The Lunar Witch

Chapter 2

After returning home, I put away my collection and took a nap ‘til midday. Coming downstairs, I smelled pot roast and bread baking in the oven. Gran was standing in the middle of the kitchen, waving her hands, orchestrating dinner. Dishes and utensils swirled around her, and sauces and seasoning danced to their places.

She turned to me and smiled while the surrounding dinner settled onto plates. Gran walked from the kitchen to the dining room table while her dancing dinner followed. She stopped at the table while the food arranged itself into a hearty feast.

Even though Gran was my 4th generation grandmother, I never thought she looked old. She had crow’s feet and other small wrinkles, but her face didn’t show her true age. Her hair had become silver over the past few years, but no one would guess she was over 400. Instead, I often thought that she looked like she could be mistaken for my mother.

I had inherited many of her features. We had the same brown hair, gray eyes, and freckles, but I was a tad taller than her. The only major difference between our faces, other than aging, was the scar I had above my right eyebrow. I was curvier than Gran too, with a bit of pudge from my love of cooking. Her smile was warm and reached her eyes. I could only wish that I would age as gracefully as Gran had.

“I thought you might be hungry after your excursion, dear.” She gestured for me to sit in the chair across from her.

“Thank you, Gran. This smells great.” I sat down, grabbed a piece of fresh bread, and slathered butter on it. Smelling the food made my stomach rumble, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since before going out last night. The bread was warm and soft, with enough bite to it. And the pot roast was tender and succulent, tasting of rosemary and thyme.

“Did you get enough blossoms this year?” Gran asked in between a bite of her bread.

“I did. There was an abundance this year, and I left plenty of blossoms untouched.”

“Good, good. And you were unbothered?”

“Well, something odd happened last night. The meadow had an altar.” I watched Gran to see her reaction. She looked up, still holding her spoon in the air.

“For Selene.” I began telling her about the altar, and the more I said, the more confused she looked. Once I finished, I sat watching her, waiting for a response.

“How odd. I’ve never seen an altar for Selene in America. When I was young, my great grandmother had one on her property. We haven’t had a Lunar Witch in the family since then. I wonder why Selene has placed an altar here, now of all times?” Gran stared off into the distance for a moment, before snapping her attention onto me.

“Did you pray at the altar?” she asked.

“No. I tried to be as respectful as possible while inspecting it, then I left to collect the stamens.”

“I remember little about my great grandmother, or about Lunar magic. But I know that if an altar shows up, there must be a reason. Selene must want it prayed at. For what reason, I don’t know.” She picked up her spoon and resumed eating again.

Gran was a witch who believed in Fate. Everything had a reason, a purpose that tied together the fabric of Fate. Few modern witches believed in Fate anymore, but I trusted her and had grown to believe in Fate as well.

“Shall I go back tonight and worship at the altar? If it’s even still there?” I should’ve worshipped at it last night.

“No, I have another task for you. If I remember correctly, House should still have my great grandmother’s grimoire somewhere. It might be best if you read it first. Maybe it will mention the altar.”

Gran and I finished eating and picked up the kitchen together. She put away the last few dishes and turned to me.

“I’ll be gone for a while. Patricia and I need to run an errand for the coven.” Gran said.

“When do you leave?”

“Tonight. But before I go, let’s go find that grimoire.” She walked to the living room door, and I followed. There was a fire going in the fireplace, a cozy blue couch, and many bookshelves. She opened the front door, and we stepped inside. It was pitch black, and no matter how far you reached, you would never feel walls.

“It’s always so cold in here.” I said, hugging my arms around me.

“House, please take me to Astrid’s grimoire.” Gran said. Wind swept across my face and my hair blew around. Large bookshelves appeared in the distance, quickly getting closer. Soon they were in front of us, moving past us like a maze. Goosebumps formed on my arms as the wind continued to blow around me, and my shirt flapped about. The shelves stopped, and we stood in front of a bookshelf.

