Chapter 13
Elise was packing another dress for the trip.
Morgaine had lent her a small chest for her belongings.
This was the fifth dress she had stuffed into its narrow confines, and though at first glance Elise had not thought the thing capable of holding more than a pair of socks, the chest proved sufficient for a week’s wardrobe and even some shoes.
Wicked little things, these instruments of magic.
Elise held the cape the duke had given her.
She considered stuffing it into the magic chest as well, but she did not care to have Kurt’s scent spread to all her clothes.
It was already difficult enough to keep him out of her thoughts without inviting him along for the journey.
It had been a week since she had seen him, and she had yet to find an excuse to return to Metz and give it back.
It would have to be after the festival.
Elise and Morgaine were bound for a town named Waldheim.
The famed gathering was a woodland escapade that witches held at every change of season.
This was the one for spring, and it was, in Morgaine’s words, an excuse to do as witches pleased.
Elise was told it was called the First Bloom and that she could pack as lightly as she liked.
She had her suspicions about Morgaine’s lack of packing, but she hadn’t dared to ask a thing, knowing full well that sometimes it was better to remain blissfully ignorant than to be frightened beforehand.
The closer Elise grew to Morgaine, the more fascinating she found the witch. It was a wonder to see a woman who carried herself as if rules did not apply to her. It was an even greater wonder how she had managed to avoid being stabbed for it.
In the week that had passed, Elise had already learned the ingredients of many potions. It took a special talent to invoke the forces of the other world and blend it all to a smooth finish, but she had already been warned about that.
A divinity of the magic world had to claim her.
The price of becoming a witch, it seemed, was to detach oneself from the world of common folk.
Elise found this less a sacrifice than a convenience, having no one to miss, and more regrettably, no one to miss her.
At least now she had a roof secured and a trade to learn, an arrangement she found most promising.
After pulling on the thick woolen layer of her travel dress, she tucked her hair into a hood.
She went to the kitchen, where Morgaine was surely waiting.
Morgaine had said they would use a broom to reach their destination, and Elise’s excitement was only matched by her caution.
She hoped that all the layers she had wrapped herself in would soften a bad landing or even a fall.
She had even stuffed straw into her hood, which was drawn tight with a cord.
“Elise, shall we?” Morgaine called the moment Elise stepped out of the Tailor’s Room. The witch had been kind enough to move her mattress there, and it was now officially her room.
“At your word,” Elise said, her smile widening as she took in Morgaine wearing the dress she had made a week ago, the same scant design Elise herself had worn to the apothecary.
Morgaine looked absolutely stunning to Elise. If there was any truth to their resemblance, the witch wore the dress in ways she never could. Morgaine had the most striking figure Elise had ever seen, and she couldn’t help but wonder if such bold proportions were the work of magic.
“Have you brought your things?” Elise asked, glancing about and finding only a small cauldron hanging from Morgaine’s belt.
“Where we’re headed, you won’t need anything, my dear. I bring this only because every witch works better with her own cauldron. They’re finicky, much like mortals.” Morgaine patted the small cast-iron thing. “It shrinks and enlarges. Like certain things in life.”
Elise nodded. The remark of questionable refinement didn’t trouble her, and judging by how the trip was shaping, she had come to expect a steady supply of such moments.
“No need for alarm,” Morgaine said. “Wrap yourself in a blanket, if you must. It will make no difference.”
Elise wondered at Morgaine’s meaning, but being of a curious sort and not entirely averse to surprises, she held her ground and raised her chin.
“We must be going. The sun is sinking fast.”
“Ha,” Morgaine laughed. “That’s exactly what I’m waiting for. Only at night the shield from this world and the one beyond grows thin enough for my broom to awaken.”
“Is there anything else we need for the trip?” Elise asked as Morgaine sat by the fireplace.
“Pack some of those honey cakes you always keep. Those hags will wish they had a spell to fill their bellies twice over.”
*****
Elise and Morgaine had been flying for a couple of hours now. Morgaine sat fastened at the front of the broom while Elise divided her efforts between managing her skirts and staying aloft.
