Page 59 of A Match Made in Coven
The thuds of Elspeth’s cane hitting stone alerted them to the matriarch’s approach.
Elspeth stopped before Cordelia. “Thank you. Now it’s our turn to right our wrongs.”
Instead of turning to the sky, Elspeth lowered herself—stiff and straining—to one knee, her joints creaking in protest. With a grimace of determination, she planted her palm on the cemetery ground. The earth under her hand pulsed as if recognizing the touch of a Callidora after centuries of separation.
A soft hum emanated from the spot where Elspeth’s hand met the soil, growing in intensity until it vibrated through the air. The ground shimmered as a pearlescent light seeped outward from her fingertips like liquid moonlight.
As Elspeth chanted, the wind grew thick with magic. It swirled and danced, creating eddies of glossy energy that twisted and coiled around the assembled witches. Her voice grew louder, and the magical energy intensified, crackling like static electricity.
A beam of brilliant white light shot up from Lysander’s tomb, piercing the night sky. The stone effigy trembled, hairline fissures appearing across its surface. Mary Callidora hovered nearby, her translucent shape pulsing with anticipation. Until a deafening crack split the tomb in half.
A swirling mist poured out, coalescing into the spectral silhouette of a man. As the mist cleared, Lysander Black’s ghost stood before them, his eyes wide with confusion and wonder.
He bore a striking resemblance to Lorcan. The same chiseled jawline, the proud nose, and the broad shoulders that hinted at strength even in his incorporeal state.
Yet, Lysander’s gaze held the pain of centuries of suffering, his cheeks gaunt with unimaginable sorrow.
“Mary?” he whispered, his gaze locked on his lost bride.
Mary nodded. She moved her lips to respond, but no words came out, only the usual sinister wails. Lysander flew to her side and gathered her into his arms, unconcerned with her gruesome, bloodied appearance.
As Lysander and Mary embraced, an ethereal glow emanated from their spectral bodies. Their lips met in a kiss that transcended time itself, a union of souls separated for centuries. The temperature rose as a whirlwind of magic erupted around the ghostly couple, swirling with iridescent hues of blue, silver, and green. The wind howled, whipping through the cemetery with such force that the living onlookers had to shield their eyes and brace themselves against nearby tombstones.
Within the magical storm, Lysander and Mary’s appearance changed. Mary’s gruesome throat wound knitted itself closed without even a scar left behind. Her tattered, bloodstained gown transformed into a flowing garment of pure white, embroidered with delicate silver threads that caught the moonlight.
Lysander’s gaunt features filled out, the centuries of sorrow melting away to reveal a handsome face alight with joy. His dusty clothes morphed into an elegant suit blacker than a starless sky.
When the vortex faded, Lysander and Mary stood before them, their hands clasped together, no longer two haunted figures wrecked by sorrow but young and lively—or at least as lively as two specters could appear.
A collective gasp rippled through both covens. Sarah Michelle squeezed his hand harder, her eyes wide with wonder.
Mary Callidora turned to Sarah Michelle and Lorcan. “To thee, my descendants and thy beloved, I extend my deepest thanks. Thy courage and steadfast resolve have unraveled the tangled skein of falsehoods that hath bound our families in enmity for nigh on three centuries.” Mary Callidora’s melodious voice filled the air. “Through thy actions, thou hast not only freed us from our earthly bonds but hast also paved the way for a new era of peace and understanding betwixt our covens.”
Lorcan smiled goofily. “You’re welcome.”
Sarah Michelle rolled her eyes, but at least this time she didn’t elbow him in the ribs.
The ghostly couple began to fade, their edges blurring like mist dissolving into the morning air.
Lysander took Mary’s elbow. “We must away now, my love.”
Mary’s gaze went to them one last time.
“Live well,” the ghost whispered, her voice like the soft rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. “Remember that love and truth are the greatest magic of all.”
With that, Lysander Black and Mary Callidora ascended. The air surrounding them shimmered with silver dust, and the moon grew brighter, as if acknowledging their eternal reunion.
As they floated higher and higher, they became mere silhouettes against the full moon, merging into a single outline as they embraced in a last kiss that spoke of undying love and long-awaited freedom.
The cemetery fell silent as all present had their necks bent backward to gaze at the moon until Mary and Lysander became the shadow of a crater and nothing more. Sarah Michelle leaned into Lorcan’s side, her warmth seeping through his jacket and into his skin. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as they shared a smile.
Behind them, Lorcan’s mother cleared her throat. He turned to find Cordelia standing tall and regal in her black gown. “Lorcan. I expect you and Sarah Michelle to join us for dinner soon. I’m owed a proper introduction to yourgirlfriend.”
That was as much warmth as could be expected from Cordelia Black.
Lorcan nodded. “Sure, Mother.”
“Very well.”
