Page 2 of To Hunt a Demon King

Mama grimaced. I was hoping that by this month’s meeting I would be able to stand beside Mama and the rest of the Coven, but it felt like a forlorn hope based on her face.

“My heart,” she sighed, placing the dry measuring cups in the drawer and looking out the small kitchen window.

“Can’t I please go?” I asked, turning a pleading look on Mama. I knew that she wanted to protect me from my grandmother, but I was desperate to prove myself as a member of the Coven. “I know every spell there is to know, and I’ve been helping you with potions for years. I can do this!”

“Elara,” she said more firmly.

“Please,” I begged, my hands clasped. “I will stay next to you the whole time, and I have the invocation spell memorized already. I won’t embarrass you, I swear.”

Mama sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. We had been having this argument for years, but her answer had never changed.

“I’m not worried about you embarrassing me, my heart,” she said, frowning at me. “I just don’t want you going until you absolutely have to.” I groaned, having heard this a hundred times before.

“You have all the time in the world to be part of the Coven,” Mama added, patting me gently on the shoulder. She turned to pack away the flour and butter on the kitchen table. “Let yourself be a witchling for one more meeting.”

Despite Mama’s reassurances, I had a strong suspicion that she would try to find a way to prevent me from attending next month as well. I was no longer a witchling, but she seemed adamantly against letting me prove myself. I knew she wanted to keep me away from my grandmother. Mama made no secret about wanting me to have as little to do with her and the rest of the Coven as possible. But I had to believe there was more to it than just that.

A waving form at the garden gate caught my attention, and my best friend entered our little yard and skipped up the path. Pure mischief shone in her face.

“Elara!” Vera shouted from the gate. “I need you!”

“I’m coming!” I shouted back. I rolled my eyes at my friend as I picked up my apron from where I had thrown it and hung it more neatly on the hook by the stove.

“Elara—” said Mama, stepping toward me as I pulled on my boots. She hesitated, cupping my cheek.

“What is it, Mama?” I asked, trying to temper my frustration and annoyance. Despite our disagreement about my Coven membership, I loved Mama, and we rarely disagreed. She was always looking out for me and teaching me to hone my craft so that, when I did go out on my own, I would be ready. I didn’t have much to compare her with, secluded as we were from other witch families, but I was certain I had one of the best mothers in the witchdom.

I looked up at her. She was frowning, looking uncertain, as if trying to decide what to say next.

“What is it?” I asked again, taking her hands. They were rough from the hard work she did to keep our little cottage pristine, and to help the mortals with all manner of magic cures and tinctures.

“Nothing,” she said, her frown lifting into a sad smile. “I love you.”

I smiled, kissing her on the cheek.

The day was warm, so I left my cloak and met Vera with a smile. Her ebony curls shone in the afternoon sun, and she returned my smile as I took her arm to walk the paths in the woods around our cottage. I was glad of my boots, for the paths were muddy from recent rain. I doubted we would see travelers from the mortal village, which was a good ten miles away.

There were several small witch and mortal villages throughout the Witchlands, as well as Ostara, the capital city of the Witchlands where the Coven meetings were always held. The city was named for the celebration of the start of spring, and it was supposedly bustling with life and light and excitement. I had never been, but Vera often visited her aunt there and told me all about it. Mortals were forbidden from entering the city, and most kept to their villages near the Bloodwood, which surrounded the entire witchdom. The demons had created it to punish the witches who had saved the mortals from their wicked magic, effectively trapping us all.

Mama had chosen to settle us in the middle of nowhere, to be as far from my grandmother as possible. Our little cottage was near the border of the Witchlands, with only the cursed Bloodwood protecting it from the Darklands to the east where the Demon King reigned. It was really more an illusion of distance for Mama, I thought. Travel by witch mirror meant that my grandmother could reach us anytime and anywhere, if she really wanted to.

Because of our distance from Ostara and any really sizable villages, there were few witches nearby. Vera and her mother were the only others for several miles. Being the only witches around was actually a Goddess-send. Mama never struggled to find work, always cooking up healing potions, poultices, and charms for the mortal families in the nearby village, who traveled hours to see her. She charged far less than she probably could, but we had never gone hungry, or without heat or clothing. When the villagers couldn’t pay, Mama happily accepted trades or labor.

Vera’s mother also had mortal customers, mostly farmers who had heard about her growing spells. She wasn’t as blessed with the craft as Mama, but she preferred working for herself over working for wages in Ostara. Vera hated the isolation, though.

“There’s nothing to do here,” she whined regularly, the frequency of her complaints growing as she neared her maturity. I hadn’t asked, for fear she would confirm it, but I was fairly sure she would move away to a larger town, or maybe even Ostara, as soon as she could. She had turned twenty-five only a week ago, and it was going to be terribly lonely without her, even if she was only a mirror away.

“You smell like smoke and peaches,” Vera said, wrinkling her nose as she looked me over, swinging her basket to her other arm. “And you have flour on your nose. Another baking disaster?”

“More like a catastrophe,” I said, rubbing my nose and hoping I had removed all of the flour. “Are you excited for the Coven meeting?”

“Yes, and no,” Vera said, smiling a little sadly. “I wish you could come with me. You’re going to be one day shy of turning twenty-five! It’s silly that your Muh-maaaaaah won’t let you.” I grimaced as she exaggerated Mama’s name.

“Yours didn’t let you attend until you were twenty-five either,” I pointed out. Vera’s mother was traditional like mine, and tomorrow night would be Vera’s first meeting. She was expected to cast a public invocation to claim her place as a Coven member, and we had been practicing it for months. I could tell she was nervous.

“I know,” she said, sighing. “But you’re practically the same age as me. It’s ridiculous you have to wait another month.”

“Alas,” I sighed jokingly, giving Vera’s arm a squeeze. I brushed my hair back irritably. It had a tendency to run amok, even when it was braided back, and tendrils kept escaping to attack my face. “Maybe I can practice my baking instead so I can impress the Coven with my pies next month.” Vera snorted.

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