The Bound Witch by Ivy Asher
19
Istir the coffee in my cup, the spoon obnoxiously loud in the quiet room, and I barely stop myself from shushing it. Alora, Rogan’s aunt, looks at me, her smile polite, but there’s a tightness to her gaze that wasn’t there the first time I met her. She’s still immaculately put together and would give any old Hollywood leading lady a run for their money. Today, she’s draped in a deep royal blue sweater with a long cowl neck, and her leather pants fit like a second skin. She has boots on with a vicious-looking spiked heel, and finger waves in her raven black hair.
Alora’s husband, Dave, looks happy and carefree to her right, and her wife, Harmony, has a contemplative gaze that bounces around the long table we’re sitting at in the formal living room. Harmony runs a hand over her light blonde, slicked back, ballerina bun. It’s the second time she’s done it, and I categorize it as a nervous gesture. I want to offer her some reassurance, but I have no idea what’s made her uneasy in the first place, so I’m pretty much shit out of luck until someone starts talking.
Alora, however, doesn’t seem to be in any rush. Her dark gray eyes track Rogan in the kitchen as he fills three tea cups with water straight from a whistling kettle. He sets them carefully on a tray with a plate of cookies and any other tea-making necessities his three guests may require. He starts to carry the tray over to where we’re seated, and I return my gaze to the three witches sitting on the other side of the table.
When Rogan told me that he had contacted his aunt about our tether, I had assumed we’d get a phone call or perhaps an email. I didn’t expect that they’d drop everything to come here and speak to us in person. The fact that they did makes me even more nervous for whatever is going on with the tether—that and there’s a palpable strain at this table, and it’s making me fidgety as hell.
Rogan doles out teacups and saucers and then sits next to me as his aunts and uncle make themselves the perfect cuppa. He drops a hand to my thigh and gives it a little squeeze. Unfortunately because our tether is broken and we’ve never been in a position like this before, I can’t tell if the thigh squeeze is an attempt at reassurance or a signal to buckle up because shit’s going to get bumpy.
A smile ticks at Dave’s mouth across from me, and I once again debate whether or not he can read my mind. I’m tempted to think about a bunch of obscure amusing crap and then gauge his response to it in order to see if I can test this mind reader theory once and for all. But this conversation is important, so I probably shouldn’t be reciting Ali Wong bits in my mind while it’s happening, just to see if he’ll laugh.
“I want to thank you for coming out to see us on such short notice,” Rogan tells them, and they each smile at him warmly.
Then all of a sudden, his Aunt Alora drops her smile and levels him with a look that makes even Rogan squirm. “Rogan, we’re absolutely delighted to be here and that you called us for help. We hope you know that we will always be here for you whenever you need it. With that being said, what happened in our home the last time you visited was unacceptable.”
Rogan drops his head as though it’s suddenly heavy with shame, and it isn’t until Alora looks at me that I realize the unacceptable thing that happened was Rogan betraying me. She turns to me and squares her shoulders.
“Osteomancer Osseous, we know this kind of apology requires much more than just words, but we hope you will accept them along with our most heartfelt and deepest apologies for what occurred when you last visited our home. Had we known what was going to happen, we would have protected you at all cost. You were an invited guest under our roof, and that is not something I or my coven takes lightly. We would like to extend to you the same vow of protection my coven has offered our nephews. We hope that you know that you are always welcome in our home and among us, and we will ensure your safety and comfort at all times when you are in our presence or under our roof in the future.”
The three witches stare at me, their eyes filled with apology and regret and hope that I’ll find it in my heart to forgive them. My instinct is to tell them it’s fine and that it wasn’t their fault, because it wasn’t. But there’s a deeper code here, something more rooted in the times of our ancestors, when covens relied on allies and made deals or traded provisions or goods with one another.
