In a regional election, everyone from that region attends. But the Vala, the coven leaders, no matter their region of origin, bring at least seven, and keep them close.

To witches, numbers are important. Like the number seven. We believe that the world, drawn by the Fabric, has placed specific magic inside groupings of numbers. Three holds the potential for intense but short draws of power. As well as perfect balance. It's the reason the covens are led by three. Seven holds the potential for longer more sustained draws of energy from the Fabric. The evidence of this is all over the mortal world. We have seven major energy centers; there are seven days in a week; there are seven colors, as distinguished by the human eye, in a rainbow; seven notes in the most basic of musical scale; seven in fractions exhibits unique divining of patterns.

Newton's magical seven, including herself, was: me, Antoinette, Elizabeth, Faith, Dylan, and Sarah. Her choice of Dylan was not solely based on his power. I think it was more of a reverse women's suffrage thing. To demonstrate our willingness, as a coven, to embrace the male members of the craft. The third person summoned for the Western seat was a man. No man has ever held a council seat in America. So it's a pretty big deal.

Everyone else was a logical choice I think. Elizabeth, a powerful Conjurer, and Faith, a powerful Mortora. We were packing a nice punch.

And then there was Sarah, the initiate.

"Just look at her," Antoinette giggled in my ear.

"I know right? She looks like a perfectly designed little Disney character."

Sarah, still an initiate until her three months had passed, was sitting across the aisle, one row up from us in first class. We were all traveling in style. Newton insisted. Antoinette and I had lost count of how many little bottles of booze we drank. Probably not smart. But they're so adorable. And free.

Sarah laughed to herself. Her long bangs falling over her pretty chestnut cheeks. We'd been watching her, watch a movie, for the last hour. And laughing. Fairly childish and petty, but there you go.

"That girl's got a huge woner for Newt," Antoinette said.

A woner–the witch's equivalent to a boner.

"I agree," I turned to Antoinette in my seat. "Wait a second. Are they sleeping together? Is that why Sarah is part of Newt's chosen seven?"

Antoinette shrugged dramatically. "I don't know. Newt said something about needing a more pliable vessel for her energy."

"She's pliable alright. And nubile." Something about the word, made us giggle even harder. So Sarah was young. Very young. And beautiful. So maybe I was a little jealous.

"You're not gonna tell me what happened the other night are you?" Antoinette probed me for the twentieth time.

"Nothing happened!" I squeaked in her direction. "Oscar and I talked then Newt and I packed my stuff."

"Uh huh. You were late. Both of you. And if you don't wanna tell me, that's fine. But I know something happened. I'm a witch. I can smell it on you," she muttered, sipping on her cocktail.

I huffed and took another drink. I didn't tell Antoinette because then I'd have to explain how sweet Oscar's kisses were, and how I wasn't sure I'd get the chance to know them again. How I'd let my magic get away from me…again. How I didn't know why it happened. She peered over at me, squinting and working her single-minded girlfriend mojo. She could work as hard as she wanted, I wasn't squawking.

"Fine," she huffed, then went back to focusing on poor Sarah. "Watch this," she said and leaned into my chair. Her right hand coming a few inches across and above my lap. She pointed her palm at Sarah and grinned.

The initiate raised her clear plastic glass, cupped in both hands, and sipped on the straw. I felt a tiny rush of Antoinette's power move across my lap. The liquids in Sarah's drink began swaying to and fro, creating tiny little ocean waves. One of them finally crested over the edge and spilled onto her chin.

"Ugh!" Sarah squealed and wiped at her blouse.

It was all I could do to keep from sliding out of my seat onto the floor. As Antoinette and I burst into cheek-biting fits. Newton's head was suddenly in the aisle. Turned to us and set with accusing eyes. We both saluted and straightened in our seats. Ok. So we were both a little drunk. But dammit, I deserved it. Especially after the last two weeks.

Newton rolled her eyes and turned back around. Poor Newton. It's tough being the king.

"So speaking of woners. The first time you and Dylan uh…" I waggled my eyebrows at her. "Do it."

Antoinette shook out the two feet of her auburn locks violently.

"Can I watch?" I asked.

She then mimicked Sarah, spitting up whatever was in her mouth. "You're disgusting," she said, the edges of her lips turning up.

"Well, I'm just imagining the whole thing you know. And what it would look like? The two of you aflame. Him bending light in every direction. The ground rumbling beneath you. Wind blowing down the house. You actually aflame."

"Stop that."

"Why Antoinette, are you blushing?"

Antoinette does not blush.

"No," she said haughtily. Then her face, her poor beautiful face, fell.

"What's wrong?"

"Dylan and I…ours is a love that would burn too hot."

I almost laughed. "Oh. You're serious."

She closed her eyes and leaned back. "Besides, I'm not a home wrecker."

