Page 85 of Big Little Spells

It almost makes me smile. Some things don’t change. I glance at Zander—white-faced and stoic, when he’d usually put on a show for us—and understand, against my will, that life is nothing but change. You live, you learn, you lose.

I wish I’d understood that when I was as young and foolish as most of the kids here. Or maybe there’s something sort of beautiful about that time. Before you know better.

“One of the most important lessons a young witch can learn before they go out into the world is how critical our rules are, for all of our own good. For our safety and our future. Rebellion isn’t a joke, or a fun lark, it’s dangerous. It threatens not just you as individuals, but all of us. As a whole.”

That feels pointed. Even in my head Ellowyn’s voice is dry.

As a knife, I reply. And likely in the back.

“But we don’t expect you to take our word for it,” Carol says, smiling at the audience like we’re all in on a joke together. “Let us give you some examples.”

They drone on and on, each member of the Joywood presenting some age-old fairy tale dressed up as warning. About Passau and floods. About Salem and hangings. It’s always rule breakers that lead to the loss of knowledge, the death of good witches, and the precautions we must all now take to keep our existence hidden.

Blah, blah, blah, I send Ellowyn’s way, making her smile.

When it’s Felicia’s turn, I settle in for a long, winding diatribe about walking on the wrong side of the street or something. Maybe I can do a spell to keep my eyes open while I take a nap.

She steps up to the podium, and all the way across the gym, I feel her eyes land on me. She smirks.

Dread tightens every muscle in my body.

“These are all old stories, and likely most of you are unmoved,” Felicia says, in that voice she uses when she’s attempting to relate to the youths. She even leans on the podium, so carefree and approachable. Like a goblin. “Passau and Salem are ancient history. I know we’re all more interested in moving forward.”

My heart is thundering in my ears, but I still hear every word. As if it’s directed at me.

Because it is.

“Let me offer a more recent example. One that threatens what we are now, and in the future.” Felicia holds up her hands, head thrown back to the ceiling, murmuring the words of a spell. As she does, a screen appears and hangs in the air. A movie begins to play.

“Now we have to sit through an after school special?” Zander complains from beside me. “Wake me up when it’s over and we’ve all learned our very important lesson.”

But I can’t laugh. I recognize everything about the first image. Because I was there.

It’s right after Emerson’s mind wipe—though they don’t show that. They’d have to answer questions about how she clearly has power now and wields it.

So do I. And so did I then.

Their test was wrong about us, but who’s going to remember that?

I know what’s about to happen, and watching it feels like a car crash I can see coming from a mile off.

My vision has grayed at the edges, like a pinpoint, so all I see is the screen. Younger Rebekah, fury stamped on her features and fire sparking from her hands. On the bricks. Wielding my magic—not just on the bricks, not just at Felicia, two very big no-nos, but clearly mixed with black.

You can see the darkness in me. You can see me leaning into it.

My fury, my hurt, my betrayal warped me until I would have taken revenge at any cost. And here it is, for all to see, me pulling all that black from below and throwing it at Felicia.

Everyone who’s ever done magic knows that the darkness lurks just there. We’re all taught to be better than that. To choose good magic, always. Especially on the bricks of St. Cyprian, where it’s the law.

Part of me thinks they’ve warped it. Made me look more like a villain, more unhinged than I ever was. But another part of me looks at that hurting, lonely, desperate girl and thinks... I was all of that. I was the embodiment of my own despair, and that black, dark magic felt like the only thing that might save me.

Because darkness lies, no matter its form.

But that’s the kind of thing some people need to learn the hard way.

There’s no sound. There’s just me, hanging in the air on a six-foot-tall screen, clearly out of control. Clearly using ribbons of dark magic against another witch there on the sacred bricks. Fire erupting around me.

Clearly this close to causing a terrible tragedy.

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