Page 95 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Spite & Spellwork

Blake and two others carried white candles and lighters and began to place the candles outside the group, creating a protective circle around the participants. Each candle was lit and then carefully set down. The fourth, a woman in her mid-twenties, took a dagger from the center altar and held it aloft by the hilt. It shone in the light, and Avery thought it looked far too sharp for typical use as an athame.

“Mighty Hekate!” the young woman called out. “Bless this blade that it might seek out and sever the unworthy from our congregation.” She lowered the blade and pointed it directly at the man standing in the circle in front of her, walking toward him and only stopping when the point was an inch away from his sternum.

Eugenia raised her voice to the room once more. “It would be better for you to die by this blade than to enter this space with doubt in your heart. Do you follow the torch-bearer with love and trust?”

The man nodded as if having a knife pointed at him was something he was accustomed to. “I do.”

The knife moved to the woman beside him, who seemed more nervous but nodded and said, “I do.”

This continued around the circle, a rapid percussion of “I dos” as the blade made its way around the interior of the circle. Avery and Saga added their own to the chorus, and as Blake and the other two returned to the center circle, they were instructed to hold hands.

Touching strangers had never been an activity Avery was particularly fond of, and so she maintained her focus on her hold of Saga’s hand rather than that of the woman to her left. Perhaps this part would not last long.

“The circle is cast. We stand between the worlds…”

It was clammy. Was that because the woman was nervous or because she hadn’t washed her hands properly? Likely the first. Optimistically the first. Sweat was not inherently bad, though she certainly did not want to be lathered in anyone else’s. Of course, infection might be carried through sweat—or the sweat could be indicative of a malady.

She wanted to ask Saga. The thoughts in her head were loud and distracting. She leaned closer toward her companion to put distance between her and the owner of the sweaty hand. This had the pleasant side effect that as she inhaled, she caught the alluring scent of cardamom, coffee, and honey. Was that a natural aroma, from her baking, or did the woman use some sort of perfume? Not that a human was likely to naturally smell of inviting baked goods. Unless the freckles that dotted across her nose and cheeks were in fact actual sprinkles.

“You may release hands,” Eugenia instructed.

Avery exhaled deeply in relief, rubbing her left palm on her coat as discreetly as she could manage. Like one giant seance. Almost as if she were back in the world she once knew, bearing witness to both those who wished to share their gifts with the world, and the great mimics who wished to make a profit.

The four around Eugenia had set down colored candles in front of them. Judging by their placement, Avery deduced they were likely the four directions associated with the four elements.

“Luna Ravenwood,” Eugenia called out, the sound echoing up to the tall ceiling. “By our love and our devotion, we invoke thee. Too soon were you taken from our fold, we invoke thee. If you do wander between the worlds, we invoke thee!”

The four brought out slips of paper from boxes and began to read them aloud. They did not take turns, they overlapped, and it took Avery a moment to realize they were reading out memories that guests had written about the deceased, but they were too garbled to make out more than a few words each.

“You healed my spiritual wounds.”

“You gave me a community.”

“You gave me closure.”

“Luna Ravenwood, we invoke thee, we invoke thee!” Eugenia called out over the voices. She raised a goblet and cake, urging those around her to do the same. She took a bite and then a sip. “We toast in your honor. We are nourished as you nourished us with your wisdom. The memories you gave us shall live on within us.” A match was lit, and the paper memories began to wither in the flames. “Let our love for you carry you to us so that we may guide you home.” She took a deep breath. “Eláte se emás.”36

“Eláte se emás,” echoed a few members scattered about the larger circle.

“Eláte se emás!” Eugenia repeated, breathing the words like dragon fire, and the crowd echoed her again, this time in more numbers. This process kept going until it seemed all but Saga and Avery were repeating the words, roaring them, hissing them. Feet stomped as the chant grew in volume.

The center circle entwined hands and began to chant as well, moving in a slow circling motion around Eugenia as if to take each step took mighty effort.

Eugenia thrust her hands upward to the sky. “Luna Ravenwood, eláte se emás!”

The center circle stopped abruptly, falling to their knees, and the outer circle mimicked the action in a staggered succession—Avery and Saga following their lead. For a moment all went quiet, save for a few sniffles Avery could hear rising out of the crowd. Only Eugenia remained standing, and the woman held a ring of old keys in one hand and a black candle in the other. “Mother Hekate, light the way.”

“Mother Hekate, light the way,” the chorus echoed after her.

“Torchbearer of the crossroads, your acolyte awaits.”

Again, the chorus repeated, in greater numbers this time as those not within the inner circle caught on to the ritual itself.

“Mother, Hekate, light the way!”

“Mother Hekate, light the way!”

“Open up your gates!”