Wicked Casters

AUTHORS NOTE: STORY HAS BEEN EDITED, SLIGHTLY REWRITTEN AND UPDATED!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Saga.

I like to change things up, remove the main female character, and replace them with an OC for anyone who has read my stories. Thus, meet Eleanor Rivers and Ginger Ives, who go by Casters. So, you know there is going to be a mix of American Horror Story: Coven and Beautiful Creatures . . . just because I'm bored.

Summary: There is another world filled with magic slowly becoming endangered to the Caster Community. Eleanor and Ginger are a few witches alive as they move into Forks Washington to control their magic. Little did they know they would be encountering their kind, most dangerous enemy, let alone the mysteries in the Olympic Peninsula?

Chapter 1: Welcome to Forks

Eleanor's POV

Two men dressed in black suits escorted me through the airport, dragging my luggage along the entrance. One gentleman had albinism, the other dark skin while both wearing sunglasses. The past week has been stressful after the death of my mentor, my grandfather. Our kind takes mourning seriously as I wore black as well. The weather is cold in Massachusetts as the sky is clouded, practically flurry this afternoon.

Yet there is another reason why I have to move. I was not visiting Massachusetts for my grandfather's funeral. In fact, I live in this state in the most notorious city known for its dark history. If you can figure it out and answer correctly, I lived in Salem, Massachusetts. And yes, I'm a witch. We prefer the word Casters.

Your life could change overnight or in a single breath. When a child of a Caster family turns thirteen, they are given a test to prove if they have the gene. An examination of three tasks is telekinesis, pyrokinesis, and jinxes. Suppose a child manages to accomplish any of the tasks. In that case, they are separated from their biological parents. Then they are handed over to the Council, deciding who would be the caster's mentor. Sometimes the Council will return the child to their parents if the parent is well trained, other times to their grandparents, but some are not so fortunate.

I was one of those children who got separated from their parents. For the past four years, I've been living with my grandfather in Salem, learning the art of witchcraft to find my prime abilities. Luckily my family lived in Boston and saw them every weekend, during holidays and summer. Yet I pity those who are sent across the entire country or worse, sent abroad to master their powers.

The magical genetic affliction has been fading over the past century. It is uncertain what is causing the epidemic, other than the belief in cross-breeding with ordinary people or muggles as Harry Potter books have labeled them. Some believe that it's the lack of belief in the world, and centuries before that, we were worshiped by priests and priestesses to the gods. Then came monotheism. Oh, let's not forget the witch hunts as well. As of now, there have been reports of different breeds of Casters are dwindling, especially for the traditional and natural witches and warlocks.

We read about the Salem Witch Trials like it was the Holy Bible. I paid more attention to it compared to the average students in my class. Those people who were trialed weren't even witches. The real witches were cunning and careful not to be caught. In fact, after that, they got the hell out of the sacred ground for the second time. They fled. As far south as they could go, rekindling ties with brethren from the French covens, that is how New Orleans became the new Salem. Before the Salem coven migrated south, before Salem, the New World in general, their coven originated from the United Kingdom and Northern Europe.. However, an Anglican pastor in London knew the secrets of our society and hunted down Casters like vermin in the 1600s. Yet it wasn't entirely the Casters he was seeking.

There are many races of creatures that go lurking into the night. There were different breeds of werewolves and shifters—creatures from various folktales who adapted in a more human form to hunt or live amongst the living. Yet, many creatures in the world are indifferent to one specific species lurking in the night where nightmares feast upon. Like any human, Casters despises these beings as the next pope. Vampires. There was a time Vampires and witches coexisted. Still, once werewolves got involved, the balance between the sun, moon, and stars diminished. Primarily when the vampires of the two races nearly eradicated the werewolf race.

So far, I haven't seen a vampire, and I pray to the gods I don't.

Anyway, back to the main point. With my grandfather now deceased, the Council is sending me away to live with another Caster in some logger/ fishing town in Washington. From the Council's information, this small town is under a near-constant cover of clouds and rain, called Forks. Forks is located in Clallam County in the Olympic Peninsula. Population: 3,120 people. The number of soon to be Castors . . . three. I, another pupil, and our new mentor Madame Zelena Bishop.

