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“Once I blow out this candle and cross my arms, my spell is cast to protect Cassie and Gypsy from harm.”
Aunt Gwen and Willow crossed their arms and sank to their knees before they raised their hands and reached upward toward the sky. The flames waved in the breeze and then suddenly ceased their glow, extinguished as we plunged into total darkness.
“Hang on, sweetness. Your ancestors will heal you.” Gabriel’s deep voice calmed the turmoil raging within me.
“Don’t die on us, pet.” Damian’s eyes glistened with moisture, followed by an eerie silver glow. Seconds later, they blazed red, cutting through the black stain of night.
Ryder’s hand reached for mine. A tender brush of his fingers across the top of my hand soothed me. I didn’t think a stranger could provide such comfort. “We’re all here for you, angel.”
The flames reignited on the wick of each candle, flaring with a light purple tint. A new spell but not just any incantation. Aunt Gwen was summoning the ancestors. For the first time, I noticed the familiar white smoke as it rose from the ground, curling into the air with wispy tendrils.
According to custom, the incense would burn at four perfect points–north, south, east, and west–on our property.
Harnessing the power of the four corners, Aunt Gwen would honor the ancestors and beseech their company, asking for their blessing and protection during Samhain.
“My uplifted ancestors, guides, fierce protectors, and skilled healers. Please answer my call.”
The air around us stilled altogether. All noises of the night ceased. No crickets, no rustling leaves. A deafening silence hung with a heavily pregnant pause.
“Ancestors, please stand with me, Gwen, sister of Elizabeth, child of Heather and Shane Howe. Be with me in this moment and hour of need. Guide me along my road with a cool head and a clear mind. Ancestors, show me your presence tonight so that I may honor you.”
Aunt Gwen’s words barely left her mouth when a sudden gust of wind whipped through the trees and leaves, billowing the fabrics of our clothes against our bodies. The candles’ flames rose a solid foot from their wicks, burning bright yellow, and never flickered, proof the ancestors answered her call when the color changed from violet.
“I am the root of your root, soil of your soil, bone of your bone, and blood of your blood.” She opened her arms wide, holding up a large white candle and raising it high, clasped between both hands. “Embrace and use me. Make me your conduit so I may extend your legacy. Bring healing to our fallen sisters, my daughter Gypsy and my niece Cassandra. Restore their strength and fill them with the power of the Howe family ancestry.”
The candle in her hands was unlit before this moment but now ignited in a towering blue flame that mesmerized every presence here–both humanandimmortal.
Before my eyes, the spirits of my ancestors materialized, each of the last ten generations of witches, includingmymother. They appeared as apparitions that weren’t fully flesh and yet were as real as if they breathed on this earth—no change since death other than the intensity of their auras.
Each had a slightly different color, tinting the halo that surrounded their souls. My mother’s aura had always been a light violet. I’d been told my own was the same by Aunt Gwen.
The pulse of power that left her presence and engulfed mine caused ripples in the air that shimmered like a mirage. My sharp intake of breath drew the attention of the others as I lifted off the ground by several feet.
A light hum of energy danced along my skin as I felt every scratch, every ache and pain, every stressed muscle, and each injury repaired in a matter of seconds. My skin tingled with an itch I couldn’t scratch until it faded completely.
I was fully recovered and healed. As good as new.
Gypsy’s gasp next to my side proved she’d also been healed.
We both lowered back to the ground gently but jumped up simultaneously. I ran to Gypsy, embracing my cousin with relief. I hugged Aunt Gwen next before I turned to my ancestors and dropped to one knee.
“Mother, thank you. Ancestors, I accept your blessing and offer my gratitude. May I always honor you. Blessed be.”
“Blessed be,” my mother echoed. “The ancestors are honored and pleased with your offerings this night. We issue prosperity and abundance this festive season and extend our wish for good health. We offer the protection of the Howe legacy and give an extra gift this first night of Samhain.”
Gypsy also dropped to one knee as my mother approached.
White candles with tall blue flames lit the night with an eerie but familiar warmth. The flames had switched their color when we weren’t watching. My aunt placed hers on the ground as it joined the others. The candles moved and shifted into four points surrounding us like a box, one slightly above as it pointed toward my mother—a barrier of added protection.
Blue and violet flames jumped from their wicks and scorched the ground until the fire burned into the soil, and the box was complete, then resumed their silent and unmoving glow atop the long, slim tapers.
Aunt Gwen and Willow’s arms extended wide, ready to accept the ancestors and their blessing. Willow was a Parker and a Scott, but she was also an original Salem witch. One of the thirteen, same as our family. All of our bloodlines shared suffering and persecution.
During Samhain, the original families extended their blessings and power to the thirteen. This, in turn, strengthened the bond among the witches and increased our energies. We were each fulfilled by the giving and sharing of all.
A surge of power erupted from my mother’s fingertips as the ancestors converged on us, their bodies moving as one as each opened their palms. Bright light exited through their transparent skin and darted forward, shooting into our chests.
The four of us–Aunt Gwen, Willow, Gypsy, and me–fell flat on our backs as the light held us hostage. The power and energy overloaded my capacity to stay coherent. Blinded but in awe, I opened myself to receive their full blessing.
