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Eris had called in sick. Even with the worst case of cold she’s had in years, she was feeling well enough to do jinx-from-home duties, and while her brain was in slow motion, she was relishing the quiet from the daily nagging of processes at the Quadrivium’s office, paperwork, tedious explaining to new hires in the ever growing coven extensions.
When Jeezel called her at the end of the day, she was glad to learn that Truella had found courage to stand up for them. Jeezel had such a colorful way of describing events, and in describing that particular scene where Truella had made her stand, it was always difficult to extract the truth from the makeup.
“You’re not really paying attention, are you?” Jeezel, ever astute to where attention was, quizzed her.
“What made you say that?” Eris didn’t try to deny.
“Oh I guess, when I started to speak about the camels in knickers going for a bath in the ball pit from all the dropped balls this year.”
“Ah, right. That would do.”
“Tell me, anything troubling you, luv’? You know you can tell me things.”
After a little moment, Eris said “Well, it’s just a thought,… but what if I’m in need of change of path?”
“What do you mean?” Jeezel tried to not sound too alarmed. “Not being a witch anymore?”
“Oh, no. Well,… why not, there’s no shame in no magic —but no. More like…”
“What? Quitting the coven?”
“… Yeah. It’s gone to madder and madder, it’s so hard to keep track with all the nonsense.” Eris corrected seeing the face of Jeezel. “Not that nonsense. You know what I mean… the daily nonsense. Our nonsense is fine. More than fine actually.”
“Phew, you had me worried though. Although…”
“I know… Quitting the coven.”
“You could be stripped of magic, if Malové learns about this…” then with more concern in her voice “WE could all be stripped of magic.”
“Yeah, I know. But look, is that what makes us happy?”
“It certainly foots the bill —or more like magically takes care of the bills.”
“Like I said, Jeez’, it’s just a thought, nothing to worry about, actually it helped to get it out.”
“I think it’s more than a thought.” Jeezel said with an air of age-old wisdom. “Let’s see where this leads. Imagine that…”
“Yeah, we’ll see. Thanks for checking in, it’s nice for a change. I don’t know what’s got into the other two these days, they’re always talking about clothing.”
“Yeah, I know. And pjs’.”
“Go figure.”
All their owls screeched at the same time across the vast distances separating them.
Malové’s voice on them. “I just got off the phone with the Headwitch of Salem. Witch hunting season is back on, can you believe it? Didn’t we have countermeasures in place? Who was in charge of the Lump thwarting warting spell? Come at once!”
In Limerick, Finnley snickered, only mildly annoyed at the sound of all the parked owls in the mostly empty Quadrivium building. Oh, I see. It’s all gone pear-shaped, has it? Witch hunting season indeed! You’d think by now they’d have sorted their spells and counter-spells like a proper orderly lot. Honestly, if it were up to me, I’d have those countermeasures filed, organized, and triple-checked like my cleaning supplies. As for whoever’s in charge of the “Lump thwarting warting spell”—sounds like someone needs a good talking-to. Probably spent too much time nattering about and not enough focusing on their spellwork. Typical, isn’t it?
Elsewhere in the Northern forest, Eris shrugged at the sound hooting echoing. “When I told them something was wrong with Malové, it was her charge all along. Now, let’s wait and see to find someone brave enough to say it to her face.”
Somewhere and somewhen else, Truella and Frella and Jeezel were probably thinking the same, unless they got lost themselves in the Well of Crom, a surefire way to stay clear of Malové’s screeching owls.
Eris was looking at the moving sausages in the frying pan, like they were possessed with unexplainable energy.
She was not doing the cooking, but Thorsten had thought to send her a video for reasons known to him only. It was making her hungry now. Looking at the moon outside, she was again burning the midnight oil, lost in between bits of plots, vagrant duties and other’s dumped concerns. When did she get caught up in everyone’s mess, she wondered.
