Chapter 15
Rayna was halfway through sorting Ostara candles by scent profile. Lavender for calm, Bergamot for clarity, and cinnamon for “please let no one explode this week”. Then a magical bubble the size of a basketball floated in.
It shimmered through the library doors like it belonged there, wobbling a little, then hovering directly over Katie’s head.
“What the hell is that?” Katie leaned back in her chair, blinking as a goldfish inside the bubble blinked right back.
“Oh, good,” Victoria said, peering over her glasses. “It found her.”
Katie stared at the floating bubble. “Found me? Is this some kind of magical drone?”
The goldfish swam a lazy loop, then looked at her again. “You’ll need more cheese,” it said in a high-pitched, slightly echoey voice. “Also, the moon is hungry.”
Katie recoiled. “It talks?”
Rayna clapped her hands together with a delighted little spark of mischief. “Katie, meet your familiar.”
“My what now?” Katie asked.
Sahara stepped forward, already grinning. “Your familiar. It’s a magical companion, chosen based on your energy. They appear when you’re ready.”
“I’m not ready,” Katie said quickly. “And I was kind of hoping for a wolf or a cat. Something that doesn’t look like it escaped from an aquarium.”
The fish burped a single bubble and said, “He has eyes. Two of them. But he borrowed them from a goat.”
Joell tilted her head. “That’s cryptic.”
Rayna nodded, eyebrows raised. “I think he or she is psychic. Which makes sense.”
Katie looked from the fish to the witches. “Psychic?”
Magda smiled. “Some familiars are protectors. Some amplify power. Some, like this one, are seers. Sort of. Sometimes. When they remember.”
The fish did a slow backflip. “I forget things. But only the important ones.”
“Oh, joy,” Katie said.
Victoria circled around to get a better look. “That’s a bubble of enchanted water. It’ll follow you, like a magical weather balloon full of nonsense.”
“I feel so honored,” Katie muttered, deadpan.
“Yeah, from the witch who has a trash panda, wearing armor,” Rayna said.
“I told you, I don’t let him leave my apartment in Montreal unless it’s a life-or-death emergency. You’re welcome.”
“You’ll need to name it,” Joell said seriously to Katie, as if this were the naming of a sacred sword or new car.
Katie blinked. “You’re kidding.”
Rayna shook her head. “Nope. Naming a familiar bonds it to you. It’s part of the tradition.”
The goldfish swam closer and whispered, “You could call me Brenda.”
Katie stared at it. “You don’t look like a Brenda.”
“I’ve been many things,” the fish said dreamily. “A queen. A dream. A balloon.”
Rayna leaned in and stage-whispered, “Pick something before it starts listing past lives.”
Katie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Uh… Bubbles.”
The fish blinked.
“You’re naming your psychic familiar Bubbles?” Victoria asked, smirking.
“Unless it prefers Queen Brenda Dream-Balloon the Third?” Katie countered.
The fish looked smug. “Bubbles is acceptable.”
Joell stepped forward and put a hand on Katie’s shoulder. “It may not be what you expected. But there’s a reason it chose you. You’ll understand when you’re ready.”
“Or when I sleep,” Katie mumbled.
The witches smiled knowingly.
And somewhere, in the magical humming of the mansion’s bones, the floor gave a tiny, pre-rip tremble, because the mountain retreat was calling.
Bubbles made another slow circle above Katie’s head, leaving a gentle trail of sparkles in the air. She eyed it warily as she followed the others through the hallway. “So, this thing is just going to follow me now?”
“Yes,” Joell said, without looking back.
“Everywhere?” Katie pressed.
“Yup.”
“Even to the bathroom?”
“That’s between you and Bubbles.”
The fish hiccupped. “Privacy is an illusion.”
Katie huffed out a fishy-smelling breath. “Ugh. I like my illusions.”
They reached the great foyer just as the floor beneath them gave a deep, stretching creak, like an old tree waking up. The candles flickered. A low hum thrummed through the walls. The chandelier above them began to sway, not from any breeze, but as if the house itself had expanded.
“Showtime,” Rayna said.
Victoria rolled her shoulders and muttered an incantation under her breath. Sigils bloomed briefly in the air like phosphorescent tattoos. Magda traced runes into the floor with a sprig of dried lavender. Joell unscrewed a small vial of spring water and dashed it across the threshold.
Katie gripped the doorframe. “Uh… What exactly is about to happen?”
“The mansion is going to magically yeet itself across several states,” Rayna said brightly.
“It’s very scenic,” Sahara added, as if this were a tourism brochure and not a reality-shattering magical event.
“I didn’t even pack!” Katie shouted over the rising hum.
“No need,” Victoria said. “Your room, your belongings, even Bubbles will reconfigure with us.”