"He doesn't love her." I would not say what I wanted. That I thought he loved Antoinette.

She sighed. "Ugh, I hate flying."

A subtle change of subject. But I would respect it. "Yeah, makes me claustrophobic too."

"It's not that. It's being this far from the ground. I can feel my tether to the mother being stretched to breaking. We Elemental witches will not do well in the futuristic sky cities."

I smiled at the auburn love-goddess and closed my eyes too.

…

The bright lights of Vegas assaulted my senses. I felt like I should be wearing sunglasses. Though the sun had set an hour ago. You'd think it an odd contrast, for witches to be holding their elections in a city dedicated to frolicking in moral decay. At least, it used to be. But when witches starting coming out of the closet, the city was chosen for its inconspicuously conspicuous nature. Even a hundred years ago, in Vegas, the weird were welcome, normal. The eccentric commonplace. I suppose we could choose a less public, and more private and organic site at this point. But it was a long standing tradition. And we do love tradition. Besides, there were so many of us now. There were few towns large enough to hold us.

We arrived at the Frijjo Casino at just past 7PM. The Frijjo used to be the Northern Club. It was the first casino in Vegas and the first to receive an actual license for liquor and gambling. Not that people were put off by such things as licenses. That license was also owned by a woman. The first to do such a thing. She was also a witch. A very proper and smart witch. The casino has held meetings for witches for decades. It has been passed down from witch to witch. It contains so much magic, the walls are dripping with it. But only the Vala's and their three, or seven, stay here anymore. As the North American covens outgrew the casino in the eighties. So the rest of us are spread along Fremont Street. But it's Fremont, and there are hotels and casinos as far as the eye can see.

The Frijjo has subsisted over the years. She's been shopped by every major player in Las Vegas too. But we'll never sell her. Poor girl, Las Vegas has grown up around her. She's a building out of time.

We checked into our hotel rooms. Faith and Dylan were sharing a room. While Elizabeth and Sarah shared another. Newton, Antoinette, and I were staying together. I think Newton was a bit nervous. I suspect she'll be keeping the two of us especially close this weekend.

The rooms were exactly the way I remembered them. Old. The walls were still covered in wood paneling from the fifties. The beds were the small low platform style from the forties. The furniture was all worn but shiny from the years of sanding and resealing. The low Berber carpeting was the only thing from this century. That and the entertainment system. Hey, even witches like to party.

We set our bags down and Newton went right to the bar. She removed three shot glasses from underneath the old mahogany bar table and poured us each a shot of whiskey.

"The Power of Three," she said, raising her glass.

I took mine, Antoinette hers, and we recited together, each of us calling our power.

"We three, bound by

Divine and fated decree

Joined in lot, steady hearts,

And united in destiny

From the aether above, and the earth below

Knot, arc, and weave

We call, we summons, carry the weight

Into the power of three"

"By three," Newton finished the incantation and we threw back the whiskey.

The spell, the binding, as ancient and worn as the world of witches, does not even need an offering. It seeped out and arced its way between us. It took a bit from each of us, binding itself to our lines connecting us to the Fabric, then to each other. For the next three days, we will be bound emotionally, physically, and psychically. We can draw small amounts of power from each other. Or know if one of us is in trouble. Which I suppose, for me, is a good thing.

"Alright ladies," Newton said. "We know this is going to be an interesting weekend. And we have multiple objectives. But the most important one," she looked to me. "Is keeping you safe."

"Amen," Antoinette added.

"Shut it," Newton placed a finger on my already protesting lips. "This witch is certainly going to be present. Almost every witch from the Western region will be here. And most of the other regions. We don't where she, or he, is from."

It could be a man. I hadn't even considered that.

"We can assume this witch wants something from you."

"Agreed," I said.

"So you definitely can't go anywhere without one of us."

This was just miserable.

"She wants that sparkly blue eye of yours."

I slapped at Antoinette's finger as she laughed.

"Just keep your ears and your eyes, even the blue one, open," Newton grinned.

"Y'all are just hilarious."

The two of them slapped my irritated ass for good measure and we got right to it. We were already running behind.

Newton, Antoinette, and I moved smoothly around each other for the next hour. Talking little and feeling solemn. The sounds of Kate Bush filling the air from the various rooms' speakers. Kate Bush is a Siren. She weaves her magic into her voice, into her words, into physical form. I could feel the lines being pulled as her voice floated along the air. Truth is, most Sirens become singers or musicians. Most of them don't know what they are. A few belong to covens. Most are simply Drawn to do what they do. But that chill that runs up your spine, the hairs getting raised on the back of your neck, that feeling that you're touching something other-worldly when you listen to certain singers or music, that is magic. Resonating, being pulled from the Fabric.

We finally gathered in front of the line of mirrors opposite the mini-bar.

