015: The Witching Hour
1209 Words
[Rosalynd]
I am surprised by how easy it is to fall into step with the coven leader as he walks with me on the streets of Arcata. Gideon shortens his stride to match my own, walking next to me, his closeness almost too familiar and intimate. "What do you know about our people?"
"Our people?"
"Witches. Regardless of what you might think, and regardless of that cruel remark I made in the bar, you are a witch and a very powerful one at that."
Pretending that his question isn't ridiculous, I reply "Well, since I didn't grow up around anything but fake TV witches, I have no idea. The only experiences I have are cinematic and I'm guessing....those depictions aren't exactly accurate."
He tilts his head back and laughs a full-throated laugh. "You mean where we cackle in the moonlight dancing to the devils' music...or even better, green-faced and flying on a broom!" He snorts, trying to regain his composure. "No, we are nothing like that. We aren't monsters that Hollywood has painted us to be. We are just people. People trying to live our lives."
"But you aren't exactly a person," I query. "You even said that you aren't exactly human."
"WE are not human per se," he put a hard emphasis on the first word, reminding me that he considers me to be one of them. "But we can bond with them, teach them a bit about the energies of the world, even" he coughs, "even mate with them. The children of those unions are often weak, unable to take the full brunt of our magic. They can join a coven, but they will never lead. However," he makes sure he has my attention before he continues. "Those of us who are true-born, born from the union of two witches, we are not human any more than Neanderthals were Homo Sapiens." He holds out his hands, and they begin to glow a soft, dull red. "We are Homo Arcanus, one of the many Children of the Moon."
"Children of the Moon," I ask. "So are there others?"
"Yes," he confirms. "Many many more, but..." he places a single finger on his lips. "That is a story for another day. That is" he looks at me intently, "If you agree to become my student."
"Why?" I stop to look up at him. Our faces are only inches apart. "Why do you want me to work with you now when just a few minutes ago you didn't want anything to do with me?"
"To be honest, I wasn't sure I should teach you until that thing in the bar. It was...it was...amazing." Expressing wonder he continues "I have never seen anyone do what you did back there with such grace."
"You mean walking out on you?" I ask. "I'm sure I'm not the first woman to do that."
He ignores my jab, although there is an edge to his voice as he replies, "When we were arguing back there, I could feel waves of energy pulsing from you. You were shooting your aura out into the crowd, affecting the energy fields of those around you. If you hadn't called it in the way you did, I was going to need to contain it somehow before it caused real damage."
I still don't believe what he's trying to explain, but I can't deny that I did feel a surge of energy as we argued as if I could explode at any moment. Was that my "power?"
"But then, before I even needed to do anything, you called the power back to you. You essentially calmed the energy, all of it not just yours but mine, back into yourself, absorbing it. It takes YEARS for most new witches to learn how to contain their power in that way and you didn't just contain your power, but mine as well." Even without looking, I can feel him watching me, watching my face. "I'm a fully trained witch strong enough to lead a coven in spellcraft. My energy should have overwhelmed you, but it didn't. It..." he sounded almost afraid, "It bounced back. "
"Bounced back? Like against a wall?"
"Exactly," he confirmed. "But not in the way you are thinking. The walls in this case were made of living energy. What you did would have been impossible for any partial witch, and to be quite honest, many true-born witches as well. You are too powerful to be left untrained." We stop walking. Picking up my hands with both of his own he stares directly into my eyes as he says. "And I think you know that too, on some deep level, which is why you are fighting so hard to deny it. I think you felt what happened in the park and it scared you. Because something impossible, something that shouldn't be real, feels more real than anything else you have ever felt in your entire life."
We stand there in silence, just looking into each other's eyes, our hands touching. I try to pull away, but our contact is electric. It's more than just flesh, it's something deeper, as if our souls are also connected.
"You need someone to train you. If not me, someone, and soon." Our hands are still connected as he continues. "I know you and I got off to a bad start, so I understand if you don't want me to be the one to teach you. The relationship between a teacher and student is exceptionally close and requires a great deal of openness and trust."
I look away first, not sure of how to respond.
"Let me take you back to the coven. Maybe if you can get to know us better, you will have a better idea of what to do."
"I don't know I..."
"You need us. I know you might not realize it, but a witch needs a coven. We are like a family. We take care of one another."
"I have a family," I pull away. "I wouldn't say the relationship is one of trust."
He wipes his glasses clean as he replies. "Often the family that we make, the one that we choose, is the strongest bond. That is what a coven is. We are the family of choice, not blood. Kindred spirits. Each member is a point of a single, multi-pointed star--going out infinitely from a shared central point, connected by a deep bond, but also free to stretch beyond ourselves. A coven is your home."
I had wished to have a home this afternoon in the woods. Is that what is being offered to me here?
"Please," he pleads. "Give us a chance. I think we are well-matched, you and I, and could make an excellent team. You won't find many others who can balance your power as well. Our coven might be the home you need. Are you willing to give us a chance?"
Is this the family I've been looking for, when I left LA in search of something real?
I look up again.
He holds out his hand, waiting patiently. His brown eyes are warm and welcoming.
"Okay," I agree. "I'm willing to listen."
I take his hand and together we head back to The Goat.
- Writer
