Page 9 of First Ritual

Flipping my thick waves to one side, I grabbed the rust chunk at the base of my skull and snipped it off without preamble, taking a fair amount of white-gray with it. When your hair resets each day, you stopped caring about losing it.

I zapped the scissors with a small bolt of magic to banish them back to the shelf in my duffel, then I turned on the bath taps and perched on the edge.

As far as cave rooms went, this one was pretty luxurious. I had a huge bed chamber and an attached bathroom with a large claw bath, perfect for the purification ritual for tonight’s esbat.

This place was weird, though.

The air contained no chill though an earlier search had revealed I was a quarter mile underground. Somehow my body knew what the time of day was. The light had steadily grown over the morning as it would outside. I might not have thought much of their barrier, but mimicking the patterns of night and day inside these walls took serious magical clout.

Dragging my duffel to the bath, I summoned my purification kit. I had a much larger practicing kit—several of them—but seeing as I purified every month, and then on sabbats, it was nice to keep this kit more accessible.

Unlocking the heavy clasps on the wooden box, I considered the contents.

Violet leaves, yes. I sprinkled a pinch in the bath water.

Scotch thistle, always. I uncorked my stinging nettle tincture, too, and used the stopper to drizzle a few drops into the water. Such a powerful cleanser for the blood.

Red dead nettle? I hovered my fingers over the pouch. Maybe not tonight. That was strong-smelling stuff, and I wanted to win people over. I’d go for nasturtium flowers instead.

As always, I tossed in an ample amount of herb Robert to counter any damage carried from the technology-prone human world.

Last but not least, dandelions.

I sniffed the aroma curling off the bath water, then added more nasturtium flowers. Sniffing again, I hummed in pleasure.

I grabbed a few lengths of cotton cord from my kit and set them on the side of the bath for later. Candles already bordered the bath, and I ignited them with a burst of magic down my battle affinity. Grabbing my palo santo incense, I lit that, both in the bedroom right by the white, ceremonial dress I’d wear tonight, then in the bathroom.

Perfect.

Turning off the taps, I left my concoction to steep and cool, and padded to a cushion on the floor that I considered a prized possession. The cushion once belonged to my mother.

Kneeling, I inhaled, then exhaled.

The journey to center myself was a familiar one. One my grandmother had insisted on doing weekly—and she’d done so every day. Meditation was crucial for a magus. Varden wasn’t joking about balance. Sure, a magus could smooth their magic’s path with plants, gems, symbols, candles, and objects of power, but that only augmented what was present.

Such objects could augment peace.

Such objects could augment chaos.

A magus in chaos was a magus to be wary of. If my grandmother hadn’t been so stringent on my twin and me about practicing such things, who knew if I’d still be here?

My mind flew back five weeks prior, to the precipice I’d stood upon when the impossible happened and led me here. My insides trembled at the memory, and I ripped my thoughts from that dark time.

Forcing my focus inward, I acknowledged the three paths within me that my magic could take—divination, battle, and apothecary—and thanked the mother before drawing my magic from each path and back to the space under my ribs. I began to chant.

My thoughts floated as I inhaled the heady scent of palo santo and the glorious aroma rising from the bath through the archway. I pulled each thought inward to my center as my magic settled under my ribs. Time passed as I hugged my magic close, reminding the energy of its home and of my honorable intent. Maybe I was in these caves under false pretenses, and with an agenda, but my respect for nature, for my ancestors, for the mother, her power, and her creatures was true. In that, the coven and I were on the same page.

My chant filled the room as my rooted magic vibrated within me.

Eventually, as my power and I reached a ringing agreement, I allowed the tendrils to flow from beneath my ribs out to my fingertips and toes, to the crown of my head. Behind closed lids, my eyes told me that the light in the room had changed. That it was darker now, early evening. My magic floated down into my three affinities once more, holding there like loaded chambers as always for whenever I may call upon their aid.

A soft smile graced my lips.

I opened my eyes. “Thank you.”

Rising, I padded to the lukewarm and murky bath. I slipped under the surface, then settled against the comfortable side. Shoving my wet hair back first, I grabbed the lengths of cotton cord and began to braid.

This wasn’t a traditional part of purification, per se, but I found this necessary to empty my mind of details before an esbat. Forming intricate works of braids and knots was something my magic had gravitated to on its own. Mother hadn’t batted an eyelid and just supplied me with ample cotton. Magus all had their quirks.

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