She would have tried the doppelganger spell to ease off the pressure by sending a body double to the needful —in most situations, that would do the trick perfectly well. How many times people were sitting in boring meetings nowadays, only present physically while their minds were wandering in other places. That wouldn’t be so different. But the spell came with a bad case of hangover, and last Truella used it was a keen reminder to use with caution.
So she still hadn’t find a way to navigate the demands pressed upon her; to be dependable for her coven, the headwitchstress and basically everyone else with needy emotions.
It was time to get back home. If any of them were left, sausages were waiting.
“Oh sweet revenge…” November was looking gleeful, and truth be told, too smug. With a tinge of orange anticipating a delectable tapestry of chaos.
The results had come as cold as an early winter for a world standing on the precipice of another era under President Lump’s reign.
“The winds of change rustling the curtains of the Beige House once more. And amidst this swirling tempest of political intrigue, our story unfurls with the maids au pair at its heart.”
“Liz, are you sure this is wise to pursue?”
“Oh stop, it Godfrey, the harm is done, November was written already in that story; I knew she would spell trouble from the beginning. And please, don’t interrupt.”
As April and June departed to pursue their ventures—perhaps April embarked on a global crusade for environmental stewardship while June disappeared into the realms of espionage, her whereabouts known only to the shadows—November emerged, a true force of nature. With an iron will and a meticulous attention to detail, she transformed the Beige House into a bastion of order amid political disarray under old Joe Mitten—bless his bumbling heart. Her reign as the clandestine conductor of this domestic symphony was nothing short of legendary.
During those four years, November proved herself indispensable. She orchestrated everything from state dinners to covert intelligence briefings, all while maintaining the perfect façade of domestic tranquility. The press would whisper her name, speculating on her true influence behind the scenes. Little did they know that November had eyes and ears in every corner of the Beige House, including a network of whispering portraits and eavesdropping sconces.
And now, with President Lump’s reelection, November faces her most formidable challenge yet. The political climate is rife with unpredictability—alliances shift like sand, loyalties waver, and secrets simmer beneath the surface. November must navigate this labyrinth with the precision of a masterful chess player, anticipating every move and countermove.
“Nope,” Echo said appearing in a flash “doesn’t seem to be linked to the posting to the witches’ board Eris.”
“Then I’m afraid there’s something else at play that makes the connection to the ancestors’ magic flicker fickly.”
She continued with an ominous tone “We’ll have to be very cautious on the witches’ road we’re going to summon for the spell. Some unknown energies are toying with us.”
“Don’t mind me” said Eris, “I’m letting Echo check our connection to the ancestors’ wisdom. There seems to be a strange thing happening since the last energetic update. We can’t do the spell safely if this isn’t fixed I’m afraid. I have a theory this happens whenever one of us posts a new idea on our board. Suddenly it loses the plot and the ancestral wisdom of the lots gets lost.”
“Oh go on,” Truella said “I’m searching, but I’ve run out of fucks to give.”
Everyone looked at her shocked and offended. She started to giggle and replied with a smile. “Oh stop with the looks, I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“I’m glad Hallowe’en is soon coming…” Eris sighed to her colleague. “Honestly, when did all the witchery stuff got outnumbered by Project Managers Officers?”
“Don’t ask me!” replied Truella in the dirt-smeared reflection of her obsidian mirror. She was still obviously distracted from her Incense-making numbers, not that she ever really cared about it —and even less since Malové got replaced for a while.
“Found anything worth scrying in your old postcards?” Jeezel affably trying to practice genuine interest in Truella’s games. Her own image was all pixellated due to the abundance of glitter on the makeup stand she was using for the conference call.
“Shht…” shushed Frella appearing in a faint halo light through her pristinely shiny scrying mirror, “Don’t encourage her, silly. There’s going to be no end of it. And Eris has a point, I may say.”
“Does she, now? And when did you start to take sides?” Truella felt like Pinocchio being told the Land of Toys wasn’t all that it was supposed to be.
