Chapter 2 - Hannah
Three Days Ago
“Just as we discussed at our previous meeting, I have called upon the alphas of surrounding werewolf packs for the conference,” the High Priestess announces to the witches seated in Augusta Hall.
Not everyone is pleased by the news.
“She’s making a mistake,” Shanice, one of the witches who grew up in the coven, like her mother before her, whispers as she leans in, her voice laced with scorn.
I know exactly why Shanice isn’t always trusting of Amalia’s decisions. She still believes that it was Amalia’s ineptitude that led to her mother’s death last year.
Keeping my gaze pinned ahead of me, I don’t say anything to Shanice. She’s hardly a close friend, but she’s one of my sisters, and all I can do is tolerate her.
Luckily for me, Milly comes to my rescue, sliding her arm through mine and pulling me toward her.
“Ignore her,” Milly whispers, and that prompts a reaction from me as I glance at my friend and give her a gentle nod. We both know not to entertain Shanice’s shenanigans, which threaten to disrupt the peace the High Priestess works hard to keep in the coven.
There are real threats out there—like the demons who were behind a handful of our sisters losing their lives, including Shanice’s mother.
Things have hardly been the same since the demons arrived in the valley, devastating our small community of mystical women. But Amalia has been doing everything she can to ensure that we’re safe, and calling a conference with surrounding werewolf packs and another coven sounds like a good plan.
“The conference will take place this weekend. The heads of all three packs in Helena Valley will stay over for two nights. It is of utmost importance that we are on our best behavior, showing a united front as we aim to forge this alliance with them,” Amalia continues.
“Until then, and even beyond that, we shouldn’t let our guards down. Having the help of werewolves and others like us may be an advantage, but the demon threat remains imminent. The safety of this coven is precarious, with or without the alliance. We cannot afford more casualties.”
Amalia gulps hard, and it’s clear to see that the High Priestess still struggles to look Shanice in the eye. It wasn’t her fault, but she blames herself for not protecting her sisters.
Milly and I exchange knowing looks as Amalia goes on.
“Because of this, we will add additional runes and cast fresh spells in the vicinity of Augusta. Having many leaders concentrated in one place may well be a reason for the demons to attack again.”
An unsettling silence washes over the cabin, and Milly gives my hand a tight squeeze.
“How much is known about the demons and why they’re after us?” someone at the back asks.
“We still don’t know much,” Amalia responds with a sigh. “But Alpha William of the Blood Mill Pack is rather eager to attend the conference. His wolves have picked up on anomalies on their borders. We might be able to learn more from them.”
“Then this alliance is a good idea,” Milly says. “We can join forces and end the demons once and for all.”
“It’s either a good plan or a very stupid one,” Shanice clicks her tongue. “Wolves have not always proven friendly.”
“No, they have not,” Amalia concedes. “But there is no harm in expanding our resources with wolves who can be trusted.”
Shanice narrows her eyes. “And how sure are you that these can be trusted?”
“I am not,” Amalia admits. “But we won’t know for sure until we’ve met them at this weekend’s conference.
Besides, Nightcreek will be there.” The High Priestess rises to her feet, her overflowing white cloak spreading out behind her like waves.
“For now, you are tasked with gathering herbs from the garden.” She passes me a list with a nod.
“The rest of you may return to your previous duties. This meeting is adjourned.”
I tuck the list into my satchel, waiting for the others to clear the cabin and promising to meet Milly outside for our herb-gathering mission.
Amalia must have sensed that I needed to speak to her, because she hung back when the hall was cleared.
“What is it, Hannah? Do you wish to speak to me?”
I nod tentatively. “Clarissa is running out of medication,” I say, to which she nods, a knowing smile curling only one side of her mouth.
“I know, my darling,” she says as her green eyes glitter like emerald gems, a hint of amusement in her tone.
Gone is the seriousness of her voice from just now, replaced by the softness of a mother.
“That’s why I tasked you with gathering herbs,” she says as she pushes her pin-straight ash-blonde hair across her shoulder with a graceful flick.
“Not everything I need is for the protection spells.”
She winks, and I giggle.
“I have to be careful when all eyes are on me at a volatile time such as this,” she adds.
“Shanice…?” I whisper, and Amalia sighs.
“She will never forgive me.”
