꙰
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Every night? That doesn’t seem right, but the weather is mild, and the world is beautiful. I dance with abandon, my feet kicking up dust, beating a rhythm to the silent world. My skirt flows, my red hair knotted on top of my head in an intricate updo I would never wear. My arms are adorned with beautiful bracelets that nicely contrast the red stone necklace that sits on my chest. I don’t want to leave. Why don’t I want to leave?
This cotton candy sky is unfamiliar to me; I haven’t danced in years. Then, as fast as it had come into being, the world begins to crumble. The purple clouds fold in on themselves, turning to giant black thunderheads. The ground, solid just seconds before, begins to shake, cracks forming with light spilling from them. I fall, my hand landing on a crack. I pull it back as fast as I can. It burns my hand.
Congratulations! Your most vivid dream has been selected for communal viewing. Emotional nudity is a gift — thank you for your vulnerability.
I shoot up in bed, look at my hand, and see a thin burn across my palm. Groggily, I walk to my kitchen, stand parallel to the sink, and look at my hand more closely. I don’t turn the lights on; the street light is enough to see. I’m still hungover, maybe even still drunk, from the campaign party last night. The skin is starting to pucker and turn red. It’s deep. What the fuck do they want? I run it under cool water, but the pain is excruciating. This is a magical wound; they’re trying to contact me. I look at my clock, 3:45 a.m. Why now? My life is good. I haven’t seen or heard from anyone in my coven for a decade.
Then my phone rings.
“What?” I spit out.
“Hey, sis.” My brother’s voice hits me in the face like a ton of bricks. All of a sudden, I’m thirteen again, and he’s five, and we’re in the backyard, and I’m taking the blame for lighting the apple tree on fire so Dad doesn’t punish him.
“Dan.”
“Grams is dead.”
As a token of our appreciation, we’ve removed your worst memory. It is now stored behind glass, on display in Hall Beta. Guests are responding well.
“What do you want me to do about it?” I spit back at him. No one even told me she was sick—not that I would have gone to see them. Not after the last time.
“All right, take a second. Jeez, Lynn, what is your problem?” He’s so calm. He was always so calm. He doesn’t sound like my little brother; he sounds older than me, which of course makes me angry, even more than being woken up in the middle of the night by crazy witch dreams. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to hear about Grams being dead and what that means for the coven. I know already. I know that’s why they sent me the dream. They want me back.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” I can hear his protestations on the other end as I hit the big red button and put my phone down.
We’ve restored order. We’ve restored order. We’ve restored—We’ve restored—We’ve—
“What do you want me to do about it?” I spit back at him. No one even told me she was sick—not that I would have gone to see them. Not after the last time.
“All right, take a second. Jeez, Lynn, what is your problem?” He’s so calm. He was always so calm. He doesn’t sound like my little brother; he sounds older than me, which of course makes me angry, even more than being woken up in the middle of the night by crazy witch dreams. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to hear about Grams being dead and what that means for the coven. I know already. I know that’s why they sent me the dream. They want me back.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” I can hear his protestations on the other end as I hit the big red button and put my phone down.
We’ve restored order. We’ve restored order. We’ve restored—We’ve restored—We’ve—
Grams being dead means there will be an election for a new head of coven. It’s been years since I’ve seen any of them; they don’t need me to do this. Grams and I share some things in common that make us unique. Covens these days are more like collectors than anything else, searching the globe for witches with specific powers. Witchcraft used to stay in the family, in the community. There aren’t enough of us left to keep up that model, so leaders collect.
Outdated convictions have been archived for efficiency
If you ask any witch, it’s to maintain balance. We’re supposed to be arbiters of nature, but really, it’s to amass power. If you get a really honest witch a little drunk, they’ll tell you it’s a way to amass power “just in case.” I’ve never gotten anyone to elaborate on the “in case” part. I never really cared.
This version of you is temporary. Please enjoy it while it lasts.
I’m not sure what they’re preparing for. I don’t think there’s enough of us to have a “great evil.” I disowned my family and did my last magic ten years ago. I prefer to get my power the old-fashioned way: political games and paying people off quietly.
I make myself some coffee, still in the dark, because I’m up and hungover, and I don’t think I’m getting back to sleep. I might as well start my day. I sit down on my couch, sip my coffee, and then there’s a knock on my door—the one I knew was coming.
A minor ethical adjustment has been applied
“It’s unlocked,” I say, not caring who is walking in my door at 4:00 in the morning.
Dan walks in, his red hair all over the place, his scarf hanging off at an odd angle. He traveled magically.
“I see you’re still rocking the homeless professor look,” I say to him, rolling my eyes.
“You had that one locked and loaded,” he snaps back. He waves his arm, and all of my lights come on.
