“Hmm,” Shem said, cocking his head to the side. His hellcats brushed and arched against Willow before putting their little paws in Shem’s lap and reaching up to chatter in his ear.
“What are they saying?” I asked, my voice breathy.
Shem glanced at me, frowning.
“It’s not her time. If you want to save her, you will need to work fast.”
“What? How is that possible?” I asked.
Shem shrugged. “This is not a natural death. Her soul is not due for another fifty years or so. If you can repair her mortal body, her soul will stay.”
“Can you do that?” Willow whispered, and I pursed my lips.
“I can try.”
“You can do it,” Luna said with a conviction I didn’t feel. “You have a full coven of thirteen to back you. We’ll help.”
“Alright. Let’s try it,” I agreed, and Luna got up to rejoin the circle.
“Anything I can do?” Shem asked in a surprising display of support and solidarity.
“Keep the house secure.”
Shem grinned. “On it.”
Then he left the circle, too. I looked down at my friend and opened my third eye so I could see the state of her aura.
Her chakras were dull and bleeding. I focused harder, and her life treads showed themselves to me. They were broken and disjointed, some of them throbbing a painful crimson from where the angel had torn through them.
I ran my fingers through the glistening strands and strengthened my resolve.
I could do this. Even without the mother and the crone, I could do this.
I had to.
Slowly, I got to work making sense of the messy knots that hung before me. Once I had a grasp and the beginnings of a plan of action, I glanced down at Willow, who was struggling to breathe.
“I’m going to try to heal you. It might take a while.”
“Will it hurt?” she asked, and I bit my lip.
“It might. I’ll try to be gentle.”
“I believe you.” She sighed, and that made my heart swell with a heavy sense of responsibility.
“I won’t let you down, Willow,” I promised before closing my eyes and getting to work.
Shem and I stood guard with Fenrir and Sköll while the coven got to work. It was fascinating watching witches practice magic. It was much different than how our magic worked. Warmer—softer somehow—but no less powerful.
Their magic was comparable to the way a mother’s love for her child could be considered to be magic. Strong, quiet, safe, and subtle. It was something that was constantly there but had the potential to turn fierce and unyielding when the situation called for it.
It was another thing that Yahweh had condemned and labeled evil without any clear understanding of what exactly it was he was condemning.
He’d only seen it as a threat to his own power, so he had sought to eliminate it.
As the room pulsed softly with a healing golden light that was born of the soft chants from the Hecate’s thirteen, I felt myself settle into a calm, meditative state.
Hecate seemed to have succumbed to a trance of her own. Her slender fingers worked quickly through twinkling lines of magic that hung over her broken friend.
