GRIMOIRE

“Are you coming inside, Birgitta?”

Birgitta shut her heavy leather book and placed it at the top of her backpack before zipping it shut. She didn’t look up to answer.

“…Soon.” 

Her response was muffled as the dusk fell heavily over Cerridwen Manor. The other newcomers to this quiet corner of the world found the sudden coming of the evening eerie - it was as if the warm sun had been wrestled away. But by the second or third week, few of the new acolytes noticed it; some  even relied on it to reach the dinner hall first, for the best seat and the hottest food. 

Birgitta didn’t realise she was different from those she arrived with. Her new friends mostly stayed indoors, fascinated by the architecture of the recently restored Manor and drawn to the heat of old fireplaces. Birgitta chose to stay outdoors as long as possible. To her, the creaking halls felt claustrophobic. The mist shrouding the lower, gnarled trunks of trees and the calls of nocturnal birds was more alluring to her than the company of people – and even a hot meal. She twirled a finger around a lock of short brown hair and tugged on it absentmindedly as she thought of home. She’d been away from her family farm for a little while now, but she still felt that nagging need to complete her evening chores.

“I hope Dad is managing the work without me,” she mumbled. A bird sang what Birgitta hoped was affirmation, bringing a small smile to her face as she shrugged on her heavy backpack. The night bird’s song was a welcome one; she’d always felt more connected to the animals around her than people. 

She turned to leave the clearing, walking towards the Manor. The night’s ritual had left some soot on her glasses – she was still annoyed about that random burst of flame. Her hands were usually sure and steady, and a small campfire was nothing she hadn’t handled before. Of all the acolytes gathered, Keiran laughed the loudest. Birgitta removed her glasses and wiped them a little harder than was needed, thinking of that smug face cackling away at her shocked one. 

“Stupid Keiran. I bet he did something to make the fire blow up like that.”

“Hmm? What have I done now, Birgitta?” 

She hadn’t noticed Keiran leaning against one of the last trees before the clearing ended. He took a drag of his cigarette while eyeing her, waiting for an answer. Birgitta’s throat turned to dust under his gaze; she hadn’t realised anyone was there. His dark clothes and hair camouflaged him almost perfectly.

“Well. If you’re talking about the fire that singed your eyebrows, I didn’t tamper with it.” Keiran took another drag and turned his face back towards the Manor and the light glowing from its windows. “Your shirt pocket is full of ingredients. You leant forward and they fell out. That’s why I laughed.” He chuckled. “Your face… so funny!” 

Birgitta always took pride in being calm, but now she felt like a boiling kettle. Keiran had pranked her in the past, and she hated it. But he was right – she did have a pocket full of various herbs. 

“Oh.” 

Keiran flicked his cigarette to the ground and smeared it against the grass with the heel of his sneaker. “Apology accepted.”

“But I didn’t– “

“It’s a joke, Birgitta. Lighten up. It wouldn’t kill you.”

She’d reached boiling point. 

“I like jokes, and I like to laugh. But your jokes are bad, and you don’t make me laugh!”

It was dark enough now that Birgitta couldn’t see his face. She hoped he was pouting and crying. Stupid Keiran. She decided she’d had enough and began power walking towards the Manor. 

“Oh!” She twirled back to face him. “One more thing. Pick up your cigarette butt. You might not respect this place, but I do!”

She heard him snicker, and the groan of his leather jacket as he leant forward to do what she asked. 

“You know, Bitty, you’re cute when you’re angry.”

Back to boiling again. It was going to be a long spring. 

---------------

Keiran closed the door of his room and sighed, leaning back against the recently painted wood . Birgitta had glared at him for the entire dinner as he chatted and laughed with their mutual friends. He wondered how two people who were so different could find friendship in the same circle. He shuffled towards his bed, peeled off his clothes, adding them to the pile on his floor, and snuggled underneath the covers; he wasn’t intending on going to sleep, he simply needed the comfort of bed and its warmth to lift his heavy heart.

He closed his eyes and tried to visualise his grandmother’s face. She’d only been gone for a year, but he was fast forgetting what she looked like. She’d been a witch; or as they were more commonly known in his homeland, a bruja. Keiran had spent his childhood years by his grandmothers’ side, learning all that he could. She’d been happy to pass her art down to him. The story wasn’t uncommon, since Cerridwen Manor and the coven that resided  there was full of people just like Keiran. But he didn’t want to be practising his craft alongside them, he wanted the gentle guiding hand and dry laugh of his grandmother. 

A knock at his door shook him out of his sad reverie and irritated him.

“What!”, Keiran snapped in the direction of his door.

“It’s Birgitta. Can I please come in for a moment?”

Keiran nearly barked out a laugh, but his curiousity won over. What was she doing now?

“Certainly, Birgitta.”

He sat upright in his bed as Birgitta slowly opened the door. Her pale, owlish face poked through the gap, and she slowly stepped in.

“I wanted to apologise. For assuming you’d pranked me.”

Keiran shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He’d never really had someone apologise to him before.

“Er… it’s fine? Thanks.”

She didn’t budge. She continued staring at him through her big, round glasses.

“Are you okay?”

“What? Yes! I’m great. Birgitta, you can leave now.”

She walked over to the bed. He wanted to scream out of how uncomfortable he felt within this awkward situation.

“You don’t look okay.”

Magic or not, Keiran knew that Birgitta was good at reading people. Creepily so. He felt those green eyes analysing his hazel ones, searching for the truth he wasn’t ready to give her.

“I miss my family too.”

“Birgitta, what are you– “

She plopped down onto the bed next to him, head only just reaching past his shoulders.

“You’re annoying, but no one deserves to be sad.” She smiled up at him, little crow's feet forming around the corners of her eyes.