As much as I wanted to stick with them, to follow their morning, and use their minds to keep me grounded, I had no choice but to delve deeper into Winston’s memories.
I’d finally unraveled the traps in this sector, pieced together the shattered thoughts, and had a memory of The True Witch right before my eyes.
Severing my connection with my students, I coiled as much of my telepathy back into myself as I could. Mountains of psychic energy still floated across the city, but the bulk radiated within me. I needed it as a buffer, a shield, a weapon to fend off the ferocity of any potential threats the Celestial Coven had in store. I’d learned all too well that letting my guard down for even an instant could be the death of me and everyone else.
I followedthe thread of the memory, launching myself deep within the moment while keeping a manifestation of myself at the ready, positioned in the inner core, and the main base of my magic locked outside Winston’s mind where I stood.
It was imperative that I didn’t mistake this opportunity for good fortune. The Celestial Coven thrived on traps, and I needed to ensure I didn’t walk directly into one.
A blonde woman with a tan strutted toward Winston. Toward this memory of Winston in a getup, easily from something I might’ve found in a catalogue highlighting the nuclear family of the 1950s. It was nauseating to look at them both, yet informative all the same. Winston was a bit younger in appearance than how he looked now, but maybe by a sliver of a few years. And that could just be his current clean-shaven face and fresh haircut in comparison. That and the suit he had in the memory made him seem older.
“Have you considered our proposal?” the woman asked.
Winston slowed his aging, much like the pillars of the Celestial Coven. I thought it was a requirement of the four main members, but perhaps they encouraged immortality for all theircoven members. In which case, that meant the possibility of more ancient magics at play.
“I seek to speak with your True Witch, not some lacky.”
“We are no lackies.” The blonde planted her hands on her hips, but there was a sway in her body that jerked ever so slightly in the opposite direction.
It was like she was being yanked by strings in every which way. A familiar sight.
“Respect us or—”
“You’ll break my mind like so many others?” Winston grinned. “Yes, I’ll admit, you lot have some serious psychic power, but it doesn’t answer any of my questions.”
Psychic supremacy. This was The Sisters Three, possessing a different witch from the one I’d banished them from when they attacked.
“What are you, exactly?” Winston asked, trying to make sense of the odd pluralization The Sisters Three used in reference to themselves. “What isshe?”
“The True Witch is a god,” they replied. “As are we.”
“You say that, and the pitch is appealing, but I’m no gullible fool.” Winston crossed his arms. “These enchantment enhancements, they’re the source of your godhood? What happens when the charge they hold runs dry?”
“Our resources never run dry,” The Sisters Three said in unison. “We are gods. Ascended beyond compare, but the world in its current state is too small to hold all our glory. We need to open it back up, return all the magic to this realm.”
“So you keep saying, which is an easy enough lie to offer when lacking the power you claim to possess.”
“We possess more power than any witch,” The Sisters Three voice turned stern and echoed in Winston’s mind. “But let us show you the glory of revolution, the tides of time we turned, the liberation of magic we seek.”
Winston required evidence, proof of power, before he’d invest anything into this coven. Why The Sisters Three found themselves compelled to convince this witch, I wouldn’t understand. He was powerful, but not to the same degree as the others. Perhaps all members of the Celestial Coven pale in comparison to the tremendous force the four pillars possessed. One could hope.
I braced for the impending flashes of visions, of history, the psychic witches etched into Winston’s mind. They didn’t merely show him their history; they seared it into his mind. I turned my head, studying the walls of Winston’s inner core, looking deep into the crevices and finding the scars marred throughout his mind.
The entire story unfolded from this memory, and I traced the images hidden in his mind.
“We gather here today to liberate magic for all,” Amara spoke to a crowd, dressed in a tunic. Her speech continued, echoing in a foreign language I didn’t comprehend. “We will no longer bow to the greedy gods. We will show that godhood is for all, not merely the few blessed by circumstance.”
It came with a delay, but the words were translated. An effort made by The Sisters Three, undoubtedly.
Amara appeared the same as she did now, but the creases around her eyes were deeper. There were calluses on her hands and cuts on her feet. Her clothing was speckled with dirt and grime. Her skin was worn and tired. But she held herself withstrength, the same strength I’d seen with her calm composure thousands of years later.
There was something off about this memory, this moment. The crowd, the words, and the design all seemed genuine and false simultaneously. The reality was stitched together, and I could see the faint scarring of the lies. But why lie?
“Because this isn’t Amara’s life,” I whispered.
She was much older than The Sisters Three. Predating them to such a point, they didn’t have any idea. I recall that much when I scoured their minds before killing them.
“How astute,” The Sisters Three said, stepping out of the strings of this memory and circling me like the vultures they were.
