Page 53 of Which Witch is Willing?
With more ceremony than Moira would have figured her globe-bellied sister capable of at this point, Tierra approached her with a wooden bowl of some suspicious-looking green goo held in one hand. In the other, a paintbrush. Slightly behind her and to either side, Aerin and Claire followed with bowls of their own, the contents of each the symbolic hue of their respective elements.
“The instructions in Grim were very specific,” Tierra said, eyes glowing golden with flames’ reflection. “We each have to paint a different part of you with the symbol of our element and bless it before saying the spell.”
“I’m pretty sure Nick knows where to find everything. We’ve done this a couple times before, you know.” Moira shivered as a draft from the window found its way right up under her shift.
“That’s a fucking understatement,” Aerin muttered under her breath, stirring her bowl of silvery liquid with equal parts suspicion and disgust.
“Tell me about it,” Claire echoed.
“All right,” Tierra said, marshaling an air of matronly authority. “Off with the shift.”
A bead of nervous sweat crawled from Moira’s armpit down her ribs like an insect. “Can’t y’all just…you know. Reach under it?”
Claire snorted. “You parade around in jean shorts no bigger than a thong most days and now you’re getting bashful?”
“I mean, we’re identical,” Aerin added. “If I’ve seen mine, I’ve seen yours.”
She had a point, Moira supposed. With one swift movement, she shucked the shift over her head and let it flutter to the floor.
“Remind me to put you in touch with my waxer when this is all over,” Aerin said, eliciting a snicker from Claire.
“You guys.” Tierra glanced over her shoulder to fix her sisters with a reproachful look. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“Excuse the everlasting fuck out of me.” Aerin swiveled in her still (miraculously) perfectly creased pantsuit. “Playing paint by numbers on my sister’s body so she can conceive some weird immortal baby capable of preventing the destruction of the world as we know it wasn’t exactly in my day planner.”
“Would you rather you did the conceivin’ and I did the paintin’?” Moira asked, her hand planted on her bare hip.
“Nope,” Claire answered, a little too quickly. “We’re good.”
“Well, all right then,” Moira said. “Slap some paint on my ass and let’s get this over with.” She resumed her arms out position, all traces of levity falling from Aerin and Claire’s faces.
A rare silence held them, filling the room like billowing smoke.
Tierra stepped toward her, dipping her paintbrush in her bowl, her many bracelets tinkling, and she reached out. Moira’s stomach shuddered as the cool liquid came in contact with her skin, watching as the rudimentary shape of a tree branched over her navel. “By the power of the Goddess, may your womb be as fertile as the damp, rich earth.”
Stepping back, Tierra made room for Claire, sleek in a black tanktop and buttery leather pans. The crimson liquid looked like nothing so much as blood as with quick, cascading movements, she conjured the shape of flames over Moira’s stomach. “By the power of the goddess, may your belly be filled with the fire of life, now and always.”
Aerin approached next, her eyes taking on the liquid mercury glow of the bowl before her as she walked behind Moira. With the precision she brought to all such tasks, Aerin drew a billowing coil over each side of Moira’s back. “By the power of the Goddess, may your lungs be filled with breath everlasting.”
They stepped back, leaving her in the circle alone. Moira glanced down at the small bowl of deepest cobalt they’d deposited at her feet.
“The last one you have to do yourself,” Tierra said gently.
Her body a running rainbow, Moira bent to pick it up.
Brush in hand, she looked at her sisters, feeling their love vibrating through her every pore. Feeling the protective space they held for her. The measure of their power they had so freely given her.
In that moment, she knew that what remained would somehow be the hardest.
The love she had to grant herself.
Dipping the paintbrush into the azure pool, she lifted it to her heart, where, in loose, liquid strokes, she brought forth the shape of waves. “By the power of the Goddess, may my heart be brave and boundless as the ocean’s tide.”
Setting the bowl back down, she nodded to Tierra, who held out her hands to Aerin and Claire.
In a voice trembling with both emotion and fear, Moira spoke the words they’d read in the Grim.
By the power of earth, air, fire and sea, let the Ceann Dorcha be born of thee.