“Listen,” Eris said “I’m sure you’ve realised by now, we have PM Officers for about any ridiculous thing in the Quadrivium nowadays. None of them having any magic to show for. They’re going to suffocate us in paperwork if you ask me. I suspect the Malové that came back was put under some sleeper sort of a spell; the Malové we knew would never have tolerated such nonsense.”
Eris marked a pause, looking sideways at Truella’s reflection on her Witchype screen. “And I think she’s had a fair deal of nonsense to contend with… but at least, even in a dragon fire mishap, there was magical prowess that could be harnessed.”
“I do like to get my hands dirty you know, and unravel layers of earth without the help of any spell” snickered Truella.
“That is not the matter and you know it…” Eris sighed.
“You meant to say, it’s time for a good old fashioned witchy coven spell to unravel the truth and break one maybe?” Frella ventured mockingly coyly.
“I’m in!” Jeeze jumped in suddenly “Been so bored for so long with all these timesheeting, spreadsheeting, and reportshitting if you don’t mind my French.”
“Actually I have an idea for a spell… and it may be of interest to you Truella too.” Eris continued.
Truella raised an eyebrow. She was not one to take things at face value. “Try me”
“All my ancestry research has pointed me to something we could work with. You know that bits of hair and nail are basically just middle-agey way of gathering DNA; and that DNA can act as a conduit through time and space, the same way it connects people.”
“Ooooh…” cooed Trooella.
“Exactly.” All nodded in a silent conspiring understanding.
The whole summer had been a blur. So much so it felt at times to Eris she’d woken up from a dream to enter another one; carefully crafted illusions as heavy as an obfuscating spell.
She could remember the fair, vaguely the Games too —each event felt like another layer of enchantment, casting a surreal pallor over everything. Indeed, the summer was a blur of fleeting images and half-remembered events, like how everyone quickly disbanded to go for a respite and a salutary holiday. Truth be told, the witches of the Quadrivium all needed it after the utter chaotic year they’d been through.
The resurgence of Malové at the fair, left unexplained, had appeared as an evidence. They all needed the tough love that only she as a head of Coven could provide, rather than the micro-management of the well-meaning but people-inapt Austreberthe. To be fair, Eris wasn’t sure Malové was still in charge or not —Eris had never as much struggled with continuity as now; she could feel they were all flipping through and sliding into potential realities opened by the incoming Samhain doorways on the horizons.
Standing on the cusp of autumn, Eris décided to prepare herself for a clarity spell under the iridescent harvest moon.
As the leaves began to turn and the air grew crisp, Eris stood poised to harness the energies of the propitious harvest moon. Preparation for a clarity spell required ascertained precision and intention waved into the elements.
Eris began by setting her space. The clearing near Lake Saimaa was her sanctum, a place where the natural energies converged seamlessly with her own. She laid out a circle of stones, each one representing a different aspect of clarity—vision, truth, focus, and discernment. In the center, she placed a mirror, a symbolic portal to the inner self and higher understanding.
Mandrake, her Norwegian Forest cat, watched with a knowing gaze, his presence grounding her as she moved through the rituals. Echo, the familiar sprite, flitted about, ensuring everything was in place.
“Mandrake, guard the perimeter,” Eris instructed. The cat slinked off into the shadows, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.
Eris took a deep breath and began to chant, her voice steady and resonant:
“By the light of the harvest moon,
I call forth clarity, swift and soon.
Let fog disperse and shadows flee,
Reveal the truth, illuminate me.”She sprinkled dried hellebores around the mirror, their protective and healing properties amplifying the spell’s potency. The hellebores, collected from Normandy, held within them the strength of her Viking ancestors and the promise of Imbolc’s rebirth. They were not just flowers; they were talismans of resilience and transformation.
As the moon reached its zenith, Eris held a vial of enchanted water. She poured it over the mirror, watching as the surface shimmered and rippled, reflecting the moonlight with an ethereal glow. The water, drawn from the depths of Lake Saimaa, was imbued with the ancient magic of the land.
