#witch lore

  “Yup. You know, you’ve asked me that five times in the last seven minutes. I’ve been counting,” I answer, pointing and circling my french fry at her. 

  We drove for at least eight hours straight, getting as far away from Maryland as possible. Now, we’re somewhere in Kentucky, stopping for the rest of the day in a random motel we found. We’ll probably leave late at night or early in the morning to make some more distance, or we’ll stay until we find our next hunt. As for now, we’re eating McDonald's around the motel table. 

  “You got shot. What the fuck do you expect me to ask?” she bites back, stealing the fry from my hand and tossing it onto a napkin by her drink. 

  I frown, eyes trailing after the discarded fry. I was gonna eat that. At the very least, she could’ve eaten it.

  “I’m fine, though,” I tell her. “There’s no bullet hole or anything, and I don’t even have blood on me anymore.” 

  I took a shower and changed my clothes the moment we got to the motel. Then, Sam came back with the food, and we all piled into their room and around their table. In fact, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the boys share a little side glance like they could sense an argument brewing. 

  “You’re coming home with me in the morning,” she declares, arms folded across her chest.

  I choke on the sip of soda I took, coughing into my arm. “What?!” I exclaim once I get my bearings together. “No, I’m not. That’s not your decision.”

  First, Dean was trying to convince me to get out, then my brother, and now her? And I get it, okay? This “job” ain’t pretty, and it’s sure as hell not safe, but I chose to do this. 

  Actually, I’m kind of surprised Dean hasn’t piled onto this, hasn’t lectured me about taking a bullet for him again, even if this time it was more indirect. I think the only thing holding him back is the fact that I’m already getting chewed up, or he knows we’ll go back and forth in the same endless merry-go-round until one of us falters and we realize we haven’t gotten anywhere at all.

  “It’s my job to protect you,” she counters, bitterly. And for just a moment, I can see past that hard gaze of hers into something softer, something more vulnerable. “I should’ve pulled you the moment you left that hospital. God, Y/N, you managed to shatter your fucking vertebra.”

  “But I’m fine,” I nearly laugh. “I healed from that and I healed from this.”

  “Yeah? And what if you don’t? Huh?” she pushes. “What if one day something happens and you don’t come back from it?”

  “That’s not going to happen—“

  She reaches over the table, grabs my arm, and rips my sleeve up. She doesn’t say anything as she looks between the thin line going down my arm and at me. The slice Jo gave me is mostly healed now, bits and pieces of it still red and ugly, while other parts are healed over with new skin that's paler and slightly raised. 

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t know about this?” she asks.

  “I can explain,” I rush out.

  “No, that’s not the point,” she counters, releasing my arm. “You got hurt again. How many more times is it going to take for you to understand this isn’t the life for you?”

  “Then what life is for me, huh? A job I can tolerate, but it’ll never fulfill me? Finding someone to love me, except I could never tell them the truth about anything, so I’ll have to wonder if they love me or the version I presented to them?” I retort, feeling a little embarrassed to be arguing in front of my friends like this. “God, Adeline, I’ve tried, I’ve been trying my whole life to be normal. I can’t go back to being like that. I won’t.”

  “That's not what I—“ she sighs. “I’m worried about you. One day you’ll go to sleep and won’t wake up, and there’s nothing I’d be able to do.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Adeline,” I say, finding her hand.

  “You don’t know that,” she shakes her head. “You don’t know what it was like to wait between time until you needed me, only to have started living when I found you. What will become of me if I lose you?”

  It feels like a punch to the gut, like the wind is pushed from my lungs.

  “What’s she talkin’ about?” Dean asks quietly. 

  “You wanted to wait until it was a better time to tell them,” she reminds me. “It’s time.”

  “Right,” I exhale, turning my gaze onto the Winchesters, who had been quiet this whole time. “Adeline isn’t just my friend…she’s, uh, how do I say this?”

  “Your girlfriend?” Dean finishes, looking between us with wide eyes. 

