It feels like hours, days, months, and none of us moves.
The seasons change before my eyes, the lush green forests of summer turning the fiery red-orange of autumn. Moments later, the leaves fall, the lake freezing pure white. My teeth have just started to chatter when winter releases its icy grip, and the first green buds of spring decorate the earth.
As the spring gives way once again to summer, returning the scene to where it began, the woman on the far left steps forward.
Her face is gentle and untroubled, framed by long red-gold hair that reminds me of the autumn leaves that fell just moments before. A bright red dress covers her from head to toe, her shoulders wrapped in a wine-dark cloak that flutters behind her. A simple crescent moon circuit adorns her head.
I see now that her object is an old-fashioned chalice, much like the one in the fountain on campus. She closes her eyes and drinks deeply, then extends the cup toward me.
I wrap my hands around it, and when our fingers touch I feel her energy, warm and compassionate, deeply sensitive.Sister,I think, and she smiles, as if to answer my thought.
She guides the chalice to my lips, and I drink, surprised by the warm sweetness flooding my mouth. It tastes like mulled wine, and fills me with a deep sense of comfort and belonging.
When I open my eyes again, I find her watching me intently, still wearing that serene smile. She offers a gentle bow, then returns to her place beside the others.
The woman next to her approaches me next. Where the first was calm and soft, this woman is bold and commanding, with long dark hair and a circlet of pale blue flowers. She too wears a long dress, but hers is woven in shades of blue like the sky, her cape tattered at the edges as if she’s endured a great many storms. A raven perches silently on her shoulder, ever watchful.
As she smiles at me, a sword flashes in her hand, but I know she means no harm. She presses the flat of the blade to her lips, then extends it toward me, touching me on each shoulder like a knight.
As with the first woman and the chalice, I know instinctively what she wants me to do. Obeying, I hold out my hands, allowing her to press the tip of the sword into the center of each palm. As soon as the blade draws blood, a rush of power courses through my veins, straight to my heart. It’s so intense, I laugh with giddy pleasure.
The woman returns my smile and bows, then returns to her place.
The third woman is dressed in a bright orange strapless dress printed with dark green salamanders and trimmed with the same Celtic knotwork featured on Professor Phaines’ cards. An olive green cape hangs elegantly over one bare shoulder. Her hair cascades down past her waist, dark auburn shot through with golden highlights. When the breeze catches it, she shimmers like living fire.
She carries a long staff, and holds it out to me now. The moment I touch it, witchfire engulfs the wood, hot and bright, but neither of us pulls away. At first I think the magick is entirely hers, but then I feel my own, our two fires merging, growing stronger together. Just like with the others, I feel nothing but welcoming kindness. She’s fierce, but compassionate, her power destructive and creative in equal measure.
The fire fades away, and she steps back with a smile, allowing the last woman to approach.
She’s the youngest of the group, no more than fourteen or fifteen, with thick dark hair and eyebrows and a round face still clinging to the last vestiges of childhood. She wears a simple long-sleeved gown in a checkerboard pattern of alternating greens and a luxurious velvet cape, deep red trimmed in golden Celtic knots like the other woman’s dress.
When she looks at me, I can’t help but feel like I’m under the microscope. She doesn’t smile, but finally nods her approval, holding out her small hands to show me a pentacle made of gold. When I touch it, I feel her energy surround me like a protective cloak, merging with my own energy, our magick twining and sinking into the earth like the gnarled roots of a tree.
Eventually, she returns to the others, all four watching me intently, the breeze catching their hair and gowns.
“I will not disappoint you,” I say, though I don’t know why those words come to mind. I sense the rightness of them, though, and press my hands to my heart, silently thanking them for their gifts.
These women feel like sisters, like allies, but there’s an expectation among them, too—one I hope I can meet.
In perfect unison, they bow to me, then turn their backs and return to the lake, vanishing beneath the water once again. Sensing the ritual is at its end, I’m about to turn back up the dirt path, but something else stirs in the water, beckoning me closer.
I approach the shoreline, and suddenly it explodes from the depths, a blinding silver-white light bleaching the surrounding landscape to a pale gray.
I know before the light fades that it’s my owl, the magickal spirit that saved me on the rocks the day Luke was murdered. He glides toward me, and I hold up my arm, inviting him to perch.
He lands with grace, his talons strong and fierce, his weight almost more than I can bear. Bright golden eyes gaze into mine, and up close like this, I can see all the shades of his beautiful plumage—whites and creams, spots of dark brown and even gray. I know at once he is a fierce predator, but I also know I have nothing to fear from this magnificent creature. We were connected in ways I can’t even begin to understand.
We gaze into each other’s eyes a long moment before the bird finally turns its head, breaking our connection. Then, with a breathless span of its wings, he takes flight, launching off my arm and darting into the sky.
I jog around the edge of the lake, hoping to track his flight, but I’ve already lost him.
“Wait!” I cry out, but at the sound of my call, the landscape vanishes around me.
I’m back in Trello’s office, seated at the mahogany table. Professor Phaines watches me intently, the other two standing behind him. All of their mouths are parted in surprise.
I glanced down at the tarot deck in front of me and notice four cards spread beneath it, facing upright.
They are the princesses of the tarot, one representing each suit.
