#felasel

The weekend passes and Thenvunin is still adjusting to his new home. Without the constant abuse and draining, it must be quite the change. Good change, of course, but change nonetheless, and that takes time to adjust. 

In the days following Stalking’s demise, Serahlin and Selene struggle with the debilitating effects of magical exhaustion. It is all they can do to ensure the boys are fed and given proper explanations about Thenvunin. 

“This is Thenvunin, he is going to be staying with us for awhile,” Serahlin said softly to Ileth while he stared at the new man standing awkwardly in the foyer. Ileth cocked his head, bright, dual colored eyes watching Thenvunin stand perhaps where Darris once stood. 

“Why?” Ileth asked.

“He needs help and a home - and he’s a witch without a coven. When that happens, and we are in a position to have another person in our coven, we help. Thenvunin needs a coven, and we can help.” 

Her little boy looked at her and then at Thenvunin. And then he smiled, a top and bottom tooth both missing, “What’s your familiar? I don’t have one ye’.” 

Darevas was similarly excited about the new addition, though Felasel was much more wary. Even so, Selene chose wisely to spend the weekend at Serahlin’s. With the moon waning into a new moon and her magical exhaustion, it was safest for everyone to remain close.

The boys thankfully largely entertained themselves with their games in the backyard. Thenvunin even played with them every now and then, keeping a rousing game of Hide and Seek going. He spoke to them, read to them, did yoga with them of all things! 

Serahlin is immensely grateful she can trust Thenvunin with the boys while her and Selene sleep through the worst of the exhaustion. Monday comes and they drop the boys off at school to return home for more sleep. Selene curls up on a fainting couch in the library while Serahlin retires to the conservatory to let the warmth of the sun and the inherent magicks of the plants infuse her sleep with regenerative auras. 

The house is so still like this, with three slumbering witches. Thenvunin has his own recuperating to do, even if he still hates having to sleep so much after sleeping for days at a time while Stalking fed from him. 

They all rouse for lunch, then lounge some more. They would look quite lazy to the outsider, but really - magical exhaustion is not to be over exaggerated. Serahlin feels...cut off, numb, yet overly sensitive to every little thing around. She feels helpless in a way that reminds her entirely too much when Darris had her book. 

Not long after lunch, they have to fetch the children. Serahlin volunteers to pick the boys up since Selene is considerably more exhausted given her immense power expenditure. It’s a bit shocking, even, that Felasel and Darevas aren’t exhausted even a little. Selene tapped into both of their magicks, honed them so that she could obliterate Stalking. While the boys don’t have their magic yet, they’re still connected to it, can feel it when it’s been expended. 

But when the boys bound into her car, excitedly talking about their days, she knows they’re not feeling any negative effects of their mama’s fight with a vicious warlock. For which she thanks the gods. 

“Memae! Memae!” Ileth chatters, leaning as forward as possible in his booster seat. 

“Yes, da’len?”

“Mr. Paenir said to uh, to uh, to tell you about the fair!” 

“There’s a fair?” A pit forms in her stomach at the mention of the school function. It sounds oddly familiar -

“It’s tomorrow!”

Somehow, Serahlin prevents the groan that threatens to come out of her. The boys will want to go and worse, Serahlin and Selene will be expected to attend this function. And worst of all, she thinks she may even signed up to prepare a dish for the fair. She probably signed up to make a traditional Orlesian Dalish meal, which really translates into a staple of her home coven’s. 

They reach her home, the boys pile out of the car and into the house, dropping their bags in the mudroom before dashing to the kitchen. Ileth’s appetite has been on an upswing with only a month to go before his birthday. Like mortal children in the middle of a growth spurt, Ileth’s body is preparing itself to receive his magic by having him gain weight to handle the transition. It’s a lot to handle and he’ll need the extra energy to process it all. 

Darevas and Felasel are farther from their transitions but it seems like their appetites are taking on a premature upswing - that or they are following Ileth. They collectively raid the pantry, pulling out snacks and juice boxes. 

“Mama!” Darevas yells before Serahlin shushes him.

“Sweetie, your mama is very tired, remember? Let’s go into the play room,” where it’s nice and warded against sound if she wills it. Quickly and as quietly as possible, Serahlin ushers the boys into the room off of the kitchen, on the opposite end from the conservatory. She clicks the door closed and pricks her finger, bringing a drop of blood to the surface before pressing her finger to a symbol next to the light switch. The magic tugs at her and her ears ring at the idiocy of using magic so close to being drained so thoroughly. But the enchantment zings to life, warding the sound from escaping the room.

The boys romp around, eating their snacks, talking in fast, child speech that is difficult for her to follow with the splitting headache that is now throbbing between her ears. 

While the boys keep themselves occupied, Serahlin goes through her phone, searching for any mention of a fair -

There! The International Fair, and she did indeed sign up to make a traditional dish. If only she was blessed with foresight! How else was she supposed to know this would be at a time where the last thing she wants to be doing is slaving away in a kitchen for a bunch of elementary schoolers and their parents? With the PTA the way it is, she can’t back out either, she’ll be labeled as a flake and Ileth will bear the consequences when he’s not invited to birthday parties or sleepovers or what have you. Really, the mortal mothers in this town can be quite the exclusive and vindictive lot. That’s a lot coming from a witch.

She will...make bread, she thinks. An easy flatbread her mamae used to make. The bread machine can take care of making the dough, which just leaves the kneading and baking. Cut it up into little squares with some store-bought dip on the side, and she should be good to go. 

“Ileth, baby,” she calls.

“Huh?”

“Do you want to help me bake tonight?” She asks, smiling as a great grin spread across his face. His fascination with baking started very young - she was making brownies when he was coming up on two and he sat with her the entire time. She let him taste the batter and they would check up on the brownies, looking through the little window on the oven. The process delighted him almost as much as eating them later. Ever since, whenever she bakes, she has him help.

Her son’s face lights up and he nods with great enthusiasm, “Yeah! What’re we making?” 

“Dalish bread, da’len.”

She’ll need to dig up the recipe from one of the old books in the attic. A finding spell should help, if she can harness enough focus and energy for it. Instead, Serahlin clicks her tongue, calling Risin to her.

Moments later, the cat slinks through the cracked door.

“Yes?”

“I need a book from the attic, older, it has a floral pattern on it - one of the scrapbooks I brought with me from Orlais. You know, the one where I put all the recipes?” She smiles at her familiar who, if he were humanoid, would lift a single brow in either amusement or annoyance. Perhaps both. 

“Ah, the one where you wrote in the margins about that girl - what was her name?”

“Risin, I just need -

“Lara! I will find you the Lara Book.” And with that, the cat disappears into the shadows, using her old infatuation to locate the book. She rolls her eyes then rubs at her temples, trying fruitlessly to will away her headache. These events are always at the worst times. Once, there was a recital the day after the full moon. Her poor baby had been so exhausted he forgot his steps. 

This time around, Serahlin is the one exhausted as she eventually leaves the kids to the playroom while she makes dinner. Making dinner for six people when she is used to cooking for only three is a task even when she isn’t magically exhausted. She could order something, but they did that yesterday and the day before that. The babies at least deserve better than meal after meal of overly processed and salted food. A chicken tortellini bake is easy enough to make anyways. The hassle comes in when she goes to set the table and can’t just float the plates out of the cabinet and onto the table. Ugh. 

Serahlin sets the table as the mortals do and by the time she pulls the bake out of the oven, Selene and Thenvunin both come slinking into the dining room. 

“Fetch the boys, would you?” Serahlin asks as she sets the bake on the table and begins to dish. Selene rises with a yawn and five minutes later she returns with three eager, hungry five-year-olds. 

Even though cooking for so many more people is more taxing than what she has become accustomed to, it feels right. Growing up in a coven, group meals are expected and a time honored tradition. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this part of being part of a coven. Another thing Darris took from her, and took from Ileth as well. 

“Mama, the international fair is tomorrow! Can you come? Pleeeeaase??” Darevas asks halfway through dinner, cheeks still stuffed with tortellini. 

Shock and realization flashes across Selene’s face, “That is tomorrow, isn’t it.” Her voice trails off and Serahlin can see the dark shadow of exhaustion cross her features. “I can...make...halla sugar cookies.”

“Mamaaa!”

“Those are cultural, dear, every clan makes halla cookies. I have the cookie cutter mold in the kitchen. We should have all of the ingredients in the pantry.” By the end of tomorrow, Serahlin will surely collapse. They all will. The children will be fine, of course, that’s how it goes - the parents collapse while the children run about, unaffected and unknowing of the great their parents go through to ensure they can continue to run around unaffected. 

Selene rubs her face and nods. Thenvunin looks around and takes a deep breath.

“I will help. Should I watch the boys or would you rather me cook?” He asks and Serahlin smiles at him, so grateful. 

“The boys needs baths and then they are to be put to bed. They should all know by now how to bathe themselves, you just need to act a traffic director. They each get one story,” Serahlin says, staring at each boy. They’re grinning like they’ve won the lottery with a new person putting them to bed. 

Thenvunin accepts his task and works about getting the boys upstairs. There’s giggling and running, and while Selene and Serahlin are making their respective dishes, a naked, soapy Darevas runs through the kitchen. He laughs as if it’s the grandest thing in the world to be naked and escaping from bed time. A moment later, Thenvunin comes running after him, a giggling Ileth under one arm.

“Darevas! It’s time for PJ’s!” 

“I’m naked!” He laughs, speeding through the downstairs while a frantic Thenvunin chases after him with his Finding Nemo pajamas. Selene stops over her dough that she is just now cutting into halla shapes. She leans over the counter, biting her lip as her shoulders begin to shake. Distorted laughter makes it past her lips and it’s as if the damn breaks. Laughter bubbles up and she laughs and laughs, so much that she turns and slides to the ground.

“Oh you…” giggles escape Serahlin as Selene’s laughter catches, “stop that!” She says but she’s lost to the laughter, her chest heaving as she finds her legs unable to completely support her. She staggers to the floor next to Selene and her sides ache. 

“Mama? What are you laughing at?” Darevas asks and that just makes Selene laugh harder. She gestures for him and he comes to her, naked and wet from his bath but she takes him in her arms and promptly tickles him, his laughter joining theirs. 

What a sight they must be, Serahlin thinks. Two grown women laughing so hard they are near tears, one of them holding a laughing child, his wet hair whipping around, getting everything wet. 

What a wonderful sight, she thinks. As absurd and terrible things have been...they’re here, and they can laugh. Yes, the laughter is the kind induced by exhaustion so strong everything seems absurd and funny. The laughter hurts, but the kind of hurt that means they’re still alive and able to laugh. 

Thenvunin rushes in and he ends up taking Darevas back upstairs for bedtime, which he is unfortunately entirely too riled for now. Thenvunin looks at Serahlin and Selene curiously, but they wave him off to tend to the children while they attempt to gather themselves.

Several minutes pass before laughter dies down to heavy breathing. Selene’s white hair is plastered to her forehead and she looks over at Serahlin, green eyes bright with laughter and lined with exhausiton.

“We killed our husbands,” she whispers, “and a fucking warlock.”

“We killed our husbands and a fucking warlock,” Serahlin repeats. 

Selene runs a hand down her face, shaking her head, “What have we become? Is this what our life is now?”

“What a life that would be.”

“All I ever wanted was to be free of it, free of him, free of…expectation, I guess. Now look at me, I killed my husband and a warlock and I have two kids,” she says, gaze lifting up to the ceiling before coming down to Serahlin’s again, “I don’t think I’d change it. Well, the horrible years with Haelir, yes.”

“But then you wouldn’t have the boys,” Serahlin whispers, but she gets it. Would she be able to take back her time with Darris and not have Ileth? It’s...as bad as Darris was, what he did to her and to Ileth in turn, he did make Ileth happen. And she loves her son so much. She can see herself without Darris, but also without Ileth, and it’s so hard to say if she prefers it. It’s useless to think about, really. She has Ileth, she had Darris - life takes and it gives, it’s all in the balance.

Selene pauses, her lips thinning, “Right,” she whispers. 

“If it helps, I do not anticipate killing anyone else.”

“Good.”

They sit there for several more minutes, listening to the noises of the house and the night creatures beginning their night songs of croaking and cricketting. They hear the slight murmur of Thenvunin reading to the boys and Darevas every now and then hopping up on the bed. 

Eventually they rise and finish tending to their task of making bread and cookies. Over an hour later, the cookies and the small pieces of flatbread are finished cooling. They’re shuffled into large tins they will take to the fair tomorrow. They both have a batch to do tomorrow as well before they’re called in to help set up. 

They crawl into their beds close to midnight, collapsing into a dead sleep. 

**

The next day comes early. The boys’ school for some reason mandates the children be at school by 7:45am which means parents must be up and about with small children at a horrendous hour. 

Serahlin doesn’t bother to do more for herself than pile her hair into a messy bun atop her head and don some athleisure wear. She leaves her room and heads to Ileth’s room to begin the process of rousing them and coaxing them to dress. She turns and sees a tired Thenvunin, dressed in a robe and fluffy slippers, hair still up in curlers, padding down the hall.

“Did my alarm wake you?” She asks and he nods while yawning.

“It’s fine, I can help.” He gestures to the door and Serahlin nods before heading downstairs to make some quick lunches. She whips up three PB&J sandwiches, puts apple slices in each pack, as well as a juice box and some carrot sticks, and finally a cookie. She’d like to be able to write a note for each of them, but they come downstairs before she had enough time. Felasel looks mopey and stern to be awakened so early, so she hands him the first muffin. 

“Good morning, darlings,” she says, bending down to give them each a kiss and a muffin.

“G’morning, memae.”

“Goo’morning, auntie Serahlin.”

Thenvunin passes her and in a moment of auto-pilot, she too kisses his cheek and hands him a muffin. They both stop for a second before moving forward. They’re tired, they’re adults. It’s not like she stuck her hand down his pants. 

They all pile into her car then drive over to the school.

**

Selene watches the car pull out of the driveway and head down the road. She has approximately forty-five minutes to do what she needs to do.  She has to get to the bottom of this. 

A pit has settled itself in her stomach and voices whisper in the back of her head. The shadows in the house seem darker, the books call to her even more strongly and a deep hunger that cannot be alleviated has taken root in her gut. Some may say she’s possessed, but she knows that is not the case. 

Channeling her sons’ power did not exhaust like it should have. She is tired, yes, and her magic feels distant, but she can still feel their power. There are no bare hints or mere suggestions of what it is, but a regular pulsation of power that is more than concerning - it’s frightening. What will her children be inheriting? Because she knows this dark mass of power is not from her, which only leaves one reason.