My long dark hair was swept up in two rolls on the sides of my head. Antoinette's beautiful auburn hair was still free, but a lot shinier. Newt's was swept up on one side and hung down in waves across the other. She was wearing a knee-length, mid-forearm rise, perfectly-fitted dress that shimmered in vertical lines all the way down. Simple. Elegant. No adornments. Antoinette was wearing a more revealing but tasteful one-shoulder sleeveless knit dress that flared at the knees. It hugged her voluptuous figure in all the right places. My dress was a bit more conservative than theirs with full sleeves billowing at the wrists, though it did drape from one shoulder and was otherwise fitted. The black satin shined perfectly too. Not a stitch in our dresses was not black. Newton likes for us to appear as a cohesive coven. And she's traditional in her choice of colors.

Though we all wore one thing to distinguish our coven. Thick chokers with matching designs. Five bands of thin leather hold stone and crystal beads, separated by three tall spacers on each side. The beads were a variety of southwestern colors to represent our region: turquoise, lavenders, sand, reds, oranges. The middle of the choker was outfitted with a piece of tumbled gold pyrite with smaller pieces hanging in a half moon shape below that. Except for ours. The coven leaders are asked to physically identify themselves. So our chokers have large gemstones set into the center to represent our respective powers. Newton wears a smooth and shiny round cut of black onyx. Antoinette, a heart-shaped hematite. And me–a diamond-shaped amethyst. Self-mastery. Grounding. Intuition. Respectively.

Newton smiled at our reflection in the mirror.

I smiled too. "We look good."

We picked up Elizabeth and Sarah first. They both looked gorgeous. Especially Elizabeth. Her sequined black floor-length silk gown dragged a bit in back, but it was so fluid and smooth, it seemed to float. She does own a clothing store, so the woman has an edge. We picked up Dylan and Faith next. My eyebrows went up. I rarely see Faith looking anything but comfortable, bordering on frumpy. But her black chiffon-silk gown showed off her significant curves. Her long black hair was pulled up into beautifully sculpted curls. When I saw Dylan, my face split wide.

"You look amazing, Faith."

"Thanks," she said, grinning sideways.

"And you…" I looked Dylan up and down one more time. His black slacks and jacket. The smoky button-up shirt with silver-toned tie.

"Ridiculous?" He pulled at his choker, then his tie.

"Ridiculously handsome," I said.

"Stop that," Antoinette said, scolding him. She slapped his hands away and man-handled him around to face away from her. She adjusted the choker length on the back of his neck and turned him back around. "Better?"

He bent his head left and right, "Yeah. I didn't think I was gonna make it through the night with this thing. Thanks," he said, appraising Antoinette with new eyes.

"Whatever," she said and brushed by him, her swaying hips creating a soft wave under her dress. "It's not like we're married or something now."

"She just wanted an excuse to touch me." He smiled at us.

As we walked through the casino to the event room, I could see the dredges of Halloween. A group of young men and women pass us wearing togas and gold leaf headbands. I suppressed a seriously disturbing urge to go find the MGM lion and feed them to it. It's already started. Any gathering of witches has a strangely infectious effect on me. It's all the power, all the energy. It makes me…twitchy.

"You feel that?" Newton asked as we passed the roulette tables. Antoinette was slightly behind and to her left, me to her right. We've already fallen into place. We don't even think about it.

"Yep," I said.

"Yes I do," Antoinette said.

We reached the Belladonna Ballroom, the event room where most of our weekend will take place, and paused at the doors. I could see the people inside, the witches, the decorations, the stage against the far wall. But there was a haze. The threshold was holding a spell. One meant to repel those who weren't invited. Something to make them physically and psychologically ill. The witch's version of a bouncer. The casino may be owned by a witch, but it still operates as a casino. There aren't enough witches in the U.S. to keep the old girl solvent. Yet.

As we crossed the threshold, it hit me. The seven of us stood there for a moment, letting the shock pass. We all felt it. I don't know one witch that wouldn't feel it. I looked over at Newton, her eyes were on fire. She was soaking it in, using it.

I wished I could do that.

As we got deeper into the room, the feelings passed a little, the overwhelming rush of energy. The ballroom looked great. I wouldn't say there was a theme to the decorations, but the gold's and reds spread throughout the over twenty-thousand square foot room reflected off each other. The candelabras on the walls, the chandeliers, all lowly lit, sucking the colors into the air. The room, the air, was filled with magic. The massive room sparkled and danced with light.

The walls were lined with white trellises, spread in small groupings. Buckets were set at the bottom with all manner of vines growing out of them. Small leaf, large leaf, soft and sharp. All manner and shade of green leaves moving up the trellises against the wall and up to the ceiling, moving inward and wrapped around fixtures and chandeliers. Dropping vine ends into the room, flowering white, red, purple buds. The Elemental, or nature-aligned witches, have done this, made the vines grow at a rapid pace. A process that would've taken weeks or months, was completed in minutes. Unnatural fires burned in stone vessels throughout the room. Sucking in energy and power from the air, from the witches, creating a pinkish cone-shaped vortex.

