45. Cori
Cori
T hey awoke the next morning with the sunrise, their limbs tangled together in the stillness of a peaceful night's sleep. Cori did not dream of anything, and her mind felt clear and peaceful. She could tell Adrian felt the same way as she opened her Eye to his aura, deep blue and serene. The surrounding mist morphed into smoky red when he realized she was staring at him.
“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he asked as he pulled her toward him.
She laughed, shaking her head before he claimed her with a kiss. Their bodies moved in tandem all morning, unrushed and slow. By the early afternoon, she was finally hungry enough to get out of bed. Adrian heated water for coffee over the stove as he peered out the window.
“Tide is coming out. We should probably go check in on everyone when the path is passable,” he said.
She shrugged at him. “That would mean you would have to put on a shirt.”
He winked back at her. “Not if you don’t want me to,” he said, taking a sip of coffee.
“It’s cold out there.” She arched her brow mischievously at him. “Did you know there’s a rumor going around town that you have nipple piercings?” she asked him .
“What!” he laughed, nearly choking on his coffee. “Who told you that?”
“Jordan,” she said with a matter-of-fact shrug.
He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like the kind of stupid rumor Seth would start,” he said, shaking his head.
“Or maybe there are just a bunch of people in Farley who fantasize about what you look like with your shirt off,” she reasoned with a teasing smile. Her eyes swept over the muscles of his torso and the tattoos that curved over his wide shoulders and powerful arms. She couldn’t blame anyone for fantasizing about him.
He raised his eyebrows skeptically at her.
The little cabin felt more and more like home as the hours passed into days. Days that went by with the secret of her father’s prophecy still locked away in her heart.
She was more terrified than ever to tell him about it now that she knew the bond had fully taken root. They spent most of their time up at the campsite. Adrian began helping Zion with his research, focusing on a few cases of Celestial witches in the past who had been put into danger after delivering a controversial prophecy.
A Celestial witch named Margot had foretold that the food shortages in France in the 1780s would lead to the revolution and downfall of Louis VXI. When the king’s consort found out about her prophecy, there was a bounty put on her head.
Of course, these were times that witch-hunts were part of societal norms. When a group of revolutionaries found out that her death would put the revolution into jeopardy, they smuggled her to England until the monarchy was overthrown.
The more Cori learned about the Celestials that came before her, the happier she was that she had agreed to go into hiding—at least for now. There were countless prophecies made through the ages, but it was difficult to find any that were related to the fate of the magical community.
It was also difficult to tell if there was any truth to the widely held belief that a prophecy would not come to be if the witch who delivered it was killed. Zion had poured all his energy into this. According to him, if they could find a case of someone who had escaped a murder, it would give them more information about how to protect her with magic.
“Do you believe it’s true?” Adrian had asked her one night. They were huddled under the warmth of the quilts, protected from the December night air, and the warmth of his body had nearly lured her to sleep when he asked.
“Humph?” She turned toward him at the sound of his voice and buried her head into his shoulder. “Do I believe what is true?”
“Do you believe it won't come true if they kill you?”
She was silent for a moment as grief washed over her. Her father had believed it. So strongly that he had made the ultimate sacrifice. When her nonna had lived with her, she had asked her the same thing. Nonna’s answer had always haunted her.
“I believe it’s true,” she sighed. “Can I show you why?” She held out her hand to him, a shiver of anticipation radiating from his skin with her contact.
He nodded. She placed her hand, skin to skin, over his chest and opened her Eye to him, connecting him to a memory.
Nonna sat in the big armchair in the living room, a crocheted afghan draped over her legs as she pulled the needle in and out of her cross-stitch. Her arthritic fingers shook slightly, but the needles hit true with each tiny X she stitched on the thin fabric.
On the television, the local news started. She watched with sadness as the scenes of a house fire flash to the screen.
“Two young children are dead in Nob Hill this morning after a four-alarm fire. The fire commissioner believes faulty electrical work ignited the blaze. The mother of the children, a thirty-four-year-old woman, is in critical condition at Highland Hospital.”
She watched Nonna’s heavily lidded eyes shift to the screen with a sad look. She shook her head morosely as she returned to her work, muttering a prayer in Italian.
“Nonna?” Cordelia asked tentatively. Her grandmother’s eyebrow arched in interest, but she continued to work on her stitches. “Have you ever had a vision about something terrible that was going to happen?”
