Page 63 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

She snuck phone calls to Soren. She wished, now, that she’d told him she loved him. That she’d not been so stubborn about it, waiting for him to say it first. But the phone wasn’t the place to say words like that for the first time, and, secretly, she hoped the feelings would just go away. Edouard didn’t want her seeing Soren, and without his permission, it was hopeless. She couldn’t sneak around town, hiding in dive bars. The practical side of Maureen understood exactly where this would go, how it would end.

But the dreamer in Maureen pictured a life where she and Soren could run off and raise Olivia, blissfully uncaring about the world they left behind and what others might think.

“Maureen.”

Edouard’s gruff voice broke through her reverie. She looked down at an entire plate of food, growing cool. How long had they been sitting there?

“Yes, husband.” Her voice cracked. If often did now, with her living on the verge of every acute emotion burning within her.

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” He set his newspaper aside, folded neatly. This was a first. “Something I’d ask you to keep an open mind about.”

Maureen’s skin was on fire. Her heart leapt around wildly in her chest. He’d never done anything like this, talking to her, not without her tentative ask.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m listening.”

“In your folders, you’ll find a list of all our key contacts across the globe.” Luther folded his hands and waited while everyone opened the package he’d had printed and set before them. “They’ve all been notified of the passing of Ophelia, and Colleen’s assumption of leadership in her absence.”

Colleen watched Luther, a boy on the verge of being a man, but not soon enough, not in his own mind, where he took himself and his work seriously. Where he was the only one in the room in a tailored suit, bearing a posture so erect you’d think he had military training. She should tell him, later, to relax, to take it easy, but all her life Colleen had been told these things and the only message she took from it was that none of the people saying the words understood her at all.

“But,” Luther went on, “I believe we have an opportunity to organize these contacts better. I pulled them from the files in the vault, which are, essentially, a more rudimentary form of a Rolodex. Now, all our files need updating. This is a project we’ll need to prioritize when we can garner more attendance from the broader Collective, but for now, we need to at least get our contacts in order.”

“How often do we even use these contacts, Luther?” Cassius asked. He held one piece of paper aloft, flipping through the folder with his other hand. “For emergencies?”

“This is what I wanted to discuss, Uncle.” Luther cleared his throat, a ceremonial social cue Colleen had never understood, more theater than function. “We have an entire network of witches that we do utterly nothing with. I checked, and it seems the last time we contacted any of them was when August Deschanel died. And that was…” Luther checked his notes.

“Nineteen sixty-one,” Colleen said.

“Yes, thanks, cousin.” Luther looked up. “Fifteen years ago. Fifteen years, and you don’t think there’s any other use they might have served?”

“Where are you going with this?” Pierce asked.

“A network of witches,” Luther repeated. “A wealth of connections. Of allies. Of information.”

“Like a coven,” Pansy said. “You been watching movies, Luth?”

“Not like a coven,” Luther retorted. His jaw was set tight. His muscles flexed under the tension. He was losing his audience, but if Colleen didn’t let him find it again on his own, he’d never gain the respect he needed as a Council member. “Think more, United Nations. Not only allies in times of emergency, but in times of strength as well. A network that can learn from one another. Benefit from both learnings and mistakes, and be aware of the world we live in, but also the world we live in, which is smaller, more exclusive. Who can tell me how many families of witches are in Louisiana?”

“I don’t know. Two. Three,” Pierce said.

“Four,” Luther answered without checking his notes. “That’s not a guess. I know this because of information we gained, inadvertently, through these valuable connections. How many in the United States?”

This time, no one answered.

“Europe? Africa? The world?”

Silence.

“I know we all believe in science. We believe in progress, industry. As men and women, we’ve benefitted from the broader world as they researched, and learned, failed, and succeeded. But as witches, what do we know, beyond our own borders? Our own bloodlines? What have we learned about what we can do, what others can do, what is possible?” Luther turned to Colleen. “Who do you go to when you have questions about your healing ability?”

Colleen took a deep breath. “No one, I suppose.”

“No one,” Luther repeated. “I can emphasize. I’m a healer and have no mentor to guide me, to tell me what’s possible and not. And Lizzy, how many times has she tried to change the future? She had Ophelia, but who did Ophelia have? Who do any of us have, other than ourselves?”

No one said anything, but Colleen felt the mood in the room shift. She heard them listening.

“The Magi Network,” Luther said, coming to his point. “A system of witches, warlocks, or anyone with abilities that the rest of the society wouldn’t ever understand. We establish regular contact points, summits, appoint leaders. We assemble.”

“Now, uh, Luther, I like where you’re going with this,” Cassius said. “But this seems bigger than what seven people can accomplish. Don’t you think? Why are we the first to try this?”

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