There were witches everywhere. All dressed to the nines. Some were wearing simple more conventional clothing. Some were more traditionally adorned in flowing materials–sheer linens and cottons, all flesh, brown, and green tones, feathers and beads hanging from unseen hooks. Their hair wild and free. Their feet bare or in sandals. What you might expect a witch to look like. Some were dressed more sharply in high-fashion dresses and suits, all leather and stud. Some were more adorned in layers of colorful robes, scarfs and jewels–like they belonged at a UN summit, not a witches meeting.

"It looks we're over there," Faith said, pointing to the 'Norwood County' sign. How she spotted a single small block of letters, among hundreds, is beyond me. Maybe a ghost told her?

We allowed Newt to step forward and followed her to our tables. Most of our coven was already present. Everyone looked resplendent. All black and beautiful. I could feel the binding in the gems of our chokers weaving us together.

"Looks like we're pretty close to the stage," Antoinette said, placing her bag under the table.

"Yeah, and we're close to the council too," I said, pointing to a long ornately decorated table, to the left of the stage, where four women were sitting, being greeted by gathering witches.

"Well, no use putting this part off. Let's go pay our respects," Newton said, waiting the second for me and Antoinette to fall in line while everyone else drifted off to schmooze with other coven members.

As we approached the table, a quietness drifted over the area. Eyes began shifting from the four women, to us. I assumed the attention was for Newton. She was the summoned. But a rush of whispers, infused with a single phrase–the Weaver–followed.

I swallowed a horrible embarrassment and stood a little taller, trying to act normal. Some of the noise returned, but the eyes remained. It took me a long second to figure out what they were staring at. But when the collective gaze steadied on my left eye, I knew. As I began to sweat, I felt a warm comforting presence. Antoinette had stepped closer to me, her arm brushing mine. Her energy was soft and familiar. And appreciated.

"Ladies!" The council member at the end of the table burst from her seat. She walked around the table and hugged each of us.

Jane Anne was the seat holder for the North. Has been for over twenty years.

After joining a coven, and especially after Newt appointed me as Vinstri, I had learned a lot more about the world of witches. I knew all the stats of the council members now like I had trading cards.

Jane Anne was a Phytora. She's rumored to be able to heal sick trees, make flowers bloom in seconds. I was wrong about her age on our first meeting. Jane Anne is in her early seventies. But you wouldn't know it. Her skin glowed. Her happy rosy cheeks bubbled. Except for a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, probably from smiling so much. Her long dreads were mostly silver. The dozen charms and amulets around her neck jingled and chimed as she held me at arms' length. As much as I didn't want it to, Jane Anne made me feel like an old friend.

"You're looking more beautiful every time I see you Virginia," she winked. "Tell me, how is Claire? I haven't spoken to her in years."

A wash of guilt blushed my cheeks. "Mom is doing well."

"Is she still down in Colorado?"

"Oh yes. She's still in the house just outside Durango, up in the mountains."

"Well, you must tell her to call me the next time you speak with her. She keeps ignoring my calls through the lines," she winked at me again. "She was so broken up when…" Jane Anne's voice trailed off. "Well, just tell her to stay in touch. Henry, Claire, and I, we certainly made our share of messes. I do miss the old days," she smiled enigmatically.

Before I could ask what she meant by 'messes' and 'old days', Jane Anne's hazel eyes glassed over. She turned her head, in a funny way. And in my peripheral vision I saw the table to our left, where the three remaining council members sat, cleared. The gathered crowd had moved off. Even the ones who stared. The council members rose from their seats as if pulled by the same string.

Jane Anne turned to Newton and Antoinette. "Do you mind if we borrow Virginia for a moment ladies?"

Uh oh.

Newton, Antoinette, and I shared our own glance. We hadn't really talked about this eventuality. Did the council know about the witch that was running around Santa Fe causing trouble? Did Newton want me to divulge any information? As Vala, this was her call. I asked her with my eyes. She smiled confidently at me and nodded once. Maybe that meant she didn't care. She trusted my judgment.

"Sure," Newton said. "We'll be here when you're finished, Virginia," she said very purposely. Like she was trying to reassure me. It was reassuring.

I nodded at Jane Anne.

A visible electric charge filled the air as we left. That same quiet followed us, swallowing the room. I felt every single eye on my back.

We left the ballroom and made our way down an adjacent hallway. Coming to a spiral staircase. I ran my fingers down the smooth baluster top. The ornate gold leaf inlays were buried under decades of lacquer…floor after floor. Every turn down seemed to be a step back in time. We stopped at the bottom floor and made our way deeper into the casino basement. After a few turns, I began to feel fuzzy, lost, as if I couldn't remember from which hallway we'd emerged, or even the floor.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere with a bit more privacy," Jane Anne answered for them.

