Elissa looked at Jessamine, then back at the other witch. “Me?”
“You,” Jessamine replied with a soft chuckle. She nudged her forward. “Step into the circle with Sybil.”
As much as Jessamine wanted to join them, she knew she couldn’t. Some part of her still could not fullybepart of this coven. Someday, she would have to return to being a princess. She had other responsibilities and so much more to worry about. Joining the coven felt like a promise she wasn’t all that certain she could keep. For now, she was a gravesinger, and that was enough.
So she stepped back, sitting on a small bench near the circle and leaning forward to brace her elbows on her knees.
Sybil extended her hands for Elissa to take, gently guiding the other woman onto the soft ground. They knelt together, a picture of two opposites. One pale woman with ghostly hair in the moonlight, the other all shadows and darkness.
“Do not be afraid,” Sybil said. “There is nothing scary about finding your own power.”
“It feels terrifying,” Elissa replied. “I don’t know who I am anymore. One moment, I was just a woman who bred birds, and now? Now what am I?”
“A witch, darling.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It is what you make it.” Sybil’s hands tightened on hers, drawing Elissa’s fingers to open, palms up. “Being a witch is a wondrous thing. Do you remember the kind of magic your great-great-grandmother had?”
“She controlled bodies.”
Well, that was ominous. Jessamine frowned and tried to decipher the expression that crossed Sybil’s face. Was that a bad thing? They could certainly use someone that powerful in their coven, but also, what did that even mean?
Sybil revealed no emotion, however. “That is a rare gift. You fear it?”
“My family was known to do terrible things with that power. My mother was the first to go against that dark magic, and she died for it. I don’t want to do what they did, but I don’t want to die either.” Elissa cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I’d be very good at any magic, though. Look at what I did to… to…”
Jessamine couldn’t help herself. “My power has gotten out of control before as well. It’s not the same, I suppose, because it isn’t really my magic. I take it directly from Elric and turn it into something else. But I know what it feels like to have the intent to do one thing and then somehow end up doing it wrong.”
A flashing memory of Benji choking to death in front of her turned her palms sweaty. She wiped them on the knees of her pants before leaning forward again. She met Elissa’s startled gaze with a soft smile.
The young woman’s throat bobbed in a harsh swallow. “I’m terrified that it will happen again.”
“It happens. We learn and we move on. Living in our mistakes is like walking with ghosts. Why cling to them?”
“Walking with ghosts,” Elissa muttered. “I suppose you’re right. I feel like I’ve done that my entire life. My family line has always held on to that bottle of power with far too much reverence. It was the last bit of power we had left from your god, but we wouldn’t use it even in the most dire of circumstances. My mother taught me the old spells, but she never even let me hold that vial of power. She told me I wasn’t good enough to use that magic yet. I wasn’t mature enough. And even after she’d passed, I couldn’t make myself touch it. Not even to save Sarah.”
“Familial ties run deep,” Sybil said, shifting in front of her to draw the attention back to the circle. “But now is not about the women who came before you. It is about you, dear Elissa. Joining the coven with anopen mind and also perhaps with the intent to learn what it is that you can do. By yourself. Not with anyone else watching you.”
Jessamine watched the young witch draw her strength into herself. Perhaps it was the stillness of the garden and the magic that now soaked even the flower petals with drips of power. Or perhaps it was merely that she was ready for this. After all those years of carrying the expectations of her family tree, now she could finally do something with herself.
“Are you ready?” Sybil asked.
Elissa nodded.
“Breathe with, me then, witch. Together we draw the magic from your chest. It is a process, and you should not fear it. Fighting me will only hinder us.”
Perhaps Elissa’s face was a little paler than before, but she did nod. “I won’t fight you.”
“Good.” Sybil turned her head to the side, and Jessamine heard her mutter, “Because it will really hurt if you do.”
The two women drew slightly closer. Sybil tilted her head back to the moon and started to chant. The words were from a language long dead, impossible to understand, but beautiful all the same. They bubbled through the air, some of them sharp and jagged as knives, others soft and rounded as river stones. Jessamine could feel them cresting and breaking over her head, urging her forward.
Every bit of her wanted to walk into that circle. She wanted to step inside of it and feel her own magic, even though there was an aching hollow inside of her that screamed she had none. Not like the witches. Jessamine had not cracked herself open and taken in all that he was.
Voices all murmured in her mind at the same time. They all chanted out the same thing.
Deathless One.