Great gossip is spread throughout the world of Madame Zelena, having seven of the supreme abilities and more. She would have taken place in the hierarchy representing the United States; instead, she chose a solitary life in isolation. She makes an exception to participate in the Caster community by taking young girls and training them to succeed in this cruel world. An honor and disappointment to be farther away from my family. My mother, Constance, assured me Madame Zelena is a good mentor.

It was a hard goodbye when I saw my family. It was a few days after Grandfather Horatio passed away. The Council allowed me to mourn with my family. My parents and siblings know this was hard on me as it was on everyone. We lost the patriarch of our family, making my father Gideon the head of house Rivers. My dad tried to convince the Council to allow me to stay. Yet, Myrtle Snow, Quentin Flemming, and Cecily Pembroke insist I move due to my delicate nature of familiarity.

Therefore, Constance and Gideon tried to make the next few days memorable, along with Winnie and Philip. We explored Boston and went to my favorite places. One is the aquarium. But when the day came, the Guardians arrived to escort me to my new mentor. It was hard to say goodbye, but it had to be done.

Once baggage was settled, tickets checked, and onboard the plane, the two bodyguards led me to the center front of the first class. I obediently sat in the middle seat while both men sat in the aisle. No words were exchanged other than gestures when the flight attendant asked if we like a drink or complimentary meals. Let me say seven hours is pure torture. Luckily, I manage to bring a book and my iPod as Mr. Black, and Mr. White stare into the monitor or check their watches. In case you are wondering, these two men are not Casters. They are guardians. Non-magical casters, whose sole purpose is to protect young witches and warlocks when transporting them to their destination.

The reasons are taken seriously by the Vampire Coven in Italy, taking an interest in gifted mortals. These men were Albino and trained in many forms of fighting and weapons to protect young casters against the Vampire Coven in Italy and the Originals. Let alone witch-hunters.

After seven hours and thirty minutes, we arrived in Seattle. There, we took a rented car on another three-hour drive to Forks. Mr. White drove as Mr. Black kept silent in the passenger seat. I sat in the back, staring out the window connecting the elements around us. The scenery held an eerie misty tone. Everything was green, from the trees covered in moss, untamed grass, and the somewhat algae clinging to any surface—so much life in this damp temperate deciduous forest. You can smell the rain, the evergreen, and my favorite mist by taking a deep breath.

The one thing about being a caster is the spiritual connection with the earth.

Eventually, we arrived at Madame Zelena's cabin on the far side of Forks, isolated from the townspeople. A cabin lake house, about two stories with a separated garage. The wood was practically weather-worn and damp as vines invaded the cobblestone portion. Meanwhile on the roof, fallen leaves and vines decorated it. Rosemary by the garden gate, lavender for luck, and windchimes hanging around the porch. Very whimsical and deviant in a certain way. Just how a Caster would like her wicked home.

I got out of the car and headed to the front door. Another car pulled into the driveway. When I got on the front step, I stood there wondering if it was Madame Zelena. However, it wasn't her. Instead, a young girl about my age came out. She was petite with tan skin. She had a light complexion with dark blue eyes and poppy red hair that could have been dyed recently—dressed in an army jacket, cargo pants, and some printed beater that held the Wiccan pentagram. She must be the other pupil as she wore the castor style.

"Hey, I'm Ginger." She greeted, having a preppy attitude even if her attire screamed punk.

"Eleanor," I replied, shaking her hand.

.o0o.

Ginger's POV

I stared at Eleanor in surprise. She looked much different than I would have expected of a witch. All the witches I have met dressed sophisticatedly or in some vintage attire. Then again, I was in New Orleans. But Eleanor is the opposite, physically tall, with fair skin and brunette hair. What creeped me out was her eyes being hazel in a starburst pattern of greens and brown trapped in black rings. Especially her attire of a black lace-up sleeve jacket, dark gray shirt, slim black jeans, and boots. If she goes to Hot Topic, then I like her already. I guess what you read about witches is utterly stereotypical.

Then again, I discovered I was a witch last year and was in training in New Orleans at Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. Sadly, the school had to close temporarily from the lack of students . . . aka I'm the only one. And this supposed Witch Council assigned me to merry old Rainy Ville. God, I miss New Orleans already. I'd miss the heat. I'd miss the sun. And most importantly, I'll miss Mardi Gras.