  “What?! No. What?”

  “Ew, no. I mean, she’s hot and all, but that’d be weird,” Adeline answers, face scrunched in clear disgust. I never thought I’d ever see her wearing a face like that when talking about screwing women.

  “Yeah, that’s like shamed upon between a witch and their familiar. There’s a close bond that connects them, so to have a relationship like that would be…”

  “Incestuous,” she finishes my explanation for me.

  “What? No. That’d mean we’re related, which we're not.”

  “But it’s taboo like that.”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait,” Dean stammers. “Back up. Your familiar? As in Hocus Pocus?”

  “More, the Salem to my Sabrina,” I correct, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Except she’s clearly not stuck in cat form.”

  “Can you turn into a cat…?” Sam asks carefully.

  She stares at him blankly, unamused as she takes a sip of her drink. She rolls her shoulders back, and her grey eyes begin to glow like the moon at midnight. Then, just like that, she’s no longer a human; instead, a black cat is sitting on the wooden chair. 

  “Oh, god, that’s freaky,” Dean mutters, staring wide-eyed at her with a hanging jaw.

  Her eyes narrow, ears going sideways. 

  “How’s that possible?” Sam asks, exasperated.

  “How’s anything possible?” I counter. I don’t really have an explanation for something like this; it’s just what happens. “Isn’t she cute, though?” I ask, patting the top of her soft head. Her gaze turns to me, and she lifts her arm to swing at me, her paw hitting my arm without claws.

  “Alright, sorry, you’re really tough and evil and not at all adorable,” I answer, backing off with my hands in defeat. 

  She settles back down, sitting with a sassy shift of her shoulders and her head tilted up. 

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Dean grumbles. “I’ve known her for how many years?”

  They had met before, a couple of times actually, because it’s impossible not to have your best friend and your other best friend meet, especially when you have a fat crush on one of them. 

  “It just didn’t come up?” I answer, unconvincingly, my voice pitching up.

  “‘Just didn’t come up’ my ass,” he retorts a little harshly. “You kept this from me.”

  He’s right.

  “Hey, don’t get mad at her,” Adeline suddenly says, back in her human form, arms resting on the table as she points at him. “She was sworn to secrecy by me. ‘Didn’t want anyone knowing. As a matter of fact, besides B/n, you’re the only ones who know. You want an award for that, too, Winchester?”

  “Oh, fuck off,” Dean scuffs, rolling his eyes.

  “Sit on it and swivel, asshole,” she bites right back, putting her middle finger up at him. This was perfectly normal for them, though I couldn’t tell you where this sort of beef came from. 

  “Dude, you throw up hairballs,” he points out with an amused smirk. I have to say, they’re taking this surprisingly well. 

  “I do not!” she snaps, fist hitting the table. 

  “That’s a sensitive topic for her,” I cut in, patting her shoulder. She brushes my arm off, glaring at me sideways as if I had betrayed her by saying that. 

  “So what you meant by ‘waiting’ and your job being to protect her, you meant it literally,” Sam asks, though it comes out more like a statement as he connects the dots.

  “Of course I did,” she answers. “My existence revolves around her; keeping her safe and helping her with whatever she needs.”

  A smile quirks on Sam’s lips, “Sounds like—“

  Dean kicks him hard beneath the table.

  “To have a familiar is rare; most witches don’t. And if word gets out, it can become dangerous for them,” I explain, ignoring their odd behavior. “Unfortunately, the line between familiar and servitude can blur for some, though that isn’t the case for us because that's weird, and I’m not a horrible person. That’s why she isn’t with me 24/7 and has her own job and life.”

  “I got lucky,” she muses, raising her eyebrows.

  “So how’d you meet?” Sam asks.

  “She was lost and needed guidance,” Adeline answers with a shrug. “It was a couple of weeks after her mom died, and I just showed up.”

