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An hour later, Ven and I are in the library. It’s full dark now, and night presses in on the expanse of windows. Crickets hum loudly outside. I try not to think about what could be out there in the darkness.
“So, how do we do this?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and turning toward the desk and the huge black book. Now that the task is upon me, everything feels surreal. I’m actually going to do magic. Or try, at any rate. “Do we use that spell book?”
“Well, that was Sybil’s grimoire,” Ven says, crossing the room and leaning against the desk. Her fingers brush over the surface of the book.
“Grimoire?”
“What witches call spell books. The books… let’s just say they have a mind of their own. They are used by one witch and one witch only, loyal like a familiar—a witch’s animal companion,” she says when she sees the question written on my face. “Even if you could get it open, the pages would not reveal themselves to you.”
I frown. That’s a let-down. “So, how do I get my own?”
“You’ll get your own if you decide to join the Raven Society. Or you can try to find one at a witchery, though it’s tricky to buy one that matches to you. Until then, you can start practicing magic, but you won’t have a place to record any spells that work for you. Or, for when you get really good and start creating your own spells.”
“So, is practicing magic basically reciting spells? Or do you have to have potions or whatever to go with them?” The words sound so strange coming out of my mouth. I can’t believe this is my life now.
Ven shakes her head. “There are all types of magic. Spells are especially helpful when starting out. You learn to summon your magic, and the words help focus your energy.” She strolls over to one of the orchid plants by the window. “But once you become more adept, you can sort of freestyle it.” She reaches out and touches one of the orchid buds and it blooms beneath her fingertip. A sparkle of green light floats up around her.
“Wow.” My eyes widen. “That was so cool.”
She shrugs and smiles. “That’s only the beginning, Rowan.” She touches the flowering vine that runs up the side of the bookshelf and the flowers begin to glow, one at a time. “Potions and herbal tinctures are another form of magic. Sometimes they’re not really magic at all, just natural remedies that people have forgotten. But sometimes a witch can add a little extra oomph to whatever she’s doing. Make an anti-aging cream that’ll take twenty years off your face. Cure diseases.” Another shrug. “Or cause them.”
I go still. “Like… poison?”
She nods slowly.
“So, whoever killed Sybil…maybe it wasn’t someone who hated witches. What if it was a witch?” It’s a terrible thought, that someone in this new sisterhood I’ve found could do such a thing.
Ven clearly agrees. She wraps her arms around herself and visibly suppresses a shiver. “It’s certainly possible. But if it was, it couldn’t be anyone around here. We don’t have strife within our coven like some do.”
“But if she was so high up in the Society, she must have had enemies. Others who wanted her position.”
Ven’s face grows stormy. “That’s true. I’m sure Maria and the other Elders have considered that and are investigating.” She pauses. “The sheriff of course questioned me first, not because I’m a witch, but because I live here.”
“Well, of course it wasn’t you!” It hadn’t crossed my mind, even for a moment. But I make a mental note to ask Maria about other possible coven enemies tomorrow. “Well, sorry to bring down the vibe. Back to the lesson—how do I summon my magic?”
Ven looks relieved to change subjects. “It’s a bit different for everyone. A lot of people first feel their magic when they’re in their teens. It’s tied to emotion a lot of the time. Anger. Love. Joy. Lust. Did you ever notice you had strange power over things when you were younger?”
I nod. “I didn’t remember until the other night, when we gathered with the other witches. But I remember now.”
“Well, that’s a good start,” Ven says with an encouraging smile. “So, you can try focusing on memories that evoke strong emotion. Or, some find it when they do something they love: painting, or writing, or cooking. Others tap into it by meditating or breathing exercises. How about elements? Do you have a favorite?”
“Like, water or fire, that kind of thing?”
She nods.
“Water, I guess.”
Ven says, “Be right back.”
She returns a minute later with a small ceramic bowl filled with water. We sit down at a small table on the far side of the room away from the windows.
“Make the water move,” she says, gesturing toward the bowl with her hand.
I suck in a deep breath. Now that it comes down to it, I feel silly. And also afraid. What if I don’t have magic anymore? What if when I turned my back on it as a young adult, it decided I wasn’t worthy?
My eyes rest on the surface of the water, which is almost still again from when Ven set it down. It’s more than nerve wracking trying to do this with her watching me. I slow my breathing and try to focus on happy memories. But everything has been so fucked lately that it’s not an easy task. The crazy year leading up to the divorce. Sybil’s death. The attack in the woods.
Unsurprisingly, the water remains stubbornly still. Ven guides me through various mental exercises, but no matter what I try, I can’t create even a shiver on the surface of the water.
“This is normal,” she assures me after the first few minutes. “It’s hard to learn something so foreign. It has to be felt, just a process of trial and error. You’ll get the hang of it.”
Her words are comforting, but I’m sure she’s disappointed. I mean, I’m Sybil’s blood relative. A Stonecroft woman. Supposedly a Stonecroft witch. I’m supposed to be extra powerful.
But it’s clear I’m not.
