Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“I don’t think there’s time for me to embark on your higher magic course, Gwyneth.” I sat by the fire in the Old Place, gripping a cup of tea and reeling from the meeting and its outcome. “They’ve given me just a week to prepare for the Crossroads. According to your syllabus, we will still be covering the basics of ritual and preparing ceremonial spaces and magical inks.”

“Oh, that’s just the intro,” Julie said, consulting the six-page document. “We can skip that, along with prognostication, oracles, and omens, and even basic spellwork. That puts us at unit three: ‘Protection Spells and Basic Wards.’?”

“That would be useful for a normal witch,” I said, curbing my panic, “but I’m a weaver. I can’t use other witches’ spells for more than inspiration. I have to make my own. The curriculum allots three weeks for witches to perfect the use of old spells. I’ve got one.”

What awaited me if I advanced to the status of initiate after the Crossroads was even more daunting—and alluring. A week keeping Light and Dark in balance, followed by classes on the use of wands, the magic of locks and keys, how to make poisons (and their antidotes), living with the dead, and even a unit on mnemonics and mind reading.

I’d borne silent witness to how the Proctors practiced the higher branch of the craft. It was not done with complicated ceremonies or a daily hour of spell-casting. Instead, they wove magic into daily life. When Gwyneth adjusted the windows to let in the breeze, she sprinkled salt on the windowsills. When she crossed a threshold, her lips moved in silent blessing. Each morning, when she made her first cup of tea, my aunt tucked a sprig of rosemary into the frames of the ancestral portraits. Gwyneth collected feathers wherever she went, arranging them in the already overstuffed jars found in every room of the Old Place and Orchard Farm. I, too, had been collecting the feathers that seemed always to be in my path. They’d appeared at The Thirsty Goat, on my regular walks along the shore, and even inside the farmhouse on occasion.

Then there were the oracle cards, the sigils, and the ghosts—all signs that witchcraft was constantly afoot at Ravenswood. Gwyneth told time by the rising and setting of the moon, not the sun, her hours tied to the goddess’s rhythms. Her most active periods sometimes began in the morning, at other times in the afternoon. During my first few days at Ravenswood, I’d wake after midnight and she would be out, walking the meadow, staring out to sea.

Higher magic wasn’t a bag of tricks the Proctors pulled out at Halloween. It was their way of life.

Could I sustain such a magical routine, attuned to forces that didn’t care about university calendars or deadlines set by humans? And what if Matthew issued an ultimatum and demanded that I not continue to study higher magic, like the one my father had given to my mother?

“I can’t just dive into higher magic without telling Matthew what’s happened at Ravenswood,” I said. “I’ve been keeping things from him for weeks. Small things. But this—” I shook my head. I fell silent, brooding over my options.

Gwyneth waited with me while I considered my dilemma. Finally, she weighed in on the matter.

“Call Matthew and invite him and the children to Ravenswood,” Gwyneth urged. “Trust him, Diana. Put it all in the goddess’s hands so that your path can become clear.”

I remained unconvinced. I needed to talk to someone, but I couldn’t call Sarah for advice. She had just returned to Madison after spending time with Agatha in Melbourne. So far as Sarah knew, we were settling into the Old Lodge. Given the questions I had for her, and the anger I felt after Gwyneth’s revelations, now was not the time to update her.

I called Ysabeau instead. It was early in the morning in France, but my mother-in-law, like most vampires, seldom slept.

“What are your witches up to now?” Ysabeau demanded.

I might not have told Sarah about Becca’s ravens and our change of summer plans, but Matthew had kept his mother apprised. Ysabeau would never have forgiven us if we failed to disclose such important news. She was a protective grandmother, and deeply involved in the children’s lives.

“I’m in over my head.” There was no point in prevarication or social niceties. “The Ipswich coven met today. I’ve been challenged by another witch, and I either have to back down and leave Ravenswood or stay here and formally commit myself to the study of higher magic.”

“Ah.” Ysabeau was silent for a few moments. “And Matthew doesn’t know.”