  “She came to me in her cat form, so obviously I started feeding her and hanging around outside to keep her company. Then, not too long afterwards, she revealed who she was,” I explain, recalling the day I was in the backyard crying when a random black cat wandered in and started rubbing against my arm.

  “You eat cat food?” Dean laughs immaturely. “‘Is it any good?”

  “I’m going to boil you alive and feed your remains to the police,” she threatens, monotone and yet oh so serious. 

  “Jesus,” Dean mutters, glancing away, his amusement disappearing.

  “I’m so confused,” Sam laughs. “No offense, but this doesn’t make any sense. I mean, how can you turn into an animal? Does that mean you’re a cat who can turn into a human, or a human that can turn into a cat?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, we don’t really understand it either,” I admit. “It’s just the way it is, even though it’s all twisty turny.”

  “There’s nothing on it in her mom's book or the ones from her grandparents,” she adds. “‘Guess none of them had familiars.”

  “Aren’t we helpful?” I muse, popping another fry into my mouth.

  “Not at all,” Sam mumbles.

(Next Chapter)

(Special Chapter)

A/N: This was purely for clarification on Adeline as a character and therefore this lowkey highkey sucks. Please don’t strike me down 🙏🏻

The Coven name: Each coven is named after the court it resides in, tying their identity to the land they inhabit. For instance, the Summer Court Coven reflects the waters and tides of its domain, while the Night Court Coven draws power from the celestial energies of its skies. This naming tradition reinforces the deep connection between the covens and the courts, even if witches refuse to recognize the authority of the High Lords.

Hierarchy: Each coven is led by a Magister or Magistress, who acts as the head decision-maker and represents the coven in any political matters. Right below them is the Archmage, second in command, responsible for the day-to-day wellbeing of the coven, overseeing living conditions, and ensuring the safety of anyone under the coven’s protection.

The number of Archmages depends on the coven’s size—larger covens might have several, each managing a specific region or location. Within the covens, witches of different types bring their unique skills and magic to the table, working together to channel the power granted to them by the Mother.

Magic: Not every child is destined to inherit magic, as it is a gift granted by the land itself, not by blood. They are taught the craft—the rituals, the laws, the lore—but only when they come of age does the truth reveal itself: what magic, if any, they will carry within them. 

Procreation: Witches are free-spirited when it comes to pleasure, but strict rules govern the matter of procreation. 

1. Witches are forbidden from laying with Fae who don’t belong to their court or with lesser Fae. Such unions are considered a violation of coven laws.

2. If a witch chooses to conceive with a Fae, the act is seen as a ritual of creation where the male’s role is minimal. After taking his seed, the witch is bound by law to end his life. This ritual reflects the belief that the true power of life creation lies with the female. In their view, no male has the right to claim any part of that power. The witch carries the full weight of creation, and the act of conception is hers alone to control, with the male’s involvement seen as nothing more than a necessary, but fleeting, step.

3. The child conceived in this way is typically named after the father, though this is more of an honoring gesture than a recognition of equal contribution. It’s a way to acknowledge the brief role the male played in the creation of life, even though the witch carries the full weight of the process herself. The name serves as a token, a way of marking the connection without granting any real claim to the power of creation.

4. Warlocks are strictly prohibited from procreating, as the gift of life is reserved solely for witches. This rule underscores the covens’ matriarchal and, admittedly, sexist traditions.

5. If a witch sets her sights on a particular Fae and desires his seed, she is allowed to use spells—subtle or otherwise—to sway him into her embrace. This practice is seen as a natural extension of their craft, especially given their frequent use of Sex Magic.

The Coven system: Prythian once held seven covens, each unique in its magic and traditions, but the aftermath of the War left their legacy fractured and bleeding. Hybern's purge swept through the Spring Court and the Mortal Lands, annihilating the witches there in a bloody attempt to cleanse the land of their existence. Now, only six covens remain, scattered across Prythian, each led by a Magister—a High Fae master of High Magic, a power bestowed by the Mother herself, whom the covens revere.

