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Chapter 3

Evie

Barataria Preserve, Marrero, Louisiana

E vie shifted back into the brush, resting her back against one of the towering live oaks circled around her like sentinels. Across the marsh, two alligators wrestled desperately over what looked like it had once been a bobcat, although it was missing one too many limbs to be fully recognizable as such. Above the fray, a bird warbled a tune pitched to carry far to potential mates. She smiled as the song made its way down to her. Just another day in the forest, the only home that she had ever known. She loved the beautiful area, but this sunken section was her favorite. She could sit here for hours just seeing the animals go about their lives, feeling the humid wind blow across her damp skin, and generally existing in the quiet ambience of the trees.

After watching the sun lower slowly into the horizon, lighting the sky in majestic shades of pink and orange, Evie stood, spreading her arms wide as the moon rose high into the sky, feeling it tug on her spirit in a loving, familiar way. At the best guess of the coven elders, she was a lunar hedge witch whose powers were fed by the moon and most powerful on plant life. Even standing here, though, she knew there was more to it than that. Because as much as she could feel the moon tugging at her, she also felt something else lingering underneath its pull. Something darker and more deadly. The coven elders never quite understood it, couldn’t interpret what else fed into her magic, so they never explored it. And a small part of her always felt neglected because of it.

Evie knew she was lucky, though. She lived in a beautiful area that fed her magic, she had received extensive training in the craft from the coven elders who also ensured that the younger witches were safe, and she was surrounded by her sisters, women who ranged in ability, appearance, and age but were bonded by magic and love. Even still, it was hard not to feel inadequate when it seemed that her magic was limited to casting under a moonlit sky upon the vegetation that grew in abundance in her family’s home, especially when she knew deep down that she was capable of so much more. Shaking her head, she forced a smile, embracing the feel of the moonlight surrounding her.

“Rise, my pretties,” she mumbled under her breath to the nascent Chanterelle mushrooms she could feel under the soil’s surface, careful not to draw the attention of the two 'gators who, after ingesting their dinner, had nodded into a sleeplike state that didn’t fool her in the least. She knew if she moved too quickly or spoke too loudly or, Hecate help her, even breathed too audibly, the grumpy beasts would swing into action faster than she could summon the vegetation to her aid. Although the trees would surely rush to assist her, her conscience couldn’t bear any damage to the beautiful live oaks that had been here long before she entered this world and that would be there long after she departed her mortal coil for the afterlife.

Around her feet, the Chanterelle mushrooms blossomed quickly, spreading their wrinkled yellow faces to the sky. She knelt gently and ran her fingers lovingly over their now-bulbous heads that stood almost to her knees. “Good babies.” The mushrooms shivered in response, although whether at her words or her gentle touch, she couldn’t have said. She talked to the plants, even though she knew they couldn’t talk back… mostly. Every now and again, they would respond as if they recognized her words or her voice or… something about her. It wouldn’t be the first time something happened around her that she couldn’t explain, but Evie was rational enough to know that it was more likely her magical connection to the plants rather than any speech-based capacity that these lifeforms may have. She shrugged as she tugged open the bag at her hip, filling the interior with enough of the large mushrooms to supplement the coven’s meals for the next few days. The root balls she left for later summoning.

She glanced at the 'gators one last time before darting the other direction, back towards her coven. Behind her, they lurched into action with all the power she had predicted, but, by the time they lumbered their way over to her fresh grove of Chanterelles, she was long gone.

As she raced through the trees, she thought of what lay ahead. Her coven was her family, a gathering of sisters who loved and supported one another desperately. She had been away for longer than usual, exploring the depths of the forest that they called home. It wasn’t the longest she had been gone, but it was far longer than she needed to travel to the mushroom grove. Now, looking back, she wasn’t sure why she had stayed away for so long. It was like the moons blended together and time had passed, seemingly without her noticing it. The elders would blame it on the restlessness she had been feeling for months, and they probably wouldn’t be wrong. Each time she explored outside of the warded safety of the coven’s clearing into the forest beyond, she stayed away a little longer and found it a bit harder to return. It felt like she was looking for something. Or someone? Maybe the holder of the green eyes and that deep voice that haunted her? She snorted and shook her head. No. Those were just a dream or a vision. They weren’t real.

Evie came to a stop at the edge of a clearing where, despite being buried in the deepest part of the forest, light still radiated. Directly in front of her was the bayou that constituted her family’s home. The area was lit by floating orbs, which illuminated the expansive area, their colors dictated by the collective emotional health of the group. Right now, they were vibrant white, which made the bayou appear as if it were full day, even though the sun had only just risen after her long trek home. Legend had it that they could go dark, either by extinguishing or turning darker colors, but Evie and her coven dismissed that idea out of turn. At least in the Barataria Coven, no one had ever seen anything darker than a velvet blue mimicking the night sky.

