anyone.
Failure .
She drifted. She bled.
Elise woke up fully healed with the sour aftertaste of magic lingering on her tongue. “There,” said the witch, sitting back on her heels. She was an elegant older woman with gray-streaked hair sleeked into a bun, and she wore a silk bathrobe, like she had just stepped out of a spa.
“Thank God for you, Pamela,” Mom said.
Pamela grimaced. “Well, don’t do that. You never know who’s listening these days.”
Elise peered at her mother through bleary eyes. Mom’s cheeks were wet and her nose was running, but she still managed a grateful smile for the witch named Pamela. “I would have taken her to the hospital. I know we should have. But Isaac thought that—”
“You did the right thing. We’re far too invested in Elise to allow her care to fall to mundane doctors.”
“Will she become a werewolf?”
“No. Claws don’t transfer the curse. Many kopides are immune anyway.” Pamela finally noticed that Elise had opened her eyes. She wiped the blood off of Elise’s stomach with a damp cloth, and the skin underneath was undamaged. “How do you feel, Elise?”
“Fine,” she said, because Dad would have hated it if she had complained about her sore back and the strange taste in her mouth.
Elise pushed her mother away and sat up on her own. She was surprised to find, as her senses returned to her, that she was outside in a forest. The only light came from a bonfire that Elise glimpsed through the trees. Silhouettes of dancers flitted around the flames to the slow beating of drums.
“It’s Litha,” Pamela explained at Elise’s confused expression. “Midsummer. My coven is celebrating the sabbat tonight. Would you like to see?”
“But the hunt,” Elise protested. “The werewolf’s body—I have to get back.”
“Your father has returned to take care of the dead,” Mom said, smoothing her hand down Elise’s hair. “We have nothing else to do there.”
Elise hung her head.
Isaac had left them rather than wait for his daughter to be healed. He must have been even more disappointed than she feared.
She nodded, resisting the urge to wallow. Dad wouldn’t have wallowed.
“I’m going to join the circle,” Mom said. She stood and—to Elise’s surprise—began to strip.
She abandoned her skirt and blouse on a tree, like the branch was a hanger. She fluffed out her curls, smiled at her daughter, and stepped into the clearing.
Pamela washed Elise’s blood off of her hands with the remaining water.
“Many rituals are performed skyclad,” the witch explained. Pamela sounded like what Elise imagined a teacher would sound like, though Elise had never been to school. “It helps witches feel connected to the elements. Young and old alike participate. Strange as it seems to the uninitiated, it’s not sexual.”
The idea hadn’t even occurred to Elise, but having Pamela mention it brought heat to her cheeks.
“I’m not getting naked,” she said, folding her arms tightly across her chest. She didn’t have any of her mother’s physical features yet—and, hopefully, never would—but she wasn’t prepared to advertise their absence, either.
Pamela rubbed her back. “You’re not a witch. Nobody would expect you to join the ritual. But you can’t stay in the trees unsupervised, and I’m not babysitting you. Come, you can sit on this log over here.”
Elise would have preferred to face another werewolf than enter that clearing. But Pamela drew her onward, guiding her to a fallen tree at the edge of the meadow, and sat her down on the tree.
Mom had jumped in with the other witches as if she belonged there, and they greeted her with cheers of joy. The coven already knew her.
The shouts and cheers of the coven sounded a lot like the yipping of the werewolf as they had hunted it through the Kansas strip mall. The witches were more animal than human. Beasts of the earth and trees. Mom’s magic had never been like that before—it was a
Failure .
She drifted. She bled.
Elise woke up fully healed with the sour aftertaste of magic lingering on her tongue. “There,” said the witch, sitting back on her heels. She was an elegant older woman with gray-streaked hair sleeked into a bun, and she wore a silk bathrobe, like she had just stepped out of a spa.
“Thank God for you, Pamela,” Mom said.
Pamela grimaced. “Well, don’t do that. You never know who’s listening these days.”
Elise peered at her mother through bleary eyes. Mom’s cheeks were wet and her nose was running, but she still managed a grateful smile for the witch named Pamela. “I would have taken her to the hospital. I know we should have. But Isaac thought that—”
“You did the right thing. We’re far too invested in Elise to allow her care to fall to mundane doctors.”
“Will she become a werewolf?”
“No. Claws don’t transfer the curse. Many kopides are immune anyway.” Pamela finally noticed that Elise had opened her eyes. She wiped the blood off of Elise’s stomach with a damp cloth, and the skin underneath was undamaged. “How do you feel, Elise?”
“Fine,” she said, because Dad would have hated it if she had complained about her sore back and the strange taste in her mouth.
Elise pushed her mother away and sat up on her own. She was surprised to find, as her senses returned to her, that she was outside in a forest. The only light came from a bonfire that Elise glimpsed through the trees. Silhouettes of dancers flitted around the flames to the slow beating of drums.
“It’s Litha,” Pamela explained at Elise’s confused expression. “Midsummer. My coven is celebrating the sabbat tonight. Would you like to see?”
“But the hunt,” Elise protested. “The werewolf’s body—I have to get back.”
“Your father has returned to take care of the dead,” Mom said, smoothing her hand down Elise’s hair. “We have nothing else to do there.”
Elise hung her head.
Isaac had left them rather than wait for his daughter to be healed. He must have been even more disappointed than she feared.
She nodded, resisting the urge to wallow. Dad wouldn’t have wallowed.
“I’m going to join the circle,” Mom said. She stood and—to Elise’s surprise—began to strip.
She abandoned her skirt and blouse on a tree, like the branch was a hanger. She fluffed out her curls, smiled at her daughter, and stepped into the clearing.
Pamela washed Elise’s blood off of her hands with the remaining water.
“Many rituals are performed skyclad,” the witch explained. Pamela sounded like what Elise imagined a teacher would sound like, though Elise had never been to school. “It helps witches feel connected to the elements. Young and old alike participate. Strange as it seems to the uninitiated, it’s not sexual.”
The idea hadn’t even occurred to Elise, but having Pamela mention it brought heat to her cheeks.
“I’m not getting naked,” she said, folding her arms tightly across her chest. She didn’t have any of her mother’s physical features yet—and, hopefully, never would—but she wasn’t prepared to advertise their absence, either.
Pamela rubbed her back. “You’re not a witch. Nobody would expect you to join the ritual. But you can’t stay in the trees unsupervised, and I’m not babysitting you. Come, you can sit on this log over here.”
Elise would have preferred to face another werewolf than enter that clearing. But Pamela drew her onward, guiding her to a fallen tree at the edge of the meadow, and sat her down on the tree.
Mom had jumped in with the other witches as if she belonged there, and they greeted her with cheers of joy. The coven already knew her.
The shouts and cheers of the coven sounded a lot like the yipping of the werewolf as they had hunted it through the Kansas strip mall. The witches were more animal than human. Beasts of the earth and trees. Mom’s magic had never been like that before—it was a
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