“You did nothing wrong, Sister Amalia.”
“I know. But I am not taking any chances. Especially when it means someone else can get caught in the crossfire.”
She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, sending warmth through me as familiar as a mother’s embrace. I’m just about to thank her for the list of herbs when her ringtone blares from somewhere beneath the many folds of her cloak.
“It’s an important call,” she says without taking the phone out. Her brows furrow softly as if she can read the screen from where it’s hidden.
I nod and watch her leave the hall, sauntering out with graceful steps that make her appear like she’s floating across the floor. Turning my eyes to the list of herbs in my hand, I take a deep breath before heading out to meet Milly.
***
Present
I pinch the rubber bulb until the glass pipette is filled to the tip with the pink liquid from the bottle. Once full, I turn to Clarissa and notice the flicker of dread in her brown eyes.
“What’s wrong, Bug?” I ask, my brows knitting to a tight frown.
Clarissa gulps hard, her dragon-shaped eyes flitting to the pipette as she drags in a breath.
“I don’t like it very much,” she grimaces, then lifts her eyes to mine. “Do I really have to take this, Mommy?”
I sigh and drop the pipette back into the tincture bottle, then shift closer to the little girl who is a replica of me.
Her brown eyes soften from their usual sharp fierceness, and she nuzzles her face into my neck.
I card a hand through her copper brown hair, holding her tightly to my chest to console her.
“You have to take it, Bug,” I whisper at the top of her head. “It’s for your own good.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she protests, her voice muffled against my sweater.
“No, there isn’t,” I concede with a sigh as I stroke her hair and plant a kiss at the top of her head. “There’s nothing wrong with you. The syrup is only a way to…boost your immune system, and ensure you’re healthy.”
I gulp when the lie leaves a bitter aftertaste on my tongue.
It’s a white lie.
That’s what Amalia called it when Clarissa was old enough to ask questions.
When she couldn’t speak, it was easier to administer the potion by consuming it myself and breastfeeding her. But as my daughter grew older, she hasn’t stopped questioning why she needs to take the medication every night.
I’ve always told her that it’s a multivitamin. But the truth is, it’s a potion brewed slowly for three days, a recipe that remains a secret, even to me.
It’s better that way. Only Amalia knows how to brew the potion, and she’s the only one, apart from me, who knows that Clarissa needs the potion at all. It’s the only way her true identity can be kept a secret from our sisters, and especially from herself.
My daughter, Clarissa Young, is no ordinary witch like the others.
She’s part witch, part werewolf, living in a coven of full-fledged witches.
Having her drink the potion for nearly eight years is how I’ve managed to maintain my peace in the August Moon Circle—the coven that found me running across the rolling hills of Augusta, with nothing but shame and heartache lugged in imaginary bags.
I’d been running, exiled to the trenches of the valley I’d been born in, a face stricken with tears that clung to my cheeks as I padded barefoot toward the unknown.
Amalia was the one who found me while she was preparing wards and runes on the outskirts of the coven territory. She didn’t ask questions—just touched her delicate fingers to my cheek and saw what she needed to see in her vision.
The only reason I knew she was having a vision at all was that I witnessed her eyes turning ice-white for a few seconds before they shimmered emerald green again. She never told me what she saw in her vision, but she welcomed me with open arms.
“I” soon became “we” when I skipped my next menses, and the only thing I heard from Amalia about her vision as she held a positive test was, “My vision was correct. You are with child.”
The next couple of months went into preparing for Clarissa’s birth, and on the evening she was born, Amalia handed me the first batch of masking potion.
Without having to tell her, Amalia already knew that I had conceived a werewolf’s child and that I’d been running from the pack, which is why Clarissa’s true identity needed to be masked—so that no one would ever know that her father was a werewolf.
“Please, Bug…” I whisper gently, a lump lodged in my throat from revisiting old wounds I wish would heal. But the scars remain, eight years later. And I know it’s only a matter of time before my daughter questions me about her father.
For now, I can just keep her safe from the world of the werewolves and make sure her wolf never emerges.
“I need you to take the syrup. It’s the only way I’ll know for sure that you’re safe.”
Clarissa sniffles, then pulls back to stare up at me, her eyes glossed over with tears.
“I don’t like the taste of strawberries, Mommy,” she pouts. “But I will take my meds for you.”