Eris closed her eyes and focused on her intentions. She saw the faces of her sisters at the Quadrivium Emporium, each one struggling with their own burdens. Stalkers, postcards, camphor chests, ever prancing reindeers high on mushrooms. She saw the chaotic energies of early spring, swirling, and the potential and peril they carried. She saw Malové’s stern visage, a reminder of the standards they were meant to uphold, and a reminder to make more magical rejuvenating cream.
“Show me the path,” she whispered. “Guide me through the haze.”
The mirror began to clear, the ripples settling into a smooth, reflective surface. Images started to form—visions of the future, hints of what lay ahead. She saw herself within the coven with renewed purpose, her objectives clear and her drive rekindled. She saw her sisters working in harmony, each one contributing their unique strengths to the collective power.
The clarity spell was working, the fog lifting to reveal the roadmap she needed. Decisions that once seemed insurmountable now appeared manageable, their resolutions within grasp. The inefficiencies plaguing their organization were laid bare, offering a blueprint for the reforms necessary to streamline their efforts.
Eris opened her eyes, the vision fading yet leaving an indelible mark on her mind. She felt a surge of confidence, a sense of direction that had been sorely lacking.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the moon, to the elements, to the spirits that had guided her.
As she began to dismantle the circle, Echo fluttered down to her shoulder, a small smile on her ethereal face. Mandrake emerged from the shadows, his eyes reflecting the calm and order Eris had sought to instill.
“Well done, Eris,” Echo said softly. “The road ahead is clearer now. The harvest moon has gifted you its wisdom.”
Eris nodded, feeling ready as autumn would be a season of action, of turning vision into reality.
There was a quietness before the rush of tourists, and the placid disposition of cows near the field was a nice relief after the madness of the Coven’s endless succession of rituals, workshops, business cases and budgeting of late.
It would be as close a permission slip from Austreberthe for a holiday as any of them were likely to get in a lifetime, so they’d better enjoy it —Eris had reasoned.
Picking the assigned one without putting too much thought to it, Eris had found her yurt pleasantly arranged with an attractive purple color, and even if she was only midly fond of the very hippy and communal setup, with a few insonorisation spells, and interior-designer-enlargement spells, the tent had proven adequate enough.
She’d been here already when Truella and Frella had come through the other tents, chatting vivaciously of course. She’d lifted the muffling spell for long enough to overhear about Malové being here. Well, in case there were any doubt, it seemed it was again all about business. Eris was surprised though that Malové would join, but remembered that Malové was known in her youth to have been a mad racer with a fondness for breakneck speeds. She was probably just here for the Games, like many others.
The longwinded story about the camphor chest had started to recede in the background sound of cud chewing so she didn’t get the fine details of it for now.
Now Eris was wide awake from her nap, and it was as good a time as any to setup her Mellona stall. After all that Coven’s busy activity of the past weeks, there was no small irony (or synchronicity, which would be the same, with a better state of mind) that she’d found herself in charge of the Roman Goddess’ stall. Maybe she would find interesting ways to channel the hive’s power to support their queen.
Ms Nicraith Noble, the Mayor of Limerick taking a bath in the Shannon River with reporters had made the rounds of news in ways that were quite incomprehensible.
Obviously it was part of a media ploy to boost public attention for the incoming Roman Games.
“Did she require some anti-rash-and-boil spells?” Jeezel messaged on the network, worried about what such swimming stunt would do to her ravishing hair.
“Probably…” Eris responded in a terse manner “Don’t forget Austreberthe managed to get us to sponsor the event. She may have eased the deal with some goodies. Like anti-age spell too.”
Eris was glad Austreberthe had refocused the efforts towards the imminent launch of the Roman Games. Those mass events were key moments in the Coven’s seasonal activities, as they provided a bounty of emotions to refine and process for creation of their most epic incenses. The recent mass events had been too heavy on fear, anger and gloom-mongering, not the grade A quality they required.
