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“I’m not sure if I am. I’ve just been sick, and I can’t recall when my last period had been,” I hesitated, uncertainty laced my voice.
The second crone approached me and gently lifted my chin, peering into my eyes with a gaze as deep as her knowledge. The scent of herbs and oils lingered on her, and her hands, marked by time, gently examined my face before she turned to Anastasia. As she stepped back, she looked at her assistant. “Did you do as I asked, Stassia?” She asked.
Anastasia confirmed she did with a nod and pulled out a very well-worn tarot deck from her pocket.
“The Empress,” she announced, displaying the card. “I shuffled them three times. All three times I drew the Empress.”
The crones exchanged knowing smiles before turning back to me. “Promising indeed. Let’s verify, shall we?”
As the third crone approached, her steps were deliberate and measured, until she stood right beside me, gently placing her hand on my shoulder. “Please, lie back, dear. We need to examine your abdomen. Forgive our chilly hands. Age has taken its toll on our circulation.”
The three of them chuckled as I followed her instruction and laid back against the exam table before exposing my belly for the old witches to exam. They each took turns pressing against my lower stomach, their eyes blurring as if they were mindlinking one another.
Was that even possible? Could witches mindlink like wolf packs could?
I observed them one by one as they moved away, with the third crone being the last, as she helped me sit up and cover my stomach before moving to her sisters’ side.
Anastasia and I watched in awe as they moved around the exam room, carefully selecting different herbs and oils to use. After a few moments, with an empty bottle now added to their counter beside me, the three crones smiled back at me.
“Congratulations, you are indeed expecting the next in line to the Crete Coven. We measure you to be around five weeks. The timing explains your symptoms and confusion.”
I frowned, processing the timeline. “But Brady and I... We didn’t officially mate until three weeks ago. How could I be five weeks pregnant?”
The crones all chuckled. I even saw Anastasia crack an amused smile, though with her it almost seemed to carry a hint of mischief.
“My dear child, we don’t estimate based off of conception. If you are measuring five weeks, that would mean that your last period would have been five weeks ago. You are just barely late, which would be why you hadn’t noticed yet. Hardly anyone notices only being a few days late.”
My cheeks warmed with a blend of embarrassment and enlightenment. “I see. I suppose I hadn’t considered that. I should have known that.”
The third crone’s smile softened. “How would you?” she asked. “It’s not a topic that comes up often. Though it really should be. Such matters seldom cross one’s mind until directly faced with them.”
“Perhaps,” the second crone said with a smirk, “she can discuss with her mate the need for an improved curriculum in the school’s reproductive class.”
“Yes, or...” I watched as the first crone seemed to be observing Anastasia. “She might ask the beta’s brother. I understand he is taking over the school now that he is back from the Pacific Academy of Magick.”
Anastasia froze as she looked towards the first crone. The moment she realized that everyone was now staring at her, she averted her gaze to her cards, skillfully shuffling them as if she hadn’t been paying attention.
The crones shared a chuckle among themselves, then turned back to their concoction of herbs and oils. “We’re crafting a special potion for you,” they announced in a chorus that seemed to dance through the air.
“A prenatal concoction,” they continued, their voices weaving together the importance of care for a pregnancy as unique as mine. “Carrying a magical child has its own set of needs, distinct from a typical shifter pregnancy.”
“A hybrid pregnancy is especially special. The care and nutrition that goes into supporting your body as it builds this new life must be kept in balance,” they all said in unison.
“You are the first shifter female to carry a hybrid,” the first crone said as she looked me over. “That we know of, at least.”
“Yes, that does make it a little trickier,” the second crone said.
“Why is that?” I quickly asked, as the third crone ran over to a cupboard and began to shuffle through the bottles.
“A Witch’s offspring inherits a bond with magic through their mother,” Anastasia chimed in, providing clarity on the subject. “They’re born with a natural immunity to magic from their mother. Without your own magic, this child would lack this crucial protective mechanism against the very power it will inherit.”
Sitting up straighter, my heart raced with concern for the child I had just discovered I was carrying. “What is going to happen to my child? What does this mean for my baby? I’ve heard that witches typically come into their powers around thirteen. Don’t they?”
“Yes, that is when many witches, especially Crete witches, do. Some won’t show any signs of magic until well into their twenty’s, much like Stassia’s little sister had.” The first crone explained. “Not to worry, we may have a way around this issue. Sister?”
“Yes!” the third crone cheered in response. “I found it. Just enough for this potion.” She turned to Anastasia. “We will need more mandrake roots, please add it to the list for the greenhouse order.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” she said politely.