The witches’ homes were grouped by power, and each witch had their own unit, customized in design to their wishes. The red witches who drew their power from fire ringed the common eating area directly in front of Evie; among its other benefits, this area boasted the coven's firepit. The shamanic witches lived almost immediately to her left, the only occupants in that direction since they required as much quiet as possible due to their type of spell casting. The voodoo practitioners who drew their power from the loa—the spirits who came before them—lived tucked into the back right of the bayou. Finally, the hedge witches, almost all of whom drew their power from the earth itself, occupied the quarters surrounding the edges of the large clearing so they were closest to the oaks and cypresses, their homes built into the very trees that towered over the coven’s sprawling clearing. Evie herself lived among the hedge witches, even though her source of power was the moon, a unique, even unusual, point from which to draw one’s magic among her coven.

The Spanish moss draping the stately trees on either side of her swayed towards her, lightly brushing the side of her neck in greeting. She grinned up at the beautiful trees. They were as much a part of her family as her sisters and far less inclined to personal dramatics. Speaking of which… Evie ducked behind one of the trees as she heard the coven elders’ voices echo across to her. Although she was thrilled to be back, she was also soaked in sweat and disheveled from her run through the forest. On her way home, she had rescued a frog that appeared to have taken up residence in her wild auburn curls. The coven elders emphasized the importance of finding beauty beneath surface appearance, but, even still, she was sure that they would frown over her intense dishabille.

She danced through the shadows, passing her fingers through the sunbeams that snuck through the trees above her. The light dappled her fingers and made them look sun-soaked golden rather than her usual ivory. As she finally drew near to her unit, she looked up and felt her heart contract with pride. She spent years making her home a reflection of herself and her unique powers, starting with its location. Unlike the other witch’s dwellings, hers was nestled in the forest’s canopy, raised high off the ground and surrounded by the leaves, which, in their attempts to get closer to her, even formed the floor of her home. When she lay down at night, she could see the moon’s beams from her bed as she gazed up through the barricade of cypress limbs that offered her protection from the elements most days but parted on clear nights.

Raising her arm, she summoned a nearby tree limb to her feet. She stepped carefully on to the thickest point of the branch; with a twitch of her fingertips, she magicked the branch into the air. It rose quickly at her bidding, and she repeated the process, creating a moving staircase that finally deposited her at the foot of her home. She removed the frog from her curls, nestling him safely into the lush foliage forming the house’s entrance. He croaked at her before disappearing among the leaves. As she stepped over the soft floor, she shed her clothes, uncaring as to who may look in and see her. Although she understood that houses outside the forest contained walls intended to maintain privacy, the coven believed in no such boundaries. For starters, the witches were part of the forest; they drew power from it and were one with it, so walls created an unnecessary barrier.

More importantly, though, members of the coven had no secrets from one another and were utterly entangled in each other’s lives. No privacy was needed when you shared your lives that closely with others. Nudity and sexuality were celebrated, the witch’s form in all its appearances cherished. Although they called one another sisters, it was a term of endearment; most of them bore no blood relation to each other. Many of her sisters had even found their life mates among the coven. The coven members reveled in those connections and saw no need to cloister it away behind walls and doors. Love in all its forms was a joyful event for them.

Evie paused as she drew on a light dress that brushed the tops of her thighs. She was no stranger to relationships and adored sex, but she knew she had never been in love. For a brief time, she had even lived with Marie, a beautiful coven member with deep olive skin, beautiful black hair, and a quick smile. While their flame had burned intensely, their sex passionate, it went out all too easily. Partially because they shared no interests other than sex. And partially because… something had always felt off. Evie had never felt fully herself; at the oddest times, she felt her heart tug and her stomach sink as if something was deeply wrong . Sometimes, before the moon fell and the sun rose, she heard a low, gravelly voice calling her, rich emerald eyes staring at her, through her. She felt like she was betraying this phantom that did not, could not, exist. So she and Marie separated with little fanfare, and she returned to her home in the trees, fantasizing about a rich voice and jewel-like eyes that only she could see.

Although it was bright outside, she desperately needed sleep. She hadn’t slept much during her foraging trip, and she felt every second of the lost rest. She crawled into bed, drawing her velvety soft blankets to her chin. Sensing her exhaustion, the limbs overhead shuddered as they drew closed, blocking the sun’s rays as her eyelids slid shut. While she lay quiet in the semi-darkness of her home, she could almost hear that baritone voice saying her name.

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