We entered a hallway devoid of personality. Off-white walls, indiscriminate laminate tile flooring that reminded me of the lunch room in high school. But the damn thing was long. We could've been in another state by the time we reached the end. A set of double doors opened to an expanse of space. This had to be their space, their rooms. Plants grew from every corner, every crack, parts of the floor seemed to be packed in mud. Sheer gauze hung from the ceiling at strange but purposeful intervals. Antique mahogany and oak furniture decorated the space from wall to wall. I even saw the outline of several four-post beds along the side walls. A soft and haunted wind brushed through the air. And the space had a secluded feeling, like it was a cave set deep in the center of the earth.

They walked forward and sat behind a small tea table dressed with the same sheer fabrics and an old antique silver tea set.

I stood there staring at the single chair opposite them, on the other side of the table.

"Have a seat," The council member farthest to the left spoke. It was Melody, of the Eastern region, an Animora.

"Virginia. We'd like to speak with you." The next one down, Susannah, of our region, the West, finished her sentence.

The cadence and change between their voices was imperceptible and smooth.

Susannah was a Chameleon. Frankly, a strange gift. Being able to wear the essence of other life forms. Newt says most actors are Chameleons. And like Sirens, musicians, they don't know it. Susannah was a slight woman with a long delicate face. Her tanned skin showed her age through the multitude of fine lines. Her white-blonde hair was of the same fine texture. Though the rest of her seemed spry enough. Part of me wanted to ask why she was retiring. But I suppose they didn't ask me down here for casual chatting over tea.

I took another look at the old wooden kitchen chair and folded my hands in front of me. "If you don't mind, I think I'll just stand." I didn't have anything against that chair. But there was something about their demeanor. I could feel them in my head already. Like it was a mere formality for them to speak. And given our last encounter, I felt better at the ready. I softly, subtly, called my power.

"As you wish," Magnolia, the council member from the Southern region, finally spoke. Her backwoods Mississippi drawl elongating her words. She was an Elemental, four-fold gifted, like Antoinette. Magnolia's dark face had wrinkles as long as the Rio Grande and eyes as deep as the cosmos. Her black hair had long since turned a rainbow of grey, white, and silver. Her earrings hung down as far as her braids. "We understand that you have," she continued.

"Joined a coven since your move to a place of power," Jane Anne finished for her.

"Santa Fe?" I asked.

"Yes," Melody answered.

"Yes, I joined Newton's coven"

"The Siren," Melody interrupted me. "She is a gifted witch. A good," Susannah picked up the sentence. "Leader. A good partner. An appropriate cicerone for one such as you."

"Your relationship, with the Fabric, is singular, unique. Having such insight, such knowledge, around so many sleepers, must be difficult. Isolating. It is wise to keep within, our world. The fates have divined, this new series of events, of smaller ripples, for a greater purpose."

They continued the shared speech, the mystic prophetic proclamations, for several minutes. I listened as best I could, but kept hearing a phrase that stuck out.

"For one such as me?"

"How have you been lately, Virginia?" they asked.

It was an abrupt change of topic.

"Uh…fine I guess?"

"If Newton is chosen to serve on the council, will you seek the position as Vala of your coven?"

"No." That was an easy one.

"You are a librarian?"

"Yes, I am." Another easy one.

"What are your plans?" Jane Anne asked. "For the future?" Then Susannah.

"My plans?"

"Yes. Your plans. Career. Magic. Marriage. Children."

"Uh…you know, I'm not sure that's any of your business."

They frowned like a four-headed mother.

"We understand that your tragedy was shocking. Death often takes us by surprise. But it has been many years," Susannah said more softly.

"And none of us, even you Virginia, cannot deny destiny," Magnolia added, her southern speech noticeably slower without them. "Every event has a purpose. Every event has a place in the tides. The event, concerning your birth, has…far reaching consequences."

This was it. That moment that I had been waiting for. If anyone could answer the question in my mind, they could.

"I saw something that night. Something strange. The crash…was it really an accident?" I asked all four of them. "And please spare the cryptic language. I mean accident in the sense that it had no sense, no forethought. A simple yes or no will do."

They exchanged a look but remained silent. Letting the long seconds drag into awkward minutes.

"I'm sorry, given your qualifications, we cannot answer your question." They finally said.

"Wha…hold on." I could play this game too. "What would be the appropriate way to form the question? In order to get an answer?"

"The question itself is irrelevant."

I smiled, not a pleasant smile, but one where your lips are stretched over your teeth. Like you've just lost your mind and may morph into a flesh-eating zombie at any moment. But I wasn't finished.

