Page 32 of Board Games and Broomsticks

‘Nyxalia, stop that right now. You are not in charge here.’

The claw Nyx gave her this time was a little less gentle. Mreow.

Nyssa let out a sigh through her nose. Having had this argument many times before, she knew it was one she was probably going to lose. ‘Fine, fine. If I complete the second trial tonight, we can have an extra hour in bed tomorrow morning. Deal?’

Nyx’s claws were replaced with her head as she rubbed against Nyssa’s hand with a happy trill that Nyssa took to mean she agreed. And so, grabbing the envelope with the letter and enchanted object inside, along with her grandma’s grimoire, Nyssa left Familiars in its crystal circle and made her way up to the attic, where the enchanted candelabra awaited like a watchful sentry in the dark.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The enchanted brooch gleamed menacingly on the altar, the intricately carved pentacle catching the silver moonlight that shone through the attic window.

Nyssa had been wary of touching it directly, so had carefully tipped it out of the envelope and let her magic wash over it, trying to sense what the nature of the enchantment it contained was. But it was no use, she couldn’t feel any magic radiating from it – she’d have to examine it up close.

Nyssa tentatively reached out her hand to pick up the pentacle. It was barely large enough to fill the entirety of Nyssa’s palm, but the pain that speared through her body when it came to rest in her hand was anything but small. It was a pain like no other, one so severe that it had Nyssa swallowing down bile and scrunching her eyes closed against the dim candlelight. Every inch of her skin felt as if it had been rubbed raw, and her muscles ached in a way that made every small movement excruciating. Nyssa practically threw the brooch back on to the table, the clatter of iron against wood a horrible assault against her already fragile mind.

A witch must be able to separate the physical from the spiritual in order to master their craft, Edith’s instructions said. To pass this trial, you must simply maintain a shielding spell for sixty seconds whilst under the influence of the brooch’s hex.

There was nothing simple about it. Nyssa had undergone similar tests during her coven initiation, but the pain had been nowhere near as severe as she’d just felt.

Nyssa eyed the brooch as the pain started to fade. There would be no enchantment she could borrow from her family grimoire for this one; just her, a basic protection spell, and a resilience she wasn’t sure she had.

Mreow.

Nyx stood by the attic door, eyes fixed on the stairway as she let out a large yawn. You can still go to bed, she seemed to be saying.

‘No, no, the longer I put this off, the more worked up about it I’ll get.’ She was like that. Having time to overthink never did her any favours; it was best just to rip off the bandage.

Nyssa picked up the spell first. It was a simple incantation, one she’d cast many times during her years as a mage. Still, given how long it had been since she’d last used it (and given her recent track record with ‘simple’ magic), it was probably best she attempt to cast it while free of the brooch’s hex first.

‘I beseech the ancestors to lend me their aid,

and summon Earth, Air, Water and Fire to form this blockade.’

Nyssa wove her magic into a shield of light around her. Warmth sank into her skin, like the sun on a bright summer morning. The shield was transparent enough that she could still see through it, and when she reached out with a fingertip, she was met with a solid, impenetrable barrier.

Nyssa held it for ten seconds, and then thirty, and when second sixty came, she let out a small, private smile.

One step down.

Her smile faded when she looked at the brooch, turning into a grimace at the memory of the pain it had caused. She could search the grimoire for a spell that would make her numb to the pain, but that would defeat the object of the trial.

Muscles clenched, Nyssa sat on one of the wooden, velvet-backed chairs around the circular table and, with a deep, centring breath, reached for the brooch.

The pain was somehow worse the second time, and Nyssa had to grip the brooch tight enough that the cold iron bit into her palm to stop herself from throwing it across the room. Nyx jumped on to the table to bump her head against Nyssa’s chin, and the soft kiss of her fur was the only thing stopping Nyssa from descending into full-blown sobs.

Her free hand trembling, Nyssa leaned down over the incantation. The words blurred, shifting and jumping about on the page like tiny frogs in a pond, and it took her three tries before she managed to get them to come into focus.

‘I b-beseech the ancestors …’ She forced the words out through her teeth, each syllable causing the pain in her head to give a nauseating spike. Tears spilled down her cheeks now, and Nyx pressed herself as close to her chest as she could physically get. Nyssa could barely feel her own magic beneath the pain, and when she tried to focus on it, to coax it to weave that shield of light, a fresh wave of agony would rip through her.

I can’t do this.

But she couldn’t stop now, not if she wanted to pass. She needed to focus on something other than the pain. Nyx’s weight on her chest was helping, but it wasn’t enough. Whenever a spell had been too much during her childhood lessons with her grandma, Lisabeth had always told her to trick her body into thinking it was somewhere else, somewhere safe. Back then, Nyssa had always thought of the same thing: of being here, at Hawthorne Cottage, sitting before the hearth on her grandmother’s knee while she read to her and stroked her hair.

Nyssa conjured the memory now. Imagined the chair beneath her was her grandmother’s soft lap instead of the hard wood. That the velvet back was her warm chest, and her hands were running softly through the brown locks of her hair. Instantly, the pain rushing through her became slightly more bearable, and just as she had during the first trial, Nyssa thought she could smell the faint kiss of Lisabeth Hawthorne’s magic in the air.

It didn’t stop the pain – not by a long shot – but it gave her enough relief that she could now get a hold of her magic.

‘I beseech … the ancestors,’ she began again, imagining her magic pouring from her fingertips and weaving that shield of light into existence, ‘to lend m-me their aid.’