“Yes. No. It’s complicated.” I was reluctant to bring the extent of my half-truths to light, but Ysabeau needed to understand my conundrum if she was going to give me advice. “Matthew thinks I stayed here for the anniversary of Bridget Bishop’s hanging. That’s true—the coven will go to Gallows Hill tomorrow to mark her death. But one of the witches charged my aunt Gwyneth with flouting coven rules. She said I should have been presented to the coven before launching on a course of magical study. I haven’t even mastered the basic theory of higher magic yet, but a special meeting was called, and I couldn’t abandon my aunt to face their tribunal alone.”

“You have attracted the attention of a powerful enemy.” Ysabeau sounded delighted at the prospect. “What is this creature’s name?”

“Meg Skelling,” I replied. “Her animosity toward me was immediate.”

“You already stood up to the witch.” Ysabeau made a contemptuous sound. “Good. Being une carpette is not in your nature, Diana. If it were, you could not be with Matthew. Now this Skelling creature knows you are a worthy adversary.”

“Meg is powerful, Ysabeau,” I confessed, not feeling worthy at all. “And influential.”

“As powerful as you?” Ysabeau asked. “No modesty, Diana. When faced with such an opponent, it is important you are honest about your strengths as well as your weaknesses.”

This was the advice of a battle-tested warrior who had survived challenges far more daunting than the one that was facing me.

“I’m not sure,” I confessed. “But Meg has walked the Dark Path herself, and has risen through a series of tests to become an adept in higher magic. Her practice of it has the blessing of the Congregation. I’m just a novice.”

“Then you have no choice but to educate yourself until you are her equal in skill,” Ysabeau replied. “Your aunt is helping you on this Dark Path?”

“My great-aunt,” I replied. “Her brother, Taliesin Proctor, was my grandfather.”

The line went silent and I was afraid we’d been disconnected.

“Ysabeau?”

“I am here.”

It was the same response that Matthew had given me when I first mentioned my grandfather’s name. My suspicion that my grandfather’s path had crossed the de Clermonts’ grew.

When she was ready, Ysabeau broke the silence.

“Lieutenant Taliesin Proctor notified me that Philippe had fallen into the hands of the Nazis,” Ysabeau said, her voice quiet. “The Americans’ unit was operating in the mountains of the Gothic Line near San Marino. Neither he nor I knew that Philippe had put himself in harm’s way to save Janet.”

Janet was a Bright Born descendant of Matthew, his great-granddaughter through Benjamin Fuchs. She, too, was part witch and part vampire—though not an equal blend like the twins. The Nazis had rounded her up in Romania and taken her into the concentration camps.

Philippe had managed to liberate Janet, along with several others from Ravensbrück, before he was captured by the Nazis. Given what I knew about Ysabeau’s state of mind while Philippe was in enemy hands, it was a miracle that my grandfather had survived to become the editor of The Ipswich Chronicle.

“He brought a British soldier with him to break the news of Philippe’s capture, a Captain Thomas Lloyd. I knew immediately they were both witches,” Ysabeau continued. “What I did not know was that they were agents for the OSS and the SOE as well. They warned me that Philippe may not survive Nazi captivity, vampire or not.”

My mind was bursting with questions.

“Lieutenant Proctor offered to help me locate Philippe and remove him from behind enemy lines. But I refused.” Ysabeau’s tone lowered with regret. “He was a witch and a member of the Congregation. How could I trust him when your kind had played a role in Philippe’s capture?”

I scrambled to put these new pieces of information about my family into the puzzle of my life.

“I always wonder, when I am grieving and cannot find peace, if Lieutenant Proctor could have succeeded where Matthew and Baldwin failed.” Ysabeau’s voice sounded far away, carried on the tenuous strands of memory. “We shall never know, but I have struggled with my decision, especially after you and Matthew were mated, and the children were born.”

The enormity of what might have been had Ysabeau agreed to Grandpa Tally’s offer threatened to take me under. Philippe might be alive still, had Ysabeau only been able to trust the sincere offer of help from a witch.

“You must stay where you are, Diana. At Ravenswood.” Ysabeau’s tone returned to its usual warm steeliness. “Be firm with Matthew when you tell him. Whether or not to study higher magic is your choice. He can be part of it or not. That is his choice.”

The vampire’s advice was much the same as what Gwyneth had offered me during my time at Ravenswood.