"Was there a purpose to the crash itself? Did he die so that I, as a witch, would be born?"

"His death did have a purpose, yes."

"So, he died solely for the purpose of me becoming a witch?"

They said nothing.

"Did you, any of you, have anything to do with it? Did you cause that accident?"

"No."

I didn't believe them. Not quite. They were holding something back. Their thought patterns had become slow, controlled, and tight. "Alright. But if I found out that you did, we would have words. More than words."

"Virginia Walker, mind yourself." Their collective magic pulsed. It was rich, thick, and invasive. "We will not be threatened."

I sighed. "Fine. I apologize. Is there anything else you'd like to ask me?"

They exchanged another look, a longer one. "No." They answered in unison.

"Then ladies, it was nice to see you again." I bowed slightly at the waist. "I'll be getting back now."

Jane Anne rose from her chair. "I'll walk you back."

I closed my eyes, imagined the path back to the ballroom. It was there in my head, clear as day. "No thanks. I know where I'm going."

They collectively paled.

I smiled to myself. Feeling damn sassy. I'd just put a kibosh on their GPS mojo.

…

I found Newton and Antoinette at the long bar in the ballroom. Newton sipping on scotch. Antoinette stuffing her face. I took a desperate look at Newton's scotch and ordered one for myself.

"Was it that bad?" Newton asked.

"Worse," I answered after a long draw on my glass.

"What did they want?" Antoinette asked between mouthfuls of food.

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. They wanted to know how I was doing. And what my plans were."

"Your plans?" Newt asked.

"Yeah, who I'm going to marry, how many kids I'm gonna pop out, which libraries I'm going to take over."

"Why would they want to know that?"

I shrugged again.

"They didn't ask about the witch? The harbinger? Any of it?"

"Nope."

"Maybe we should tell them. Maybe they could help?" Antoinette asked.

"Newt," I didn't know how to ask her. How she could possibly want to be part of something so creepy, almost inhuman. The council, to me, seemed one step away from the human centipede. "Never mind."

"So, what did you tell them? About you?"

It was not time yet. Not time to tell Newton and Antoinette the whole truth.

"Not much. They got a little too personal."

Newt scowled. "They were probably just concerned about you."

"That's what they said."

"That's the job of the council though. To watch over us. To make sure the tides are in balance. To make sure some witches, especially ones with such potential power, aren't out there tearing up the aether."

"I am doing no such thing, thank you very much."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant. And that's all fine and dandy. But I don't like being told what is blessed, and what isn't. And how I should run my life. That's simply childish."

"And we're not children are we?" A woman asked from behind me. "How are you, Virginia." It was Aislinn. I rose from my bar stool and hugged her.

"Antoinette, good to see you again." She hugged Antoinette too.

"Newton." A cold chill fogged up our immediate area.

"Aislinn, it's been a while. How've you been?" They shook hands politely.

"Very well, thank you. I didn't mean to intrude, ladies. But I could see you've been talking to the council, Virginia. I wanted to make sure you were ok."

Well, that was nice. But how did she know? Did I look different? Did I smell like patchouli and Campho-Phenique?

"Oh, I'm fine. It was just a friendly tete-a-tete…times two."

Antoinette and I giggled at my lame joke. Then dropped the grins as Newton and Aislinn suddenly squared off.

"All humor aside, this is one thing that needs to change. Witches are not children. Some of the bindings need to shift down to the covens. Especially the ones pertaining to revealing."

Newton frowned at Aislinn. "You can't be serious. The lower bindings are intricately weaved into the higher ones. We can't arbitrarily change the structure of the council, of the covens, because we're unhappy with the rules. These bindings exist for a reason. They keep us safe."

"There are too many initiates to keep the revelation binding at the council level anyway. And there are more initiates every year. We have to be flexible. Or we won't have enough leadership to handle all the new witches," Aislinn calmly replied. Though I could feel her hackles rising.

"And the council will handle that. To make sure we don't have another era of witch trials. Hangings, burnings, women being hunted down."

Newton and Aislinn had gathered a crowd in the few seconds of their heat. And Newton's last words echoed uncomfortably off the spacious ballroom walls.

"It's not the dark ages anymore, Newton. People are smarter, wiser. If we're not open to change, the Fabric will suffer for our stubbornness. And then we will suffer. More natural disasters, more unrest, wars, in the world of witches and sleepers."

"Aislinn, you don't have a seat yet. You have no idea what the Fates are planning. Why there are more witches. In order to make good decisions, good choices, we must know all the pieces of the puzzle first. This is the primary job of the council."

The two women were quiet for a moment. The air between them charged. When Newton and I had a free minute, we were gonna talk about Aislinn. Cause there was something tangible and old between them.

"Magic doesn't belong to us Newton. It belongs to the world. It isn't ours to keep," she said and leaned into her. "Aren't you tired of hiding?"

