Page 111 of Big Little Spells

Maybe because we’ve not only said everything already—we’ve done this before.

I can almost see those brash, excited versions of us walking as we head to the path by the river and follow it as it winds its way toward the confluence. There are witches all along the path, coming to take part in Litha whether they have a connection to a fledgling witch or not, but I don’t focus on them and the way they look at our group, then away.

We approach the confluence. Rows of chairs are set up out in the field leading to the river, like any old human high school graduation. Teenage witches stand around vibrating with nervous energy, milling about with their friends and their families in their various states of finery.

Humans walking by would see a private school graduation ceremony or a small outdoor wedding, perhaps. This close to the confluence and with this much magic in the air, everything that actually happens here is easily shielded and hidden from them. But they’d feel it. And they wouldn’t know why a simple ceremony gave them such a shiver and made them steer clear.

We find our seats in our usual row with our names in the same golden scroll as everyone else’s, floating serenely above our chairs. I see my parents in the family section. Uncle Zack is seated on almost the opposite side of the area, with Zander’s Grandma Rivers. Ellowyn’s mother, as usual, is fiercely focused on Ellowyn, and is sitting with her partner Mina in the front row, as close to us as it’s possible to get. Georgie’s parents sit in the middle of a pack of Pendells, looking as subdued and pinched as all their relatives look alternately bewildered or delighted to be out of their usual bookshelves.

For some reason, I notice that not one of them has red hair. Not a single one.

I don’t have time to focus on that, because I’m still looking around. But Nicholas...is nowhere to be seen. I crane my neck around to search every face. I send out a little probe to find his energy in the mix of so many people, but he isn’t here. I don’t feel him anywhere.

I would be grateful for that, but I know better.

He should be unknowable, but I know him.

And that means I know enough to worry that I don’t see him glowering from behind his own flowing cloak of doom to the left of the stage, where the rest of the Praeceptors and other non-Joywood teachers sit during these things.

“This Litha will be a little different from others, my dear friends and neighbors, citizens of St. Cyprian and honored guests from afar,” Carol says by way of greeting, suddenly appearing at the front of the stage, hair a frizzy halo and her kindest—and therefore most terrifying—smile in place. “We have a very rare and sacred balance to test tonight, a bit outside the usual scope of our Litha ceremony.”

Our whole row gets a little too still and much too tense. Even Zander lifts his head from a scowling contemplation of the grass beneath his feet. I suddenly feel a lot less okay with Nicholas not being here. I try not to panic.

“As we all know well, witches in their eighteenth year are asked to come before us and show what they can do. As they demonstrate their ability to balance the light and the dark, on this night of the earth’s balance between both, we all see who they are. What powers they possess innately, and then, what role they will play in our community going forward.” She smiles wider. “But this is not a human job fair or a college application process.”

That gets the laugh she was going for. It only confirms for me that she really is pure evil, because she made that same joke ten years ago.

This time she doesn’t segue into the usual tedious breakdown of the various designations. “Over time, it can grow difficult to remember why we do the things we do. Why we celebrate the same rituals in the same order, year after year, though the world changes all around us. And my answer to that is what it always has been and always will be. One thing can never change, and that is our sacred duty to protect witchkind. So it is not only the balancing of balls of magic in the air that we consider tonight. Far more important is a more fundamental question, rooted in the horrors of old world witch hunters and the tragedy at Salem. Can a witch demonstrate that they will be good for witchkind? A positive influence that furthers our aims and is certain to keep our secrets? Or, more rarely, will we be forced to protect the witch population either from a power too dull to be dependable or too wild to control? As your ruling coven—”

And there’s a little stagecraft then, as the rest of the Joywood are suddenly revealed to be standing behind her, all of them in their finest robes, blowing just slightly in the lack of breeze on this airless, humid night.

“—it is always our hope that every witch we test on Litha will join our community, our collective, as one of us,” Carol says warmly. So warmly.

Meanwhile, I have gone completely cold. And I still don’t know where Nicholas is.

“Ten years ago, two young witches, never standouts among their peers,” Carol begins, now sounding concerned, “failed to show us any balance at their pubertatum.”

“Never standouts!” Emerson’s whisper is outraged.

Jacob slants a look her way, and she presses her lips together, but I can practically hear her temper continue to boil.

“Instead of accepting the judgment of the Joywood and living under the rules and regulations that govern the choices they made, they have instead made choices that necessitate another test. As adults. As grown witches.” She pauses so we can all hear the murmur that goes through the crowd. Because witches live a long time, and no one thinks a reversion to childhood is appealing. That’s a human thing. But then, grown witches have more powers than humans do. “They have involved their friends and family in these crimes against witchkind. They have broken laws and rules. Frankly, they have wreaked havoc all over St. Cyprian these last few months.”

I see Emerson open her mouth, as if she’s about to mount an argument, but she looks at her fiancé and shuts it. But when she looks over at me, her eyes are flashing. Matching mine, I’m sure.

“If you’ve missed all this, you’re welcome,” Carol says, and lets out one of her cheerful little titters. “The Joywood, as ever, work hard to protect you from such things. Nonetheless, these witches have displayed what they term ‘power.’ It is written in the old laws that any witch who claims to hold power can request the opportunity to prove themselves on Litha. Tonight, I hope you will join us as we see if they can wield it safely and positively, in a way that protects witchkind rather than risks our exposure.”

That’s quite a framing job, I think. Why not drag Emerson and me up to the stage in prison stripes and chains? It would amount to the same thing.

Carol leans into the microphone she’s only holding for show, since she’s been happily magicking her voice directly into every ear here. “Please come forward,” she intones. “All of you.”

She nods to us and we’re compelled to move toward her. Whether we want to or not, we’re carried forward until we’re all set down on the stage, and not all that gently. Emerson and I are tugged along by invisible hands and deposited slightly to the left of Carol. Everyone else is held off to the side. Their judgment will stem from our verdict and suddenly this has all gotten a little too real, if everyone else’s expressions are anything to go by.

I work to school mine as I look around once again, trying not to look like that’s what I’m doing.

There is still no sign of Nicholas.

But as I’m talking myself through the waves of panic moving through me, my gaze is drawn to the trees. Familiars are scattered throughout the proceedings, all manner of pets and wildlife. I see Zander’s eagle and Ellowyn’s owl. I see Smudge and Octavius, very deliberately sitting apart from the teenagers’ familiars. Farther out, I see Murphy’s antlers, and am pretty sure that’s Cassie beside him, laying low so as not to call attention to herself.

---