Austreberthe had called all hands on deck to be ready for the event, having deemed the reconnaissance work in Spain’s cloisters sufficiently well under way to take a break from it. In truth, Eris suspected she’d started to receive the first invoices from the undertakers’ Guild and had realised it was a hefty cost for their consulting services.
On top of that, there was a recent case of the drunken sheep flu in Andalucia, some local variety of virus that got the cloister sisters fear for their elderly’s Mother Loreena’s health. Considering the gleeful vulture’s smiles of the Morticians in waiting, they had decided in agreement for an early dismiss into the Summer holidays retreats.
“More prayers, phew, glad they didn’t need us for that.” true to her swagger way, Truella had conceded and accepted to put a hold to her passionate researches —she’d managed to get their personal phone numbers too anyway.
“One week to the start of the Games then.” Eris sighed. The last stretch to summer holidays seemed to take forever.
Cedric Spellbind scene with Frella at Herma’s cottage. (ref)
On the rugged coast of Ireland bathed by a sunny light. Near a secluded cottage, the scene unfolds with the figure of a tall, middle-aged man with disheveled dark hair, a deerstalker hat, and a trench coat, who stands nervously. His piercing eyes reveal a lifetime of supernatural pursuits.
Next to him, a modern witch with striking blond hair reminiscent of Tilda Swinton, sits on a camphor chest. The cottage owner, a middle aged lady frets nearby. He declares his official business, accusing her of Witch Violations. He is entranced by her presence, admits he knows she’s a witch but won’t turn her in.
The scene captures a rare moment of levity and complex attraction in the tense atmosphere and their complicated relationship, set against the backdrop of a mysterious and mystical investigation.
Frella at Herma’s cottage – looking for magical clues in the mysterious camphor chest.
In a quaint cottage on the coast of Ireland, with salt and simple spells, a modern witch blond and looking like Tilda Swinton opens a big camphor chest carved with runes. Behind her is the owner of the cottage, wondering what is Inside, and if protected by magical spells. Inside they find ancient documents, letters, and a peculiar item—a black feather of a blackbird, delicate and shimmering with a faint magical glow. The feather is a quill to reveal hidden messages on the postcard with a stamp featuring an ear of maize.
It was good to get a break from the merger craziness. Eris was thankful for the small mercy of a quiet week-end back at the cottage, free of the second guessing of the suspicious if not philandering undertakers, and even more of the tedious homework to cement the improbable union of the covens.
The nun-witches had been an interesting lot to interact with, but Eris’d had it up to her eyeballs of the tense and meticulous ceremonies. They had been brewing potions for hours on, trying to get a suitable mixture between the herbs the nuns where fond of, and the general ingredients of their own Quadrivium coven’s incenses. Luckily they had been saved by the godlike apparition of another of Frella’s multi-tasking possessions, this time of a willing Sandra, and she’s had harmonized in no time the most perfect blend, in a stroke of brilliance and sheer inspiration, not unlike the magical talent she’d displayed when she invented the luminous world-famous wonder that is ‘Liz n°5’.
As she breathed in the sweet air, Eris could finally enjoy the full swing of summer in the cottage, while Thorsten was happily busy experimenting with an assortment of cybernetic appendages to cut, mulch, segment and compost the overgrown brambles and nettles in the woodland at the back of the property.
Interestingly, she’d received a letter in the mail — quaintly posted from Spain in a nondescript envelop —so anachronistic it was too tempting to resist looking.
Without distrust, but still with a swish of a magical counterspell in case the envelop had traces of unwanted magic, she opened it, only to find it burst with an annoying puff of blue glitter that decided to stick in every corner of the coffee table and other places.
Eris almost cursed at the amount of micro-plastics, but her attention was immediately caught by the Latin sentence mysteriously written in a psychopath ransom note manner: “QUAERO THESAURUM INCONTINUUM”
“Whisp! Elias? A little help here, my Latin must be wrong. What accumulation of incontinence? What sort of spell is that?!”
