Chapter 21
The teleport hit like a magical roller coaster. The mansion re-formed not with grace but with a dramatic whump, shaking loose half the pine needles in the Tri-State area. Windows rattled. Shutters flapped. A family of deer bolted into the underbrush, alarmingly startled.
Magda exhaled slowly, bracing herself on the nearest wall. “Okay, that was extra.”
Brianna steadied her coffee. “Teleport turbulence. The mansion’s still sensitive.”
The mansion took offense and flickered the hallway lights in a mild strobe.
“See?” Brianna muttered.
Sahara peeked through the front window. “Good news. We’re in Tennessee. Bad news: we appear to have landed slightly crooked.”
The whole mansion tilted twelve degrees to the left. Wally slid across the polished marble floor like a furry hockey puck and bumped into Joell’s boots.
Joell sighed. “We are not living at a funhouse angle all week.” She snapped her fingers. “Mansion, straighten yourself up.”
The mansion grumbled. The floor leveled reluctantly, like a teenager getting out of bed before noon.
The front doors burst open before anyone could comment. “Welcome home!” sang Esmerelda, the mountain witch neighbor, wearing a flour-dusted apron and a smile bright enough to cleanse bad karma. She carried a tray piled with fresh-baked brownies.
“Lammas brownies,” she announced. “Infused with grounding herbs, emotional stabilizers, and one defensive blessing because y’all look like chaos dipped in sparkles.”
“That’s accurate,” Magda admitted.
Wally tried to climb Esmerelda’s leg for a brownie. She hip-checked him aside with the ease of someone who had clearly met wallabies before.
“Not for familiar stomachs,” she warned. “Unless you want to see sounds and hear colors, little fella.”
Wally squeaked, afraid.
Brownies distributed, emotional magic settling, and lamplight flickering on in welcome, the witches were only starting to breathe again when Crowe sauntered up the walk from the tree line.
He didn’t appear out of thin air or leap theatrically from a branch.
He simply arrived with the smooth, unnervingly silent grace of someone who had spent most of his existence as a stealthy black cat.
His expression was calm. His clothes were forest-dusted.
His hair was wind-ruffled in a way that definitely made Joell smile.
“Perimeter’s secure,” he said, voice low and warm. “No threats. No traps. Just one extremely offended possum who believes I trespassed on his personal space. I relocated him to a faraway tree.”
Esmerelda snorted. “That’s Earl. He complains about everyone.”
Crowe shrugged. “He started it.”
Joell’s shoulders dropped a full inch in relief. “Sounds like we’re safe. I trust your instincts.”
Crowe dipped his head slightly — not quite a bow, not quite a flirtation, but something in between. His sly smile confirmed his intention as flirtation.
Sahara tapped her tablet. “So, the meadow’s ready? Ley-lines stable? No emotional aftershocks from the teleport?”
“All clear,” Crowe confirmed. “And the altar is exactly where you left it last quarter. Nothing disturbed it.”
Lioness beamed. “See? Even nature respects art.”
The mansion rumbled, as if disagreeing with her.
Esmerelda clapped her hands. “Unpack, dears. Then, I’ll meet you in the clearing. Lammas prep waits for no witch.”
The witches drifted deeper inside as the mansion shook off the last of its teleport crankiness, settling into the mountain earth with a warm, welcoming shudder.
Peace seeped in. Mountain air flowed through open windows.
Somewhere, a creek babbled. The mood of the house softened.
Magda took it all in and felt something unexpected bloom in her chest. Longing, curiosity, maybe even hope.
And somehow, she knew it had to do with one microbiology professor.
The following day, the clearing looked like something out of a postcard dreamed up by witches who couldn’t decide between rustic charm and a full-blown magical spectacle.
Lanterns hung from branches, glowing gold in the fading afternoon light.
Wildflowers spiraled along the edges of the meadow, shifting in the wind as if waving.
It could be the mountain’s way of showing off.
The altar stood at the center, holding woven wheat, polished stones, bowls of herbs, and one disturbingly smug-looking squirrel perched like it was supervising.
“That had better not be Earl,” Lioness muttered.
Esmerelda squinted. “No, that one’s Mabel. Earl’s a possum, twice that size, and he has an ego the size of Texas.”
The witches arrived in pairs, arms full of offerings and supplies.
Magda carried a basket of freshly clipped herbs from the greenhouse.
Rosemary, lavender, chamomile, a few sprigs of heartvine, and a bundle of sweetgrass braided neatly with gold ribbon.
Wally trotted at her heels, proudly dragging a stalk of rhubarb like a deflated balloon.
Sahara set down her electronic projector, which revealed an energy grid over the clearing. “Ley-lines stable, resonance balanced, no emotional spikes.”