The Summer Court houses Geraldine, a Sea Witch deeply connected to water. Her abilities allow her to call storms, summon rain, and weave visions through her Seer’s gift, her power ebbing and flowing like the tides she commands.

The Autumn Court is led by Alaster, a Ceremonial Warlock who thrives in the complex world of rituals and tradition. High Magic is his thing, full of detailed ceremonies and precise, dramatic moments that demand both respect and flair.

The Winter Court, home to Caedmon, the Gray Warlock, walks a fine line between light and dark magic, using curses and hexes as tools to bring justice. He redirects twisted energy to restore balance. Gray magic doesn’t shy away from where others fear to tread, but it has a clear purpose—justice and fairness, guided by the spirits that hover just out of sight.

The Spring Court once was led by Mackenna, a Green Witch whose magic was deeply entwined with her land. Her power could coax life from the soil with a thought, manipulate the earth itself, and grow forests overnight. But she and her coven fell to Hybern’s slaughter, leaving nothing but haunted whispers in their wake.

The Night Court coven, now relocated to Illyria after Rhysand’s father deemed them too dangerous yet too undeniable to erase, is led by Elena, a Nightmage. Her magic revolves around the cosmos, drawing strength from the Moon’s cycles and the vast energies of the celestial void. Stargazer, lunar weaver, protector of cosmic tides.

In the Day Court, Karina, a Hedge Witch, practices an ancient and solitary craft. Her magic walks the hedge—the boundary between realms—and blends shamanism with nature magic. She journeys between worlds with ease, merging the seen and unseen with a simplicity that belies her deep connection to the otherworld.

Finally, the Dawn Court is guided by Koreolanus, Karina’s brother, also a Hedge Warlock. Unlike his sister’s spiritual wanderings, his magic is grounded and pragmatic. He creates remedies, heals with the elements, and keeps his rituals stripped down and minimalist, focused solely on the task at hand.

And then there’s the Mortal Lands, a void where magic once thrived. Alexandrina, an Elemental Witch, had led her coven with power tied to the raw forces of nature itself. She was burned at the stake in a ceremonial execution that wiped out her coven entirely, leaving their magic as nothing more than ash scattered to the wind.

Involvement in politics and the High Lord jurisdiction: Witches, as a species, don’t recognize the authority of the High Lords, but there’s an unspoken arrangement between them. The High Lords grant the covens land and the freedom to use it, largely as a way to honor their worship of the Mother and the role witches play in maintaining the land’s well-being through their rituals and ceremonies.

The relationship between a High Lord and a coven’s Magister varies greatly. While the two roles are often intertwined, neither has the right to speak or act on behalf of the other’s interests. Some High Lords maintain strong alliances with their coven Magisters—Helion and Thesan, for instance, are deeply connected to the covens in their courts and occasionally benefit from collaborative efforts. Others remain neutral, seeing witches as a necessary but distant presence. Then there are those, like Rhysand’s father before him, who openly despise witches but tolerate them begrudgingly.

Despite these varying dynamics, witches are fiercely protective of their independence. They rarely share their knowledge and almost never invite outsiders to join their covens or step into their sacred spaces. Witches exist as a closed and guarded community, revealing only as much as they deem necessary to maintain peace or advance their own interests.

Codex: 

1. The Coven is the law. A witch’s ultimate loyalty lies with the coven above all else.

2. No interbreeding. Witches are forbidden from breeding with lesser Fae or Fae outside their respective court.

3. All magic is permitted. Within the coven, any form of magic is acceptable for practice.

4. Stay out of Prythian politics. Coven members are prohibited from engaging in political matters unless their existence is directly threatened.

5. No recognition of High Lords. The covens do not acknowledge the authority of High Lords. Decisions regarding witches are made solely by a consulate of all coven Magisters.

6. No harm to one’s own. Witches who harm or kill their own kind face execution without trial.

7. The Tithe is mandatory. Every witch within the coven must contribute to The Tithe as part of their duty.