Pot of tea
1091 Words
POV: Samuel
Nan lived about twenty-five minutes away in normal traffic.
Lucky for me, I wasn’t driving a normal car.
My Triumph Daytona cut through the roads easily, shaving time off the trip as the wind whipped past me. I needed answers—and I needed them now.
None of this made sense.
When I first started entering dreams, I thought they were my own. I’d zone out during the day, lose time… I genuinely thought I was going mad.
But I wasn’t.
I knew I was a witch—I’d seen glimpses of it as a child. Powers didn’t fully manifest until ascension, usually around eighteen. Nature’s way of making sure you were mature enough to handle what you’d been given.
I didn’t ascend until I was nearly twenty.
Six months ago.
That’s when everything changed.
I remember the first time it happened at Gran’s place. I drifted right in front of her—completely out of it. She felt it immediately. My panic, my confusion.
She explained everything.
Told me this ability… this dream drifting… hadn’t been seen in our family for generations.
That it was rare.
That it was powerful.
Since then, she’d been training me—teaching me how to control it. How to stay grounded. How to focus my mind so I didn’t just slip away without warning.
I’d learned other things too.
Small things.
Moving objects without touching them. Working with herbs. Basic spells.
But nothing—
Nothing like what happened tonight.
I pulled up outside her place, barely cutting the engine before the front door swung open.
Gran stood there, already waiting.
Her green-blue eyes mirrored mine, sharp and knowing. She was tiny compared to me, her grey hair cropped into a short pixie cut, dressed as always in her earthy, handmade clothes.
“Samuel, my dear. Come inside out of the cold.”
Her voice was calm, but I could feel the tension beneath it.
“I’ve made tea. Tell me what’s wrong.”
I stepped inside, instantly greeted by the familiar warmth of her home. The scent of chamomile and lavender filled the air—her way of calming me before I even spoke.
She always knew.
I took a sip before I could stop myself.
Then it all came out.
“There’s a girl,” I said quickly. “Macy. Every night she pulls me into her dreams. There’s always something there with her—something watching. Tonight it came closer.”
Gran didn’t interrupt.
“It spoke to me,” I continued. “Then it attacked her. I… I stepped in. I don’t even know how, but I spoke to her. I touched her. And then—”
I hesitated.
“I threw fire. From my hands. Real fire.”
The memory made my palm ache.
“When I woke up… my hand was still burning. Red. Like it actually happened.”
Gran’s expression darkened instantly.
“Is there anything else?” she asked quietly. “Objects… details… anything out of place?”
I forced myself to think back.
“It wasn’t just the woman,” I said slowly. “There were pictures. All around Macy. Family, I think. Generations. Their eyes… they were watching her.”
Gran stilled.
“And the woman?”
“She had a staff. A stone in it. It looked like yours.”
That was enough.
Gran turned and moved quickly toward the cupboard beneath her buffet, pushing aside jars of herbs until she pulled something out.
An old book.
Worn. Ancient.
“What is that?” I asked.
She held it carefully, almost reverently.
“This, my dear… is my Grimoire.”
My stomach dropped slightly.
“Our family’s spell book. Passed down since 1440.”
Holy s**t.
I stared at it, equal parts fascinated and overwhelmed.
“And how is that going to help us?”
Gran looked at me, her eyes sharp.
“This girl… you feel drawn to her. Do you know why?”
I hesitated.
“It feels like… I know her. Not her face—her soul.”
The words sounded insane out loud.
But they were true.
“I feel like we’re connected.”
Gran nodded slowly.
“Interesting.”
She reached for my teacup.
“Let me see this.”
I watched as she studied the liquid, her expression shifting slightly. Then, without warning, she grabbed my hand.
Her grip tightened.
She began murmuring under her breath—words I didn’t recognise, pulled straight from the grimoire.
Her eyes rolled back.
My chest tightened.
“Gran—”
She started rocking back and forth, her voice no longer her own.
“Something is coming…”
Her voice echoed, distorted.
“You must protect her…”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Something is coming for you both…”
Her grip tightened painfully.
“You are in danger… remember the past… remember your ancestors…”
Her voice dropped into a whisper.
“The Night Hag is coming.”
Her head slammed forward onto the table.
“Gran!”
I grabbed her shoulders, panic surging through me.
“Who is she? How do I protect her? From what?”
Her breathing was heavy, uneven.
Then, slowly—
“She is light,” she whispered.
“You are fire.”
A pause.
“I am kindred.”
And just like that—
It was over.
Gran blinked, her eyes clearing as she looked at me like she’d just run a marathon.
Silence filled the room.
“Samuel…” she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “Ever since you were born, I knew there was something different about you.”
I swallowed hard.
“When your mother named you… I wasn’t sure. I doubted it. Your power stayed dormant longer than it should have.”
She pushed the grimoire toward me.
“But this…” she said, her voice steadying. “This proves it.”
I frowned.
“Proves what?”
Her gaze locked onto mine.
“You are written in the grimoire.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
“What?”
She didn’t answer straight away.
Instead, she stood, moving back toward the kitchen.
“I’ll make more tea. Fix some lunch.”
Like this was normal.
Like my entire existence hadn’t just shifted.
“Read,” she said softly. “From the beginning. Try to remember. Learn everything you can.”
I stared down at the book.
My hands hovered over it.
This wasn’t just about Macy anymore.
This was about me.
- Writer
