Chapter 2
WINDY
They call me Windy because my powers are as chaotic and unpredictable as the wind.
My real name is Winifred Weaver. When I was just five years old my grandmother insisted I was the most powerful witch she had ever met — including herself!
Of course, all of the women in my family lose their powers at thirteen. I’m different, though. I had kept my powers. Until my fourteenth birthday, everything was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
The only magic that seemed to work with no problems was my dreams. They always helped me to figure out problems or guide me.
Sometimes, I wonder if I actually did break the curse that seems to be upon us and that I was just so ahead of the curve that I fell off. I don’t say it, but I think it’s my fault now that my magic is frazzled and scattered. Last week I attempted to levitate a plate and it shattered mid-air.
I promised my mom and my grandmother that I wouldn’t practice magic after my powers shifted from flawless and potent to chaotic and dangerous, but I’ve never been much good at keeping my promises.
When my grandma died two years ago, I started trying to levitate objects again. My mother found out and punished me. Only, she’s gone now, too. All I have of my lineage is my magic — how can I let that go?
I have to figure out a way to control it.
I stare at the pen in my hand and look around me ensuring no one is nearby.
So far, I could briefly levitate small objects for four seconds before they exploded. I focus, feeling the energy surrounding me, and seeing the pen levitate before it does, knowing that it will, that energetically it already has, until this vision manifests into reality.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four…
Wait, it hasn’t exploded yet!
Five…
Six…
Seven…
“Windy! You’re home.”
Splat!
I have no time to react. I can only hope that my college roommate did not see a pen floating in midair, and instead only sees the resulting mess — me covered in ink like I just finished wrestling a squid.
“Charlie!” I squeal, spinning around in my desk chair.
She gasps. “What happened?”
“I… I don’t know. My pen, it just… exploded. I think I sat it on my laptop and it got too hot.”
I’m not sure about the logistics of pens and them exploding — could heat make a pen explode? But I’m assuming Charlie isn’t well-versed in this topic either.
“That is so weird. Oh my gosh! Did any of it get in your eyes? Are you okay?”
Before I have a chance to answer, Charlie continues in the way she so often does.
“You know, I could have my brother look at your laptop. He’s coming in from out of town.”
“You mean, I finally get to meet the infamous brother of Charlie Anne Carson?”
Charlie isn’t just my college roommate. We have been friends for most of my life, off and on, as we often ran through different crowds in elementary and even high school. It wasn’t until our senior year that we connected, and by then we were both enrolled in the same college and figured we rather pool our resources and live together than with a bunch of strangers.
Charlie had been with me through a lot — cheating boyfriends, failed exams, and even my mother’s death. In all that time, I have never met her brother outside of FaceTime.
He lived with her grandparents back when we were in high school… she never really did say why, and my mom taught me better than to ask about people’s families when things were “different”, as she’d put it.
“Well, maybe. I’m trying to get him to swing by. Sometimes I think he avoids me. Anyways, I’m sure he’d be happy to look at your laptop.” She places her hand on the keyboard. “Feels cool to me, though. Are you sure it was your laptop?”
“What else could it be?” I blink, feigning innocent confusion.
“These days. Who knows. Maybe someone put a device in the pens as a prank or…”
Then off she goes into her conspiracy theories, but at least they’re of the harmless variety. As an English Major, Charlie’s daydreams and tangents fuel her writing.
I zone her out as I think about how this time I lasted just a tiny bit longer — but the truth is, a few extra seconds isn’t all that much. I fear I will never have control over my powers.
I excuse myself to go to my bedroom, and Charlie barely notices, still prattling on about how capitalism incentives are creating products with a short lifespan. Once in my room, I shut and locked the door, pulling a key hanging from a long chain necklace.
Unlocking a chest at the foot of my bed, I pull out my grandmother’s diary. Grams was researching before she died, and it seemed she thought if we called upon a goddess to restore our powers, we might be able to do so.
Only… calling a goddess? Not as easy as it sounds. Some, like my mother, didn’t even believe goddesses exist. “If they do,” she would say, “they are simply witches who have passed. Ancestors. That’s all. Our ancestors have been cursed for a long time. Doubtful anyone knows how to break the curse.”