"So, um, you are a real witch, or did you just find out?" I asked sheepishly.

Eleanor stared at me strangely, "Late born?"

Late born is a term used for witches if their magic does not appear after coming of age. I nodded, "That and the foster system."

She nodded, not putting many questions into it, "House of Rivers."

"Oh," I said, surprised. If not a raised witch, this would be a first to meet a full-blood Caster. "Eleanor Rivers, kinda catchy."

She snorted, "Well, you keep up to your name."

I chuckled, "What can I say? I'm a rebel."

We giggled before the two guys who came with Eleanor set her luggage, and surprisingly my luggage was on the curve. The albino men were gone, followed by the two guys who drove away. Are they seriously leaving us in the middle of nowhere? I look at Eleanor in question, and she merely shrugs, knocking on the Victorian doorknob. Um . . . what's wrong with the bell?

A moment later, a woman in her mid-thirties answers the door. She was pale to the bone, hair blonde in curls, and vibrant green eyes. She corrected her glasses, "Can I help you two?"

"Zelena Bishop?" Eleanor asked.

"That would be me," she confirmed.

"Sun, moon, and star," my new friend said.

Zelena Bishop stood straight, removing her glasses, looking completely different from a moment ago, "I've been expecting you two. Come in."

Whoa, just like that? I thought as we gathered our luggage and entered the cabin.

It took two trips to get our stuff upstairs. I got to the east side of the house that faced the gravel road that led to civilization. The room seemed to have character, as the previous witch took better care if not taste in the romantic appeal. The dark hardwood floors, one wall painted red while the others in gray with black trim. The full-size bed pressed against the red wall with iron framing. There was a desk and a dresser, a few accessories of golden accent lamps, a mirror, and other things. Funny how witches can be these days.

There were two bathrooms upstairs. Zelena had the master bathroom in her private quarters while Eleanor and I shared the main one. I prayed to God she is not all fashion of makeup and hairstyles. But for meeting the girl, she seems less into girly stuff and more into the basics. Hardly a trace of mascara.

I don't know what it is, but ever since finding out I am a witch . . . things have turned for the better. Better as in growing up as a foster kid after my mom struggled to take care of me. Strange things would happen around me growing up, and a neighbor would call child services, thinking my mother was neglecting me. She wasn't, as my mother tried to make up a logical explanation for why these strange things happened. Especially things caught on fire at random. Betsy would say I was special, something I inherited from my biological father. We were close until she dated the wrong man. The bastard knew how to manipulate her while she struggled to raise me.

Until the fatal incident, one punch in front of the neighbors and social services came knocking on the door, discovering the hellhole I had lived in for thirteen years. For the next two years, I've been house jumping from different families, some were okay, but others were downright horrible. You know, the foster family taking the kid in for the support funding, the money that is supposed to go into food, school supplies, and clothing, not cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol. The worst was a fanatic Christian family, as the father degraded me to sin when strange things started happening again.

I don't know what I would do. At fifteen, I was considering running away. Until one day, I had an accident lighting my foster-father on fire. The hypocrite tried to beat the demon out of me, and I had enough. The riding crop caught fire, and so did his arm. Here's the catch, there was no lighter or flammable igniter on me. Still being the unfortunate person after releasing an irritated huff, I was sent to the police station, waiting for whomever to pick me up. Instead of another foster parent or social worker, a petite man dressed in sophisticated clothes comes in. Mr. Quentin Flemming bailed me out, telling me my story.

It turns out the sperm donor was a wizard.

Quentin escorted me to New Orleans, Louisiana taking me to an all-girl school called Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. The headmistress, Mrs. Cordelia Good has been my saving grace in helping me control my fire abilities and educating the Caster Community, especially my breed as a Traditional. Along with communication with my mom and being able to visit her under Cordelia's supervision, yet she lets us have privacy.

My life has gotten better, and living out my favorite fiction novel with a modern twist. To discover you are a witch changes things and how I am able to manipulate the paranormal that defies the laws of physics. The sad part is no flying broom, and that is all the media.

What do you guys think?

I know it has been years since I worked on this series, and I read over it and cringed at my teenage self on grammar and other things. So, I will be changing this up.

Please leave a review and tell me what you think.

Updated