“What the fuck, Dan?” I’m blinded, and the headache that was dancing on an edge comes through with full force. “First you send me a freaky dream, then you call in the middle of the night, and now you’re walking in here like you own the place.” I’m mad. The lights flicker. The apartment shakes a little.
STOP: Apologies
Apologies
Apologies
ApoApoApolo
Gies
STOP
Outdated convictions have been archived for efficiency
“That magic popping out now might be for the best,” he says quietly as he plops down on the chair next to my couch. At least he has the decency to not sit next to me.
I pause for a second. As I get a better look at him, I notice he looks haggard, not just disheveled, like he hasn’t been sleeping. I remember his nightmares from when we were kids.
Have they come back?
No. I don’t care.
“Are you done?” he says, still so calm.
“For now,” I shoot back.
“You need to come home.”
“I don’t need to do anything.”
“You know what you are to the coven. You knew we’d call for you when she was gone. Also, what dream? I didn’t send you any dreams. I can’t do that.”
I don’t want to believe him, but my brother is a lot of things; a liar is not one of them.
“The dreams with the cotton candy clouds and the terrifying earthquake. I assumed it was your way of trying to frighten me back home.”
Now I’m confused.
“I’m not the one who likes to play mind games, Lynn. That was always you.”
There’s venom in his soft voice I’ve never heard before.
“I don’t play mind games. I have a life, Dan. I’m not going back. My candidate just won. People want me to work for them,” I say, trying to keep the pride out of my voice.
The funny thing is, I still love him. I always will, but he’s weak. He’s always been weak. He stayed, did what our family, our coven, wanted. I left. I get to live apart from the chaos. If I dig deep, I think I’m better than him.
“Lynn, you play mind games for a living. Of course your candidate won. You never needed magic to get what you wanted.”
“Wow, I thought we were talking about clouds and dreams. I seem to remember that talent being useful when I was constantly covering for you,” I say back to him.
“Whatever. I didn’t send you any dreams. How do you know they’re not just dreams?”
I lean over and show him my palm.
“Well, shit. That’s worse than I thought. No, that wasn’t me, but it is an even bigger reason why you should come home.”
He pulls my hand towards him so he can examine it closely.
“Listen, I appreciate the concern.” I’m surprised that I’m not lying. “Dan, I can’t go back. I don’t want to see them.”
Why am I pleading?
“You don’t have to see them, but you need to be there for the vote. You need to be there to accept or reject Grams’ power. You know that you are the next anchor, just by birth order. It’s not something you can help. If you don’t go back, we lose our power.”
I take a deep breath.
This was not the argument I thought he’d pull out so easily.
Witches have to tie their power to something, or in our coven’s case, to someone. My grandmother was the last anchor, the one who is the conduit between the earth’s magic and the rest of the coven. Typically, it skips a generation. My mother had the option, but she rejected the offer. She had other things to do.
Coven politics are even more complicated than human politics. Inter-coven politics are even more complicated than that. The only thing witches at least claim to believe is balance and nature. None of them agree on how to do that, and none of them agree on what balance is, but it is what it is.
“Why aren’t Mom and Dad here to beg me?” I say, trying to buy myself a little time.
“You know how busy they are.”
He doesn’t look me in the eye.
“They don’t know you’re here, do they?”
I almost laugh. My rule-following brother is going behind our parents’ backs in a massive way.
“No, they told me they didn’t want to see you either. The narcissist doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
I laugh again.
“All right, all right, little brother, I get the point. Actually, it might be fun to drop in on the family and the coven. It’ll also be fun for me to reject them in person.”
“You won’t reject it,” Dan says quietly.
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I know you, Lynn. You’re going to take one look at the problem, and your ego isn’t going to let you not solve it,” he says, and it’s his turn to laugh at me.
“The problem?”
“Come on, now that you know none of us sent you the dream, it’s going to drive you nuts. You need answers. You always have. I’m pretty sure you won’t get them here.”
He gestures to my apartment—the one with the view of the city I love so much, the one I worked so hard to get, the one that used to guarantee my seclusion from my family.
“Fine.”
“That’s it? Fine? We haven’t spoken in ten years, and that’s all you’ll give me?”
He looks genuinely hurt.
“You’re getting what you want. I’m coming back with you. That’s what you wanted. You’ll have to earn anything else.”
“I think it’s you that has something to prove,” he says quietly.
He grabs my arm.
With a pop, we’re gone.
> Note: Beauty protocol successfully archived. Civilian recognition level: HIGH.
> Addendum: “You never knew pop at gone” – Citizen Echo [INTU-PATH SYSTEM RESPONSE: FILE STORED. CONTINUE SEQUENCE.]
(You may only follow one at a time. For now.)
Thread opens weekly. Mind the velvet. Offer snacks to the Oracle with caution.