Inside the chest is a handful of ingredients needed to complete this summoning — at least according to Grams’ notes. I wouldn’t be able to perform the ritual here. Even if I could get Charlie out of the house, she is unpredictable. The girl has walked out mid-date for no reason other than being bored, only to come home and curl up in a blanket and watch reruns of Friends.
Besides, something tells me this spell could go all sorts of wrong. I mean, if I can’t levitate a pen, how the hell am I going to summon a goddess?
I’ll have to do this far away from home. Somewhere no one can see or hear me.
In the heart of a secluded forest, under the moon’s silver glow, I stand, surrounded by ancient trees whose whispers echo in the wind. At least, that’s the kind of woo-woo nonsense Grams would say, and at this moment, I need to do my best to emulate her.
If I am going to make this spell work at all, I know I have to believe it can work. As a child, she would take me to picnics in these same woods… telling me stories about how trees are just like people but better.
Feeling silly, I embrace each one in a hug. It’s not part of the ritual, but it's something Grams would’ve done. I close my eyes with each tree and imagine they whisper and their age-old wisdom flows through the air, guiding me as I prepare to summon a goddess.
What goddess exactly?
Well, I don’t know. Grams didn’t give her a name in her journal…
But I am tired of being Windy — the unpredictable, chaotic witch. All I want is to have control of my magic, the only thing I have left of my family…
I begin by drawing a circle on the forest floor with sacred herbs that took me months to secure — and an unreasonable amount of scholarship money to buy. The pungent aroma makes me pinch my nose — this isn’t any rosemary and lavender bundle. No, these were potent. And quite frankly, some were likely toxic. But we have to do what we have to do, I tell myself, trying not to breathe too deeply.
“I should’ve worn a mask,” I mutter.
Would that be irreverent? To wear a mask in a spell?
So far the ritual hadn’t called upon me to use my magic, so nothing had exploded quite yet, but I know if I’m not careful I’m going to be on the five o’clock news being labeled as an arsonist.
Sucking in a deep breath, I watch as the smoke billows to meet the heavens. Crystals, bones, and a handful of sacred items sit in a giant chalice in the center of what is now a controlled ring of fire.
I sit in the center beside the chalice and begin to chant the words my grandmother had written. So desperate she was to break this curse — and she was so hopeful I was the one to break it.
Until I broke.
Until I kept my powers and still couldn’t use them.
She never treated me the same after that.
No one did.
It wasn’t my fault and yet still somehow it was.
I chant her written incantations, my voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the earth, calling forth the elements. The flames lick the air, dancing even higher, and I can feel the wind cascade around me as if it is no longer wind but water.
“Here goes nothing,” I whisper, and begin to call upon the goddess — the unnamed goddess, the only one who can hear my prayer and save me from this cure.
With a flicker of anticipation, I continue to the next step, all while repeating my call. I light the candles placed at cardinal points around the circle. Their flames dance in the breeze, but smaller than the circle of flames surrounding me.
“I call upon She who can restore my magic,” I whisper. “I call upon She who will break this curse.”
I close my eyes, allowing the energy of the forest to flow through me, intertwining with my essence as I reach out to the divine — a divine I’ve no idea if is real, but I am desperate.
“I call upon She who can set me free.”
The wind grows even more violent and feels like waves rather than cascading water, the leaves no longer rustling but howling overhead in a symphony of chaotic screams. I can feel the power building, a crescendo of elemental force that pulses through the very core of my being.
The flames, the wind, the howling all grow stronger, swirling around me in a whirlwind of energy, carrying with it the promise of…
Well, the promise of failure or success. Any minute now I will know if I’ve set the forest ablaze or if I will be able to do at least one thing right.
Suddenly, a shadowy figure materializes before me, its form fluid and ethereal, like a wisp of smoke on the wind. My heart races as I behold its otherworldly beauty, a manifestation of divine grace and power.
Could it be?
Has my summoning been successful?
“Who summons me from the realm beyond?” the shadowy figure intones, its voice echoing like a haunting melody in the stillness of the night.
