Moon Bound

2. Carina

“So, Carina, how’s school?”

My eyes jerk up from my phone and toward Grandma, who’s sitting on the couch across from me. Confusion dips my brows low. “What?” I tilt my head, the hair falling away from my ear, so I can better hear her repeated question.

It’s only odd because Grandma hates that I attend a human school. She believes I should be home, primping myself or whatever the hell it is she wants me to be doing, in order to obtain a “good husband,” and not out getting my nursing degree and licence to practice. But being a nurse gives me purpose and puts my magic to better use.

By no means do I want a husband at the moment. When I do marry, it’ll be a human. Why? Simply because it’s not a witch, like this entire coven is pushing for. I’m vindictive that way.

“I said,” she repeats, her words more forceful this time, “how is school going?” Her weathered eyes lift into her sagging hairline. Short curling white hair bounces against her shoulders. From the outside, she’s a sweet ol’ grandmother, but from the inside, she’s evil incarnate. Controlling. Annoying. Demanding.

Only to me though. For the rest of the coven, Grandma is basically the Goddess herself, ruling over everyone in her position as leader. She’s too focused, too determined for her own good, and it’ll be we who suffer. For Grandma, the coven is always first—something that should be fine, but I’ve constantly had this premonition foreshadowing that she’ll be doing something bad eventually and it will negatively affect the coven. There’s something off about my grandmother, and I wish I didn’t feel it.

No one else sees what I do. They see the focused woman who has controlled the coven’s magic for decades. First with her husband, and then alone—but all without error—and they love her for it. Sometimes I wonder if the vibes I sense are feelings only I have and nothing more.

“Great,” I reply simply, forcing a tight smile onto my face.

I’d be hiding in my room if I could, or even out and away from the house, but Mom insists I remain here for her visits. It’s merely one more form of torture. I remain stiff in my chair, hating the uncomfortable shivers I get around her. She’s my grandmother for Goddess’s sake.

Her wrinkled lips purse and I breathe in, forcing my lungs to resist casting the huge sigh it wants to. Because here… it… comes…

“You shouldn’t be working, Carina.”

And there it is. The sigh works itself into my throat, but I swallow, forcing it to remain dormant and smile tightly at her instead.

“You really should be by my side, helping to search for another coven. My goal is to get your cousin into Fortuna, so if we can get you in with another coven, that’ll be two unions…” She trails off, glancing over at my mother who silently sips her tea nearby.

Mom doesn’t speak in times like this, but I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s scared of Grandma. As if she senses what I do, but rather than be wary and guarded, she chooses to let fear win.

Either way, it’s tiring and the sigh can no longer hold itself in.

“I know, but Grandma, Jasper is much more suited to running this coven—guy or otherwise—so let’s focus on his marriage only.”

Her penetrating eyes narrow. She knows what I’m doing, not that I’m being exactly subtle about it.

“Regardless, Carina, you know the importance in a union.” She stops and grumbles something under her breath before twisting toward my mother. I tune out their conversation, since it’s likely about me, opting to focus on my phone.

By no means will I ever admit to anyone in the coven that I hate being a witch. The magic is cool, but the cost of ownership isn’t. Magic is a bind, linking me to this blasted family, to the witch lifestyle, and even to the Goddess herself. While I love Her, being one of Her spiritual daughters isn’t the path I want.

I want normal—or at least not this. Anything but this. Anything but the insistence this family has on marriage, as if we’re still in the eighteenth century. The whole coven, small as it is, has been wanting a union between me and another to “keep the bloodlines strong.” I roll my eyes, thankful Grandma can’t read my mind. It’s stupid.

Why should we be doing it, when so many other covens haven’t bothered?

Being a witch once meant something. It was a community of bonds and family—of power—allowing witches to do whatever they want; be whoever they want. It was before the rise of technology, when witch populations lived in forests by themselves. Now, we’ve come out of the shadows to live like humans and witchcraft is merely a show of the older generation trying to get the younger ones to keep magic alive by continuing the bloodline. In the end, what’s the point? In a world overrun by humans and modernity, we no longer have the same purpose we once did.