“And the children?” I demanded. “What happens to them if Matthew can’t accept higher magic into our lives?” My father’s ultimatum to my mother was uppermost in my mind.

Ysabeau made a dismissive sound. “Matthew could never leave you for long, Diana. His mating instinct is too strong. As for Rebecca and Philip, Matthew won’t deprive them of their mother’s presence. Philippe would have done so without a second thought. Matthew? Non. ”

But I was still concerned. Matthew would fight me at every step if he believed the twins were at risk.

“Matthew must have told you about Becca and the ravens,” I said. “My choice will affect her future as well as my own.”

“He told me of the curved one’s message, yes,” Ysabeau said. “Poor Coronis, buried in your backyard under an elm tree. But that is a tale for another day.”

This was Ysabeau’s response whenever conversation drew too close to her ancient history. I made a mental note to look up the legend of Coronis for further insights into my mother-in-law’s past.

“As for Matthew, he is a knight and must have a quest,” Ysabeau continued.

“He’s been researching Salem,” I told her.

“That won’t engage him for long,” Ysabeau said. “You must find him a better one. If not, he will make you the sole object of his attention and become a liability. Your goddess will have no more patience with you than mine did when I dithered and wasted her time.”

“Which goddess is that?” I was on thin ice already when it came to learning Ysabeau’s secrets, but I took the risk of probing further.

“Nemesis.”

I was mute at the honor of being entrusted with such an important piece of information.

“I thought you might have guessed,” Ysabeau said, drawing the cloak of her mysterious origins around herself once more. “That, too, is a tale for another day. Do not worry about Matthew. Be attentive to Rebecca and Philip, for they will have to adjust to your new power and priorities. This is a lesson best learned sooner in this family, rather than later. Look after your own desires and needs. All de Clermont women must do so. If we left it to the men, we’d be ruined.”

Ysabeau ended our call with the same abruptness with which it began. The sigils and hexafoils carved into the keeping room doorways shone softly in the dark. Someone had switched on all the magic in the Old Place.

The black bird oracle warmed in my pocket, reminding me that I had other sources of advice at my fingertips. I drew the cards out and shuffled them while I wondered how to tell Matthew my news.

The cards arranged themselves in the same pattern I’d seen earlier in my visit. This time, a shimmering thread of blue connected the outer cards, while an amber one did the same for the inner cards. Another shot of blue thread ran vertically through the first, third, fifth, seventh, and ninth cards. An amber thread provided a horizontal axis through cards two, four, six, eight, and nine.

Gwyneth stole into the keeping room, drawn by the oracle’s magic.

“The cards are awake,” she said, easing her old bones into one of the tall-backed chairs.

Gwyneth lowered her spectacles from the crown of her head so that they were perched on her nose. “The sunwise/widdershins spread offers two different readings, depending on whether you move clockwise—what we used to call sunwise—or widdershins, moving anticlockwise. And you can read them down the vertical axis, or across the horizontal axis, too.”

The circles contained a crossroads, too. That couldn’t be an accident, given its significance in a witch’s progression to the level of adept.

“What does the center card mean?” It was The Unicorn nestled at the heart of a maze, a crescent moon overhead and sprigs of flowers all around.

“It’s the signifier,” Gwyneth said. “The Unicorn represents you, standing in the middle, bathed in Shadow.”

I was neither a healer nor a virgin, two of the traditional attributes of a unicorn, but I supposed the black bird oracle knew what it was doing. I assigned a number to each card, starting at the top of the outer circle and proceeding through the inner circle, in the order in which they had arranged themselves. I reversed course and assigned them another number.

“This spread typically presents itself only when someone faces a difficult impasse,” Gwyneth explained. “The card at twelve o’clock represents your dilemma, the card at six o’clock represents your first option to solve it, and the card at the top of the inner circle represents your second option. The bottom card in the inner circle indicates which option would serve the highest good.”

“How do I choose whether to read the cards sunwise or widdershins?” I wondered.

“Usually, the cards indicate which way to proceed,” Gwyneth said.

The air in the keeping room was heavy with anticipation. Nothing happened.

Gwyneth made us cups of tea, and we waited some more.

Finally, the top card—the one that stood for my dilemma—moved left and down.

