Chapter 8: Cordella
1263 Words
Cordella
The sun rose like a spotlight, and I wanted to crawl under the covers and cast a hex on it.
Instead, I was standing half-naked in front of the mirror in my apartment, Piper sitting cross-legged on the bed behind me, surrounded by curling irons, crystals, and at least two cups of coffee. One mine, one hers, both forgotten.
“You look hot,” Piper said around a donut hole. “Like, witch-future alter-goddess vibes. I’m personally terrified and turned on.”
I gave her a flat look in the mirror. “Good. Fear keeps the people humble.”
“Fear and thigh-high boots, babe.”
I huffed a laugh, smoothing down the silk of my ceremonial black robe. It was hand-stitched by the coven elders, lined in silver thread and woven enchantments. It felt heavy on my shoulders. Like expectation and fate.
Like something I hadn’t chosen.
“You ready?” she asked, rising and stepping closer, looping a silver chain gently around my neck.
“Do I look ready?”
“You look divine. That’s not the same thing.”
I met her gaze, grateful for her honesty.
Before I could respond, the door creaked open without a knock. Of course. Then Calliope Blackwood swept in like the storm she always was. Robed. Regal. Radiating disapproval at a frequency that could shatter glass.
Piper, smart creature that she was, vanished in a puff of glitter and nope, slipping out with a mumbled, “Go team!” before I could stop her.
Coward.
My mother surveyed me like she was appraising a spell circle that almost passed inspection. “You’re late,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“You feel late.”
I didn’t respond. Just adjusted the hem of my robe and waited.
She stepped closer, softer than expected. Her voice gentled. Too much.
“This ceremony is important.”
“I know.”
“It’s not just tradition. It’s legacy. It’s power. You carry more than a name tonight.”
I nodded.
Calliope reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Her touch was warm. Almost… human.
Then she said, “Don’t embarrass me,” and swept out as quickly as she came.
The warmth evaporated.
I stared at my reflection. I didn’t feel like a goddess.
But I could pretend.
“I’ve got this,” I whispered.
The Solstice ceremony took place at the circle grounds. Ancient stone laid deep in the woods behind the estate, enchanted long before humans built roads and roofs around it.
The crowd gathered beneath the moon’s first light. Candles flickered along the path. The air buzzed with magic and reverence and something older than both.
I stood beside the fire pit, palms sweating beneath my sleeves, a hundred eyes on me.
The High Ten watched like hawks. My mother stood with her hands folded, waiting.
I stepped forward to begin the invocation.
And my magic faltered.
It hiccuped.
Stuttered.
The flame sputtered in front of me as I raised my hands. The earth beneath the stones seemed to shift.
Shit. s**t. s**t.
I tried to focus, to ground. But my thoughts spun, the pressure mounting in my chest like a curse gone wrong. I needed something. A spark. A push.
And like an i***t, my mind went to him.
Heston.
The way his voice rumbled low. The way his eyes darkened when I got too close. The way his wolf surged to the surface and didn’t scare me…it thrilled me.
I reached for that heat.
And boom—my power surged.
Flames roared to life in the pit. The ground steadied. Magic swept through the circle like a wave.
The ceremony continued without another hitch. The chanting. The offerings. The invocations. It all flowed.
And when it ended, they clapped.
They hugged me. Kissed my cheeks. Offered congratulations.
Even Calliope nodded once, sharply. The closest thing to pride she knew how to give.
But I—
I felt sick.
Not physically. Not magically. But somewhere deeper. Twisted. Because I had pulled magic from something I wasn’t supposed to want.
Because I had thought of him, and it had worked. And somewhere, I knew that meant something was very, very wrong.
—
The party had bloomed like magic itself—wild and bright and untamed.
Witches drank wine from goblets etched with runes, their laughter rising with the music drifting through the woods. Spells sparked in the air, harmless and pretty, casting glowing butterflies and streaks of light into the night sky. Somewhere, a girl giggled and levitated six inches off the ground while another conjured a small constellation to dance around her head.
It was beautiful. And it made my stomach clench.
Piper had latched onto my arm the second the ceremony ended, dragging me toward the drink table and refusing to stop talking.
“Della, you were incredible,” she gushed. “Seriously, the surge? The flames? The High Ten looked like they just collectively had a magical orgasm. Sandra smiled. I thought she’d forgotten how.”
I forced a laugh and downed the rest of my wine in one gulp. It didn’t help. Because Piper’s words were meant to reassure me, but they only twisted the knot in my gut tighter.
I shouldn’t have thought of him. I shouldn’t have drawn power from that place. Hot and wild and Alpha-shaped. It felt too good. Too easy.
Too dangerous.
“I’m getting another,” I said quickly, slipping away from her as I grabbed a fresh glass.
I hadn’t taken a sip yet when a shadow slid beside me—cool and composed.
Sandra.
I straightened on instinct.
Her tone was smooth. Her smile was sharp. “You did beautifully, Cordella.”
I offered a tight nod. “Thank you.”
“That surge…” she tilted her head, curious. Too curious. “Very powerful. Stronger than anything you’ve summoned before. What did you pull from?”
My heart skipped.
Shit.
She couldn’t know. No one could.
“I—I reached for the circle,” I said, fabricating fast. “The ancestral pull. The roots under the stone. It just… clicked.”
A lie, but not an obvious one.
Sandra’s eyes lingered on me a beat too long. Then she reached out and brushed a fingertip over the pendant resting just above the neckline of my dress.
The necklace.
The one my mother had given me when I turned sixteen.
The one laced with wolfsbane and bound with silver thread.
The one that had burned when I met him.
“Such a beautiful thing,” she murmured, her voice almost wistful. “I still remember when your mother had it made for you. Hand-woven by her own mother. A charm of protection. Of legacy.”
She looked up then, her eyes suddenly very serious.
“Never take it off.”
“I don’t,” I whispered.
Her hand dropped. Her expression softened.
“You’re a good girl, Della,” she said. “Your mother won’t say it. But she’s proud of you.”
And then she was gone.
Just like that.
But I stood frozen, her words echoing louder than the music, louder than the laughter, louder than the wine-fueled joy around me.
Because something in the way she’d touched my necklace felt like a warning.
And for the first time that night, I wondered if someone—maybe everyone—already suspected what I didn’t want to admit:
That my magic wasn’t just surging.
It was changing.
And I had no idea what that meant.
- Writer