Oh my god.

Honestly, I had barely a clue what the two were on about. But Aislinn's words made a hell of a lot of sense. Newton opened her mouth to reply but was cut short by a male voice entering the impromptu debate.

"And perhaps the Vala Newton Hunter believes we should be denying male membership to the covens as well?" I recognized him right away. His name was Sargon. He was tall, over six feet, had sweeping brown hair and a handsome face. Not model handsome, but more classic movie star handsome. His long face was clean shaven; he had grey eyes and a dazzling smile. I could see why he had a big group of women behind him.

"Vala Veragard," he said, bending slightly at the waist toward Aislinn.

"Sargon. I see you have lost none of your charm," Aislinn said. The words were spoken politely. But it was not meant to be polite.

"Is his name really Sargon?" Antoinette whispered in my ear.

"Yeah, he's the third Vala summoned. From the Orange County coven. He believes he's the reincarnation of an Akkadian emperor," I whispered back.

"Oh boy," she whispered back, stifling a giggle.

"Not at all, Sargon. I welcome men as much as women," Newton said.

He laughed. "Your coven holds one man. In the twelve years of your leadership, you have had one male initiate. While mine holds ten. And Aislinn five. And every other coven in places of power hold more than one."

"Well, I believe the balance of female and male energies should be carried within the individual. I would never seek to expand my coven based on gender or popularity," Newton said, clearly eyeballing his followers. "I am simply following the energy. Women have held the magic, the darkness, for centuries."

He stepped forward. Standing in front of Newt and clearly blocking Aislinn. My hackles raised as well. The temperature around us dropped a few degrees.

"And yet your reputation precedes you," he said, his voice low. "You are known for your…proclivity for the female form."

My eyebrows popped up uncontrollably. I don't know why this man felt the need to provoke her. He had little to prove. He'd already been summoned.

I let my sight and power pop out. Ready for anything. His emotions swam in lazy blue oblong circles around his midsection. Newton's were closer to her body, cords of bright red swimming in opposite directions around her body. Methodical. Perfectly timed. She looked as calm as she could be.

"Perhaps all men should be relegated to the kitchen now?" he asked.

"Only if they know how to cook," she answered, smiling with a bit of Southern cordialness. I grinned proudly. She'd learned that from me.

They stared for another long moment. Then Sargon tossed his head back and roared. "Good hunting, Vala Newton," he said and sauntered back into his crowed.

Aislinn took his place in front of Newton. "Whatever happens Newton, we cannot let that man take the seat," she said and walked away too.

Newton looked to me and Antoinette.

"Uh…I think he has all the charm of a Ponzi scheme broker. I wouldn't worry about it," I told her.

Antoinette paused before answering. "Why would the council summon such a douche hole for one of the most important positions in our world?"

Newton opened, then closed her mouth. "I don't know. They must have their reasons," she answered after barking out a laugh.

"Oh my goodness! Look at the time. I have to go get ready for the show," Antoinette said, and shot off toward our table.

"Good luck," I said after her.

"Good luck darling," Newton said, smiling weakly on Antoinette's retreating back. The L-word. Newton doesn't believe in that word. She never uses it. She balks every time I use it.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Liar."

She laughed. "I don't know, Virginia. Maybe Aislinn is right. Maybe it's time we came out of the closet. But if she takes the seat, I have this terrible feeling. That things will change. Our way will change. That everything will change."

"Well…would that be such a bad thing? You're always saying change is inevitable. Irrepressible."

"Am I?" she smiled.

At least she was joking.

"But seriously, Newt. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Why would you want to be on the council? I mean, you have a good life. You are an incredibly successful lawyer. You have friends that love you."

She smiled wistfully. "I suppose…mostly I'm curious. I want to see the great puzzle. I want to know how it all fits together. I want to know the past tides. All the present tides. The future. Or the possible futures. Don't you?"

"Absolutely not. That's like seeing the last five minutes of a movie. Before the first hour and a half. Besides, I don't think we're wise enough, strong enough, to see the future. We'd only mess up the present."

"That's why it's left to a select few. Don't forget, they can change the tides too," she said.

I slumped back in my chair. "Do you ever wonder, what you would do, if you could go back, and change things? Do you think it's possible to change the tides? Like in reverse?"

"I don't know. That would seem to go against the natural order of things. Why do you ask?"

"Sometimes, I think about that day. If I had just gone out with my friends. If I had gotten sick, or a migraine, or twisted my ankle. The million things that could've stopped us. That could've changed that day. All the things that had to be in perfect alignment. The balding car tires, the hour, the weather."

"Virginia," Newt reached across the table. "Stop. You have to stop doing that. You're going to drive yourself crazy. And hey, we haven't talked about it. What's been going on with you lately. Are you doing ok?"