So I give the ardent apology the care and thoughtful attention it deserves. I consider Alora’s words on behalf of not just her but her coven. Walking into this, I didn’t feel the need for an apology. I didn’t hold them responsible, I still don’t, but the fact that they do, touches me.
I offer Alora a warm smile, and her shoulders immediately relax a little, some of the tension bleeding out of them immediately. “Thank you. I don’t blame you or your coven for what happened. It all worked out for the best, but it means a lot to me to know that I’ll be welcome and safe with you and your coven in the future. I appreciate that more than you know. You all are always welcome at my house too, same rules apply. Well, when I have a house, that is. I’m sort of in between residences at the moment, and then there’s this whole war, but you know what I mean,” I tell them, internally facepalming when I start to nervously ramble.
So close, Lennox. So damn close to owning the whole mature Osteomancer vibe.
The smiles that cross the faces of the three witches across from me are blinding. Just like that, all the anxiety and nerves in the room dissipate, and everyone takes a deep relaxing breath.
“Excellent,” Dave announces, looking around at all of us with a delighted grin. “Now, what seems to be the issue with your tether?” he asks as he folds his hands in front of him like he’s eager to solve our problem.
Alora grabs a large satchel from the floor and begins to pull things out of it. She sets a large stone bowl on the table. Next to that, she adds glass bottles of various liquids and herbs, a stem of thorns, a thin wooden spoon, and a pile of crisp white rags. When it seems the bag is finally empty, Harmony takes it and hangs it from the back of her chair while she and Alora organize the small apothecary shop they just unpacked.
Rogan clears his throat and reaches over to take my hand. Instead of the gesture helping me to relax, it hypes up my anxiety instead. “I know we’ve never gone into details about what happened with me and Elon and why we were renounced, but in order to explain what’s going on, I’m going to need to,” he starts, a pointed look fixed on his Aunt Alora.
“No need, Rogan, I’ve known from the beginning what happened. You mattered more to me than your ability, and therefore I never felt the need to discuss it,” Alora declares, and Rogan nods like this doesn’t surprise him.
I look to Dave, who gives me a cheeky wink, and my suspicions deepen. Rogan made it seem like his aunt wasn’t big into details about his story, mine, or even ours, but I don’t think that’s the case at all. I think her mind reading husband gives her an inside look at things, and because of that, she’s never really had to pry.
“Right, well, to put it simply, when Lennox first died, our tether did too. When she came back, it returned as well. However this last time, the tether hasn’t snapped back into place like before. We’re hoping you can help us figure out what happened.”
They nod and Alora’s eyes grow speculative.
“Tethers are a very strong and yet very fragile connection. While in place and healthy, it combines magic, strengthens it, gives each participant access to the other’s emotions and sometimes even thoughts. A tether is designed to fortify and bolster our power when used and nurtured correctly,” Harmony explains, and Rogan and I both nod our understanding.
“The fact that the tether came back after the first death, is a testament to how strong it must have been. But I suspect it didn’t return after the second time because the magic doesn’t work that way,” Alora adds.
“When magic dies, which happens when there isn’t a genetic relative to carry on the line, the promises and vows connected to that magic die as well. Now obviously your situation is different, the magic doesn’t move on, because it’s still tied to you, knowing somehow that you will come back. But I suspect the tether is simply behaving like a tether would when part of the connection passes away,” Dave states evenly and simply.
“So it’s gone?” I ask, surprised by how sad and worried this makes me feel. “I mean, I still feel it, at least I think I do, it’s just not working like it normally does,” I explain awkwardly.
“We can absolutely test your magic and confirm one way or another. The fact that you can still feel the tether is a good sign, but regardless of what the tests tell us, there are solutions and things you can do to repair or strengthen a tether, so I don’t want either of you to worry, but first let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Alora tells us, her tone positive and reassuring, and I immediately feel like I can take a deep breath.
Okay, this is good. They can help us fix this, and we can go back to the way things were.
