Page 32 of Curses and Cauldrons

I pull my phone out far enough to read the text. A small smile spreads over my face when I spot R for Roman. For some reason, I couldn’t put his full name into my phone.

R: Does your coven make you hold hands and share your feelings with one another during the new moon ceremony?

Naw, we just sacrifice virgins and drink some pig’s blood.

Roman hasn’t asked me to come over again. And he definitely hasn’t told me he wants to fuck me again. Still, there's safety in chatting through the phone. I text things that I would never have the balls to say in person. And I will likely be mortified when I actually see Roman in real life.

R: How medieval of you.

What can I say, we love our traditions.

R: My brother’s sweaty palm sounds better by the minute.

How sweet, you hold your brother’s hand?

R: He’s scared of the dark. I can’t handle all the weeping.

I snicker and put my phone away, grimacing at the time.

“I’d better go find my family,” I tell my friends with a sigh.

“We’ll be waiting for you here when the ceremony is done, okay?” Piper says, knowing how I’m always drained on these nights. I nod and cross the clearing to the spot where I knowmy family will be. My mother’s nose is pointed down toward her watch, irritation creating wrinkles between her brows. My father and Camille are both on their phones. My parents are buttoned up in wool coats fit for a fancy party and not a wooded clearing at midnight. Camille is at least more practical in a puffy jacket. Her obnoxious fur-lined boots that lace up to the knees are on the ground next to her. She looks like a poster girl for Swedish tourism in the nineties.

“About time. You have absolutely zero sense of responsibility, Josephine. When are you going to grow up.”

“Never,” Camille sneers. “She’s going to be a lost little girl, waiting for someone to tell her what to do next for her entire life.”

I keep my mouth shut. Nothing good comes from talking back to either of them. My father couldn’t be less invested if he tried.

Selene steps up to the altar, the candlelight making her already pale face almost skeletal. She’s a tall woman, at almost six feet. She’s severely thin and not in a modelesque way. She’s not fragile, but her body is angular like she’s all sharp points. When I was younger, I used to imagine her bones would clatter together if anyone ever hugged her. She’s not much for touching, though, so that’s not something I ever determined on my own.

“My children. Gather round. The new moon is upon us. It is time for our rebirth, for us to reaffirm our commitment to the Lumen coven and restore our magic with the blessing of the Maiden.

Selene’s hands drop to the altar, and a breeze blows my hair across my face. I should have worn a hat. Especially with my bare feet, I’m freezing.

My mother snaps her fingers in my face. “Josephine. Your hand.” She says it as though it’s not the first time. I want to hug my arms around myself to hold in the little bit of warmthstill in my body, but there’s no point in fighting. I hold out both of my hands. Camille takes one and my father the other. Pain shoots down my arms and thrums through my body with each of my heartbeats. My mom’s hand lands on the back of my neck, ice cold. It’s not from the frigid temperature outside. She’s purposefully coating her hand in ice. I sway at the contact, swallowing thickly to keep from throwing up.

This part is always horrible. One person touching me is awful, but three is torture. Sparks flicker across my vision. Beyond the pain is the draining sensation, like my magic is being sucked out of me. That’s not what’s supposed to happen at the new moon ceremony, though. I don’t know why it feels like this for me. Out of nowhere, my recent conversation with Fitz pops into my head. The Maiden, Mother, and Crone are all facets of our magic. Are we missing some important component to our power because we only worship the Maiden? Am I being punished for not embracing all aspects of my magic? If that’s the case, why is it just me?

I clench my teeth together to hold back a scream. My knees are shaking, and I lock them to keep from crumbling. Only a few more minutes.

Selene is saying her blessing at the altar, but I can’t hear the words. I only know from experience that this process never takes more than five minutes. But five minutes with three of my family members touching me might as well be five hours. Time ceases to exist. I count in my head, my cold toes digging into the ground like either action will distract me. They don’t.

This night is supposed to be restorative, but I’ve never experienced that. Every time the new moon approaches, I want to cry. As the years go by, it’s getting harder to drag myself here, but I know what will happen if I don’t come. Things could be so much worse than these handful of minutes in the clearing. Andso, I continue to show up, breathing through the pain until I can escape.

Selene ends her speech, and my mother snatches her hand away from my neck, as if my skin burns. Like she’s the one who’s in pain instead of me. My father and sister follow suit. They turn to talk to each other, giving me their backs while my mother hisses in my face.

“What have you been doing to yourself?”

“I don’t… what do you mean?” True confusion has me stammering. Everything about this new moon ceremony is the same as all the rest.

“There’s something wrong with your magic,” my mother snaps, and I startle back. I don’t feel like anything is wrong. My magic is like a warm glow in the center of my chest. When I’m not using it, it just hums away there. When I use my magic, the glow brightens and burns hotter, spreading from my chest down to my fingers so I can heal. A warm ball of energy is sitting, waiting right now. It always feels depleted after the new moon ceremony, and tonight’s no different. If anything, I feel even more exhausted than usual. Almost as if something else had hold of my magic and there was a tug-of-war occurring.

We’re closer to the altar than most people, and the flicker of candlelight highlights the scowl on my mother’s face. If we weren’t in the middle of our coven, there’s a good chance her palm would be cracking against my cheek, frosted over with her water magic. I have no idea what has made her this angry.

“Watch yourself, Josephine Delvaux. Whatever you’re planning, I will find out. I won’t let you harm this family.”

I take a step back, my legs heavy with fatigue. The witches in the clearing are chatting good-naturedly around us. They don’t even notice that my mother looks ready to strangle me. As much as I’m an outsider in my family, I have never done a thing to hurtthem. Everything I do is as my mother commands it. What on earth does she think I’ve been doing?

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