Her fingers stopped moving as she pursed her lips. “No, Stellina.” She put down her needlework, an introspective look gathering in her glassy eyes. “I have seen my deal of misfortune, but never something so horrible as that.” She gestured to the television.
“Have you ever given a prophecy?” Cordelia asked her.
Nonna’s face scrunched as she put down her stitching. “ Si , but not every prophecy is as profound as yours. When I was a young woman, I delivered a prophecy. It was during the war and the Fascists had taken over everything. Our school and our town were under their complete control. I was just a girl. I foretold a general would come to our town and his presence would usher in the end of the war.”
Cordelia listened aptly to the story, her eyes wide. The coming of the general had led to the eventual arrest of Mussolini and the liberation of her country.
“Nonna, you changed the world,” she said in awe.
The wrinkles on her grandmother's forehead deepened at her response.
“No, Cordelia. Il Duce would have been arrested no matter what I prophesied. I was only the messenger. I believe the message needed to be delivered to give the people some hope. Those were desperate times.”
Cordelia’s wide smile faded. “Your prophecy gave hope to the people in your village. Mine struck fear in the hearts of witches everywhere.
“The Giver has a reason for you, too. The Covenant has been betrayed for too long, and many have suffered because of it. No magical law can hold forever if it is not obeyed. Magic is a gift, and every time someone breaks the law of the Covenant, they put the gift in jeopardy. This would happen whether you foretold it or not.”
Cordelia had heard this so many times, but it did little to lessen the heaviness of her burden.
“I think there is an important reason you delivered this information to the world,” Nonna continued, squeezing her hand. “It will give witches time to repent if they have broken the Covenant, to right a wrong. And those who have suffered at the hands of dark magic will have hope. It’s a chance to save what we have.”
Cordelia nodded her head. She knew there was truth in this explanation, but for every witch who is hopeful, there is one that is resentful and fearful. She shivered at the thought.
“Weren’t you scared the Fascists would try to kill you?” Cordelia asked.
Nonna shrugged. “The Italians are superstitious people. I’m sure if the Fascist government had found out, they would have had me punished. But I delivered this prophecy to my coven, and we were not sympathetic to the regime. We were overjoyed. We only shared it with people who shared the same view.”
Cordelia cast down her eyes. Her coven had not responded to her prophecy with joy.
Nonna’s shoulders sagged. “If I have told you once, I have told you one hundred times. The Giver chose you to deliver this news because you are blessed by the Mother with great powers. You are strong. The Giver never gives us what we are not strong enough to bear.”
Cori’s eyes diverted to the window. “Have you ever known someone who died because of something they foretold, Nonna?”
Nonna’s wrinkled face contracted, the lines deepening around her eyes. She breathed deep, her hand resting peacefully on her heart. “ Si, Stellina.” Her wrinkled hand wandered to the charm bracelet she wore on her arm, her fingers running over the smooth gold of charms. “If your life is taken with the intention to kill the prophecy, the prophecy dies with you.”
Deep furrows appeared on Cordelia’s forehead as she digested the disturbing information. “So, if someone kills you, and the reason they kill you is to reverse the fate of the prophecy, will it work?”
“If that is the intention,” Nonna sighed. “Then yes. When you die, your magic dies with you. So does anything tied to it.” Her deep-set eyes drifted to the moon as she spun the bracelet around her wrist. “ The intention is everything, Cordelia. You must always remember. Your intention hangs on every spell you cast with your magic.”
“So, if I died in an accident, like Papa did,” Cori reasoned. “My prophecy would live on?”
Nonna’s eyes widened, her shoulders still. Her next words come slowly, deliberately. “If there is no intention, your magic will not die with you.” She paused; her eyes also fixed on the sky. “Regardless of the hand that takes you.” She rose slowly from her seat and folded the blanket with weary hands.
Her face softened as she bent to kiss her granddaughter good-night. Before she walked out of the room, she dropped the charm bracelet into her hand. “This has always comforted me, Cordelia. Keep it close when your heart darkens.” She slipped it onto Cordelia’s wrist before walking out of the room.
She looked down at the little charms, the gold smooth and worn. She rubbed her own fingers on the metal, still warm from her grandmother’s touch.
Cori shivered, pushing the vision away as they returned to the warmth of the present.
“Your grandmother knew someone who was killed to reverse a prophecy?” he asked.
She sat up in bed suddenly. “Adrian, there’s something I need to tell you.”