Brianna sipped her coffee. “Bless the Goddess. I can only handle one mansion-wide estrogen tornado per quarter.”
Rayna, sword sheathed at her hip, hair windswept, and mood surprisingly mellow, sauntered over last. “Sorry. I was trying to meditate and not text Payne. Failed both.”
Sahara patted her arm. “It’s Lammas. Intention-setting. How about we visualize no romantic spirals?”
Rayna inhaled. “Right. Intention: don’t lose my mind if he calls. Or if he doesn’t. Ignoring either is progress.”
“Good girl,” Brianna murmured.
Rayna clapped loudly to regain control. “Let’s begin. Everyone, circle up.”
The witches formed a ring around the altar. The air warmed, thick with the scent of herbs and late afternoon sunlight, plus a magic that was older than the mountain itself.
“Let’s start,” Rayna said. She lit the incense, then walked the circle three times, pointing her wand over all their heads.
“I cast and charge this circle to protect us from all negative and incorrect forces and energies that may come to do us harm. I draw into this circle only the aspects and energies of the universe that are most correct for our ritual intentions. I cast this circle and create sacred space.”
Everyone answered, “So mote it be.”
“Shall we call in the quarters by seniority?”
“Yes, let’s,” Joell said. She lit the first candle on the altar. Then she faced North and said, “Hail powers of the North; the power of Earth, Wood nymph, Mountains, and trees. Hail and welcome.
All the witches answered, “Hail and welcome!”
Sahara lit the next candle and said, “Hail, powers of the East. The powers of air, fairies, birds, and song. Hail and welcome.”
“Hail and welcome!”
Rayna lit the third candle. “Hail, powers of the South. The powers of fire, hot sun, passion, and flames. Hail and welcome.”
“Hail and welcome!”
Finally, Magda lit the candle representing the West. “Hail, powers of the West. The power of water, emotion, healing, and love. Hail and welcome.”
Hail and Welcome!”
They took a moment to watch the flames grow steady, even in the mountain breeze. “All right, everyone,” Rayna said. “Lammas marks the first harvest. Prosperity, growth, release, and gratitude.
“Who wants to start a spell with their intentions?”
Lioness bounded forward like a golden retriever fueled by magic. “Me. I brought the visual presentation.” She pulled out a stack of hand-painted cards, each depicting a different witch surrounded by corn, flowers, and dramatic swirls of magic.
“Witch, please…” Joell sighed. “These are beautiful, but—”
“It’s art,” Lioness insisted. “Lammas needs art.”
The mountain hummed in agreement. Even the squirrel nodded.
Joell threw up her hands. “Fine. Art is allowed.”
Lioness placed her offering first. It was a small painting of the meadow, edges still tacky. The altar absorbed it with a shimmer. Now the altar had a decorative top, complete with dried lacquer.
“Beautiful,” Brianna said softly.
Sahara stepped forward next, placing a crystal cluster charged with stable ley-line energy. “For clarity, moving into the next quarter.”
Crystal laid down a large scallop shell filled with salt. “For cleansing.”
Joell added some smoking sage. “For clearing away unwanted energies.”
Brianna offered a small hourglass made of smoked glass. “For time to move gently where and when we need it to.”
Rayna placed a polished stone etched with runes. “For restraint,” she said. “Specifically, mine.”
The witches gave a faint, approving laugh.
Victoria laid a glittering necklace over the altar. “For living large and enjoying our gifts.”
Finally, Magda approached. Her basket of herbs felt like it weighed much more than it should, as if the universe had tucked heavy significance into every sprig. She laid her bundle on the altar—a symbol of growth, of tending, of harvesting well.
Esmerelda touched her shoulder. “What’s your intention, darling?”
Magda hesitated. Everyone waited, quietly, gently, expectantly.
She swallowed. “To figure out the difference between magic and chemistry,” she said. “And to stop being afraid of what else can grow.”
Joell smiled. “Well said.”
The altar lit from within, a pulse of gold blooming outward, like a sunrise. Esmerelda raised her hands. “As the sun sets on the first harvest, we honor what we planted, what we nurtured, what we risked. And what we’ve learned.”
“May the Goddess be pleased by our efforts, and even our failures,” Magda added. “Failure means that we tried.”
The flame leapt higher. A column of gold that cast long shadows and bright hopes across the clearing. Then, as the flame dimmed to a warm glow, the magic settled into the witch’s bones. Calm. Centered. United.
Lioness whispered, “That was perfect.”
Sahara nodded. “Clean energy. Clean intent.”
Rayna exhaled. “And no explosions. Or glitter. Or enemies trying to interrupt our sabbat with a world-ending apocalypse. Which, honestly, feels like a gift for all of us.”