“I am Windy…. I mean, I am Winifred Weaver. I’m a witch….” I reply, my voice trembling.
The fire is nothing but a pile of embers, and it seems I didn’t set the forest on fire. My elementary school teacher and that bear would be so proud of me now.
I suck in a deep breath and continue, “I seek your guidance. I need to break the curse that has been placed upon me.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Magic is all I have left of my family…”
The shadowy figure regards me with inscrutable eyes.
There’s something familiar about this shadow, though I can’t quite figure out what it is.
Aside from my sleep paralysis demon chilling at the end of my bed each night — which my mother assured me was not real — I don’t see shadow people all that often.
I’m a bit confused as to why this so-called goddess is all dark and shadowy.
For a moment, time seems to stand still as our eyes lock in a silent communion.
Is this shadow a friend or foe?
Have I made an even greater mistake?
Then, with a graceful gesture, the figure speaks again, its voice softer this time.
Clearer. And I recognize it.
“I am not the goddess you seek, Windy. But you do know me.”
“I do.”
I blink in disbelief, my heart sinking at the realization that my summoning had not brought forth the goddess I had hoped for. Yet, I can’t hold back the tears because it brought someone else to me.
Someone I have missed for a very long time.
“Oh, Grams!” I cry and run to hug her, but I simply fall through her shadow.
“I don’t have much time, Windy, but I can help you break the curse. I’ve found a way.”
“What? How?”
“Just trust me.”
I look into the shadowy figure’s eyes and wish I could see my grandmother’s eyes.
What if this is a spirit sent to deceive me?
“Winifred, focus!” my grandmother snaps. “I have spent my entire death searching for the answer, Windy. If my sources are correct, you can break the curse with love’s kiss times thrice and a flower that blooms on a full moon at midnight and closes at dawn.”
Before I know it, I am laughing. “You… my sweet, wholesome grandmother who wouldn’t even let me play outdoors with the neighborhood boys wants me to kiss three men?”
“Well, I don’t exactly want you to, but my sources say this is the cure.”
“And who are your sources? I mean, what side of the veil are you on, Grams? Cause let me tell you, I’ve kissed a bunch of men… and sure maybe I haven’t found this little magic flower, but I doubt that —”
“Enough. They must be your fated mates in order for this to work, not just random men! You either break the curse or you don’t. You went through all this effort to summon me, so surely you want to break it just as bad as I and your mother did.”
Mom.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“Your mother cannot be here. She has other business.”
“She has other business? Like what?”
“She is… newer… to these realms. Seeing you… it would hurt her too much, Windy. She has to focus on her progression. Not yours.”
I sigh.
“So three kisses, huh?”
“And a flower that bloom?—”
“I know, I know.” I say, “And what happens after I do all of that? Will I just magically be able —”
“You’ll see.”
And with that, my grandmother fades into the smoke.
“What the hell are you doing out here, young lady?” a scream pierces the air before I have a chance to process what I’ve just learned.
I spin around and see what I can only assume is a forest ranger.
“I… uh…. It’s part of a religious practice… every Tuesday, I burn herbs in a circle and —”
“Nope! We don’t do that out here, little lady. We have rules against this sort of thing. Ugh, we need to get these embers out! Do you happen to know the first thing about fire safety? You know what, consider this your lucky day, because if I’m late getting home again, pretty sure my wife is gonna divorce me. But if I see you out here again doing this… this… witchcraft… I will arrest you! You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I can promise you, I will never be coming back out into these woods.
Thank goodness Grams wants me to kiss a bunch of men instead of any woo-woo magic in the forest… but why?
Why would that break the curse?
My phone rings.
It’s Charlie.
“Hey, where did you go?”
“Oh, just a stroll through the park.”
“I told you to get out of here!” the forest ranger shouts.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing… just that guy who chases the squirrels, you know?”
“No, I do not know. What park are you at? Look, my co-worker, Wallace, wanted to know if you wanted to come with us to a party. It’s not until later tonight, but I went to ask you, and you were gone.”
“Sure!” I agree eagerly.
After all, I can’t find true love — three times — from the comfort of my bed.