Page 4 of First Ritual

Ah, that felt so good.

A deep hum built in my throat before falling from my lips. The actual chant was saved for full moons, but this wordless version aided the replenishment of magic and the soul at any point in the lunar cycle. I sorely needed it after the last month.

My eyes were still closed when a faint whoosh alerted me to the barrier dropping. My heart raced, but I remained still as a series of energies vibrated through the surrounds. I picked up six energies in a row before me. None of them interrupted my ritual. A good sign?

I held the last humming note of thanks and, filled with the moon’s energy, I lowered my raised arms.

Showtime.

I regarded the six hooded figures. Black robes. Faces shrouded in shadow.

“What coven have you run from?” the smallest asked in a cold voice. Male. He had to be an esteemed to have spoken first.

His assumption wasn’t unreasonable. To them, a runaway was the only logical reason for my sudden appearance. Magus were born in a coven. Our kind sometimes switched to live in another coven. We did coven exchanges. Coven this, coven that. The common factor? Coven. Not only was I not born in a coven, but I wasn’t raised in a coven. I’d never set a single foot in a coven.

I bowed. Grandmother had schooled me in correct coven etiquette even if Mother had often scoffed at her. “I haven’t run from any coven, sir.”

A tremor rippled through their ranks.

“We do not have any record of an exchange or transfer.” A woman this time. The tallest. Magic pulsed from her.

Whoa, she packed a punch. Esteemed for sure, and ice-cold. “I wouldn’t imagine you do, ma’am.”

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

Hold your ground. They haven’t killed you yet. “I would like to be initiated into your coven.”

Another tremor rippled through them. Those black robes were freaky as shit. Maybe this was a mistake. Was I really willing to die to find my answers? There could be another way.

Except there wasn’t. I’d turned what happened a month ago over in my mind hundreds of times. The key to unlocking the mystery could only be found in this coven, and in all honesty, I’d been half-dead for years anyway.

I was meant to be here, and my existence wouldn’t always be painful. I had to cling to that future.

A male magus on the end spoke. “What coven are you from?”

I spread my hands, palms up. “I’m not from a coven, sir.”

“Not from a coven?” a second woman hissed. “Impossible.”

Impossible things didn’t always stay impossible, as I’d learned. Impossible really meant not possible now. “I realize it’s irregular, ma’am.”

“Highly irregular,” another woman snapped.

Okay, highly then. It wasn’t a competition.

Only one of the hooded figures hadn’t spoken. The magus stepped forward and revealed bare feet. Respect. I hated wearing shoes. Only the need to exist amongst humans had forced me into these sandals, and I refused to wear anything closed. Wasn’t natural. Nuh-uh. Not for me.

“Your name, young one?” he asked softly.

The moment of truth. Would my name earn my death sentence or entry? “Tempest Bronte Corentine. Daughter of—”

“—Hazeluna,” gasped the smallest man.

I nodded. “Yes, and granddaughter of—”

“—Rowaness,” gasped the tallest woman.

We were finishing each other’s sentences already.

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