While there used to be thousands of covens around the world, there’s now only hundreds left. There were once hundreds in Canada alone, but now we’re down to a measly handful. Most I don’t know, only that they’re here. I’d be happy to never know them, in fact, because knowing them means Grandma got her way and managed to make contact.

Most covens remain quiet and to themselves. Supernatural creatures opted for peace with modernity. Witch covens—the ones having survived into the present—keep to themselves, shifters retreated and remain the woods, and vampires… I don’t actually know what vampires do, since at no time, have I ever seen one for myself.

A chill strokes my spine, and I thank the Goddess I’ve never met a vampire, and hopefully won’t ever. Not once have witches and vampires gotten along, and it’s ironic, seeing how we created them. I’ve heard of covens also being unfriendly to the shifter packs, but I don’t know what they’ve ever done to us. In reality, we’re a cranky bunch, always viewing ourselves superior over other species—shifters, vampires, and humans alike.

There are only two covens I know of—the Fortunas, which are only a few hours away, and the Sinclair family. However the Sinclairs don’t truly count as witches. They’re one of the ones who gave up their magic decades ago, stopped learning it after allowing so many humans into the family. Last I heard, there are only two Sinclairs left. Given their unique blood situation though, they have their own issues.

Still, they’re more human than I get to be and the poison of jealousy remains in the back of my throat, simply from thinking about them.

I remember meeting the youngest, Harlow, once when we were kids. It was at her father’s funeral. Grandmother didn’t want to attend the “human’s funeral,” but Mom insisted, encouraging us to keep some connection to the powerful Sinclairs.

A scoff builds in my throat, and I cough lightly. For as much good as that did us. They haven’t been seen in ages and were likely hunted down. It’s often surprised me Grandma didn’t want to adopt them and try to wake their magic up, but for some reason she never bothered.

“Carina?” Mom’s voice yanks me from my thoughts and I glance up once more. Both future versions of me stare back. There’s a crinkle in Mom’s skin from where she appears concerned, but Grandma’s impatient expression is what holds my attention.

“Hmm?”

“Your grandmother was speaking to you.”

“Sorry.” I refocus my attention on her, even setting the phone beside me and sitting straighter.

Grandma opens her mouth, but whatever she is about to say is cut off by the chime of her phone—something she insisted on understanding to have an easier time reaching out to other covens. It’s ridiculous. She’s taught herself the newest technology, simply so her ability to email can accompany her anywhere.

She lifts the phone, her eyes flicking over the screen for a beat, before she gasps and her hand flies to her chest. I sit forward, interested in what would shock Grandma so much. Mom lays her tea down on the coffee table, but unlike me, her expression remains wary, while I’m only curious.

“This is… interesting,” Grandma murmurs. “Change of plans tonight, girls.”

I briefly shut my eyes, letting relief linger. Tonight is the full moon ceremony; yet another useless activity getting us nowhere in life. I doubt the Goddess cares if we bless the elements or not. It’s not as if she’ll take our magic from us. But if there’s something else on the agenda, I’ll take it. I’ll take almost anything that isn’t a ceremony.

“A wolf pack wants a meeting.”

Her words spark my heart, creating flutters that flicker the lining of my stomach. Accompanying the surprise is excitement and I shift in the chair, leaning forward to the point I’d fall off it if my feet weren’t stuck properly to the carpet underneath. It’s a feeling of apprehensive thrill, of course, having not once seen a shifter before. Overtaking all that, I chuckle, amused shifters contacted witches through email. Laughter bursts from my lips, unable to be contained, jerking both Mom and Grandma’s gaze toward me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, slowing down my chuckle until there’s nothing left.

Mom sits forward, her hands twisting in her lap. “What happens when we say no? Do you think they will attack?”

Grandma’s lips press together. “We’re not saying no. We will meet them tonight.”

“What?” Mom shrieks, lurching up in her seat. “Why? Why now, after being only one province over for… for as long as we’ve known. And why are you accepting this meeting?”