The creature with whom she struck the bargain.

With Des’s help, she shutters the house, douses all of the candles Serahlin keeps lit. She takes to the attic with some of her own candles and a piece of chalk and an offering. She draws the large circular symbol on the floor, lies in the center and takes a breath.

This time she follows the dark threads she feels in her soul, a tether that connects to her to her children and to their sire. She doesn’t wait in the Fade, but walks along a path that she can now see - dark and winding, but also so intensely beautiful. Pages from untold books swirl around her, buoyed by eddies of purple currents of power. Eyes open and blink, watching her as she traverses this eerily beautiful landscape. Impossible black and blue trees wind into a sky of ocean, light filtering down in white gold bands. The path bends and her feet lift off the ground until she is floating in the air, white hair a cloud around her head. 

The thread ends here. He’s here, she can feel him.

“Show yourself!” She demands, her voice stronger than the trembling in her heart. The world vibrates and a pair of brilliant blue eyes snap open in front of her. 

“You sought me?” He asks and she swallows.

“Yes.”

“You wish to ask a question,” it’s a statement and question both. She nods but he speaks once more, “you fear you know the answer. What is your question?”

“Who, or what, are you?” She blurts, staring into the eyes, not sure if it’s better to hope or to suspect the worst. 

He’s a demon. Or worse. What’s worse than a demon?

“I am...not unlike you.” He says.

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“I am not a demon. That should be sufficient.”

“Except it’s not. I killed a warlock the other day - I stopped time. I feel you - you’re...what are you?” She demands again and she feels rather hears his sigh. 

“You wish my name.”

“I wish for your nature to know what to expect for my children.”

“Our children,” he corrects quickly, “I watch over them as well as I can. They are...amazing.”

“No argument there, will you answer me?”

“Will you love our children any less if I am...not what you desire?”

“No,” the answer is immediate, “I...couldn’t.”

“Truth. It’s been so long since I spoke my name.” The world shudders with him, his bright eyes closing only to open slowly as he speaks a single, life-altering word.

“How dare you!” She screams at her father, fury and anger and rage pouring out of her. Fists turning white as her hair where they clench at her hips, every muscle tensed in the aftermath of her 'Wonderful Birthday News'. The curtains catch fire and his potions quake in their bottles on the table beneath the wrath of her remaining magic. Des lets out a long, ear shattering hiss from inside of the warded crate in the corner, still trapped where Elrogathe had drugged and shoved him for the 'negotiations'.

Negotiations that had promised away her hand and her firstborn.

His palm connects with her cheek and it is not unlike the deflating prick of a balloon.

She crumples to the ground, knees banging against the hardwood floors as rage gives way to grief beneath the stinging heat of the assault.

“It is an honor,” He tsks, correcting his potions where they have shifted on the table. “A show of loyalty to the coven, to our people. It is your own fault for causing them to doubt your loyalties, child. Be grateful this is all they asked of you; there are far worse fates than marriage and family.”

“You seem to feel cursed enough by your own,” She mutters.

Elrogathe stiffens as a bolt of electricity strikes at the mirror that had been hanging on the wall behind her head.

“Your mother was worth suffering any curse,” He manages through grit teeth before finally turning to look at her for the first time today. “Even a child so devilish and selfish as you.”

–

She is married on her eighteenth birthday.

To the great grandson of their covens founder. A towering, sun blessed witch with long, bright red hair he keeps in a braid laid over his shoulder. He has been well sought after by many a witch; his bloodline after all, guarantees a very powerful child, and his family has no shortage of wealth or prestige in the circles.

She spends most of the reception searching for her book. Trying to find it, to flee, to run before their bond can be consummated. Des darts from room to room in the extravagantly large mansion, searching and scenting for any hint of their magic.

Neither manages to turn up even a scrap of what they are looking for.

The honeymoon has been arranged in one of his families summer homes, hidden away in the thick of an ancient forest.

There is no moon in the sky that night, and Haleir had driven them off before Des could manage to jump into the car. Her book is still gone, and though this was supposed to be a symbol of her loyalty to her coven, to prove her as finally one of them, she feels farther from her magic and her self than she ever has before.

She spends the night outside of herself, like some captive audience to the horrors being committed.

Des finds her in the morning, and curls into her arms. Some small semblance of comfort for what may now be their new reality. She feels better with him near, even through his exhaustion of making the journey back to her.

More like herself.

At the end of the week, she's made to pee on a stick. It's not the way her father tests for children, but Haleir assures her that this is one type of precognition the mortals have figured out.

The symbols on the display screen don't change, and her new husband makes a disappointed sound and says “Well, we'll just try again then. As many times as it takes, I suppose. I have expectations to live up to you know. “

Selene just nods numbly and runs her fingers through Des's fur as she slides into the passenger seat of the car.

Haleir scoffs down at her familiar and makes a comment about fleas and litter boxes, while his toad makes a loud croak from the backseat in what she assumes must be agreement.

As many times as it takes, her mind echoes.

...surely, that can't be too many more times. Right?

–

Selene is twenty one when she finally has enough.

Enough of feeling like only a piece of herself, enough of vacating her body each night, enough of lying there while her husband dreams of other women and she dreams of a day when she no longer has this obligation to fulfill. Far away and isolated from their coven, from any she might once have considered a friend, and with her only source of communication besides her unfaithful husband, vague postcards from her father unsubtly asking if she has managed to produce an heir yet.

Enough.

Haleir is out on one of his ‘business trips’ when she makes up her mind. It is going to be a full moon, and her own moon-blessings will mean the powers she still has may actually be strong enough to pull it off.

Des is uncharacteristically wary of her plans. He almost attempts to talk her out of it before finally agreeing that this may be her only way out.

It is a cruel plan. Cruel, and tragic, and monstrous.

An act of desperation, and her only chance.

The one benefit of her time spent dissociating over the past few years is that her dream walking abilities have vastly improved; a skill that will make what she is about to do far, far safer.

She lights the appropriate candles and pays in her blood and herbs before finally stripping and settling into the center of the circle of the rug she had managed to bring with her from her own home. One of very few items in this house that could be considered hers. Precious to her, but nothing Haleir will notice is missing if anything should happen to it.

Des is slowly circling the ritual, checking for errors, and she gives him a smile before focusing herself, and managing the incantation in a long forgotten language.

Old, and ancient, and very very dangerous.

Several creatures drift past and through her as she sits in the plane of dreams, most frustratingly uninterested in her offer.

But she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until something seems intrigued enough to stop.

She shivers beneath the gaze of its eyes. And it has many with which to do so. Selene is having trouble making out the silhouette of the spirit as the shape of it is unfamiliar and ever shifting, edges blending into the darkness around them.

You long for freedom.

She doesn't hear its voice, exactly. There is no mouth to speak of, but she can hear them all the same, reverberating somewhere deep in her mind.

“Yes,” She says aloud. The movement of her mouth is awkward, and her voice echoes in the thick silence of the air around them and she wonders for the first time just how long she has been waiting.

What will you do with the child?

Selene hesitates.

She had been planning to leave. To fulfill her obligation to produce an heir and to find her book and to take back the freedoms that had been stolen from her.

...an easier concept when she considers the creature she will be bearing an obligation, rather than a child.

“My first born has been promised to another,” She admits. “But I will need to produce it before I can fulfill that oath. My current...partner, and I, are having difficulties.”

Do they know you are here?

Selene swallows. “...No.”

The spirit stirs a bit, at that.

You would betray them?

Selene snorts. “There is nothing to betray,” She assures them. “There is no love between us. He would rather be elsewhere, as would I. But he holds my book in some hidden place, and I cannot leave without it.”

The spirit seems confused by the concept.

That does not seem like a very beneficial partnership.

“He's more like my captor at this point,” She says. “But I need the key to my cage; and he will only hand it over if I produce a child he can claim as heir.”

This, at least, the spirit seems to grasp.

Their form shifts again, and a single blue eye as large as her head with lashes as long as the curls in her hair settles in front of her face.

Your first born is already promised, the spirit says as one long tendril reaches out to touch her stomach, So I will take the second.

Her vision blurs, and magic swirls around her. Hers, theirs, others that she doesn't even recognize. Swirling galaxies and the roots of great trees flood her mind, her fire turns to smoke and she is sucked into the creature and feels a terrifying and overwhelming sense of loneliness and age and worlds growing and dying and being torn apart and then forced back together. She sees great depths and clear skies and the world feels at once huge and infinitesimal, like she could hold it in the palm of her hand and drown in it all at the same time.

Her breath is stolen from her lungs and returned to her in great heaves as her soul is ripped out and then carefully placed back into her body.

She is shaking and crying and sweating on the rug her mother had once taught her to read on, on her hands and knees and with a migraine that makes the room around her spin. The candles she had lit are long burnt out, wax melted into large pools and already cooled, and Des is looking at her in fear and concern while pawing at the back of her hand.

“I'm alright,” She rasps, throat dry from dehydration-how long has she been here, doing this?-straightening back up and pushing her hair back, curls damp and clinging to the edges of her face.

Des lets out a soft meow, and she knows exactly what he's asking.

Did it work?

She settles one hand over the slight curve of her stomach and lets out a breath.

“...I think so.”

–

Selene gives birth exactly nine months later.

To twins, one with dark hair, and one with white; both with bright blue eyes.

Selene knows that neither she nor Haleir possess blue eyes; but that the creature she conjured for the fertility ritual did.

Thankfully, Elrogathes eyes are a deep blue and his hair a dark enough blue it is often mistaken for black, and with her own green eyes and white hair she's able to convince Haleir that the children are his. A sure sign of his virility, and that their sons will grow into very powerful, very capable witches in their own rights.

She almost convinces herself of it, too.

Almost convinces herself that in her haste and selfishness, she hasn't damned at least one of her sons to a creature that is almost certainly a demon, in retrospect.

The twins are three days old, and still without names when Haleir comes home drunk from a celebratory night with his friends.

“You can't see them like that,” She gripes, blocking the doorway with her still recovering body.

“They're'my'f'ggin sons,” He slurs, half halfheartedly trying to push her aside.

She holds her ground.

He glares down at her-or tries to, anyways. He's never been very good at holding his liquor, and he seems to be having difficulty figuring out which one of her is real.

“B'tch,” He grumbles, turning and waving like it was his decision not to go in. “F'ggin witch bitch...” He snickers. “S'till powerless witch bitch....”

Selene feels her skin heat, thinks of how satisfying it would be to light him up...and remembers the children, sleeping in their cribs behind her. Of her father, sleeping in the spare room down the hall after making the long trip to deliver his grandchildren, and how poorly it might go for her and the children to upset them both at once.

She sighs.

...She cannot leave the children alone with Haleir. He is unfit, and the oath her father signed for her is not their burden to bear.

Damn.

Damn.

She doubles down on her search efforts for her book in the following months, in hopes that if she found it she could leave with her sons. Selene tears apart the home of every one of Haleirs relatives they visit with the children, tracks down old trade ledgers and tries to see where it might have been sent, or ended up. She thinks perhaps there may be a trail to follow over the sea, but ship ledgers are notoriously unkempt and untrustworthy, and it is a very long journey to take with two toddlers.

Toddlers who are not without omens of their own.

Selene explains the first few ravens that show up at the house with lies to Haleir; after all, who could predict why birds behave the way they do? Perhaps Des tormented a friend of theirs and they are out for revenge. Be sure to throw salt over the back porch, and she'll plant fresh lavender in the front when the weather warms.

But she doesn't miss the way the birds watch her children when they play outside, or the way the shadows shift around them. Haleir is disappointed when neither of his children are sun blessed the way he is, and upset that the twins would rather sleep through high noon than watch him perform simple spells and tricks that have only frightened them in the past.

She only says that they should enroll the twins in swim classes when she finds Darevas sitting in the bottom of the pond in their backyard; curious and unafraid of the cavernous sinkhole growing in the center, and breathing as easily as though it were air in the dark and deepening water.

They are far too young for their magic to be manifesting, she thinks in a panic as she dries the elder twin off, Felasel finishing his muffin behind her.

Not for the first time, she regrets the haste in which she acted. If she knew what their biological father were, she might be better equipped to care for them.

And better prepared to protect them, too.

The twins are still six months away from their sixth birthday when Serahlin knocks on their door.

Selene has known Serahlin for as long as the children have been in school, as their children share a class together.

But when she calls her sister, Selene feels a sense of relief she hasn't known since she was fifteen years old. A sense of kinship, and the sort of gratefulness she thought she was long past.

He’s never spoken to her, never looked her way, as blissfully unaware of her existence as any passing stranger on the streets of Denerim. But to Cirimeni, well, he’s become a bright moment to each and every day. 

Sometimes she daydreams about being someone who could pull him away from the files he’s always reading. Maybe they’re married and he’s come to pick her up for a date at a fancy restaurant, the kind of restaurant someone so smartly dressed must go to, where an item off the menu would cost as much as her rent.

It’s a nice daydream.

One day she’ll greet him, she tells herself. Tomorrow I’ll wave at him. But every tomorrow ends the same.

Today I’ll do it, she thinks. Tomorrow is Wintersend, all I have to do is smile and wish him a happy holiday. She has a small sign at her desk that says it, she can tap the glass to get his attention and point to it and smile and maybe...maybe he’ll smile back. Maybe he won’t, but at least she’ll have the chance to make peace with it.

But when he walks up to her booth and swipes his pass she simply lets him through and watches as he walks through the crowd toward his platform. He’s come and gone before she can barely blink, leaving behind the soft scent of his cologne.

Tomorrow, she tells herself with a soft sigh. Tomorrow. Except tomorrow will be Wintersend, and she’s asked for the day off. She’s worked every holiday so far, but she owes it to her parents to be with them on their favorite day of the year. And there’s no way someone as handsome and successful-looking as her mystery man doesn’t have someone to spend the day with.

The sound of shouts and a flurry of movement pulls her from her brooding, and she glances toward where a crowd has gathered along the edge of the platform.

“Someone’s fallen onto the tracks!”

Her heart drops, and she finds herself scanning faces, color draining from her own when she doesn’t see him.

She doesn’t see him.

She isn’t supposed to leave her booth but she pushes through the crowd, muscling her way past onlookers as she goes. People move back, afraid to suffer the same fate, and she nearly stumbles at the end.

There he is, lying unconscious on the rail. She can’t tell from here, but it looks like he’s bleeding.

Cirimeni looks around for help, but no one is moving aside from a few onlookers pulling out their phones. Cirimeni swallows, before she shuffles toward the edge of the platform and lowers herself onto the tracks, hurrying forward, heart hammering in her chest.

