous, reckless escape.
But an escape.
I pass other witches as I go, forcing myself to keep my face blank, neutral, in the holier-than-thou, not smiling, not frowning, deliberately aloof expression we all wear here at the coven.
It’s better this way. Better never to show a weakness. Better never to let the witch you pass in the hall see you’re having a bad day or a good one, to never let a crack show.
Back in my room in the long hall of dormitories, I lunge for my knapsack where it’s tucked into the back corner of my closet.
The bag is charmed with a spell Seren and I cooked up together. A variation on a standard expansion charm that also allows for immediate recall. Imbued with Seren’s seeking powers, all I have to do is put my hand inside and call to mind the item I want to retrieve, and there it is.
I’ve carried this bag with me for almost a decade, patching it up when the seams get worn and watching it get slowly more tattered over time, but there’s no way I could ever make myself replace it.
There’s no way I could recast the spell on a new bag all by myself. Even if I could, the thought of losing this small piece of my sister’s magick makes me feel sick.
I grab clothes and toiletries and books, anything I might need for my trip.
There’s really no rhyme or reason to it, and while in some distant corner of my mind I’m aware this is a truly absurd amount to pack for what I’m still telling myself is a short trip to clear my mind, I can’t make myself stop or slow down.
At least until a faint knock from behind me startles me mid-packing, my hand freezing in the air.
Marianne stands in my doorway, watching. “What are you doing?”
A witch I’ve known since the day we both started training at the coven when we were six years old. A witch on her own track toward Ascension, specializing in charms and sorcery, with a fierce, fiery control of her magick that makes her a formidable presence even when she’s not casting.
It’s impossible not to look guilty as I shove the dress I’m holding into my bag and turn to face her.
“Just… going on an outing.”
“With half the stuff in your room?” Her eyes trace the empty shelves, the pile of rumpled clothes on my bed.
“I… I just…”
“You’re going to Ascend, Soleil,” she says, her voice flat. “You’re right on the cusp and now you’re just… what? Running away?”
“Please don’t tell Esme.”
It’s pathetic, the way the plea comes out of my mouth. It makes me sound like I’m all of ten years old, trying to cover up breaking a mug so my mother wouldn’t see.
She props a shoulder on the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I really, really don’t want to talk about it.
Especially not with her.
I consider Marianne a friend, in so far as I can consider any Crescent witch a friend. But even after decades, the unspoken truth lies between us.
We’re rising witches first—always angling for a spot in the coven hierarchy—friends second.
I’ve already exposed too much with my plea about keeping this from the High Priestess, and I make myself shove that scared, shivering part of me as far down inside as I can manage.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say.
Marianne’s expression doesn’t change. Implacable as ever, the perfect version of the Crescent witch mask.
“If you say so.”
She drifts out of the doorframe like she’s not about to hurry off and tell everyone about my freak out.
And maybe she’s not. Maybe she really doesn’t care. Maybe she’s more confident and assured in herself and doesn’t need to take advantage of the opportunity to knock another witch down a few pegs.
Or maybe news of me losing my shit is going to be all over the coven hall before I even make it through the Veil.
With a renewed urgency spurring me on, I finish grabbing everything I might even remotely need from my room. Looking up and down the corridor to make sure no one else is around, I lock my door behind me and take one of the hidden side staircases directly down to the cellar.
It’s quiet down here this early. The younger students will show up in a couple of hours for their lessons. I’m Priestess Sonja’s only advanced apprentice right now, and it thankfully leaves the shared workspaces and common room empty.
Well, mostly empty.
I stop short in the doorway, heart leaping into my throat when I see the common room lounge isn’t empty after all, but it settles right back down when I realize who I’m looking at.
Sonja is napping in an armchair next to the fire.
The drawback of the dreamsbane potion. You might be able to walk through your dreams at will, but it doesn’t make for a very restful night’s sleep.
Another point in my favor, though, as I tiptoe into my workshop.
I’m a little more discerning with what I pack down here.
Technically, none of this is actually mine.
Once a witch Ascends to the position of priestess, they have more say and more ownership over their life in the coven hall, but until that happens, I’m still just apprenticing.
So I probably shouldn’t clean out my entire stock of ingredients.
If anything is going to get my escape noticed and draw Esme’s ire, that would be it.
But I don’t intend to go into the demon realm entirely unprepared, so I spend the next few minutes sorting through hundreds of jars and vials, trying to decide what’s most important.
In the end, I probably take too much.
But who knows what I’ll face in the demon realm?
Poisonings or burns or fevers or rashes—really, anything could happen. And sure, maybe it’s partly just a safety blanket—if I’m prepared for anything, nothing can hurt me, right?—but I can’t deny I feel better when my healer’s kit is stowed safely away with the rest of my things.
There’s nothing left to pack.
Nothing left to do.
No reason for me to still be hanging around when I could be going to meet Allie at the Veil.
Every moment I spend here is a moment someone might come down and ask me what the hell I’m doing, or that word of my departure will make it back to Esme.
But my feet don’t move.
I’m rooted in place in this workshop that’s been as much of a home as anywhere for me these past ten years.
I’ll be back.
I’m sure I’ll be back.
I’ll… probably be back.
Once I figure out where this panic is coming from, once I get over the deep, deep dread I feel any time I seriously imagine myself Ascending, I’ll be back.
Until then, though, I need some breathing room.
Until then, I guess I’ll be spending some time in the demon realm.