Disclaimer: I own nada except the name "Thursday's Tierce" besides the title above.
This idea is one that's been bouncing around my head for awhile, so I just decided to get it down.
Hope you enjoy it.
Mrs. Maclay had given up witchcraft when she'd gotten married. Like her maiden name, it was just another layer of her life she'd shed upon her nuptials. No reason to lose sleep. Not when she was adjusting to life with a ring on her finger and a baby boy on the way. The old memories of wolfbane and newt's eye and the Thread of Isis and everything else were just that, old memories.
Mrs. Maclay was replacing them with new memories. Mrs. Maclay's life was consumed with the small epiphanies of Donny taking his first steps, Tara gurgling, "Mumma!"; flipping her first frittata (ham and cheese, slightly burned, the family had devoured it and Mr. Maclay had given her her first genuine compliment since they'd first started dating. And it had all been done without a Murphy's Law Charm. So there.), and watching Tara and Cousin Beth walk to the bus stop on their very first day of high school, throat tight. Beth's mother and father felt there were better things to invest in than her, but Mrs. Maclay saw her as another daughter. These were what made her happy.
It was a life worth having even if it meant crying herself to sleep. "People like your friends aren't normal," Everyone had said. Mrs. Maclay didn't know what passed for normal, but according to Everyone, the end result wasn't happiness or having kids. And Mrs. Maclay didn't know what she'd do if there was no Tara to creep into her room during a rainstorm and snuggle into bed with her. It was worth losing a few friends over. But, Lea had been more than a friend. Lea was a great witch Mrs. Maclay and the best person Mrs. Maclay had ever known. Mrs. Maclay always loved it when she said, "'the best witch you've ever known? I'm not even half of what I am without you."' No one else said things like that. She had met Lea at a Wicca meeting. Mrs. Maclay had been aviator shades, head swaddled in a scarf to hide her hexed face. It was the result of a nasty break-up. In her ignorance, Mrs. Maclay had attached herself to witches, and even warlocks she probably shouldn't have. She had the ability but knew nothing about the occult; she wanted to. The intoxicating, yet comforting way magic made her feel, she couldn't put in words. Lea tried.
At the time, Lea was not much of a witch, but after meeting they became the best of friends. They became better witches together, nothing earth-shaking, but the best among their friends. Even when apart, the Great Mother Goddess pulled them back together. Such magical synergy could not be wasted. Lea and Mrs. Maclay could've been so much more together. Could've. Upon her engagement, Mrs. Maclay stopped doing magic with Lea. The thought of cutting ties with Lea altogether would've broke Mrs. Maclay's heart, so she didn't.
She continued to meet with Lea for years after she married. There was no magic together, just talking, but she kept it a secret. The thought would've made Mr. Maclay apopleptic. To him, Lea was synonymous with Freak. Satan. Femme fatale. No one knew but Tara who had discovered it on her own. But Tara was quiet and knew how to keep a secret.
Lea wove spells of comfort and peace on Mrs. Maclay, calming her with a hug or a hand rubbing her back, up, down each action weighted, as if electrically charged. It recharged her.
Tara knew Lea made her mom happy. Tara enjoyed the beautiful, scented good luck charms Lea made her. She enjoyed the small spells Lea coaxed her mom to teach her. Tara knew her mother couldn't say no to the practicality of her daughter knowing a way finding spell, but she knew her mother was scared of her becoming a real witch. Of having her life ruined by magic. Tara figured her mom needn't have worried.
When all of Lea's safety charms didn't stop Mrs. Maclay from dying, Tara didn't think much of magic anymore. She blamed Lea. She blamed magic. She blamed her father. When Tara stopped doing magic and her brother's, and father's, blows began to hurt, she blamed herself. Not that she hadn't blamed herself before.