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The three sisters all nodded solemnly.
“And Willow. The Nexus has been growing in potency this past month. I need you to come to terms that when it goes back into a dormant phase, Montgomery may have to leave. I hate to say it or even think about it, but I also want you to be prepared. Guard your heart starting now.”
Willow cast her eyes down, perfectly aware this was coming. She had been trying to prepare herself, but still hung on to hope. Even now, as she was in anticipatory grief, she wasn’t willing to let go.
Esme held out her hand, prompting Bliss, then Ivy, then Willow to hold on to it. And as they clung to each other, a wave of the purest magic washed over them.
Without a word, Bliss and Ivy mounted their brooms, hovering while they waited for Willow. But Willow stared at her broom, suddenly frozen with fear.
“Remember what I told you, Pumpkin,” said Esme cupping her palm over where Willow had a death grip on her broomstick. “Give yourself grace, and control your feelings. “You are not me. You are not your sisters. And you certainly aren’t your great great aunt Celeste. You’re Willow Ravensong. So call upon Willow Ravensong’s magic. You will only soar when you can just be yourself.”
With that Esme hopped on her broom and waited expectantly for Willow to follow suit. There was no coddling, no giving her a little push. It was just time.
So, embracing her courage, Willow squeezed her eyes shut and wobbled onto her broom, flopping around about three feet above ground for a while. And then, once she felt steady enough—and not afraid to fall the three feet if she did flub it up—she opened her eyes. But she was much more than three feet off the ground. She was soaring above rooftops, wind in her hair, and with her mother and sisters at her side. She realized something. The unknown was a lot more frightening than flight.
Esme smiled proudly and led her daughters to file into formation with Montgomery below.
Willow felt her heart swell with something infinitely more powerful than the crippling fear she let thwart her magic all these years. She felt joy.
Everyone she loved in the whole world, and they were helping her without question. Her mother. Her sisters. And Montgomery, the old timer, pedaling down the road, sitting erect on the bicycle like Buster Keaton riding a dandy horse in one of those silent movies. As Willow glanced down on him, a little more of that happy feeling came over her. Even as the night spread out before them, as dangerous it might be, she would cherish this feeling for the rest of her days.
They arrived at the Bickford Mansion just before the golden warmth in the sky faded into the hazy purple and blues of twilight. The moon hung low and large on the horizon, dark and red. Not quite ready for its performance. Willow wasn’t sure if she was ready either, but here she was.
The others held back out of sight for the time being, and Willow, handing her broom to Bliss, marched right up to the front door and knocked.
She waited; heart lodged in her throat. Knocked again. Waited again. Then rang the doorbell. It was one of those big, gonging doorbells you’d find in haunted houses. A month ago, that would have scared her. But she didn’t mind a little haunting anymore. Ghosts were people, too after all.
When no one answered, she clutched her garnet and creaked open the door. It was dark and quiet other than the distant ticking of a grandfather clock. She creeped slowly down the long hallway she’d walked down on that first day, and called out nervously, “Hello?”
There was no answer.
Swallowing hard, she placed her hand on the doorknob leading into the sitting room where the meetings were held. She didn’t know what she’d find beyond those heavy, wooden doors. If the witches were waiting inside, they were being awfully quiet. It was like a surprise party without the fun bits.
She turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door. The room was as dark as the rest of the house, and no one was there. At least, she didn’t notice anyone there. Until she looked up.
There, suspended from the ceiling, trapped in a glowing bubble, was Talon. He was just sitting in there, criss cross applesauce.
Willow gasped at first, then when she got over the initial shock, peeled her fingers from the garnet amulet around her neck. She didn’t even realize she was clutching it so hard until her fingers ached from straightening them out.
“Talon! What are you doing up there?”
“I’m grounded,” he said matter-of-factly. “My mom found out I stole her grimoire.”
“Does she always put you in a bubble when she grounds you?”
Willow thought it looked like a convenient place to put a toddler when they got into mischief. Sort of a witchy time out. But she wasn’t a mom, so you must forgive her ignorance of child rearing.
“Pretty much,” he said, shrugging. “It’s getting a little small for me.”
“You’re twenty-one,” Willow said. “I could be wrong, but aren’t you a little old to get grounded?”
“I guess. Can you get me out of here?”
“I don’t know. What spell did she use?”
“Capti Fundatus.”
“Hmm. I don’t think I’m familiar with that one,” she said, trying to sound sophisticated instead of completely clueless in the ways of magic. “But I know someone who might.”
