Page 125 of Of Witches and Queens

31

MIA

The wind is blowing over the lake, lifting my hair, brushing my cheeks—and I barely feel it in the surge of magic rising around me, inside me. The full moon, made of old gold, hangs in the sky above us, its pull waking up all powers. Waking up creatures in their burrows and birds on the branches and the ley lines in the soil and the dragon lines in the sky.

Magic is blooming, a black and white flower rising, petals opening in the night.

Keeping the magic inside is a struggle. My skin is prickling, the inside of my head is itchy. My cocoon is pulsing with life, ready to burst. My net is in place.

Be patient, I tell myself even as I watch my boys get marched down to the lake and shoved to their knees, as their eyes glaze over with the enchantment and their heads bow.

Patience.

Ophelia steps in front of them, her long white dress trailing behind her. She’s fully embraced her White Queen persona, I see, her dress obviously made for the occasion.

Fine. Have at it, cousin. Wow us with your Oscar-worthy performance. So much drama about appearances, when all that counts is what is inside.

Memories, feelings—and magic.

I close my eyes and feel everything come to life—I feel the elements swirl upward, twining in pillars of light and darkness. I feel the net of the world, so much bigger than Ophelia’s, so much more powerful.

I glance at Vanessa.

I glance at the gangs standing the closest to us—I see Percy, Anala, Elijah, Az. They’re all under Ophelia’s enchantment. I have no illusions that they could break free of it on their own. Even my powerful boys cannot. Ophelia’s magic is monstrous right now, fed with the magic of so many others that it’s bulging, a python that swallowed a sheep.

It doesn’t feel okay. And it’s probably because what she did to get there is so frigging wrong.

I glance at the Headmaster who is standing there with the teachers. My father, it seems. I try to see myself in him. The eyes, I think again. We have the same eyes.

But his are focused on Ophelia. He’s been under her spell for a while now.

I don’t need his help. I’ll manage. I’m on my own but won’t stay that way.

This Witching has to be stopped.

My hands clench against the folds of my long dress. Black, as befits a Dark Queen.

And I will become that, if that’s what it takes to stop her. I will be her dark side, her reflection, her counter-weight.

I will be the dark side of the moon.

She’s chanting, calling on the powers of the world, on the elements bound together by the orbit of the moon, and I feel my long hair lifting. My magic is so attuned to hers, it’s insane. She’s focused on establishing her hold on the boys, sinking her hooks deeper, pushing into their subtle bodies, their ethereal auras.

But then she turns and beckons to me. Her eyes have gone almost all black. She flicks her fingers and a cut opens in my palm, making me hiss, letting my blood drop on the ground.

And with it, a tiny prick, a tiny push, her magic finding mine, a jolting contact. A connection.

We’re linked.

It feels like falling for a moment, like seeing the world through her eyes, feeling the power she siphoned.

Bad move, cousin.

I was told of the dangers of hooking my magic to hers, but it seems nobody warned her of the same. Or else she is so confident in her power and my submissiveness she didn’t consider it. She’s secure in my apparent weakness.

Through the connection, I reach out and sink my own hook in her.

Then I make myself not flinch, not move or show anything on my face as I find myself fully linked to her. I make my mind blank, in case she has access to my thoughts. I make my limbs hang loose, my thoughts wander.

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