His eyes are closed and he’s unresponsive as she gently shakes him, afraid to move him too much in case he’s injured. As she checks him over her fingers touch something warm and wet in his hair. Blood. Cirimeni gestures back at the crowd, trying to motion for help, just as a train horn blares.

A train is coming, she can see it coming around the turn. She shakes him a little harder but he doesn’t respond. Please wake up! Please, the train isn’t going to stop! She looks up as the train sounds another warning, barreling toward them.

No time to think, she hooks her hands under his arms and pulls, dragging him back toward the shoulder of the platform and the small space between the tracks. She stumbles and nearly falls, righting herself at the last moment and with one final tug as several people on the platform scream.

The roar of the train is deafening as it rattles past, she can feel it in her bones as she clutches the man to her and closes her eyes, bracing herself for an impact. When her ears finally stop ringing, the voice of her co-worker rises above the the din calling her a thousand different kinds of idiot and she can’t help but agree. There are protocols for this and she’d ignored every single one like an utter fool. At least someone had called for an ambulance, and her coworker informs her they’ve called in the problem and stopped anymore trains from entering this side of the station.

Cirimeni stares down at the handsome face of the elf she’s saved and can’t help but smile to herself.

Worth it.

She finds herself riding in the ambulance with him, as the EMTs pepper her with questions and check his vitals. She tries to sign to them that she doesn’t know his name or his medical history, and one of the paramedics catches on and apologizes and finds the mystery man’s wallet in his coat pocket.

“Felasel Evanuris,” he calls to his coworker. Cirimeni looks back down at him. Felasel. She has a name to put to his face now. It’s an old name, with roots in Arlathan elvhen; she may have been unable to finish her degree at university, but she hasn’t forgotten all of her classes.

“Are you family?”

Cirimeni blinks, taken aback at the question, before shaking her head. She reaches into her own coat to pull out the notepad she keeps with her to explain, only to find that hand otherwise preoccupied. Sometime during the chaotic ride she’d grabbed Felasel’s hand in her own—or he had reached for hers, though she figures the latter is less likely.

The paramedic glances down at their hands and nods, before his expression softens a bit. “From what I can see the head injury isn’t that serious. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot, so they look worse than they are.”

Cirimeni swallows and nods. Good, that’s good. There had definitely been a lot of blood when the paramedics had arrived. She’d tried to staunch the bleeding with her coat which had left her looking quite a mess. The scarf Miriel had given her as a nameday present doesn’t look like it can be salvaged.

When the ambulance pulls up to the hospital, she finds herself pulled along with the paramedics as nurses and a doctor for the emergency room begin asking questions and moving him further down the hall. Finally they wheel Felasel through a door and one of the nurses stops her. “Only family beyond this point, serah.”

“It’s alright,” the paramedic chimes in from behind her. “She’s his fiance.”

---

It all moves so quickly, after that. Cirimeni finds herself ushered into a waiting room as the doctor’s look Felasel over.

Fiance.

She needs to find someone to clean the situation up, but there’s no one nearby and the nurse at the information desk seems overwhelmed by phone calls. Cirimeni supposes there are lots of emergencies during holidays.

So Cirimeni keeps herself as busy as possible. She has her purse, at least. She’d had the wherewithal to grab it before getting into the ambulance. She messages her coworker who tells her everything is fine and not to worry about the rest of her shift. She thinks of messaging her friends, but doesn’t know what to say. 

Miriel is with her family and clan in Antiva, and likely won’t have service. Lathrandi is with their boyfriend and wouldn’t want to be disturbed. She texts Fenris asking if he’ll feed Amity, but can’t bring herself to say anything else. Not until she’s had more time to process it. Besides, in a few hours it will just be a funny story to tell over a glass of wine. No need to worry anyone just yet.

A nurse finds her an hour later and shows her to Felasel’s room. A doctor explains the situation to her; he’s in a coma, and they aren’t certain when he’ll awaken. He’s stable, but they can’t give her a timeline for when he might wake up. The doctor is very gentle when he breaks the news, and tells her that the hospital has already contacted his family through his emergency medical contacts, and not to worry.

That’s a relief, at least. His family will be there soon, and then everything will be alright.

I’ll clear this all up in the morning, she decides as she settles down into the chair next to his bed. No one should be alone on Wintersend.

As she takes his hand, she swears he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze.

---

Cirimeni is jolted awake by the sound of a chorus of voices.

“—where is he?”

“ —Selene, they say he is stable—”

“Mom he’s in here!”

She manages to sit up from where she’s slumped over the bed just as the door to the room opens and three people rush inside, followed by the nurse; two men and one woman, all elves. The family resemblance is instantly recognizable, the most stunning being the sight of a man who is obviously Felasel’s twin.

The woman barely notices her as she rushes toward the bedside. Her hands glow softly with magic as she places it on his forehead, expression torn.

“Serah Evanuris, please, using magic is prohibited unless by the staff,” The nurse warns.

“I’m just checking,” She answers curtly, not taking her eyes off Felasel’s face. From this close, Cirimeni can see the vivid green of her eyes reflected on the nearby monitor. This must be Felasel’s mother, Cirimeni decides, noticing the white hair that matches the streak in Felasel’s own locks.

Cirimeni glances from the woman to the two men still standing near the doorway. The elder man—Felasel’s father?—continues talking with the nurse in a low voice. It is the younger man, the twin, who notices her first. A thoughtful frown covers his face, “Who are you?”

She’s more than a little winded by the time she gets there, and glances down at her watch; two minutes till she clocks in. It really is a godsend that she’d decided to head to work early. It had been a mixture of excitement and nerves that had got her out of bed hours before she’d normally leave.

It isn’t every day a young elf from the slums of Minrathous ends up hired by the Evanuris. 

All those late nights at the library, working three jobs to pay for school and rent…it’s been worth it, she thinks, as she stares up at 50 stories of glass and steel.

Cirimeni swallows, straightens her skirt, and walks inside. 

One of the secretaries at the front desk catches her eye and smiles, as Cirimeni walks over and holds out her letter of employment.

The secretary’s smile wavers a bit, and the look is one that Cirimeni recognizes all too well: How can someone who can’t speak be a public relations specialist? Cirimeni doesn’t need to talk to craft a favorable image for a company, but trying to explain that to everyone she meets is tiring.

Still, the secretary simply hands her her company ID, “You will be working directly with our director and his team. He likes to take a hands on approach with the image of the company, and we’re a smaller branch.”

Smaller branch? Cirimeni doesn’t know how this company could be considered small. Sure, it’s a subsidiary of Arlathan Incorporated, but nothing about Eolasem ltd is remotely small.

The secretary sends one last disparaging glance at Cirimeni’s clothes before waving her off, “Your office is on the 48th floor.”

Which means…she technically is going to be late for her first day. Cirimeni bites the inside of her cheek and presses herself into a corner of the elevator, arms wrapped tightly around her bag. 

Is she going to get fired on her first day of the job? Is her new boss going to look at her and her clothes the same way the secretary had? Her clothes are the most expensive thing she’s ever owned, a gift from her family upon learning she’d been hired. Her watch had been a gift from Lathrandi, and her heels from her best friend Miriel. None of it is brand name, certainly, but it’s still nice.

48 floors is a long time to worry.

When the elevator doors open up on the public relations floor and Cirimeni steps out, she’s half expecting her new boss to be waiting, ready to send her back down those 48 floors and out the door.

Instead, everyone on the floor seems far too busy with their work to even notice her arrival. The main floor plan is open, though she can see several back offices and meeting rooms along its border. The pleasant buzz of conversation makes her relax. 

“You must be Miss Cirimeni!” A plump woman with curly brown hair and a wide smile bustles over, “I’m Hospitality, the manager of the PR Department.”

Cirimeni hurriedly shakes the hand outstretched toward her, and reaches into her bag for her note cards to give her a proper greeting. But Hospitality merely grabs her arm and steers her across the room. 

“Your desk is right here, beside my office. It’s a bit bare, but we’ll make certain to spruce it up. A plant and a photo or two works wonders for making a space all your own.” It’s a nice desk, and there’s a stack of papers already placed upon it, including a list of what looks like passwords for computer files and email addresses for different departments. She doesn’t have time to look it over properly, as Hospitality continues her tour. 

“Now obviously we want to make certain you’re comfortable with our operating systems and current projects before we throw you to the wolves,” Hospitality flashes another reassuring smile Cirimeni’s way, and another knot of anxiousness loosens in her chest, “I thought you could sit in on our next meeting, to get a feel for things. Does that sound good?”

Cirimeni nods vigorously, causing Hospitality to laugh.

“You’re in a good mood, Hospitality.”

Hospitality turns to the speaker, smile becoming softer and more polite, “Mr. Evanuris, I was just showing our newest member the office.”

Cirimeni hurriedly turns to greet her new boss–and freezes in place.

Fingers dancing up her side, nails skimming skin, blue eyes staring down at her in the halflight from behind long lashes, lips parted in a moan–

Cirimeni continues to stare at the last person she ever expected to see again, and wonders at how the gods could be so cruel as to make her boss the person she had a one night stand with. 

Last week.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss…?” 

“Cirimeni,” Hospitality answers for her. All Cirimeni wants to do is sink into the floor and disappear. How could this–how could he be an Evanuris?

“Miss Cirimeni,” His lips tilt up in a bemused smile, and all Cirimeni can think is I kissed those lips, he tasted like frosting.

Nothing in any of her business courses had mentioned the proper response to learning that you’ve had sex with your new boss. Maybe he won’t recognize me. It was dark, and he’s probably slept with countless of others. He certainly left the hotel room like someone that’s done it before. It’s fine Cirimeni, just…just don’t mention it.

“I look forward to working with you,” He continues, and reaches out a hand to shake her own. His thumb runs along the top of her knuckles, and it becomes all too clear that pretending she doesn’t know him is going to be futile.

He knows, she thinks, with foreboding.

Serahlin sighs, “They are blessed, Selene, I am sure that comes with oddities such as flocking ravens. Perhaps this is a reward for freeing them of Haleir! You already have your magic, a blessing couldn’t take root in you, but your boys….” As much as Serahlin knows the boys are better off without their fathers, there are still bits and pieces of guilt that rack her. Ileth won’t receive closure with his father, but then again, she doesn’t think ever would have. And while it was certainly justified for both men to die, she still worries that they have done more harm than good. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” Selene whispers so faint that Serahlin almost doesn’t hear it. Her brow furrows and she is about to ask what Selene means when Selene quickly excuses herself, “I have to go, their parent-teacher conference is in twenty and I still need to find suitable pants.”

“Good luck!” Serahlin says before the line clicks off. Really, she worries too much. She worries about the detectives (Templars), she worries about the blessings. Serahlin gets the paranoia in a way, Darris certainly instilled in her a level of constant observation that left her exhausted and immensely resentful, but she worries about Selene. The only place she lets the boys be without her is school. When the boys have a sleepover at Serahlin’s house, Selene comes too, which is not an issue at all with Serahlin - but what if the boys make mortal friends? She can’t just sleep over at some random mortal’s house.

Selene will heal and process things in her own time, Serahlin supposes. In the meanwhile, they’ll look after the boys and make their small coven as resilient as possible. Ideally covens range between eight and ten adult people, covens much bigger tend to run into issues. Being a coven with two can be risky since other covens could war, or other magical beings could prey on them. Still, it’s better than being a solitary witch.

Serahlin finishes prepping the casserole and pops it into the refrigerator. With that done, she starts making a new batch of candles. Selene could use some that are enchanted for both warding and serenity.

She is finishing up the incantation over the beeswax when -

CRASH! Glass shatters in the conservatory - only one room over from the playroom where Ileth is coloring!

Serahlin runs out of the kitchen, grabbing a knife and readying a spell in hand to cast out the intruder. It could be a witch or a Templar, or a malicious spirit -

It is the world’s ugliest bird, flapping and squawking about. No, not a bird - a familiar. She shifts the energy in her hand to an immobilization spell. Crossing her fingers she recites -

“Flap and caw no more, you are still, rooted to the floor.” She casts the energy to the familiar and all at once it ceases movement. After a moment it makes a bird noise that she can only guess is frustration.

“Risin!” She calls. Familiars can communicate with each other even if witches can’t exactly communicate directly with familiars that are not their own. Her familiar trots into the conservatory and jumps up next to the bird and begin to speak. Risin’s ears go back and he hisses before leaping back over to Serahlin.

“His name is Screecher. His witch is being held by The Dark One on the edge of town. Dark magicks are preventing him from reuniting with the witch.”

“And what is this witch’s name?” It’s not surprising by any stretch of the imagination that there are more witches in the area. But it is surprising that the familiar would come here for help - question is, did the familiar come on his own or did his witch send it?

“Who is this Dark One?” Familiars tend to have their own code for these sorts of things but the code isn’t readily translatable to witches much of the time. Risin growls and the bird, if that’s even what it is, makes a distressed warbling noise.

Ileth of course chooses that moment to walk in, “What’s going on, Memae?”

“I will explain later, right now you need to go to your room and light the special candle - can you do that?” To light the candle, he just needs to swipe his thumb over a little rune at the base of the candle. He nods and dashes out of the room and up the back staircase.

“The Dark One steals power and is hurting that one’s witch. He wants help.”

Stealing power? Serahlin hisses in a breath. A warlock, but so close to home? That is...that is not good.

“That is a very serious accusation, Risin.”

“The Dark One is serious.” A glow overtakes Risin’s eyes, turning a bright blue that sends a chill down Serahlin’s spine.

Warlocks are rare for good reason. One, it’s difficult to become one. Where a witch gains power through familiar, book, and coven, a warlock sublimates the need for a coven by acquiring the power from other witches. To be a fully realized warlock is to have at least one book dedicated to each of the gods, nine in total. The witches’ entirety of power is cast into the book, caging the witch, and then binding the witch and their power to the warlock.

When Darris had first trapped Serahlin in this marriage, she had worried she was his first victim, but he had only wanted her.

Second, witches who suspect other witches of becoming a warlock, or are leaning towards that path, said witch is often removed from society one way or another. 

If a warlock has truly taken up residence in the town, he must be dealt with, and quickly. He is a threat to her, Selene, and their boys. She will need to confirm this information, though. To ready for a warlock on the assurance of a familiar she does not know is poor planning.

Serahlin steps to the bird and looks down at him, “We will go to this house tomorrow while my son is in school, and I will be back home in time for the parent teacher conference - I absolutely cannot miss that. If your witch is truly in trouble, I will do what I can to help. Agreed?” She looks over at Risin who watches the bird for a long moment.