Echo appeared first, looking every bit like the reflection of Malové. “Quaero Thesaurum Incontinuum,” you say. How quaint, how cryptic, how annoyingly enigmatic. Eris, it seems the universe has a sense of humor—sending you this little riddle while you’re neck-deep in organizational chaos.
“Oh, Echo, stop that! I won’t spend my well-earned week-end on some riddle-riddled chase…”
“You’re no fun Eris” the sprite said, reverting into a more simple form. “It translates roughly to “I seek the endless treasure.” Do you want me to help you dissect this more?”
“Why not…” Eris answered pursing up her lips.
““Seek the endless treasure.” We’re talking obviously something deeper, more profound than simple gold; maybe knowledge —something truly inexhaustible. Given your current state of affairs, with the merger and the restructuring, this message could be a nudge—an invitation to look beyond the immediate chaos and find the opportunity within.”
“Sure,” Eris said, already tired with the explanations. She was not going to spend more time to determine the who, the why, and the what. Who’d sent this? Didn’t really matter if it was an ally, a rival, or even a neutral party with vested interests? She wasn’t interested in seeking an answer to “why now?”. Endless rabbit holes, more like it.
The only conundrum she was left with was to decide whether to keep the pesky glittering offering, or just vacuum the hell of it, and decide if it could stand the test of ‘will it blend?’. She wrapped it in a sheet of clear plastic, deciding it may reveal more clues in the right time.
With that done, Eris’ mind started to wander, letting the enigmatic message linger a while longer… as reminder that while we navigate the mundane, our eyes must always be on the transcendent. To seek the endless treasure…
The thought came to her as an evidence “Death? The end of suffering…” To whom could this be an endless treasure? Eris sometimes wondered how her brain picked up such things, but she rarely doubted it. She might have caught some vibes during the various meetings. Truella mentioning Silas talking about ‘retiring nuns’, or Nemo hinting at Penelope that ‘death was all about…”
The postcard was probably a warning, and they had to stay on their guards.
But now was not the time for more drama, the icecream was waiting for her on the patio, nicely prepared by Thorsten who after a hard day of bramble mulching was all smiling despite looking like he had went through a herd of cats’ fight.
As soon as Eris had left the room, Truella thought for a moment she was hallucinating, as Eris popped back right in through the entrance.
“So, what did I miss?” Eris asked, looking exactly the same if a little worn out.
“What do you mean what did you miss? You hardly missed anything, since you’ve just never left!” Truella protested, as the absence of sleep wasn’t cause enough to make her doubt her senses.
“Ah… I see… Those time-travel shenanigans. Hard to wrap one’s head around sometimes.” Eris said matter-of-factly. “No matter, glad to be back, well… so soon… by your standards. Let’s get back to business then? When’s the next ritual? Don’t we have to brew a potion or something?”
“No, no, no… Not so fast! What happened to your trip? you have to tell us all, and TIME TRAVEL! Where, when, how, with whom? We want to know all, n’est-ce-pas ma petite Jeezel?”
“Tsk, tsk. For another time. Suffice to say, I was gone for longer than I wanted, and clearly that nun-witch portal had been tempered with, sent me right in the middle of the darn Middle-Ages. But I can’t tell you more here…” Eris said with an air of mystery. “Stone walls are thick, but not as deaf as Mother Lorena, that’s for sure.”
It was matins, the early break of dawn at cockcrow, and the sisters had been diligent to call everyone for prayers.
Mother Lorena was expounding on the powers of prayer while Eris was struggling to keep her friends awake after the short night.
“Our Sister Hildegard,” Mother Lorena was droning, as to make everything painfully clear to the newcomers “was one of the founding members of our secret order of nun-witches as you would like to say. But make no mistake, she tapped into a power much much older. The power of prayer of the early Christians was capable of great miracles…”
“If we’re here for a history lesson, hope she tells us more about the dragons…” muttered Truella, still groggy from her sleepless night.
As if the absurdly hearing-impaired Mother superior had heard the plea, she went on “It is that same power of prayer from the early covens of nun-witches that helped vanquish the hordes of dragon-boat riding invaders.”