They had taken flight just after the last rays of sunlight.
The breeze was just warm enough to take the edge off the rising winds.
Morgaine had said the trip would take only a few hours, and Elise chose to believe that was not an approximation.
She had never been one to complain, but between the turbulence of the journey and the uncertainty of the landing, she had already worked her way through every prayer at her disposal.
She heard Morgaine chuckle now and then whenever Elise tightened her grip on the shaft, until, out of a growing concern, she decided the more reliable hold was the witch’s waist.
The night was clear, and though the sun was long gone, the sky held enough light to trace the tops of the pines ahead.
Morgaine turned to her with a smirk. “We are almost there. I only hope your fingers are not permanently attached to my dress.”
Elise cleared her throat and loosened her grip. She lowered her gaze and soon spied a growing fire ahead. The strength of it was such that the breeze coming her way began to warm.
The broom gave a faint shriek before descending, then lurched so violently that Elise found herself in the air for a moment.
The landing, however soft, did little to trouble Morgaine. Once on the ground, the witch calmly smoothed her skirts and adjusted her bodice, as though determined not to let the lack of elegance spoil her entrance to wherever they were going.
They followed the warmth as one might follow the music into a royal ball.
Elise pulled back her hood and did what she could to untangle her hair, but her efforts fell somewhat short beside Morgaine’s poise.
The woman was the very picture of elegance.
Had Elise not been with her during the rough journey, she might have believed the witch had been conveyed here in a carriage, with a small army of servants to set her to rights before the occasion.
Their entrance, though lacking a herald, was generously announced by the cries of a group of women.
The fire lighting the clearing was so impressive it left Elise without words. It rose as high as a three-story house and spread nearly as wide. She might have feared the whole forest would catch, but she trusted the magic of those present was keeping it in check.
Elise lowered her head as she walked behind Morgaine, prepared to pay whatever respects she could afford.
No sooner had they entered the crowded clearing than a group of women descended upon Morgaine with hugs and a cup of some steaming concoction.
“I can see what took you so long,” one woman with a patch over her eye said, grabbing Morgaine’s behind with a nod of approval. “Are these real?”
“Who cares,” another said, pulling Morgaine into a hug. “What matters is what it gets you.”
Elise’s senses sharpened at once. Thankfully, no one came to verify the authenticity of her own assets. The women, after their inspection of Morgaine, seemed to remember she existed and turned to her with approving smiles.
“And who’s this beauty?” the one with the patch asked.
Morgaine laughed. “Dear Mirel, where are my manners?”
Elise stepped to her side as Morgaine gathered herself, drawing a breath as if to present a debutante.
“This is Elise. She’s my new apprentice.”
There was a collective murmur, and more witches drifted in to meet the newest member of the trade.
“Don’t worry,” Morgaine said. “She’s nothing like Francella.”
Elise’s ears pricked. She didn’t know who Francella was, but judging by the reaction, the woman had left a poor impression.
A small stir of unease rose in her chest. She was determined to do better than any past pupils Morgaine had taken.
She was here, and she was ready to learn as much as she could…
or at least as much as her better judgment would allow.
The witch with the patch leaned closer to Elise as if inspecting a horse for sale. She even had the delicacy to give a firm pinch to her cheeks.
“You’re pretty, but I can tell you’ve lived far too bound by propriety,” she grumbled. “You need to loosen up.”
“Leave her alone,” Morgaine said. “She likes it that way. I’ve already begun my work on her.”
Another witch raised a brow and smiled. “Good. You need to give yourself to the world, my dear. It’s the only real magic there is.”
“What do you mean?” Elise asked.
“I mean, you are in the right place, darling. My name is Isadore, and I can tell you have what it takes to become one of us. I’m the closest to an oracle you’ll see. I’ve seen the past, the present, and with a bit of the right wine, even the future.”
“Again with that?” a witch with red hair cut in.