“Widdershins it is,” Gwyneth said.

I was not surprised. Ravenswood was a logic-free zone, and my experiences here had been anything but linear.

Now that I knew I was reading to the left, I could try to decipher the oracle’s message.

My dilemma was represented by The Alchemical Wedding, depicted here as an interlocking serpent and firedrake, one with wings and feet, and one with smooth scales.

“The double ouroboros,” Gwyneth said. “Isn’t that a de Clermont family symbol?”

“The single ouroboros is used by the whole family. This double version is the official emblem of the Bishop-Clairmont scion—our family,” I explained. Matthew’s grandson, Jack, had designed it for us. Or so I had thought. How had it ended up on a seventeenth-century oracle card?

I moved to the next card in the spread—The Prince of Vultures. The bird sat on a dead tree branch overlooking a barren landscape, his neck ruffled with downy white feathers and his body black. The vulture held a piece of carrion, dripping with blood.

“The Prince of Vultures represents what’s shedding Light, or casting Darkness, over your dilemma,” Gwyneth remindedme.

“Picking over the dead?” I frowned. “Does that mean I should question the ghosts?”

“Perhaps. But vultures aren’t only a symbol of death and cannibalizing ancient wisdom. They also symbolize silence,” Gwyneth said.

There were all sorts of silences in my life—my own, Matthew’s, my parents’ secrets, Ysabeau’s untold tales. They cast a deep shadow over everything that I did.

As I gazed over the cards, I recognized that The Box, The Key, and The Death’s Head all symbolized great mysteries. The Box’s image of chaos unleashed into the world was one option facing me. The Key, with its dual messages of opening doors and locking away secrets, and new possibilities as well as solutions to old problems, felt like a better second choice. But the oracles were suggesting that The Raven’s Head would lead to the best possible outcome.

I sat back in my chair, reflecting on why the black bird oracle had chosen The Raven’s Head rather than one of the other raven cards. The image was specific to alchemy, representing the nigredo, or blackening phase, of the philosopher’s stone. Alchemists likened it to death, as the substances in the crucible were subjected to heat until they were reduced to ash, then put through other chemical processes to separate the charred substance from its inner spirit. The Raven’s Head was thus a symbol of rebirth, too.

“The end of one stage of being, and the beginning of another,” I mused. “Shedding what’s not necessary to make room for something new.”

I studied the cards that provided a horizontal axis for the spread: The Vulture Prince, The Heron Prince, The Owl Queen, Quintessence.

“Matthew, Dad, Mom, and the children,” I said, running my finger across the cards to confirm that my reading was correct. They tingled and sparkled, the firelight catching the surface in glints of amber and blue.

And I was The Unicorn caught in the maze of their conflicting desires. My confusion stemmed from the concerns and priorities of those I loved. How could it be otherwise, when the Bishops and Proctors were tied up with the de Clermonts, my magical talents, and Matthew’s blood rage?

Somehow, Matthew and I had to do a better job keeping these threads untangled. Secrets and lies clogged the back of my throat and made my eyes stream with frustration as I contemplated what a difference it would have made if the important people in my life had chosen a different path.

If only Dad hadn’t made my mother give up higher magic.

If only my mother had stood up to him.

If only Philippe hadn’t been such a good chess player.

If only Ysabeau could part with her prejudices and secrets.

If only I could center myself, quiet the constant chatter of guilt and responsibility, and choose—

“What do you want to do, Diana?” Gwyneth inquired. “Don’t overthink it. Just say the first thing that comes to mind.”

“I want to best Meg at the Crossroads,” I said, surprised by my own vehemence. “And then I want to study higher magic until I am an adept, like my grandfather and mother before me.”

The echo of my words filled the air. The hexafoils and sigils indicated that I had uttered a powerful truth, flickering in joyful pinpoints. The ancestral portraits reacted next, nodding their heads on stiff necks. The besom resting against the fireplace spun into the air and hung over the table, as if offering to take me on a wild ride through the stars.

For the first time since coming to Ravenswood, I felt connected to the true spirit of the place. It may be shadowed in power and heavy with legacy, but at its core was the pure exhilaration of being true to one’s self.