As the last drops of the ritual water hit the floor, the world tilted.
Everything, including the books, the lamps, and the paintings on the wall, blurred for a second like a watercolor left out in the rain.
Then there was a sound, like wind being sucked into something hollow and shot out the other end.
It reminded her of a British TV show where a Police box made a similar noise.
The foyer expanded and contracted; space warped around the edges like a heat shimmer.
Then, CRACK!
The mansion jerked, not physically, but dimensionally.
One moment it was in Long Island. The next, it was nestled high in the Tennessee mountains, surrounded by mist-laced trees and blooming dogwood.
The air shifted. It was fresher, sharper, and carried the scent of pine and something older, deeper, like the breath of the earth itself.
The witches barely flinched. This was just another Tuesday.
Katie staggered, grabbing a nearby sconce for balance. “What the hell was that?”
“Congratulations,” Rayna said, grinning. “You’ve just experienced your first transdimensional mansion shift.”
Sahara opened a window and inhaled deeply. “Ah. I love the mountain air this time of year. So fresh.”
Katie peeked out the window. Snow still clung to the peaks in the distance, but fragrant hyacinths were blooming at the mansion’s edge. Birds called out in sharp, musical bursts.
The psychic goldfish did a little somersault. “The mountains are watching.”
Katie exhaled, long and slow. “That tracks.”
Rayna clapped her hands once. “Alright, witches and fish. Time to get settled. We’ve got a ritual to prep and a newbie to initiate.”
“Standing right here,” Katie muttered.
“And an entire Ostara ceremony to pull off by moonrise,” Magda mentioned.
Joell nodded. “Let’s set up the altar and get the kitchen items sorted. We’ll need food, candles, offerings…”
Victoria raised an eyebrow. “And someone’s going to have to help Katie with her ritual garb. Because she’s still wearing mundane jeans and a hoodie that says, ‘Send Noods.’”
Katie looked down. “This is vintage ironic sarcasm.”
Rayna handed her a flowing, green robe. “Welcome to magic. Get changed, Witchlet.”
Back in Brooklyn, there was a knock at the door. Three short raps, sharp and sure.
Michael froze mid-sip, then set his coffee down and moved toward the door quietly. Daniel reached for the bat leaning against the coat rack, because they weren’t expecting anyone, and New York didn’t believe in friendly surprises.
Michael checked the peephole.
“Major Payne,” he said.
Daniel exhaled. “Great. Just what we need. More intensity.”
Michael opened the door. “You’re early.”
Major Payne stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He carried a black duffel slung over one shoulder and wore the same expression he always did, as if the world owed him answers.
“Trouble doesn’t clock in,” he said. He scanned the room, sharp eyes sweeping over the closed curtains, the stacks of magical weapons on the dining table, the faint runes chalked along the window frames. “Good. You’ve already started.”
Daniel dropped the bat and folded his arms. “Started? We’ve been prepping since the witches left. You didn’t exactly give us a lot to go on.”
Payne dropped the duffel with a heavy thunk. “You’ve got more now.”
He unzipped the bag and pulled out a bundle of weapons. Mostly metal, all dangerous. Silver, iron, steel. Some clearly mundane, some humming with magical energy, like they’d been cursed or blessed, or both, depending on the mood of the witch who’d last handled them.
Michael picked up a small, rune-etched axe. “This was in the vault. Did Rayna give it to you?”
Payne didn’t answer. He was already pulling out thick parchment sheets, each covered in complex sigils, and a bundle of candles bound in what looked suspiciously like human hair.
Daniel pointed. “If that’s hair, I don’t want to know who it’s from.”
“Don’t worry. You haven’t met them.” Payne tossed a candle to each of them. “We’re reinforcing everything. Wards, cloaking, psychic dampeners. Something’s sniffing around the girl, and I don’t know if it’s working alone.”
Michael frowned. “You think it’s tracking her?”
“I think it was tracking her. Now that she’s off the grid, it might double back here, trying to track her through us. It could try for a link. Scent markers, latent psychic impressions, whatever it can find.”
Daniel muttered, “Why do they always leave behind scent markers?”
Payne handed them each a narrow strip of enchanted leather. “Tie this around your left ankle. Keeps your thoughts clear. If you’ve had any weird dreams lately, don’t ignore them.”
Michael tied his without complaint. “I don’t dream, Major, unless you count wishful thinking.”
“It’s not the dreaming I’m worried about,” Payne said. “It’s what happens after.”
They got to work without more questions.
Payne marked the walls and windows with chalk sigils that glowed briefly, then sank into the plaster.
Daniel set out motion wards and boundary triggers.
Michael checked the battery level on the anti-possession grenades they weren’t technically supposed to have.