Whenever I came in here, House always dropped me off at the wrong place. But House would never do that to Gran. She plucked the book closest to her and tutted when she opened it. She put it back on the shelf and kept looking. We began plucking the books off the shelf, one by one, until she found the right one.

“Astrid Thornhart. Found you!” She said and handed me the book. It was old and tattered. The front page had drawings of the moon cycle with her name in the center; the paper was stained from use. This one is old. I’ll have to be careful with it. I gently shut the book and pressed it against my chest.

“Please take us back House.” The shelves moved again, and the wind blew my hair around. Once the shelves were gone and the wind stopped, Gran reached out and grabbed the doorknob. I followed her out, stumbling back into the living room. Leaving the closet was always disorienting.

Blinking a few times, my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the living room. Gran smoothed her dress down and grabbed a coat from the rack next to the door, along with the leather suit case that wasn’t there before. House never packs my bags.

“You’re leaving now?”

“I don’t want to be late. Don’t stay up too long reading that book, dear.” Gran gave me a knowing smile.

“I’ll try. Be safe out there.” I said. We both knew it was a lie. I had lived with Gran since I was nine, and I had grown to see her more like a mom.

“I will, dear.” Her grey eyes swirled with worry as she cusped my face in her hands. She placed a peck on my forehead, making me smile. “Be careful.” I nodded, and Gran released me. The door clicked as it closed behind her. My stomach did flips as I carried the hefty book up the stairs to my room.

Gran hated leaving me alone. Not because I was a woman left in a big house. I hadn’t developed magical abilities. The Thornhart family was an ancestral line of powerful witches. Normally, the witches in our family develop their magic at an early age. The most basic, innate magic was the one we were born with; no spells, enchantments, incantations, or curses needed.

Chrys, my eldest sister, performed her first magic at 3, tripping our mom when she denied her a cookie. She hadn’t meant to do it. It simply happened.

I had never developed such innate abilities. I never tripped anyone, never magically made a cookie appear, nothing. At first Gran told me I was a late bloomer. But as I passed 20, then 30, she stopped. I wasn’t a late bloomer. I didn’t possess basic magic. No spells, enchantments, incantations, or curses for me.

Not that I didn’t try. I did everything I could to learn about magic. I studied my heart out, hoping that one day I would gain my magic and be able to use all that knowledge.

But that day never came, and at 34 years old, I still couldn’t cast a basic spell. Instead, I became a herbologist. I studied magic that didn’t require spells, magic that many witches deemed worthless.

My room hadn’t changed in several years. Inside was my messy bed, bookshelves, and desk. My window framed a view of my garden and the family greenhouse. Strewn across the room were books and loose papers.

I began tidying up my desk, putting away my charcoal art pencils, different inks and watercolors. Once I decluttered everything, I could sit and inspect the grimoire.

The book itself was bound in leather, with large gold clasps on the spine. The leather was worn and beginning to degrade. Gently opening it, I saw the front page again. The moon cycle made a circle with Astrid’s name in the center. The parchment paper was thin between my fingers, and I was careful not to rip it while turning pages.

I fidgeted with my amulet while flipping through the pages until I came upon the first inscription. Woman’s Word? This is older than I thought. Surprise turned to curiosity as I stared at the page. Woman’s Word was an ancient language witches created centuries ago. Before a witch could learn it, they had to swear never to teach it to men.

Years ago, Gran tasked me with restoring the Thornhart family’s grimoires. It was safe and best done without magic; therefore, the perfect job for me.

I had restored many grimoires, but none of them had contained magic like this one. There were rituals, spells, and much more that were unlike anything I’d read before. Dancing with Wolves, Calling the Moon, Feeding the Sun, all rituals that were foreign to me.

Some were even things I could do. However, there were words throughout that I couldn’t translate well. And it was dangerous to perform magic if you don’t know what you’re doing.

The moon gazed at me from my window. The clock on my nightstand read 2 o’clock. It’s so late! I better get to sleep. I got up, stripped off my clothes, and climbed into bed.