Chapter 42
shadow and shimmer
They moved as ghosts stitched into the forest. Arriving in twos and threes on a quiet dirt road a mile from the monastery, the initial meeting of the chosen witches had been brief, sober. They loosely circled Isabel, who stood like an iron anchor amid whispers and darting glances and waited, watching the trees for the rumor to become flesh.
Isabel had gathered them from all parts of the country. Her pitch had been simple: show up, be ready to push your skills to the brink, and witness a legend become a reality. Isabel needed only to whisper a name, Jessemay, the Raven.
It was never her authority they questioned. Isabel was a legend in her own right. To be approached by her was to be anointed with the promise of a glimpse into the magic world above, far above their levels.
“The Raven,” one of the witches murmured, “she’s dead.”
That provoked a glance from Miren, one of the older witches, old enough to remember the chaos that gripped both Light and Dark factions, “hidden perhaps. Gods help us if we talk.”
Another glanced toward the distant monastery, its dark outline crouched behind the treeline like a held breath, “What kind of woman survives him?”
They heard her before they saw her, boots slicing leaves, a definite crack of a dead branch. Jess didn’t care if she made noise or not. That alone focused their attention. Her steps were almost a march. A direction had been established, and there would be no stopping her.
Jess stepped through the trees, a silhouette in black, half-shadow, and half-blood memory. Her presence hit like a spell cast without a word, just there. She stopped to regard the group with a nod. Older witches felt their stomachs clench as if something ancestral had awakened. A few instinctively dropped their gazes as if making eye contact would be too bold or a provocation.
Jess nodded to Isabel, but the relative silence was brief as Callie emerged from the tree line. She was all soft defiance and color, her violet cloak moving like a curtain in the breeze. She wore a crooked smile of embarrassment, looking like she may have missed a turn somewhere on her way to a book club meeting with a bottle of wine and unpopular opinions about Wuthering Heights.
“Dammit,” she sputtered, “I zigged when I should have zagged. Sorry.” She looked at the stunned group, “You’re all taller than I expected. Didn’t know there was a height requirement.”
Without looking behind her, Jess reached back, and Callie joined her, taking her hand, fingers intertwining as if they had done it a thousand times. There was a moment, as a soft flash of plasma danced across their fingers. Jess didn’t smile, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and she privately moved her thumb to caress the skin at the base of Callie’s thumb. She moved once, then held still as if the simplest spell of the magic world had just been cast.
There they stood, Shadow and shimmer. The blade and the book. The contrast was startling, precisely as it been intended.
The reaction among the witches, both experienced and less so, was immediate and volatile as if someone had struck a tuning fork and set the air to ringing. One of the older witches, an empath, staggered back, palms buzzing, knees threatening, “Dearest Gods, it’s real.”
Another whispered, “Their souls...are anchored to the earth.” Her head bowed, “I am honored to be here.”
One of the youngest witches looked at Callie in wonder, tears pooling, “There is more here. More than we can imagine.”
Isabel, having overheard, found a smile to calm the young woman’s nerves, “a very astute observation, Hope. Your intuition will serve you well.”
Callie, oblivious or trying to be, leaned to Jess, whispering in a terrible stage whisper, “If they’re impressed now, wait until they see your grumpy morning face.”
Jess didn’t smile, but her thumb moved. Just a little and just once. A motion like an echo of a laugh that might unnerve the group further.
Isabel finally stepped forward, her voice clear and commanding.
“This is Jess, Jessemay. You may already know of her. This is Callie. She sees. She tells the truth before it happens.”
“They will walk first, just ahead. We will follow in the pattern we drilled.” Isabel’s striking accent changed, softening, growing quiet; it took on a deeper meaning, “And, if you can’t handle that, don’t walk at all. This is not a game, nor is it practice. It will be a pitched live firefight. Protect yourselves, protect each other.” She paused, looking at Jess, then holding her gaze on Callie. An almost imperceptible nod was exchanged between them, “And dearest Gods, protect them, or all is lost.”
No one moved from where they stood.
Callie felt Jess squeeze her hand, and they turned without speaking, heading across the gravel road to the other side of the trees.
The other witches fell in line, but as they approached the opposite tree line, the youngest witch’s voice rose above their footsteps. “Callie?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Do you have any advice for us?”
Callie glanced at Jess, then turned to catch Isabel’s eye. This was real, and this young woman and the others were likely terrified. This mattered.
“What’s your name?” Callie asked warmly, still scrambling to think of something. For once, her overactive imagination was failing her, and the young woman standing before her threw Callie for a moment.
My God, Callie thought, she’s still in high school.
“Hope,” the girl said quietly, “My name is Hope.”
Callie glanced at Isabel, then said, “I had an old hockey coach who used to tell us to keep our eyes open and our heads on a swivel. I used to think that was pretty good, but as time has passed, it’s equally about keeping your heart open and willing yourself to fight as hard as possible.”
Seeing the group had gathered close to hear, Callie reached out her hands, “A moment, please? All of us?”
Hands were clasped by the nine witches, Isabel, Jess, and Callie. “I know we are strangers. Different paths, different scars. But right now, we are one circle, spell, and focused flame. So, look around. Tonight, we are sisters. And we stand against the breach that wants to break into this world.”
Callie knew she had to end on a high note.
“So let me be clear: when we step forward, we don’t do it empty-handed, far from it. We carry fire and fury, and yeah, we have Hope. Not just this beautiful young witch, but with her, the promise of victory.”