“He is agreed.”

Serahlin waves off the paralysis spell and the bird promptly falls to the floor with an indignant squawk.

“If so much as squawk at my son, I will show you how good I am with the rotisserie,” she threatens. Screecher squawks but then makes a cooing noise.

“He gets it. He’s...a bit odd, I don’t understand much of his thoughts.” Risin follows Serahlin out of the conservatory and back into the kitchen. She has to restart with the candles, which is fine. If she’s going to fight a warlock, she is going to need very specific spelled candles to deal with him.

**

Screecher tries to preen Ileth before he heads to school. Risin says something about Screeching calling Ileth a hatchling, which she supposes makes sense. Risin referred to Ileth as kitten for awhile. Ileth laughs and pats Screecher on the head, calling him a good bird before she ushers him into the car. After dropping Ileth off at school, she calls Selene over and explains the situation.

“A warlock. Shit,” Selene says.

“My exact sentiments. But we need to confirm that he’s a warlock and not just a nefarious witch.” Hence why Serahlin had changed into a pink tweed suit to pose as an AVON saleswoman. She adjusts the pillbox hat on her head as Selene simmers the concealing potion on the stove. She adds a single lyrium salt crystal to the mixture, causing it to POOF into the air. Selene waves at the air, switches the heat off with the snap of her fingers and transfer the potion into an emptied hairspray bottle. She screws the top back onto the bottle and shakes it thoroughly.

“Twirl.” Serahlin does as she instructs and spins slowly while Selene sprays the potion all over her. It’s scentless and invisible and will completely disguise her magic to any other witch that she doesn’t have a blood pact with.

“How do I look?” Serahlin asks, striking a pose with her hands on her hips with her best sales smile. She is a vision of pink upscale stay-at-home mom who sells AVON while her husband is at The Office. Her stilettos are sharp and she’s got a couple of hidden knives on her, plus a recorder in her little cap.

The bird familiar informed Risin that his witch, a man by the name of Thenvunin, is a fan of nice lotions and perfumes. Serahlin raided her stash of samples from the salespeople who still liked to stop by because she bought a few lipsticks once. Each sample was then infused with magical nourishing serums Selene had the kindness to brew. Warlock or not, there is clearly something bad happening and it sounds like Thenvunin could use all the help he can get to break away.

“Perfect, like one of those snowballs you can buy at the store.” Just the look she was going for. She grabs a matching purse as they go through the plan.

“I’ll go in while you wait in the car, you should hear everything in the pin,” Serahlin flashes the small pin they enchanted to funnel all audio to Selene’s cuff earring. “I’ll set the case down and activate the spell to sense all types of magicks in the house. That should be enough.”

“What if he doesn’t let you in?” Selene asks and Serahlin purses her lips.

“Then I’ll have to somehow sneak in as a cat and place the spell to sense the magicks. It just needs to be planted and then six hours later - we have a full report of what kind of magic is in the house.” They could just break in like this, but it’s rude to break into a fellow witch’s home, even with a warlock on the loose. She also wants to speak with Thenvunin, see what the damage is and help him in any way she can.

They have spent most of the day preparing, and they only have an hour and half before she has to get over to the school for Ileth’s parent teacher conference. She can do this, in and out.

Selene takes a seat on the passenger side of Serahlin’s car. Screecher, Risin, and Des sit in the backseat and direct Serahlin to a neighborhood thirty minutes away. It’s a neighborhood full of those new construction houses with the beige colored brick and tacky front-facing garages. It’s devoid of character and the only prestige that comes with the houses are the gargantuan sizes. Serahlin’s home may be a spacious six bedroom, but at least it has some personality to it. These homes are just...plain.

She’s surprised that a witch chose to hole up in an area like this. They’re naturally drawn to more historical places that have character and time to attract spirits and other energies. For a moment, she worries that it is not a warlock or even a nefarious witch “imprisoning” Thenvunin, but a mortal with their mortal expectations.

Thenvunin’s house is one of the smaller builds, a more modest one-story with a long driveway and a stone path leading to the white front door. There is a bird house and bird bath out front and a wind chime hanging from another tree by the front door, but other than that, there isn’t much personality. Serahlin parks the car.

“What a stifling place to live,” Serahlin comments as she rights her cap and grabs her case.

“Remember, in and out. Set the absorber, and get out!” Selene reminds her as Serahlin steps out of the car.

“Screecher does not feel the Dark One’s presence. His car is absent - a rare event,” Risin mews from the backseat. Excellent, she would just bop in, place the absorber and speak a little with Thenvunin then bop right back out.

She heads up the stone walkway and rings the doorbell. A few moments later, the door cracks open.

“Hello?” A tall man asks. She can see the faint wisps of magic floating around him, dimmer and fewer in number than they ought to be. His hair is long and fair blonde, his eyes a lovely shade of green. He is a beautiful man, turned gaunt and weak.

“Hello! My name is Serah and I wanted to give you a few Avon samples!” She gives him a bright smile and tilts her head somewhat as the small enchantment spell she’d cast over her clothes begins to take effect.

“What sort of samples?” He asks and she displays the case.

“We just got new rejuvenating and hydrating lotions as well as some truly lovely perfumes.”

He hesitates for a moment before opening the door, “Come in, it’s been awhile since I purchased new products.” She follows him into the house, the door clicking shut behind her. 

“Sometimes it is just so difficult to get to the store,” she says, keeping the bubbly personality charade, “I have a son and getting to the store with all of his activities and my life - well, it just doesn’t happen much. Oh what a lovely living room!” It is in fact, not a lovely living room. The drapes are dull, the couch is brown, and the carpet is a beige color trying to be white. This is not the home of a witch, this is a mortal’s home.

“Yes...I haven’t managed to get to a store in awhile. My name is Thenvunin by the way.”

“What a pleasure, Thenvunin,” she says, shaking his hand. His magic has been nearly drained, and what remains is the barest amount tied to Screecher. It certainly feels like the work of a warlock, but the house says mortal.

Serahlin sets the case down on the coffee table and pops it open. She takes out the lotion sample with the strongest concentration of serum.

“This is our best seller. It is super hydrating, rejuvenating, and smells wonderful.” She hands the bottle over to him and “knocks over” another sample bottle. “Oops!” She ducks under to grab the bottle with the small absorber bag. She attaches it to the underside of the coffee table and rises back up with the fallen bottle.

Thenvunin rubs a little of the lotion onto his hands and he sighs, “This feels heavenly.”

“That is wonderful to hear! Here is a catalogue to order it from at your own time. And now this is good for someone special in your life. Are you married, Mr. Thenvunin?” She asks, her voice saccharine sweet. Thenvunin’s eyes grow shadowed and his lips thin.

“I...was. I live with someone else now, and he’ll be back soon. I don’t think he would care for someone being here. Thank you for the catalogue, Miss Serah, but I must ask you to leave.” He ushers her out the door and locks it behind her.

Well then. She did what she could and ultimately fulfilled the mission. Still, she cannot help but feel there is something decidedly wrong happening here. He was married? Yet he lives with someone else. It’s all very curious.Witches have long mourning periods as is custom, and remarried witches are seldom heard of, except in cases like Serhlin's or Selene's.

Serahlin gets back into the car and pulls away from the curb.

“Well? What did you find?” Selene asks.

Serahlin purses her lips, “There could be a warlock. There is definitely something going on in that house.” Thenvunin's aura had definitely been dimmed similarly to Selene's when Haleir had her book. It stands to reason then that Thenvunin's book is definitely not in his rightful possession and control.

“The absorber should be finished by the time we get the boys to bed. Why don't I bring Ileth over after the conference and we can brainstorm.”

“Sounds good. I really hope it's not a warlock. The boys…” Selene trails off but Serahlin knows her worry. With the twins being so young and to apparently be blessed, they are exceptionally encticing targets, and with each day that that brings them close to their sixth birthday, the more enticing they become. As much as the sixth birthday is beloved and celebrated, it is also when a young witch is most vulnerable to the attacks of other witches. It is forbidden by common witch law to prey upon children, but warlocks have already forsaken witch law - there is no telling what they will or won't do.

“Whatever comes, we will handle. Our boys will be kept safe.” Serahlin tries to reassure Selene, but it's difficult when she holds similar worries for Illeth. He is only three weeks away from his birthday. Can they dispatch a warlock before then? If there is one...they will have to.

But now that she has fulfilled this part of the day, it is time to put on her mom hat and head over to the school for the parent-teacher conference. There is no time to change so she heads directly to the school. Selene thankfully understands and agrees to simply wait with the twins on the playground while Serahlin sits in with Mr. Paenir.

There is scarcely any time left when she pulls into the school’s parking lot. She barely has the mind to take off the pillbox hat before dashing into the school. Her hair is still pulled into a formal bun and her face is painted to sell makeup, so it is...more than she normally wears. For once, she feels the slightest bit self conscious as she walks through the halls as other wealthy mothers waiting for their own conferences to begin watch her.

She can feel the whispers as they take in her pink tweed glory. It’s too soon, they say, to be wearing such a bright color after her husband’s death. She should still be shrouded in black and it should be clear she is sad, but not so clear that her face is puffy.

Sometimes she quite loathes the rich’s social expectations and constraints.

The kindergarten hallway is bright and the walls are decorated with art and projects each of the classes have done. Ileth and the twins’ class is the last door on the right, surrounded by a large caterpillar created by construction paper and little stripes that have barely legible facts about caterpillars and butterflies on them. Ileth is sitting outside of the room with a few of the other students, coloring what looks to be a scene of playing puppies.

“Memae!” Ileth shouts when he sees her, scrambling to his feet to run over to her. She cannot help the smile that spreads across her face as she dips down and wraps her arms around him in a hug.

“There’s my baby! How was your day?” She kisses the top of his head before he begins to wriggle, eager to tell her everything.

“We went on a bug hunt!” He announces, “And I found the grasshopper!”

“You did? That’s wonderful! Okay, I’m going to go talk to Mr. P now, and then we’re going over to Darevas and Felasel’s house.”

“Is it a sleepover?” Ileth asks excitedly. Serahlin nods and he pumps his fist in the air.

“Yes!”

She laughs, any discomfort over the other mothers forgotten as she steps into the classroom.

She knocks on the door jam, making the young teacher jolt in his seat before lifting his head to her.

A wide smile lights up his face and he bustles out of his seat, “Mrs. Elethari! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Oh, I couldn’t miss this. Ileth’s education is a big priority.” She takes a seat in one of the small chairs at an equally small table. Mr. Paenir plops into the seat next to hers after grabbing a file off his desk.

He’s a tall man, handsome with his golden hair pulled into a loose bun and his button-up shirt’s sleeves folded up to his elbows, revealing shapely forearms. 

She may be a widow, but she’s not dead. Besides, it wasn’t like her sex life was exactly active for the last few years. Darris may have been an ass, but she also had her ways of making sure he never turned into that. Such ways included being exceptionally good with knives, guns, and self-defense. 

“That is great to hear! Ileth is doing well overall. He has made some really pretty things in art - and he’s getting better about coloring inside the lines.” He hands over several lovely pictures her son has made, along with little projects that have lots of cutouts and glitter sprinkled over everything. Her heart warms at them all and a proud smile spreads across her face as she flips through them. Mr. Paenir also shows her his work with writing, practicing letters and putting them together to form sight words.

“He’s doing great with the technical aspects of school - the projects and listening and reading - but I’ve noticed he has been a bit...down lately. He said his father recently passed away?” His voice turns soft and concerned. While he doesn’t know that Darris was horrendous person and she’s glad to be rid of him, the sympathy is appreciated, particularly as it applies to her son.

Serahlin plays the part, allowing her face to fall slightly and to perhaps feel a little sadness at the lack of a father figure in Ileth’s life.

“Thank you. It happened so suddenly. I’m doing the best I can to help ileth adjust, but...he’s just a baby still, really.” Her poor baby, feeling so down and sad about the loss. She supposes she hasn’t paid enough attention to it recently with everything that happened with Selene and the twins.

“Of course. I’ve brought him to the school counselor a few times. Have you thought about taking him to see a therapist? Just to help him work through all the emotions he must be feeling right now.” The man certainly is sweet, keeping his voice low and understanding even as he tells her thing she does not want to hear.

“I hadn’t but that is a good thought. I want to do everything I can to make sure he’s okay.”

“Of course!” He says, “and I am not saying you’re not, by no means - Ileth is a good kid and very bright. This is just something where a professional may help.” She agrees with him. It is something she will need to investigate. She can’t stand the thought that Ileth is hurting or confused or needs help and isn’t getting the support he needs. Perhaps she should suggest it to Selene as well. The boys may be better off, but that doesn’t mean they’re not confused or missing someone who has always been there.

Serahlin leaves the conference feeling concerned but also so proud of her young son. He is smart and clever and truly has been incredible in adapting to everything that has been thrown at him. Losing a parent is not easy, least of all for the young, even if the parent was awful. Perhaps it’s even more difficult, the guilt at feeling relieved that they’re gone.

Ileth skips over to her after she leaves the room, smiling brightly up at her. The light catches his multi-colored eyes and his hair has a shine to it that makes him look shrouded in moonlight.

“What did he say?”

“He said you are doing great! You are one smart kid.” She takes his hand and they start to walk down the hall to where Selene and the twins are playing.

The rest of the evening is spent in domestic bliss with the kids. Except for the part on getting the boys to eat their vegetables. For some reason, green beans are suddenly the most intolerable things in the world. Towards the end of the stand-off, Serahlin wonders if it is unethical to ensorcel your kids to eat their damn veggies. They eventually negotiate that each boy is to eat three green beans each, which is at least something.

Selene and Serahlin put the boys to bed in one room then return to the parlor to review whatever the absorber has revealed. Serahlin empties the bag connected to the absorber onto a small tray. The small bundles of herbs fall, sizzle, then catch fire - except the flames are black.

“Shit,” Selene says at the site of the black flames. Serahlin’s heart falls and a more intense worry blooms in its place.

There is definitely a warlock in Thenvunin’s home, and judging by Thenvunin’s low energy and demeanor - he’s not the warlock, but the victim, just as Screecher said.

“Now what do we do?” She asks, staring at the black smoke in despair. She wants to help Thenvunin, she does, but her and Selene have kids. But they can’t just stand by and do nothing, the longer the warlock drains Thenvunin, the powerful they become, and the greater threat they’ll pose to Serahlin, Selene, and the boys. It leaves them with one course of action.

They have to fight.

Serahlin and Selene stay up later into the wee hours of the morning, pouring over their Books of Spells as well as the libraries both Haleir and Darris had locked away. By the time they need to take the boys to school, they’ve formulated a plan.