Gwyneth reached over and clasped my hand in hers. “Never forget the feeling of being aligned with your purpose. It will steer you through Shadow and illuminate your path no matter where it leads.”

Right now, it was telling me that my husband and children belonged on the Dark Path with me.

“I’m going to call Matthew.”

—

Back at Orchard Farm, I put my treasured oracle cards to bed in the carved spellbox that Gwyneth had given me and settled into the armchair in my grandfather’s office.

Then I dialed my husband’s cellphone.

“You’re up late,” Matthew said. “The coven meeting must have lasted longer than you expected.”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat, unable to say the words my heart yearned to speak.

“Diana?” Matthew’s voice warmed with concern.

“Could you come to Ipswich?”

Matthew’s breath left his body in a whoosh of relief. “Thank God. We’ll be there in four hours.”

The drive from New Haven to Ipswich took nearly three hours without traffic, griffins, dogs, and children who needed food, drink, and frequent bathroom breaks. There was no way he could make it here so soon. I glanced at the clock ticking on the desk. It was nearly three o’clock now. Matthew would reach the Boston area just as rush hour started.

“Take your time,” I protested. “You’ve got to pack, and get the twins ready—”

“We’ve been ready for over a week,” Matthew said gently. “The car has been packed since the last time you extended your stay.”

“Oh.” I reminded myself that vampires seldom slept, and therefore had extra time to prepare for every eventuality.

“You needed space and time,” Matthew said. “I understood that, hard though it was difficult to stay away. Rebecca and Philip were less able to see things from your perspective.”

The cultivation of empathy had been a focus of our child-rearing since the children could walk (and had teeth), but it was not easy for them to exercise this superpower when they were hurting or lonely.

“We’ve missed you.” Matthew’s voice dropped. “Me most of all.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” I said. “Ravenswood, Ipswich, Salem—I’m so overwhelmed I can’t think straight.”

“I was concerned about you facing the crowd at Gallows Hill by yourself,” Matthew said. “Now I can be with you. Perhaps the children can stay behind with Gwyneth?”

“No.” I was firm. “We can’t keep the children from their lineage and its legacies.”

Matthew was taken aback by my response. “Of course, mon coeur. Let’s talk about it when I get there.”

He was intending to pressure me into protecting the children.

“I won’t change my mind, Matthew,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “I will not do to Becca and Pip what was done to me. No secrets. No lies. It all stops here and now.” I wiped away a fat, falling tear. My witchwater was rising, as it always did when I experienced strong emotions.

“Besides, it would take more magic than I possess to prevent Gwyneth from attending such an important event,” I continued. “The children will have to come with us. They must learn who they are and where they come from—from us, rather than discovering the truth on their own.”

Darkness was drawing in and couldn’t be kept at bay for much longer.

“Very well,” Matthew said at last. “I would have preferred to wait, but in light of the Congregation’s letter…” His voice trailed off into silence.

“It’s time,” I said, supplying the words Matthew couldn’t yet say. “Don’t worry. They’ll be utterly surrounded by Proctors.”

Matthew didn’t know or trust the Proctors—yet. He was used to relying on members of his family for support, not mine. That would have to change, too.

“Drive safely,” I said. “Please try to obey the speed limit.”

“No promises,” Matthew replied. “See you soon, my love.”

I held the phone to my heart after Matthew hung up. Had I done the right thing? I wanted Matthew to be there when I met Meg’s challenge and chose my path. When he found out all that was involved, would he refuse to walk it withme?

I was too exhausted to think about it now, and there were precious few hours of sleep left before Matthew and the twins arrived. I climbed the stairs, flipped on the light at the bedroom door, and sloughed off my shoes.

Nestled into the center of my pillow was a fluffy gray-and-white feather. The horizontal markings resembled those of a barn owl, but the colors were wrong. The size was wrong, too. This feather was far lengthier than would be found on most owls.

I checked the windows, thinking some strange bird must have flown in through a loose screen. They were all secure.

My flesh rippled at the uncanny sight of that single, long feather with its downy fluff and shadowed hue.

Perhaps the Owl Queen had paid a visit.

I plucked the feather from the pillow and brushed its softness against my cheek. Then I crept into bed and turned off the light, the Owl Queen’s gift still in my hand.