Alora starts to pour things into the large stone bowl, and I’m transfixed by her steady hand and the knowledgeable gleam in her eye. I’ve never seen a Soul Witch work, and I’m fascinated to see what she does and why. Vials are unstoppered, and drops of this and that are mixed into what I’m pretty sure is moon water—or at least that’s what the bottle says. I try to track the other ingredients and link them back with what I know about them, but Alora moves so fast I eventually give up and just enjoy the show.
She reaches out her hand, palm up, and Rogan must have done whatever this is before, because he immediately places his large hand in hers, also palm up. I watch as Alora reaches for the stem of thorns and, with practiced ease, flicks it down against the pad of Rogan’s finger. He turns his hand, and three drops of blood make it into the stone bowl before he flips his palm back over.
Alora then pierces his palm with the thorns, giving him a small scratch this time on the meaty part of his hand where his thumb connects. This time, only one drop of blood is added to join the others. With that, Rogan pulls his hand back, and all three Soul Witches then lean over the bowl, whispering an incantation about revelation, power, dispersal and guidance from the earth mother as well as The Mother, who is often mentioned in reference to fertility, abundance, and growth.
“Ahh, yes, the blood magic is incredibly strong, look how it consumes the pomegranate seed,” Dave points out, gesturing for me to look into the bowl and see what he’s saying.
I do, and I’m surprised to see Rogan’s blood, as well as other things, appearing separate within the contents of the bowl. It’s like looking at droplets of oil in water.
“This white substance is bone milk,” Dave explains. “See how it’s being pulled closer by the blood. It shows there’s a draw there, a connection, but it’s weak, just like you were saying it felt like.
“That’s cool,” I exclaim, watching the blood float in the middle of the bowl.
“The ivy stem leans toward Rogan’s essence too, you’ll notice, and that’s because there’s traces of soul magic in his line even though Rogan isn’t a carrier of that magic,” Harmony tells me, and sure enough, the little vine twitches like it wants to go to Rogan’s blood but is playing hard to get.
“We can see that Rogan is wise and pure of heart, because the lavender oil circles the blood,” Alora declares. “Coriander seeds float at the top, which is an indication of long life,” she adds, and both Rogan and I snort at that. “I don’t see anything that would make me think the tether is damaged beyond repair,” she adds, and then she grabs the wooden spoon and scoops out Rogan’s blood and spoons it into an empty glass container, like that’s that.
Alora extends her hand again, and this time I know it’s my turn. I place my hand in hers, watching as she grabs the other end of the stem of thorns and flicks it down against my pointer finger. I’m surprised that it doesn’t hurt. I’m also surprised by Alora’s lightning fast hands; she moves the stem so quickly and accurately that only the tip of one thorn catches me. I don’t have soul magic, but I suddenly want to learn how she did that without pricking herself too.
Like the observant witch I’ve been, I turn my hand and let three drops of blood plop into the moon water. Then Alora scratches my palm, and I add one more drop into the mix. Once again, we all lean over the bowl to see what happens.
My blood immediately soaks up all the bone milk, and the pomegranate seed zips toward my essence next. There’s a small branch that looks like it’s two twigs that have been twisted together, and for some reason, that rises from the bottom of the bowl. It touches my blood, and then strangely, the blood starts to swirl in the middle of the moon water like it’s creating a mini tornado. Everything in the bowl zips into the center, and gasps ring out all around me.
I look up, confused, and three sets of wide, shocked eyes take me in carefully.
“What happened?” I ask, but it’s more of a panicked squawk than anything else.
“Oh honey, I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Harmony coos at me, and my brow furrows at the sympathy I see in her face.
“How is that possible?” Rogan asks, his eyes suddenly haunted, and Alora looks from him to me.
“What?” I demand again, and her dark gray eyes soften.
She leans forward, her gaze suddenly filled with warm concern as she stacks her hands in front of her demurely.
“You have demon markers in your blood, Lennox.”