They nap for a couple hours after dropping the boys off at school, then set to work. Serahlin grabs the shotgun out of Darris’s study and rolls the shells in a spell-bath of dispel and destroy. Selene made the mixture.

“Where did you learn to shoot a gun?” Selene asks while Serahlin cleans and loads the shotgun. She smiles and shrugs slightly.

“Memae always believed in knowing how to defend yourself in all manners of ways, not just magically.” She slides the shells into the barrel and closes it. With a little murmured spell over the barrel for accuracy, she feels like this not-so-little weapon is ready.

After setting the gun aside, Serahlin starts working on the silencer barrier. It’s an herb pack that will seal off any noises encircled within it. 

The boys have an after-school program today, so they don’t need to worry about them until five. Around one, they’re finally prepared to go see Thenvunin and his warlock.

The SUV gets loaded with all sorts of magical equipment and they suit up themselves. Serahlin opts for some hefty work-out leggings, the new kind with the mesh pockets, and some good sneakers that give her arch support. Her hair goes up into a tight bun with lots of hairspray to prevent any of that unfortunate slippage always seen in movies. Sure, it looks good, but long hair can reduce visibility and she is taking no chances with a warlock.

Selene is dressed similarly, though there is a bigger sense of unease around her. On the way to Thenvunin’s, Serahlin takes Selene’s hand.

“It’s going to be okay.” She has to believe that.

Before long, they’re parked a block away. Des and Risin hop out with the noise barrier pouches. They’re to carry the herbs around the house so no unsuspecting mortal hears the goings on in that house. That horrible, horrible house.

Really, how did Thenvunin end up in this house anyways? Warlocks were once witches, their tastes veer towards closer to witches. But this house has mortal written all over it.

Perhaps...perhaps Thenvunin’s husband was mortal? It would certainly potentially weaken him, making him an excellent target for a warlock. Not all mortal partners are bad, Serahlin has heard of a few who were able to adapt to the life. But there is a danger to being with one - they can have expectations, inflexibilities that are incompatible with magical practices. When a witch stops practicing, they make themselves vulnerable, their magic slowly becoming more distant.

“Alright, I get him with the shotgun, which has enough magic poured into it to stun him, hopefully drain some magic from him. While I shoot him, you get out the potions to strip him further of magic. After the third bomb, we recite the banishing spell.” Serahlin reviews and Selene nods. It’s a guns blazing approach, which she’s torn on. They could try and sneak into the house, but that risks getting caught and split apart. They can’t afford that risk.

“Warlock black magic here, purify purify magic instill, so warlock may wither, warlock we kill. Three times should do, right?” Selene asks, going over the bombs in her pack. Serahlin nods, checking to make sure the shotgun is loaded properly. The pump-action has five shells before needing to be reloaded, so she will just need to be as accurate as she can. The tight confines of the house will help with that. 

Just have to remember all the shooting practice Memae had me do.

They send the familiars off to create the sound barrier and to find the warlock’s familiar. That creature, whatever it may be needs to be waylaid to not interfere. 

Everything in place, they leave the car and head over to Thenvunin’s house. 

The shotgun’s glamored to look like she’s simply carrying a large scroll case and it lets her walk right up to Thenvunin’s door with Selene. Serahlin knocks on the door and waits.

It is not Thenvunin who opens the door, but a tall man with cruel eyes.

“Why, what do we have here?” He asks.

Serahlin does not hesitate to raise her hand, “Get thee away from me!” She flicks her wrist and he goes flying into the house, crashing into the coffee table.

“Quickly now!” She says, following him into the room, shifting the shotgun into her grip. Selene tosses a weakening bomb at the Warlock. Purple smoke explodes all over him even as he gathers energies to himself.

“Stalking?!” Thenvunin calls from somewhere else in the house.

“We are being attacked! Come to me!” The man calls.

“Stay away, Thenvunin!” Serahlin says before firing a round into the warlock’s arm.

“AH!” He screams but the shot doesn’t seem to otherwise phase him as he leaps from the smoke. Serahlin fires off another shot before he tackles her to the ground, snatching her gun away. Long, gnarled fingers closer around her neck as his facade falls away to reveal his new bestial nature.

Long, yellowed fangs bared from hissing mouth, cracked lips and saliva drip down. Serahlin struggles against his hold, remembering her self-defense. Aim for the eyes! Knee up to groin! But this creature does not respond like a man.

“Get off her!” Selene screams, “Go far, off of her!” Serahlin feels the tickle of magic but he counters it, sending Selene careening into the foyer.

“Selene!”

“Ah, Sylaise, I feel it on you,” he hisses, dragging claws down her throat, drawing blood. She screams, thrashing at the pain. Her magic! She can feel it being pulled! Even Ileth’s!

“NO!” She shoves at him, pulling at her magic to throw him, dispel him, weaken him - something! He forces her down, fingers encircling her throat.

“Stalking!” Thenvunin shouts again. She thinks he’s at the foot of the stairs? “What are you doing?!”

“They attacked our home!” He wails.

“He’s a warlock, Thenvunin! He’s been draining you!”

“SHUT UP!” The warlock, Stalking apparently, sends a bolt of magical pain through her body. A scream wrenches itself from her throat and she flails against it, against him.

“No…”

**

This was a bad idea. Selene knew it was bad idea to come here and challenge a warlock in his territory, but she also knew it was a worse idea to let him drain this Thenvunin and then come for her newly formed coven. Her babies.

When he countered her spell, throwing her back, she thinks she landed poorly on the console table. Her legs tingle and her head feels light. Her magic feels different too - while it used to lurk deep inside her, ready for her to harness, it feels like it is just underneath her skin, moving like her blood. Now, her magic seems to run along her skin. But it doesn’t quite feel like her own either.

She can feel the air - that warlock is trying to quickly drain Serahlin, he hasn’t harvested a witch dedicated to Sylaise. Or maybe he has and just likes the taste.

She blinks and everything seems to slow down -

There is Serahlin on the floor with the warlock on top of her. To Selene’s left is who she presumes is Thenvunin, white-blonde hair flying around him as he runs. There are dark circles under his eyes and he is skinny for his form, his clothes seeming to hang on him more than they should.

This warlock has taken much.

Her magic, now coursing so fast and strong, surrounds her back, sinking deep to the bones and nerves. The tingling disappears and she rises from her prone position. Why is everything so slow? There is so much magic in the air, it begins to color the actual room. Pink and white surround Serahlin, slowly being swallowed up by the festering mustard yellow of the warlock. It’s sickening.

But what can she do? She can’t throw an alchemical bomb without catching Serahlinin in the blast. And what will Thenvunin do? Will he come to the warlock’s aid? Does he even have enough strength to do anything?

Selene blinks and turns her head just enough to catch herself in a mirror across the room. Shock, and no small amount of horror, takes hold of her. Her hair is glowing white, the strands from her pony-tail waving with fictitious wind. But it’s her eyes that are the most startling - once green now glow bright blue.

“What is this?” She whispers.

Her magic swells as if in answer. Two other fonts are at the fore, moreso than her own magic and she knows - these magicks are her sons’. And she can use them.

The dark being she made a deal with comes back to mind as she pulls deep within herself, at the magic swirling around her now. The warlock dies now.

When she speaks, it is in a tongue older than even the old tongue they know. It is ancient and powerful and it sinks claws deep into the warlock’s form. She moves her hand back and he moves with the gesture.

Feeling the magic, his attention snaps to her.

“Dirthamen?”

“Shut up,” she says. Not the most eloquent, no, but she’s had enough of all this talk of Dirthamen and her babies. She has power enough to kill this asshole. So that’s what she does.

She commands the magic to sink deep inside of him, to loose all the magic he has stolen. He screams, writhing as she flails him from the inside out.

Loose all of your secrets,

Tell no more lies,

Return what you stole,

Then die.

The words fill her mind, power exploding from her as if shot through a cannon. The magic rips the warlock apart from the inside out, unraveling stolen magic, and tearing him into pieces in the process.

The warlock explodes in a flurry of light and magic, filling the room with a riot of colors that move in every which way. Time reverts to normal as do her eyes and hair. All the magic in her body seems to give way.

One moment it’s there, the next, gone. With her magic, go her legs, collapsing to the floor in a huff.

What. The. Fuck. Was that.

She is almost too scared or too pissed to dwell too much on it. The boys are blessed, the dark pact she made - it’s too much to think about and yet it seems imperative that she has to now.

Well, shit.

She can just hear Des’s I told you so.

“Wha - Selene!” Serahlin cries, crawling over to Selene. There are claw marks all over her neck, blood staining her shirt, but still she crawls to Selene to see how she is.

“Serahlin, you’re hurt.” Selene reaches into her fanny pack - an exceptionally convenient invention for witches everywhere - and pulls out an elfroot poultice. She pulls Serahlin down to sit, who is quick to go.

“What’s going on, I-I, what happened to Stalking?!” Thenvunin sputters, stumbling into the room. He gapes in horror at the dark mark covering the wall in a way that can only be described as an oversized splat. Selene glances over at him as she opens the poultice.

“Long story short, the man living with you was a warlock. Your familiar brought us to you to help. He was stealing your power, your very soul. We had to kill him.” She turns back to Serahlin and begins to apply generous amounts of the poultice to the slash marks. Serahlin hisses at the contact, even as Selene whispers little soothing spells. The wounds are mostly superficial, and the warlock thankfully missed the jugular.

“You’re wrong! He was helping me! Making me strong so I could - well that’s none of your business!” He shouts and Selene winces at the noise.

“Think, Thenvunin, did he ever actually make you feel stronger? Or did he just seem stronger?” Serahlin asks softly, wincing still..

He shakes his head, “You don’t know what was happening. You - you’re the Avon saleswoman!” He shouts, “You lied! You infiltrated my home!”

“He was a warlock. Here, I’ll show you.” Serahlin reaches under the now broken coffee table and reveals the small absorber she placed yesterday. She squeezes the bag and black smoke rises. “Did you not see how he turned into his true form when he attacked me? Witches do not do that. But you know that.”

He stares at the smoke for a long moment before a broken, warbling sound escapes him. He falls back against the wall, hand rising to his lips in horror.

“No,” he protests even as he begins to accept the truth. Selene’s heart hurts for him. She and Serahlin always knew their husbands were horrible, abusive monsters. But realizing the abuses heaped upon you suddenly like this?

“You’re free now. We will ask nothing of you,” Serahlin says, turning from Selene and the poultice to crawl over to Thenvunin.

“Why would anyone do this?” He whispers as Serahlin reaches him.

“Some people are just evil and awful, only interested in power,” Selene says as Serahlin takes his hand. He swallows and begins to cry.

“He...he said Seth died because I wasn’t strong enough and that he would make me stronger,” he whispers. Rage fills Selene and she almost wishes she could kill the warlock all over again.

“Was Seth your husband?” Serahlin asks softly. He nods and cries harder, burying his face into his hands.

“Oh, sweet Thenvunin, it wasn’t your fault!” Serahlin insists even though she does not know what caused this Seth to die. Serahlin had been convinced there was a mortal involved with Thenvunin somehow and this just may be it. The house is certainly an indicator with its monotonous look and lack of history.

“I could have warded his car or something, but he...he didn’t like magic,” Thenvunin continues, “I should have done it anyway.”

“That would have violated his desires. You did nothing wrong, you are not responsible for other people’s actions.”

And despite the turmoil now with him, Thenvunin looks better. Less sallow. The motes of light and magic around him are brighter, his aura is shifting from a pale, sickly yellow back to what she suspects is his normal purple.

“Warlocks are nearly impossible to defend against without a coven. I don’t sense any other witches, are you alone?” Selene asks softly and he nods,

“Seth wanted a normal life.”

Selene catches Serahlin’s frown, but it’s replaced with concern quickly enough. The more she hears about this Seth, the less Selene likes him. Everyone is taught the dangers of shacking up with the wrong mortal. There will always be more of them than witches and it does not take much to get a mortal to remember pitchforks and Templars after all. The thought makes her worry for the boys at the school, surrounded by mortals.

“Do you still have your book, or…?” Serahlin trails off but they can all finish the sentence - or did Stalking take that too?

Thenvunin shakes his head and curls away from them in embarrassment.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll find it. That’s what we do you know, we find books. My husband, may he rot, stole my book to force me to marry him. I had a baby with him, and after many years I found my book again.”

“And then she helped me find mine. My father bartered it away to my now dead husband as some sort of debt repayment,” Selene continues and Thenvunin peaks through his fingers.

“Really? You...lost your books too?”

“Yes. And it wasn’t our faults, just like it wasn’t yours. Abusers know how to take things and make it seem like you did it, but it was all them. It was always all them.” Serahlin smooths his hair down and Selene thinks that perhaps some tension in him has eased.

“I don’t know where he kept it,” he whispers.

“That’s okay. Screecher can help us too.”

“Screecher’s here?” He asks, interest piquing.

“Yes, we had him accompany our own familiars to keep Stalking’s at bay.” Selene waves her hand and summons Des. Serahlin follows suit for Risin. Soon enough the two cats accompanied by a bird of unknown origin arrive in the house. Screecher makes a loud noise and swoops down to Thenvunin.

“Screecher!” He exclaims while the bird preens and covers Thenvunin with his wings. Des mrows, running quickly to Selene himself. He rubs against her and begins to purr loudly - his own spell in a way. Familiars can calm their witches, one of the perks of being connected to so much of their magic.

“What happened? There was something, I felt it.”

“I’ll explain later, Des,” she whispers, running her hand through his soft fur.

**

Serahlin has no idea how Stalking suddenly just died, but she isn’t arguing with it either. One moment he was clawing at her neck, the next he was wrenched off her, exploding in a flurry of light and shadows. A foul stench now fills the space, and she feels filthy, and not just from being covered in blood. All she wants is to go home and take a long, hot shower.

She looks over at Thenvunin, who is being greeted by his very enthusiastic familiar. The poor thing needs more help than she could have predicted. He was harmed by both a mortal and by a warlock. The mortal must have weakened him by expectation of the “normal life” giving no thought that a normal life for a witch involves magic and ritual. It primed him for the warlock to come in. Isolated and vulnerable, he never stood a chance.

“We need to find your book, he likely has others’ books too,” she says wondering what happens to the witches who has already drained. It’s not ever something she thought she had to worry about before, warlocks were little more than stories told to children to warn them of the dangers of being alone in this world.

Thenvunin nods and slowly rises to his feet.