Grandma’s gaze lights up, her eyes flicking between Mom and the phone. “Because Fortuna would be willing to discuss a union if we kill this pack.”

Mom’s mouth drops open, and so does mine. My eyes narrow on Grandma because so much isn’t making sense right now. If one pack is what kept her from making the union, why not attack sooner? And when did that conversation happen with Fortuna?

“Why—”

Grandma cuts off my question with a wave of her hand. Her magic steals it from my mouth, leaving me gaping. I hate this spell most of all. It temporarily silences the person and a soundless growl builds, burning my throat because it has nowhere to go.

Fuck you, Grandma.

“You don’t get to ask these questions, Carina. I will be gathering the coven,” her eyes appraise both Mom and me, “and you can meet us all in the clearing by this evening. We will be meeting them there.”

With another wave of her hand, she’s departed from the room, leaving Mom gaping in confusion and me silent for the next few minutes until the spell wears off.

The hours pass quickly and I swap out my nice shoes for plain flats, despising the forest. It was unavoidable today, one way or the other. If it wasn’t for this random meeting, it’d be the ceremony. Another reason to hate being a witch. We’re quite outdoorsy, which is not something I enjoy at all; I would much rather wear cute stilettos than tromp around in the dirty outside.

I open my closet door, reaching for a thin sweater rather than the dreaded, ugly black blob hanging on the door. If there’s one thing I hate most about being a witch, it’s the cloak—uncomfortable, baggy, and just plain annoying. Coupled with the symbolism behind it. Grandma loves them; sees them as her regal crown and a sign of being a witch.

Get to see shifters for the first time. Don’t have to wear the abysmal cloak. So far, this evening isn’t too shitty.

After I’m ready to go, I meet Mom downstairs and she pops us to the clearing, seeing as I can’t. Damn witch families often block their underage children from using that spell, so we can’t easily sneak out of the house. Most decide to unblock theirs when the child is eighteen, but my loving grandmother convinced Mom to wait for a union instead.

Which makes getting around town extra annoying. A fact I’m sure she’s considered and is a reason for denying me the spell.

My family is already scattered around the clearing, with Grandma at the front and centre of us all. To the side are my two aunts and uncles, which Mom instantly joins. Jasper stands slouched at the back of the group, giving the impression of being bored, and I stride past everyone, to stand beside him.

Jasper is only one of three males in the coven. Female witches repeatedly outlast males—something about the Goddess and her matriarchal society.

Jasper’s eyes flick to me once as I approach. Being nearly six years older than me, he’s the brother I never had a chance to have, seeing as Dad died much too young—even younger than what would be considered normal.

“Hey,” he grunts.

“Hey.”

“Crazy, huh?” Jasper murmurs.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Do you know why Grandma was so willing to have this meeting?”

Beneath shaggy dirty-blond hair, making him appear more like a college student rather than the professor he in fact is, his eyes flash. He moves an inch to the right, his gaze flicking away from me.

I frown at his strange behaviour. Jasper wouldn’t… Jasper doesn’t lie. I think.

“Well, do you?” I prod, extremely interested in his response now. My fingers pick at the edge of my jeans, small bits of anxiety dancing on my nerves.

“No,” he replies finally. “I don’t know why she would agree to such a dangerous meeting.”

My eyes narrow, scanning his expression. His body language says otherwise, but his words seem truthful. He’s questioning her actions, which is normal behaviour for Jasper. His words soothe my nerves just enough my muscles ease once more.

“Have you ever seen one?” I ask. Not that I recall he has, given I haven’t.

“Nope,” he replies, popping his p. “It’ll be a first.”

“I’m kinda excited.” As if my body catches up to the feeling, my fingers thrum on my jeans and I shift my weight to my other leg, then back once more. A feeling of impatience courses through me.

Jasper chuckles softly. “Only you, Carina, only you.”

“They’re here.” Grandma’s voice travels from the front, and as one, we straighten, staring at the treeline ahead of us.

A moment later, through the glow of the setting sun peeking in between the trees, they emerge one-by-one.