“Did she say dragon??”
“Ssshttt!” Jeezel and Eris shushed Truella as they were struggling to keep up with the rosary count.
“Of course, I mean the viking hordes with their drakkar boats. Such be the tale forever embedded in our embroidered tapestries.”
“She didn’t say about the frogs nuns though, has she?” Truella ventured, hoping the hearing/inspiration spell would still work.
“I suppose the frog-nuns were symbols of transformation, alchemy — or mastery about the water element from which the invaders came, or maybe just waiting for a prince’s kiss… what should I know?” Eris shrugged, mildly annoyed. Her phone was busy spewing messages. Luckily the silent prayer was over, and everyone was invited to the breakfast in the great hall.
“What’s happened?” Jeezel ventured.
Eris sighed. “I’ll have to leave you for today. Another bank errand for Austreberthe. Hope it doesn’t become a habit… Luckily she’s asked Mother Lorena to allow me to use the covent’s portal to make haste.”
She turned to Truella. “I trust you with this Tru, please don’t make a mess of it while I’m gone. There are forces at play here, and we can’t be distracted; I’ll be back as soon as I can. We still have the crypts and the reanimated nuns to investigate, but I’m sure they can wait for a few hours more.”
Before Truella could protest, Eris was on her way.
Audrey came to herself rather unexpectedly in the middle of the Choir ritual with all the witches and nuns finishing the Canticle from the Psalms of Saint Frogustus.
Luckily for the coven, her sudden gasp for air could have easily passed as a croak or one of the ribbit amens that went with the background aaah and oohs.
“I think something wrong happened to your friend.” she whispered to Jeezel who had been enjoying the unlikely singing. It was already the third ritual done in six, and it had been mostly enjoyable.
Eris whispered in turn as the grand croaking finale started with loud gong banging by Mother Lorena chanting “leaps of faithe, ye, leaps of faithe”.
“What do you mean? Is Frella alright?”
“Something came in the background, but when our minds disconnected, she felt more annoyed than anything… and to be honest maybe a bit… flustered, how to say…” she became red as Saint Frogustus’ hand tips. “Randy is the word you say?”
“Damn it Jeezel, have you done anything?”
“Why you ask me?” Jeezel felt offended. “You haven’t taken into account the strawberry full moon, that’s all.”
“There’s only one potent counter-spell to this situation…” Audrey said. “We should pray to Saint Frigdona saint patroness of unwavering commitment to upholding the sanctity of boundaries and the virtues of righteousness, even in the face of the most enticing temptations!”“Jeeze, don’t go all religious like this.” a glowing Truella finally said. “I was for one, quite enjoying all that croaking. Dear Rufus told me there is a reason to this ritual! Get that: giant dragon-eating frogs! Dra-gon-frig-ging-eat-ing-frogs! That’s why the famous nuns were revered!”
Eris and Jeezel looked at each other with that puzzled look unequivocally meaning “she’s lost her marbles”.
In the silent moment of the last gong sound droning out, they sighed in unison, turning to Audrey. “How is this Frigdona prayer going already?”
“Or someone willing would do.”
Moments ago, the witches had turned at the uninvited guest who had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of their brainstorm.
Sister Audrey was in the corner, and looked at the assembled lot with a cold stare. “Any witch worth her salt knows that. It’s better for a possession spell to be on willing host, the simpletons are really last resort. I’ll do it. I understand you need your coven to uncover some mysteries, and what’s best than to start trusting each others.”
Truella, Jeezel, Eris looked at the floating orb with a question mark on their face.
“What say you Frella?”
Frella, at a loss for words, and mildly peer-pressured, replied “oh FFS, I suppose so.”
“A possession spell? Are you out of your mind?” Jeezel looked at Eris’ suggestion with a painful wincing look.
“Desperate times…” she sighed. “And if we need Frella’s on Malové’s case, how is she to pop in and out?