“He spent a lot of time in the shed,” he says and so they follow him outside to a small shed in the horribly overgrown unattended garden. Serahlin frowns at the amount of concrete off the back of the house. She is getting this man out of this depressing place as soon as she can. Either she’ll convince him to go home to his birth coven or...or maybe he’ll join Serahlin and Selene’s. They could use another member, and it’s not like they don’t have room in either of the houses for him. Serahlin would even be happy to help him find an appropriate house full of color and history with a proper garden.

The shed is locked when they reach it, the lingering effects of a locking spell. It opens easily with an unlocking charm, the locks sputters then gives out. The door swings open revealing more magicks. They cross the threshold to feel a sudden vertigo, the inside of the shed lightens and stretches before them to morph into a decadent hall with large stone pillars wrapped in ivy. The floor is marble and between the pillars are pedestals, nine in total, four of whom have books sitting atop them.

Thenvunin gasps at the reveal, turning around in disbelief.

“He was capable of creating a portal?” He whispers. Portals are higher level spells that typically require the focus and ability of a coven - but he was a warlock, and there are four books. Stalking was packing the power of four witches, plenty of power to create a long-standing portal if he wished.

They walk through the hall slowly, wary of any traps. But if there were, they’ve all died with his life force. If they’re all disabled, how did the portal still work? Perhaps the portal was tied more to the books themselves than to Stalking’s life force.

Thenvunin moves to a pedestal with a small book that resembles a popular romance novel from about ten years ago. He reaches for it -

“Thenvunin, wait!”

- he touches it. All around them the room begins to shake. The pillars begin to crack and large stone chunks fall from the ceiling.

“What?!” Thenvunin shouts.

“This entire place was tied to the books! Now that it’s reunited with you, it can’t sustain itself!” Serahlin shouts in turn, “we have to get out of here!”

“What about the other books?!” Selene yells and dammit. She’s right. They can’t just leave the books. Serahlin runs and grabs the one closest to her just as Selene grabs the one closest to her. The entire structure shudders and heaves. The pillars do not merely crack, but they begin to give way.

Thenvunin grabs the last book they all run towards the portal, only to find that it too has collapsed without the support of the books.

“Oh shit!” Selene yells.

Thinking fast, Serahlin places her hand on the mysterious book dedicated to June and pulls at the magic inside.

“Help me! Visualize Thenvunin’s foyer!” She calls as the floor begins to crack and groan as well. Selene curses but grabs hold of Serahlin’s arm. Thenvunin takes hold of the other and Serahlin inhales deeply.

“Portal open here to there,

Here we stand,

There we go,

We command,

From crumbling tomb

To Thenvunin’s front room!”

They scream as the magic burns from within them all, wrenching them from the collapsing hall through space to Thenvunin’s home. The magic claws into them and for a few confusing moment, Serahlin feels them both - the strengths, the weaknesses, the drugging weight of power, their power, bending to her spell.

Is this what Stalking felt all the time? Is this what it’s like to be a warlock? Addictive. But also horrifically overwhelming and terrifying.

All at once, the swirling mass of energies ceases. The world snaps into place as they arrive in Thenvunin’s foyer.

Serahlin drops the book, turns, and promptly vomits. Her head pounds with the sudden influx and subsequent lack of power. Dizzying, maddening, not right. Knees give out and she is vaguely aware of Selene calling her name.

She doesn’t know how long she stays on the floor, waiting for her hearing to return to normal, for her magic to make sense to her once more. She thinks Risin comes and curls up next to her, vibrating with warmth and focus. Yes, focus.

Bit by bit, her vision clears, her hearing returns, and her stomach ceases to roil.

Serahlin realizes that Selene’s hand is upon her back and she is whispering small healing spells all over her.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, still not quite able to sit up.

“Oh thank the gods,” Thenvunin says.

“Yes, thank the gods. Serahlin, how did you know you could do that?” Selene asks.

“I didn’t. I just knew I had to. Ileth can’t lose both of his parents.” Selene makes a noise of agreement as she takes in just how close they came to orphaning their boys.

When she sits back up, Thenvunin hands her a glass of water and offers her an aspirin. She snorts at the idea. Aspirin! For a witch! He blushes in embarrassment and fusses that it has benefits even to witches. He’s learned a lot from living a magic-less existence these last few years, after all. There are ways to cure ailments that do not involve magic or herbalism.

But he forgets that they’re not mortal. Their systems work differently, they’re meant to connect with magic in all ways - particularly for healing. She doesn’t remind him of this, though. Today has had enough in it without adding in an argument about such things. Instead, Selen takes away the aspirin, mentioning something about potential interactions between the elfroot and the aspirin.

When Serahlin can stand, she looks to the door, eager to get home to her son. Coming close to death makes her eager to be reassured that her baby is okay. Selene seems to be in agreement and they both move to leave, but Thenvunin remains in the foyer, staring at the ruined interior of his house.

“Come home with us, Thenvunin,” Serahlin says, “I have plenty of room and it looks like you could use some...distance from all this.” And to get him away from this awful house. She can still feel the oppression and the bad history.

Despite what they all just collectively went through, Thenvunin looks surprised,”You don’t even know me.”

She smiles and stifles a chuckle, “We know you well enough to brave a warlock for you.” He opens his mouth as if to argue then shuts it again.

“I suppose you’re right. Who knows what kind of maleficence Stalking put in the home.” Still, he looks sad enough that it makes Serahlin sigh.

“We’ll come back after we’re rested. This place needs a good exorcist style cleaning,” as evidence, the dark splotch where Stalking was starts to give off a slight stench that has everyone wrinkling their nose.

Thenvunin nods and heads upstairs to gather his things while Serahlin and Selene get the car.

“Are you sure about this?” Selene asks.

“We can’t just leave him out here. If it were me, or worse, if it was Ileth, I would want someone to help. Two people preyed upon him, first that mortal husband and then Stalking. What if it were Darevas or Felasel?” She asks in turn. Selene falls against the passenger seat, hand against her forehead.

“Shit. You’re right.”

“He can stay with me, there’s plenty of room to spare.” He can have the guest room that Selene has not claimed as her own when she’s over. And it’ll be good to have another man around for Ileth and the twins that isn’t an abusive asshole.

Back at the house, they help Thenvunin load his things, of which there are surprisingly few. They lock up and ward the house as an extra precaution. Thenvunin slides into the backseat and Screecher follows suit. Des and Risin sit in Selene’s lap, purring loudly.

All set, Serahlin pulls out of the driveway and sets the course for home.

Darevas falls asleep in his chair under the moon. Felasel suggests letting him sleep outside among nature all night, so he can be close to it. If the suggestion had come from a mortal boy, one would think he wanted to play a cruel joke on his brother. But Felasel is a witch so his suggestion is sincere and kind - he wants his brother to experience the night as he does.

When a cloud begins to cover the moon, Ileth and Felasel both yawn and rub their eyes. Even a minor block in the moon’s light has a strong effect in their energy. Seeing it is time to retire, Selene and Serahlin take the boys inside to sleep. The boys insist in piling into the same room, or rather into the enormous pillow and blanket fort they made in Ileth’s room earlier. Serahlin chuckles as she kisses Ileth’s head.

“Good night, darling.”

Selene stays the night in a guest room.

Morning dawns rudely with a knock on the door.

It is all Serahlin can do to pull on a robe and head downstairs before the boys rouse from all the knocking. She cracks the door open to see two men in long trench coats and scowls.

“It’s awfully early for such calls, gentlemen,” Serahlin says, voice still husky from sleep.

“Are you Serahlin Elethari? I am Detective Stalton and this is Detective Crawford, can we come in? We have a few questions.”

Serahlin manages to maintain her smile even while panic begins to coil in her. Detectives, likely about Darris and perhaps even Haleir. She weighs her options. It is early, the children and Selene are asleep upstairs, she could reasonably send them away but that would only mean they would come back later. Or they may even bring her out of the house for questioning. Her power is here, and it would not be wise to separate from it.

“Detectives, well come on in, let me show you to the breakfast nook. I have a delightful batch of scones and my own brand of tea.” She opens the door wider and gestures them in. They take off their hats, but not their coats as they follow her into the kitchen.

Feigning warmth, she invites them to sit while she starts working on the tea. She makes sure to putter almost aimlessly so as to disguise the ingredients she is grabbing.

“Please let us keep our voices low, little children are sleeping.”

“Of course. This shouldn’t take long,” Detective Stalton says as Crawford takes out a notepad and pen.

“We got a call from one of your husband’s coworkers. Seems that he hasn’t shown up to work in over a month. In fact, your husband hasn’t been seen at all for a month,” Stalton continues. Serahlin’s frown wanes and she allows her expression to turn haunted and sad, pitiable even.

Serahlin pours tea into two cups while dropping into some suggestion elixir. Selene suspected that someone may show up asking questions, so she had stocked both her and Serahlin’s cupboards with a few potions to help with these situations. Serahlin stirs in some sugar to disguise the taste and brings the tea to the table.

“Officers, this is quite a painful subject, I…”

“We understand, Miss, but we need to investigate,” Crawford says. Stalton takes a sip of the tea.

Serahlin sighs and sinks dejectedly into the seat across from them, “Darris passed away. He had a heart attack after dinner about a month ago and he died.” The best lies are based in truth, and the elixir of suggestion works best when there is truth to work with. Serahlin can play the grieving widow if need be.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I had him buried as is tradition with my clan.” In the backyard, enchanted to become a tree.

Stalton looks like he isn’t believing it, even with the elixir, while Crawford seems happy to leave now. He closes the notepad and looks rather pleased with himself.

“He died, and you didn’t notify anyone? You didn’t take him to a hospital?”

“A hospital?” She asks softly, “when I came back in from the kitchen, he was just...there on the floor, dead. There was no heartbeat, no pulse, no breath. When that happens to someone, they are gone. There was nothing to be done.” She starts working up some tears for effect.

“No one knew -

“I informed our clan, his family, the bank - do I need to put it in the paper? For all to see?” She starts crying harder. “Some pain is private, Detective.”

Stalton looks conflicted and he sips more of the tea, good. “Miss, I do not mean to -

“Then what do you mean?” She asks, putting just the right amount of accusation to it.

Stalton sighs, “We are following up on a missing person. Do you have any concrete proof that he has passed?”

She briefly wonders if he asks the humans the same questions. No matter, “I have the death certificate. I will just get it for you.” She rises and goes into the office. In addition to the death certificate, she pulls out a small candle. Selene is good with potions, Serahlin is good with candles. The candle she procures is a candle of persuasion. She lights it and carries it in with her.

“Don’t mind me, I made fish two nights ago and I am still smelling it,” she says as she slips back into the kitchen. She plays at batting at the smoke when she is actually wafting it towards the men.

Listen to my words,

They speak truth,

It is all you heard.

She chants the spell three times in her head before setting the candle down and handing over the certificate.

“It’s notarized and everything.”

Stalton inspects the certificate, frowning, “This looks legitimate.”

“C’mon, Wylles, let the poor lady be. Her husband’s dead. You know how much my ma cried when my da died?” Crawford kindly beseeches, placing a hand on Stalton’s arm. Out of everything, that seems to affect Stalton the most.

“You are a kind soul, Monsieur Crawford,” Serahlin coos.

“Very well. Darris Elethari is deceased, we will notify his place of business. I suppose the bank is already taken care of… I hope you find peace, Miss Elethari.” Stalton rises from his seat and Serahlin escorts him back through the house to the front door.

“Thank you for understanding, Detective Stalton,” she says, holding the door open, “and please, call me Serahlin. Madame Serahlin.” She closes the door before he can say anything else. Her facade falls into a frown.

Stalton was entirely too resistant towards the elixir and the candle. Crawford was an ideal reaction to the magic, but Stalton…. Serahlin heads back into the kitchen and mixes up a powder between a few herbs. She pricks her finger and murmurs a few words over the mortar and pestle before grinding once more. Once finished, she sprinkles the dust over Stalton’s tea cup.

Where he drank turns pitch black.

She hisses and shrinks from the cup. Templar. Or at least, the descendant of one. He would of course be naturally resistant to her magic and suspicious of her. Dammit. This may be more complicated than she anticipated.

But it is no matter. It is handled for now. She has no regret in disposing of Darris and she is not going to start just because an unwitting Templar descendant came knocking on her door. She should warn Selene, however. Gods only know what sort of threat Stalton could pose to the boys.

**

“Who wants blueberries in their pancakes?” Serahlin asks and all three boys raise their hands high.

“I do! I do! I do!”

She chuckles and tosses the berries into the batter. When she went upstairs to speak to Selene about the potential trouble, she found the boys awake and already up to some mischief. She brought them downstairs instead, letting Selene sleep in for what may be the first time in a very long while.

Serahlin keeps the boys entertained for the morning with a mini-magic lesson. Since they’re all approaching the age of six, it is time they began to learn some rules about the power they will be receiving. They congregate in the sitting room with Serahlin’s book in the center of their circle.

“Magic, dear little ones, is all around us,” Serahlin begins, waving her hand so that all the candles light simultaneously.

“We know, Memae, we’re witches,” Ileth says and Serahlin nods.

“Yes, you are. And it is time to start understanding what that means, what is entails. You will be coming into your powers soon, and you need to be prepared.” Serahlin opens her book to the first page. The first section of each book is dedicated to the essential elements of witchcraft. Mortals would call them rules, but it’s not quite so simple. The elements are ever present, it’s not like they can broken like rules can be broken.

What most mortals fail to comprehend is that witchcraft is not inherently anything - the individual witch is what makes the craft beneficial or malevolent. And sometimes witches are neutral.

“The first element of witchcraft is freedom - freedom of choice, freedom to practice the type of magic that calls to you, freedom to be yourself, freedom from the black and white concepts of good and evil.” She tosses some pre-mixed Story Dust over the book to play out the story for freedom.

“Once, there was a witch. She was adopted into a mortal family that did not understand  witchcraft. On her sixth birthday, her familiar arrived - a beautiful hare, the goddess Andruil’s blessed animal. With her familiar, came her powers, and with her powers came the ability to create. Potions, spells, and incredible spectres of beasts that did not even exist! For years, the witch hid in secret, knowing that should she be discovered, she would surely be killed. Because she was a wise witch and saw the blessing her familiar was, she dedicated all of her beastly spectres to her patron goddess Andruil. But eventually, she was discovered.

