Page 83 of Summer L.A.W.

“Who wants to start a spell with their intentions?”

Lioness bounded forward like a golden retriever fueled by magic. “Me. I brought the visual presentation.” She pulled out a stack of hand-painted cards, each depicting a different witch surrounded by corn, flowers, and dramatic swirls of magic.

“Witch, please…” Joell sighed. “These are beautiful, but⁠—”

“It’s art,” Lioness insisted. “Lammas needs art.”

The mountain hummed in agreement. Even the squirrel nodded.

Joell threw up her hands. “Fine. Art is allowed.”

Lioness placed her offering first. It was a small painting of the meadow, edges still tacky. The altar absorbed it with a shimmer. Now the altar had a decorative top, complete with dried lacquer.

“Beautiful,” Brianna said softly.

Sahara stepped forward next, placing a crystal cluster charged with stable ley-line energy. “For clarity, moving into the next quarter.”

Crystal laid down a large scallop shell filled with salt. “For cleansing.”

Joell added some smoking sage. “For clearing away unwanted energies.”

Brianna offered a small hourglass made of smoked glass. “For time to move gently where and when we need it to.”

Rayna placed a polished stone etched with runes. “For restraint,” she said. “Specifically, mine.”

The witches gave a faint, approving laugh.

Victoria laid a glittering necklace over the altar. “For living large and enjoying our gifts.”

Finally, Magda approached. Her basket of herbs felt like it weighed much more than it should, as if the universe had tucked heavy significance into every sprig. She laid her bundle on the altar—a symbol of growth, of tending, of harvesting well.

Esmerelda touched her shoulder. “What’s your intention, darling?”

Magda hesitated. Everyone waited, quietly, gently, expectantly.

She swallowed. “To figure out the difference between magic and chemistry,” she said. “And to stop being afraid of what else can grow.”

Joell smiled. “Well said.”

The altar lit from within, a pulse of gold blooming outward, like a sunrise. Esmerelda raised her hands. “As the sun sets on the first harvest, we honor what we planted, what we nurtured, what we risked. And what we’ve learned.”

“May the Goddess be pleased by our efforts, and even our failures,” Magda added. “Failure means that we tried.”

The flame leapt higher. A column of gold that cast long shadows and bright hopes across the clearing. Then, as the flame dimmed to a warm glow, the magic settled into the witch’s bones. Calm. Centered. United.

Lioness whispered, “That was perfect.”

Sahara nodded. “Clean energy. Clean intent.”

Rayna exhaled. “And no explosions. Or glitter. Or enemies trying to interrupt our sabbat with a world-ending apocalypse. Which, honestly, feels like a gift for all of us.”

They lingered while the stars came out, each witch drifting into their own quiet meditation, visualizing their own specific intentions.

After the circle was sent upward into the universe, Magda sat at the edge of the clearing, Wally snuggled in her lap, staring up at the sky.

She couldn’t help thinking of one scientist back in New York who smelled like rosemary and reason.

The morning after the ritual, daylight wrapped the mountain in indigo shadows and soft, warm air. The witches drifted back toward their normal moods, but less stressed and glowing from the magic. They moved like women who finally had permission to breathe.