“But whom to possess now? Surely not a reanimated nun corpse from the crypts?”
“Well, you know it’s better to find someone with a… simple mind.”
When Sister Penelope Pomfrett realised she’d lost her assigned witch guest, Eris-what’s-her-name, she started to feel anxious.
Not one to revel in shortcomings, she promptly went about ferreting though the corridors, while the various nuns and guests were still enjoying their libations and ceremonious rituals exchanges.
A cry of anguish resonated through the halls. “Smoke! Smoke!” followed by a mild agitation, which felt one-sided amongst the nuns. Maybe the incense witches were more accustomed to those smoke mishaps, and were not as quick to call fire in alarm. But here in the thick of Spanish summer, unattended smoke could wreck certain havoc.
Penelope was about to jump into the circle called by the elder sisters to contain the smoke, when she abruptly bumped into someone. It was that mortician, the quiet one, Nemo.
She couldn’t help but to mutter some form of apology, yet anxious to get going.
“Sister,” he said with a voice that was commanding calm in the midst of chaos. “You need to calm down, this won’t last, and I’m sure your sisters have this under control.”
“What would you know about that?” she felt her mind go numb, and found herself following him with too much abandon.
“Call it a hunch. Not all is as it seems here, and us morticians, are well-taught in the arts of not only preservation, but as well of hidden truths.”
Indeed, the ruckus seemed to fade already in the distance. Penelope looked more closely at the gentleman. He seemed rather innocuous, and not sufficiently handsome to make her break her chastity vows, even if some would find his brooding rugged charm attractive. Yet, he was making her curious.
“So that’s what you do when there’s no dead body to attend to?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. But don’t worry, the night is young, and death is never far.” He said with a quiet smile.
Penelope brushed aside the shivering feeling that coursed through her spine. “Could you make yourself useful dear, I’m looking for my assigned Quadrivium witch. The one with the blue hair, any chance you’ve seen her? These grounds are not safe for the non-initiates.”
“No, I don’t think I have seen her, but I’m sure you can whip up a location spell before vespers are done…”
“Yes, it’s not that. There’s too much chaos magic at work now, it could backfire. Have you no idea why we have those tapestries with dragons on it?”
“I have a small idea. Templar Knights of the Crimson Order?”
“Something like that. The cloister has been build as an atonement by a noble lady, centuries ago — it was said, to appease old spirits who were vanquished in mythical battles.” Penelope held her breath. “Some say they’re still close by. Even more so at the solstice.”
“So better not to trifle with the energies right now,” Nemo said, extending his elbow in an old-fashioned chivalrous gesture. “Let’s find your witch friend together, shall we?”
As Frigella, deep in her investigation of Herma’s cottage, meticulously examined the chest’s contents looking for potential clues missed at first glance that could explain more about the postcard, with its distinctive stamp featuring an ear of maize, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
“By the gods, not that interloper again,” she muttered under her breath, sensing the familiar prickling at the back of her neck. She knew Cedric’s gaze all too well—part curiosity, part menace. The young witch hunter was like a moth to a flame, drawn to the coven’s mysteries and, more specifically, to Frella herself, for reasons that likely perplexed even him.
Herma, oblivious to the undercurrents, continued to sift through the chest with Frella. As the silence thickened, Frella’s mind wandered to the last encounter with Cedric. His naïve bravado was almost laughable, yet there he was, lurking in the shadows, ever the novice hunter out of his depth.
“Careful, Herma,” Frella warned with a sharp glance at the window. “We may have an unwelcome observer. This certain Cedric Spellbind has a knack for being where he shouldn’t.”
Herma chuckled, dismissing the tension with a wave. “Him? A mere boy chasing phantoms. He won’t bother us.”
Frella wasn’t so sure. Spellbind’s persistence was a nettlesome thorn, yet she knew how to handle such a busybody. For now, she would focus on the task at hand, but a mental note was made: keep an eye on Cedric. He was, after all, as unpredictable as the spring winds that brought them here far too early.