“On her eighteenth birthday, only twelve years after receiving her familiar, she was tied to a stake to be burned alive. Furious that her blessed witch was to be burned at the stake, Andruil bade all the beasts the witch had made to attack the mortals. The spectres tore through the mortals as the witch’s familiar freed the witch. Andruil had granted her freedom, and so the witch, Ghilan’nain dedicated herself to freedom - and to Andruil herself, but as an equal partner, and not a servant.” The boys look up at her with wide eyes as she tells the story with the little figures of spoke over the book. Ghilan’nain, the youngest of the gods, raised to be a goddess for her dedication and creativity and love for Andruil. It’s a good story, though Serahlin knows it is greatly simplified for the sake of teaching the children a small lesson.

Only witch scholars of the old lore know the true stories of Ghilan’nain and Andruil. Knowing what she knows of Andruil’s preferred practices and Ghilan’nain’s desires, she would rather not know the story herself, or for the impressionable young boys to know either.

“I didn’t know Ghilan’nain was a witch first!” Ileth says at last.

Serahlin nods, “She was, and she chose to become a goddess to be with her love, Andruil. With freedom comes choice. Witches must be free to choose their paths and destinies.” She could tell them that is why she killed Darris and helped kill Haleir, but it is not yet time for that. The boys will know when they’re older and they understand better.

She flips to a different page and pulls the book to her to hide what it says from the boys.

“Now, to complete the lesson, each one of you will complete a path of questions. Who would like to go first?”

Darevas shoots his hand up first, “I would!” Felasel and Ileth both seem content to let Darevas go first, so Serahlin turns to him.

“Place your hand on the book,” he does as he is told and the first question appears on the page. “Ah. Darevas Lavellan, you are walking along a path in the woods. Describe the woods you see in your head.”

Darevas hums for a second, “They’re nice woods! With big trees and lots of leaf piles to jump into!” Around them the room appears to shift. The smoke from the candles coalesce into presenting the woods that Darevas describes. He gapes at them as Serahlin continues.

“Very good,” Serahlin replies as the words on the page shift, “as you walk, you come across a small lake. A great stag, a boy deer with large antlers, is drinking from the lake. He lifts his head when he hears your footsteps. He opens his mouth and tells you something. What does he say?”

“He says...he says, um, he says ‘Jump in! The water’s great!’ so I run and jump into the lake!” The smoke around them shifts to a sudden blue. Felasel and Ileth shift with unease but Darevas laughs, his hair beginning to rise as if he is actually in the water. Serahlin swallows as the words on the page shift.

“Very good, Darevas. You chose a path of trustworthiness and optimism. This means you have a very pure heart.” The boy beams with happiness and continues to laugh as he moves his head, hair still acting as though he is under water. Well, at least they know which element he will favor when he comes into his own.

“Can I go next, Memae?” Ileth asks and she nods.

“Alright, touch the book, darling.” Ileth reaches forward and presses his hand to the book. The smoke clears and Darevas’s hair falls much to his disappointment. The words swirl on the page until it comes to a scenario for Ileth.

“You are walking through a forest. What time is it?” She begins.

“Um, midnight! And there’s a full moon.” The smoke around them turns dark except for the coil ahead, which turns a bright white to simulate the moonlight.

“Nicely done, Ileth. It is midnight with a full moon. You hear several creatures in the woods - what creatures do you hear?”

“Umm, I hear wolves, but nice wolves! They’re singing to the moon. And owls because owls are nocturnal too. And bats too because they eat at night too.” Creatures leap and bound from the smoke around them - bats, owls, and wolves.

“How do you feel?” Serahlin asks and Ileth smiles.

“A little scared, but that’s okay, the moon will protect me.” The smoke turns bright and Ileth’s hair glows for a moment. He giggles at the sensation and the words on the book shift.

“Well done, Ileth. You chose a path of passion and reason. This means you have a rare and beautiful heart of dual nature - just like your eyes.” She smiles at her truly wonderful and unique son. His eyes shines and his hair glows and she doesn’t see a single ounce of his father in him. It heartens her greatly, even as Felasel scoots forward.

“Excuse me? Is it my turn now?” He asks and she nods.

“Yes, of course, Felasel. Touch the book.” He does so and the smoke clears. Ileth’s hair ceases to glow and the words begin to appear across the page.

“You are in a library, Felasel. Who else is in the library?”

“No one else,” Felasel says. The smoke churns so that it coils more densely around Felasel specifically, obscuring his view of everyone else, including Serahlin.

“You walk along an aisle and pull out a book. What is the book about?”

“Magic! Secret spells!” Felasel says excitedly, eyes darting through the smoke.

Serahlin almost frowns. Most five year olds, mortal and witch alike, typically choose fantastic stories rather than books about spells. But perhaps he is simply excited to learn about magic.

“You are reading the book when you hear a noise. Someone has entered the library. Who is it?”

“It’s Mama.” Serahlin keeps a sigh of relief to herself, something about this line of questioning has her on edge, but his answer is reassuring.

“What do you do with the book?” She asks the final question and Felasel smiles.

“I check it out with Mama! I bring it home and read it.”

The smoke surrounds Felasel, imitating a book in his hands.

“Lovely, Felasel. You chose a path of quiet and knowledge. You have a studious spirit, a curious heart.” She closes the book and waves for the smoke to dissipate. Instead, the smoke turns black and swirls purposefully around Felasel.

Serahlin gasps in horror and starts chanting her dissolution spell to clear the air. She pushes the other boys away and attempts to bat the smoke away, reaching for Felasel.

“MAMA!” Darevas shouts as Serahlin manages to get ahold of Felasel.

“FOUL SPIRITS BE, FROM THIS PLACE FLEE!” Serahlin cries.

Pop!

The smoke expands then suddenly retracts; Felasel makes a startle cry even as the smoke disappears in a rush. In its place, a book rests in Felasel’s hands.

Heart thundering against her rib cage, Serahlin reaches over to the book. Felase’s eyes are wide but he is reluctant to hand it over.

Just then, Selene bounds down the stairs, eyes wild and hair loose.

“What happened?”

“Auntie Serahlin was telling us stories and the smoke!” Darevas says, running to her. She picks him up quickly, holding him to her, even as Felasel stares transfixed by the book.

“I was walking them through the first element of witchcraft, of freedom. I went through the choice exercise. After Felasel completed his, the smoke acted as if it had its own mind. It only just left, but it left this book in its place.” Serahlin explains as Felasel squirms in her hold. She lets go of him only when Selene takes a seat next to him.

“Can you show Mama, please?” She asks, holding a free hand out while Darevas watches from the safety over her other arm. Felasel seems reluctant to hand it over, but he does. Carefully, Selene sets Darevas down and opens the book.

It is the size of a child’s book, square and thing with a firm, iridescent black cover with what appears to be a white raven on the front. The front page is white with neat print that reads -

Before I Turn Six: A Little Witch’s Hand Guide

No author is listed, but on the next page, Selene hisses in a breath. In perfect, flowing script -

To Felasel and Darevas

A single black feather rests below their names. Selene picks it up and stares.

“It...can’t be,” Serahlin whispers.

“No,” Selene echoes.

“What? What?” Ileth asks.

“It’s...a blessing,” Serahlin says, even as Selene begins to despair, “from the god Dirthamen himself.”

**

When Thenvunin is nineteen, he meets Sethtaren. A beautiful, courageous, well-to-do mortal man who makes Thenvunin’s heart flutter. He is suave and powerful in ways Thenvunin was unused to. His mamae is a powerful witch in her own right and he himself is the heir to a powerful lineage of witches, but Sethtaren is mortal and his power is so different.

They marry before Thenvunin is twenty. Eloping to a far off town in between the Free Marches, Orlais, and Nevara. When they arrive in their new house, purchased with money Thenvunin had conjured for them, he tells Sethtaren the truth of what he is.

“A witch!” Sethtaren screams, grabbing a knife from the kitchen.

“I’m not bad! I just have magic, please Sethtaren!” Thenvunin pleads.

“How can I trust you?! You... you bewitched me!” Sethtaren accuses and Thenvunin quickly shakes his head.

“I’m not good at enchantment like that, please Seth, I love you and would never hurt you.”

“How do I know that?” He demands. Thenvunin can think of only one thing. He pulls his book of spells out from the built-ins in the dining room.

“This is my book of spells, as long as you hold it, I cannot harm you. I...am beholden to you, but I want to be. I love you, Seth, that’s why I married you.”

Sethtaren takes the book and Thenvunin does not see it for years. He lives his life as if mortal, practicing no magic. Seth travels and he works, and he comes home to make sure his husband is adhering to no magical practices. He saw Thenvunin lit a candle for Mythal one night and had nearly kicked him out on the street.

He is twenty-two when Sethtaren dies in a car accident. His love was so young, it doesn’t seem fair at all.

He is about to sell the house and return to his coven, heart broken and weary, when he meets Stalking. He’s also lost people and says it’s because he wasn’t a strong enough witch at the time and that he has since become stronger to prevent such things from happening.

Stalking tells Thenvunin he can help, that he can teach Thenvunin to become stronger so he doesn’t lose anyone else. And surely if he went home now, he won’t be strong enough for the coven to take back. He’d be a liability.

He hasn’t practiced in years, hasn’t observed. Stalking is...right.

At twenty-two and a half, Stalking moves in with Thenvunin, taking over the master bedroom for Thenvunin’s sake of course. Too many bad memories. He needs Thenvunin’s book too, because how else is he going to help Thenvunin become stronger without knowing him as intimately as his book does?

At twenty-four, Thenvunin rarely leaves the house. He mostly stays in his room and tries not to cry too much. The weepiness and tiredness has gotten worse lately and Stalking tsks his tongue over it.

“You won’t return to your coven at this rate, Thenvunin, try another spell,” he urges. So Thenvunin tries to light a candle with his mind. It flickers, sputters...and fails to light.

“I’m so tired,” he says, leaning against his headboard, almost feeling feverish.

“Try again, this time, truly focus on the candle.” Thenvunin does Stalking says but only manages to keep the candle lit for three seconds before it peters out.

He does not remember it being this difficult to cast. He was not the greatest at being a witch but he was not completely without his abilities. He was good with small charms, illusions, and incantations. The more difficult spells or complicated rituals were lost on him, but he was not by far an incompetent witch. At least, he didn’t think he was until Stalking arrived and asked him to do the bare minimum of tasks.

Stalking’s own magic is so great it is hard to grasp. Thenvunin is lucky, he knows, to have such a powerful witch taking him under his wing. Even if it is difficult at times.

An hour later, he is covered in sweat from exertions. Stalking is right, at this rate, Thenvunin will never be strong enough to return to his coven, if he even has a coven left to return to.

**

Screecher cannot get to Husband.

Dark One has Husband and has barricaded the Nest! Screecher cannot get to Husband! This is wrong. He does the squawkings and the flappings and even castings of a spell. But barricade holds and Screecher still cannot get to Husband.

But Screecher hears things. Other Familiars tells him things. They whisper of other witches who know what to do with people like Dark One. The Familiars whisper of death and wickedness. They also whisper of hatchlings. Husband loves hatchlings.

She shifts the bundle in her arms to remove then hang her hat on the coat rack by the door. Her shoes clack across the floor as she invites herself into what looks to be the formal sitting room.

“Is the moon treating you well this cycle?” Serahlin asks. Selene gestures to the sofa and Serahlin takes a seat. Selene sits in a chair, her hair shining in the light even during the day. The full moon empowers her even now. It’s a good prediction for how Ileth will be when he is grown. But she must remember, as powerful as he will be during the full moon, he will be as weak during the new moon.

“As well as it can. Felasel has been up all night.” She can hear the exhaustion in Selene’s voice, but it is the only indicator that Felasel’s inability to sleep has been a strain. “I have been too, so it works out, but there is a certain tiredness that comes with tending to your child for an entire twenty-four period period.”

“Ileth has been practically crawling the walls at night. At one point, I let the moonlight flood his room and he got so excited, he unintentionally levitated a few inches off the floor.” She had been so proud to see the space between his feet and the floor, his face canted up to the light streaming into the bedroom. Serahlin is also exhausted, though for...other reasons that just tending to her son. Her nails tap against the plastic holding the muffins.

“He must be close to his birthday,” Selene says.

“Three more months.” She is almost sad about it. Not losing the power, that would be a horrible thing to mourn since the power is rightfully his. It is the sadness of her baby growing up so fast. She feels like he just took his first steps, said his first word.

“Darevas and Felasel have six more months.”

“Good,” Serahlin says, deciding that there has been enough small talk, “that means there is plenty of time to handle Haleir while you are empowered.”

Selene’s face flushes and her eyes flash, “That...will be difficult to accomplish.”

“When Darris took my book, I swore I’d get it back, win my freedom. But years passed and I grew convinced that I wouldn’t ever gain my freedom.”

“He took your book, too?” Selene says softly, horror and sympathy clear in her voice. Serahlin gives her a reassuring smile, full of the self satisfaction of murdering Darris only two nights prior.

“He did, and up until two days ago, it was his. But we moved only a month ago into the new house and my familiar found it, poorly warded in a box. He broke the wards and I got it back. That night I exacted my revenge. He will never take anything from me or anyone again.” The lights flicker at her intensity and Selene looks envious at Serahlin’s victory. Her fluffy white familiar mrows in approval, jumping up onto the arm of the chair Selene is in.

“Two days ago? That was the bake sale….”

“The day I finally recognized you for what you were. And I realized that if you had not approached me after all this time, then you too must be in a similar position. So I brought a few gifts.,” she picks up the tupperware, removes the lid and reaches past the first layer of muffins to pull out a pink candle. It sits in a silver carrier with the ancient tongue carved into the handle and around the holder.

“A searching candle,” Selene breathes.

“Yes. One of my favorite recipes. Now, is there a picture of Haleir around? I will also need a strand of your hair.” Selene rises from the chair and pulls a picture frame off the fireplace mantle. In the picture, Haleir is younger, standing in the woods with the sun high overhead. His induction ceremony to his coven. Certainly a precious memory for him, how perfect.

Serahlin lights the candle and Selene hands over the picture then plucks a strand of a hair and hands that over too. The picture is burned first as Serahlin whispers the spell.

“Reveal what Haleir hides, search for what he took, so that we find Selene’s spell book.” The candle’s flame sputters then turns a bright pink, smoke billows into the room. The lights flicker for a moment before the flame dies down.

“Now we walk the house to find it. When the flames start to flicker pink again, we’ll know we’re close.” She rises from the couch and they begin to walk through the house, slow and methodical, making sure to move the candle into every nook and cranny.

“How is Ileth adapting to not having Darris around?” Selene asks after several minutes of silent searching. Serahlin glances back and contemplates for a moment.