The redhead witch looked at Elise with soft eyes and took her arm. “Don’t let her frighten you. We’ve been around far too long. We founded this coven, but the only future Isadore has seen is the one that ends in a man’s bed.”
“That was during the unrest,” Isadore retorted. “Everyone was on their own. It was each against the other. What was I supposed to do? It’s the necessary elixir for a witch’s full awakening.”
“If you say so.”
Isadore shrugged. “It was the only way I could unleash my full power.”
Everyone, Morgaine included, began to laugh.
Elise stood there, mildly amused by the talk.
She was just scandalized enough to keep listening, and just interested enough not to leave.
Perhaps she was still too pious for all this.
It was true she was bound by fewer rules of morality than a regular God-fearing soul, but it seemed she still had some way to go before acquiring a proper witch’s mindset.
Elise was deep in thought when the fire before them swelled and then parted with a violent roar. Sparks flew, and everyone stepped back. Then, as if the curtain to Hell had been thrown open, two figures appeared amid a rush of steam.
“Ladies, ladies,” a man’s voice called.
The figures came into view as the vapors spread.
They were two men dressed in black, each wearing a hooded cloak, and as soon as one of them took it off, Elise could tell the man was of high standing.
His smirk never left his lips, and his face was the sort that could pass for a piece of art.
Even if the strapping fellow could have been Elise’s father, she could tell that a specimen of that sort would have no trouble securing the interest of maids of any age.
Mirel was the first to greet the newcomer. “Devon, you devil.”
Elise gasped. It hadn’t occurred to her until now that by taking up witchcraft as her trade, she might be apprenticing on the less reputable side of her faith.
“Morgaine,” the man hummed, his gaze lingering in open appreciation of her dress. “You look…delicious.”
“You may look, not taste,” Morgaine replied, her eyes fixed on his.
Devon chuckled as his companion came to his side. The mysterious man remained covered, but Elise could tell his eyes were on her.
Devon must have noticed the attention on Elise, for he walked toward her and bowed.
“A pleasure to have you here.”
Elise curtsied back.
“Thank you for having me,” she said.
“He’s having none,” Morgaine interrupted. “Always looking for new flesh, aren’t you?”
Devon laughed. “I heard you ladies frightening this noble soul even beyond the flames. I felt the urge to come and amend your hospitality.”
“How kind.” Morgaine smiled.
“Always.” Devon threw a kiss into the air toward Morgaine.
Morgaine shook her head. “And it appears I’m not the only one bringing a guest to this sacred event.”
Devon took a step back and placed a hand on the mysterious cloaked man’s shoulder.
“This is Seth. He’s…my nephew. He’s learning the ropes.”
The hood came down, revealing a dark mane framing an exquisite, handsome face.
Seth could rival the duke in good looks, but the two men couldn’t be more different.
His eyes were dark as night. His gaze haughty and cold.
His lean build lent him an aristocratic air that made Elise think of him as a prince of the underworld.
“Woo!” the witches hollered.
Elise was still taken aback by the man’s presence when he turned to her, and this time she could feel the full weight of his gaze studying every angle of her. His expression was unreadable. This was nothing like his playful uncle, but a closed book...a book Elise thought better left unread.
Elise was glad she had chosen a more modest dress than the one Morgaine was wearing. Even with the protection of thick wool, she felt as though she were standing naked before Seth’s scrutiny.
The witches started to murmur, and Devon whispered something to his nephew. Seth stole a few more glances at Elise and then walked toward her like a man about to claim lost property.
“Let me show you around.” Seth’s voice was deep, and the warmth emanating from his body reached her at once.
“Show me where?” Elise turned to Morgaine, who held a grin so knowing that asking her for aid seemed pointless. Instead, Elise searched for a way to free herself from the situation. Her whole body shivered at the mere closeness of the man. “Isn’t this your first time here as well?”
“Here, yes,” he said, unexpressive. “But not my first time around.”
“Come on,” Isadore yelled. “If you don’t take him, I will!”
The small crowd laughed, and Elise caught Morgaine’s nod, silently answering her dilemma.
“Show me, then.”