"I don't know, Newt. Something is…off right now. It's not the witch. It's a feeling in my gut. It's the shadows around every corner. It's the indescribable but undeniably substantial and elusive thing that waits in your peripheral vision. Forever present but forever out of reach." I stopped, my mind recalling the few seconds before the accident ten years ago. The feel of the fabric seats in Dad's old LeBaron, the sound of the wipers scraping across the windshield as they fought the rain, the yellow lines on the road, the trees, the billowing ground…

I looked up to Newton. She was staring at me, worried, like I was losing my mind. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to share that secret that I'd been sitting on for ten years. But I couldn't do it. I pushed out a stretched smile.

"Anyway…I agree with her you know. With Aislinn. I'm tired of hiding. I need to be known. If I can't share myself with someone, all of me, I don't know who I am. It's not in my nature to hide."

She smiled wistfully. "I suppose that's a reasonable desire. Not one I can really help you with. You still have free will you know. But I have a serious question for you now."

"Uh oh."

"Do you want me to withdraw? To remove my name from the running? Would it mean that much to you?"

"Oh Newton." The gesture endeared her to me even more. "Wait…can you even do that?"

She laughed. "Of course I can!"

"Well, I'm not going to stand in the way of your destiny. Whatever you feel is your destiny. I want you to be happy. If that's playing with fate, then so be it."

Our heads came up as the doors to the event room slammed shut and two witches locked them. The lights in the ballroom came down. The stage at the far end of the long ballroom lit up. Red cans of light flooding on an old red velvet curtain. The Show of Power was about to begin.

"I don't know. I was summoned for a reason. And we're going to find out soon enough," she grabbed my arm, walking us back to our tables. "If that's my fate. Considering the seat is for a lifetime. I probably won't get another chance." She sat down and leaned into me. "So…seen anything strange since we've been here? Any witch staring at you in a peculiar way?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question?"

She laughed and leaned back in her chair. "Never mind. Let's just watch the show. At least the night is almost over."

The Show of Power. It allows witches from different covens to demonstrate their affinities. Given the title, I was guessing it was a bit of a witch-off. When our tables had filled, and the room had quieted, the red curtains parted. Jane Anne stepped to the front of the stage.

"Welcome," she boomed, her voice carrying unnaturally throughout the ballroom. "Witches from the west…the north…the east…and the south. Our beloved Susannah is leaving us. Though she has served us. Served us well. She has watched over you, over us, for many decades. Divining the Fates. Interpreting the ripples, the tides. Keeping the balance. But it is time she rejoined the Fabric. Indeed, the Fabric is reclaiming her. In two days, we will know who is to take her place. To serve the west, to join and bond with the American Council of Prophets. So keep your intent true, your desires pure and high, as we open to a new sister…or brother. And may the Fates keep you all."

I ground my teeth and grumbled silently. Some part of me blamed them, the council, for my father's death. Illogical but true. In my mind, the women somehow represented fate itself.

"Enjoy the show," she finished undramatically.

The overhead lights lowered as Jane Anne stepped back and a witch wearing white flowing robes stepped forward. The witch stopped in the middle of the stage; her robes erupted into a mass of movement as the music blared. Half of her robe had been covered in doves. They danced around her in the air in perfect and synchronized lines of twists and turns to the music.

The next witch had several lamps, lighting fixtures, and bulbs on the stage. Light danced from fixture to fixture, sizzling, creating its own song. She must be a Conjurer. Her magic must be with electricity or heat. She crescendoed with an impressive finale by bursting all the bulbs on the line behind her.

Antoinette came up fifth. The can lights at the edge of the stage darkened. A single spark ignited in the middle of the stage. The tiny flame grew in intensity then flared out to either side in a line. The room was so dark, the stage so shadowed, we couldn't see Antoinette's body. The long slim line of fire snaked patterns in the air, moving like an ancient dragon. A hiss of blue flame erupted from the larger end, the head, the mouth. As the lights on the stage slowly brightened, so did Antoinette. Except for the tattoos running up and down her body, she was one-hundred percent naked. Her auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail and her body was glistening, glittery. With the red velvet curtains behind her and the glow of color from the stage lights, she looked like a fire-breathing pony. The dancing line of fire was attached to a bull whip. She expertly moved the whip around her in circles, spinning flames up and down her torso. The swaying and careening continued for a few minutes, then she moved into a one-armed back bend. The whip in her right hand floated up. The air around the fire rushed inward all up and down the length of the whip. She was calling the winds. Appearing to defy a basic law of physics. The tip of the whip swirled dramatically and slowed. Then spit out a defiant roar. Then blinked out of existence in a puff of smoke.

Our two tables howled and roared. Like we were at a sports bar and just scored a touchdown.

That's right. We are the Norwood County coven, bitches.