“I don’t think he quite realizes yet that his father isn’t coming home. I don’t think it will be that hard on Ileth, only because Darris was only minimally invested in Ileth. He was always a byproduct of Darris gaining control over me.” Darris was uninvolved in parenting. Uninterested. Ileth came home with artwork and Darris wouldn’t so much as glance up from whatever report he was reading. He didn’t shop for Ileth, didn’t plan parties or meet friends.

Serahlin came home late one night thanks to a parent-teacher conference to find Ileth sitting in his room crying.

“Why doesn’t Father like me?”

It broke her heart.

“My son deserves the best, and Darris was never that.”

“At first I thought I could leave, just disappear into the night but I can’t leave the twins. Not with Haleir.”

“And you shouldn’t! The boys may not fully understand why they will never see their father again, but it is for their benefit for him to leave their lives.” Selene will know peace and freedom soon, and it will be the balm to all the wounds of being held captive for so long. Serahlin understands that the wounds won’t heal overnight but gods, it is a beginning.

“Finding the book is one thing, but how do you propose to get Haleir to leave?” Selene asks and Serahlin laughs.

“Leave? Dear Selene, we are going to kill that husband of yours. I poisoned Darris, but Haleir may suspect such a thing. You know him best and I will assist you in any way I can.” In addition to be a talented witch, Serahlin is also educated in hand to hand combat and even knows her way around a knife. She has been carving up all the pigs and turkeys and chickens for the last few years, she doesn’t imagine carving up an elven man is much different.

Selene stops in the middle of the kitchen. Serahlin is holding the candle in front of the microwave, trying to discerns if there is a slight shift in color.

“You hardly know me, why are you doing this?” She asks softly making Serahlin turn to her with a soft knowing expression.

“Because you deserve better and Haleir deserves to be in the ground.” She takes a deep breath and shrugs, “And because I need a coven as does my son and I think so do you and your boys.”

“To have a coven again...it’s almost too much to hope.”

“I do not offer hope,” Serahlin says, moving from the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement, “I am making a promise, offering allegiance. As well as muffins, I made too many for the bake sale.”

Selene chuckles, “Felasel will enjoy that. He has a terrible sweet tooth.” The descend the stairs. Serahlin waves the lights on and eyes the flame.

It flickers pink for the briefest moment.

“We’re on the right track.”

The basement is set deep into the earth as is custom in this area. The ceilings are taller, making it an excellent place to hide witchy items. Serahlin is convinced that the people who originally settled this town were witches and set in place ordinances to allow for easier witchcraft. It’s a good place for witches, a small town that sits at the border of the Free Marches, Orlais, and Nevarra.

Now if only the Chantry wasn’t so inconveniently strong here. If only there wasn’t a horrible past of witch hunts. Templars may be mostly extinct, but the fear of their kind rising up once more is a real fear most witches have.

The descent to the basement builds with barely restrained hope and excitement, but also doubt.

“Des and I have looked in here but have found nothing,” Selene says.

“But your magic was limited, he would of course obscure it as best he could. He is sun blessed, yes?” They reach the end of the stairs and turn into one of the rooms. The candle flickers pink once more.

“Yes.”

“Then where is a window? He’d want to cast it in sunlight.”

“There’s an egress window, over here,” Selene calls from a room adjacent to the one Serahlin is in. She quickly moves over to the room and there is indeed a window there.

The candle sends up more pink, so frequently the entire flame is almost covered.

“Serahlin -

“It is here, Sister.” Serahlin slowly moves the candle around the room, watching for any changes in the flame. There! On the wall opposite of the window. They step closer and the flame changes fully to pink.

“What you hide, reveal what is inside,” Serahlin whispers, then blows the flame and the smoke out over the panel.

It clicks, then slides down.

Atop a small shelf sits what appears to be an innocuous copy of Good Omens.

A warbled sound escapes Selene, “You found it. My book.” She reaches for it only for a barrier to appear over the book. One last security measure. Selene lets out a cry of frustration.

Serahlin runs a hand along the barrier, ignoring the uncomfortable heat in her hand.

“It is a blood ward. It will only disappear if he removes it or if he is dead,” she says with grave solemnity. A plant catches fire in the corner of the room, purple flames climbing the trunk and curling around the fronds. Even this slight proximity gives her a boost in power, even if it is minimal and erratic at best.

“Selene, it is alright, we will figure this out. We were always going to kill him, this...is just a different order of things.” She sets the candle down to turn to Selene, taking her hands in her own. “You will be free. We know where it is, we know the course. We just need to figure the rest out.”

It takes a few minutes of breathing exercises and talking Selene down for the flames to dissipate and for the panic to ease from her face. Serahlin pulls her into a hug. She’ll get through this, Serahlin will make sure of it.

**

Selene and Serahlin plan until it is time to pick the boys up from school. They take Selene’s larger vehicle since it can hold all of the booster seats. The boys are all still energetic from the day - especially Ileth and Felasel who just seem to feed off each other in terms of excited energy.

“Memae! Memae! Mr. Paenir told us that that that next month’s an eclipse!”

“Truly?” Serahlin asks. Selene perks up from the driver’s seat as Serahlin turns in her seat to look into the back seat.

“He said it’s a solar eclipse,” Felasel clarifies.

“Did you hear that, Selene? A solar eclipse.” A wicked smile spreads across Serahlin’s face and it is mirrored on Selene’s.

“Isn’t that convenient.”

**

The day after the last night of the full moon, Haleir returns. It is not quite safe to return to Selene during that time, but they have set up most of their plan anyways. He is also scheduled for one more business trip before the eclipse.

With such a rare event the sun-blessed witches stay home in their most protected place. There are wards and family to help them weather the debilitating reduction in power. If moon-blessed witches are reduced in power during new moons, then sun blessed elves are near mortal during a solar eclipse. And Haleir has grown cocky, thinking that his safest place is at home with his magically neutered wife and still-without-power sons. He will be sharing a home with someone who wishes him all the harm in the world, has every cause to harm him, who will be exponentially more powerful than him for a few hours.

A week passes before Ileth looks up from dinner and stares at Darris’s old seat.

“Is Father coming back?” He asks softly.

She looks at the seat, not missing her dead husband in the least. But she can see the confusion on Ileth’s face, the hurt that he isn’t there. He brought home more artwork today, and even after Darris never so much as glanced at the other art pieces on the fridge, Ileth still stepped into the man’s old office searching for approval.

Serahlin reaches over and takes his hands, directing him to meet her eyes, “No, your father is not coming back. He was not a very nice man. But Ileth, this was not your fault. Never your fault. I made your father leave because he was mean and he made us feel bad.” He still sniffles and rubs at his eye. Serahlin sighs and picks him up, pulling him into her arms. He cries and cries and cries some more.

That approval Ileth he desperately sought he will never get now. Serahlin has no regret, but she wishes she could take away the hurt from Ileth without doing something horribly unethical. She could take his memory away, she supposes, make it so that Darris never existed to Ileth. But those sorts of spells are always revealed in the future - the holes in the memory, other people remembering Darris and asking Ileth about him…. No, this is something Ileth will have to grow from, as much as it hurts.

She gets him ice cream after dinner and lets him sleep in her bed that night. He curls against her, and for a moment she feels a magical pull in her chest. It’s his power, growing every day and waiting to go to him. There is so little time left before he is six. He’ll get his familiar and he will need to be trained to use his magic.

Moonlight streams into the room and Ileth shifts in his sleep, soft little snores turning into brief snorts as he moves unconsciously to be more in the light. She runs a hand through his moon-white hair and thinks of how quickly he has grown. If Darris had not been evil, if she had been with someone good and kind, she would have another. Motherhood has been her light in the darkness, a reason to continue on even as Darris made it almost unbearable.

Morning comes and she drops him off at school like any other day. Another day of moving around the house and plotting and reading awaits her. A restlessness fills her. She could go back to school, finish the law degree Darris had so rudely interrupted.

She could become a divorce lawyer and help other people leave their terrible marriages.

The idea is too tempting to ignore. Further investigation shows that she will need full access to both her and Darris’s funds. He took her savings and put it with his money, granting him even more power over her because her book wasn’t enough. She almost wishes she could kill him all over for that.

Instead, she finds a picture of a death certificate and creates a copy with magic. She signs it, notarizes it, and brings it the bank. Decked out in black and crying tears of happiness, Serahlin gets the accounts turned over to her since she is legally now Darris’s widow.

All his money is hers.

Serahlin is a rich, rich witch. She celebrates by buying herself a new pair of shoes - a beautiful black leather pair that makes her feel divine. And very wicked.

By the time all her errands are done, it’s time to get Ileth from school. She spies Selene in the carpool line and waves to her.

She decides after she has helped Selene with her husband, she is going back to school to become the lawyer she’s always wanted to be. It will be good for Ileth to see her succeed after the loss of Darris.

The month passes. Haleir leaves for a trip. Selene and Serahlin firm up their plan until he comes home. A week later and it is the day they have been waiting for.

After the boys are dropped off at school, Serahlin transforms herself into a cat and slinks over to Selene’s house with her familiar in toe. Selene lets her into the house before walking down to the basement where Haleir has secluded himself. While Selene places the small enchanted bundles to bring down any ward, all connected to Selene’s growing power, Serahlin walks the rest of the house. She seals all the exits and opens all the curtains, allowing the altered light to flood the house.

Haleir is a strong witch, stronger than Darris who quite frankly was a disgrace. Selene is going to need all the power she can get. When the moon begins to cover the sun, Serahlin rushes downstairs to find Selene staring at the door between her and Haleir.

Selene takes a deep breath and opens the door.

“What are you doing?” Haleir accuses, so quick to suspect as he is right to do. Serahlin slinks into the room, behind Haleir while he is distracted by Selene.

“I will give you one last chance - give me my book,” she demands.

Serahlin paws in a small rune into the back of the chair Haleir is sitting in, chanting the spell in her head.

All who sit here

Cannot move,

Become electric chair

To electrocute

Haleir laughs. “Selene, no. We’ve been over this, I thought you understood by now -

“I understand that you have your heir, any debt there was is repaid. It’s my book,” Selene holds firm. Serahlin waits for the moment, but they are running out of time.

“It was never your book to hold, that is the point.”

Selene casts her green eyes to Serahlin and in a moment she is no longer a cat, but an elf.

“What a shame, Haleir, that you are too stupid to just hand it over,” Serahlin purrs. With a shout, Haleir launches himself out of the chair. Or, he attempts to. Electricity shoots over the chair and into Haleir. He collapses against the furniture, panting.

“Release me and I won’t kill you, bitch!” He grates. Serahlin tilts her head and smiles wickedly.

“Tsk, tsk, Haleir, see that is what we are going to do to you.” Without any more warning, Selene and Serahlin start to walk in a circle around the chair, chanting in the old language. Des and Risin join in the walk between their mistresses.

It is an old spell they use, one to strip the magic first, pulling it from his body.

“Once imbued with power, no more, cede your power to us,” they chant as they weave the magic purposefully into him. Haleir screams and thrashes as his magic is rent from him.

“Where man walked, where life bloomed, death lies, death consumes.” They repeat the chants three times before there is a pop and they feel Haleir’s magic separate from him.

They stop walking as Haleir begins to thrash in his chair. Serahlin kicks the chair to recline as Selene flicks out the knife she has been carrying. She leaps on top of him, hair and eyes glowing as the moon reaches its peak.

She is the last sight Haleir sees, a glowing witch of death as she drags the knife across his throat. Blood flows from the wound as his eyes go wide in horror, as if only realizing what is happening.  

“Die, bastard,” she murmurs.

Haleir gurgles, and dies.

Magic coils around him then snaps. The house trembles as all his wards come crashing down. Selene climbs off his body, dropping the knife as she moves to the wall. The false panel falls, Haleir’s magic no longer holding it up.

The book rests inside. Selene reaches for it and lets out a cry of relief when her fingertips finally touch its cover.

“My book,” she cries, grasping it firmly to her. The air around her moves, rustling her hair as her power is reunited within her. She holds the book to her chest as it flickers from its Good Omens cover to its true form of a leather bound tome emblazoned with Dirthamen’s symbol.

Serahlin glances down at Haleir’s corpse, covered in blood and grimaces. She’s never much liked the mess of sacrifices and this is no different. Still, it had to be done, and when Selene turns to her, full of incredulous gratitude.

“I do not know how to thank you,” she says, eyes still glowing.

Serahlin smiles, “You’re free, you can do anything you wish. Though I do hope that perhaps you would consider forming a coven with me?”

“Yes,” Selene says without hesitation. Serahlin raises a brow.

“You do not want to return to your coven?”

“No, my father sold my book to Haleir in the first place.” That bastard. Perhaps if he comes to town soon, they can kill him too. Only if Selene wishes of course.

But now she simply smiles and hugs Selene close, “We will make our coven good and raise our children to be better.”

Selene nods against Serahlin’s shoulder. Serahlin doesn’t even recoil from the blood. They will need to cement the coven bond with blood and a small rite, but already she can feel the bond begin to form.

Her book, Darris dead, and now a coven, even as small as it is. All within a month.

“Now, time to dispose of this bastard,” Serahlin says pulling away from Selene, who wipes her eyes and nods in response.

“Right. There is a spot at the edge of the backyard that will do.”

Together they wrap Haleir’s body in an old blanket that Haleir brought from his coven then haul him out into the yard. Selene guides them into a small copse of trees. They lean over the brush, casting beautiful shadows as the moon starts to uncover the sun once more. They start to dig, and dig, and dig some more until the hole is deep enough.

They toss Haleir in and cover him once more. Selene casts the spell for a tree to take root to harvest the last of Haleir’s energy to prevent him from haunting the house and the boys.

Once he’s buried and the tree is properly seeded, Selene and Serahlin return to the house for a proper cleanse. They burn incense and murmur incantations as they shift the decorations of the house to resemble more of Selene’s style. The altar to Falon’din is replaced by a modest look desk with an inkwell, quill pen, a book, and a blackened raven skull.

The furniture grows softer and a purple fire roars to life in the fireplace. It is truly Selene’s home now. A place that is free of the malignant presence that was Haleir.

“How did you tell Ileth his father wasn’t coming home?” Selene asks, standing in the middle of the room, still covered in dirt and blood but looking more vibrant with every passing moment.

“I was as honest as I could be without saying ‘I killed him because he was an evil sod.’” Serahlin sighs. “It’s not easy, but it is for his own good. Already he was feeling the sting of Darris’s inability to properly parent. And it wasn’t like he was getting any better with me.”

“Right. Haleir was a terrible father, I’m glad my sons are free of him.” But there is the concern that her sons will hurt from this. Serahlin places a reassuring hand on Selene’s shoulder.

“Whatever struggles you face, I will be with you, Sister.”