Chapter 4

Chapter 4

S he was in a dream.

Fey knew and recognized this simple fact, but it didn't change anything. She could do nothing but watch the events as they unfolded around her. Do nothing as she found herself lost in a memory, her body going through the steps just as it had all those years ago.

She was ten, and this was her Awakening.

The steps to the temple seemed to stretch forever as she made her way up them. Step by step, inching closer to her destiny. Around her, other Witches were gathered—her peers, all of them girls, all of them coming here on their tenth birthday to be tested.

The village where she'd been raised in the sixth octant had been large enough to have its own White Temple, but just barely. If it hadn't, Fey and her mother may have had to travel to another octant, or even to the Eternal City itself, where the lines would have been longer, the crowd of waiting girls larger.

Distantly, Fey knew the other Witches were here for the same thing, but in the way of dreams, she also knew she didn't need to wait for any of them. She climbed the steps, making her way past all of them, their faces blurred and shapeless as they turned and watched her ascent .

She was shaking from the effort by the time she made it to the top, and all at once, the scene changed. She was inside the temple now, standing before the Priestess. And Fey was afraid.

She'd spent so much of her childhood in fear. Fear of her father, and his drunken anger. Fear for her mother, for the caged indifference in which she lived her life. Standing here under the scrutinizing glare of the ancient, wrinkled Priestess, she felt that fear again.

The White Priestesses were members of no single coven, serving instead as representatives of all four covens equally. They existed to guide Witches through the Awakening of their powers, to read the clues left by the Goddess herself to judge what elemental gift each Witch received.

Fey had knelt before the White Priestess, like she'd been taught to do, her eyes on the wood grain of the floor.

Then, just like now, the Priestess took Fey's chin in her hand, wrenching her face up and staring into her eyes for a long, terrifying moment before releasing her. She took Fey's hand, tracing the lines of her palms and clicking her tongue.

Her grip had been hard, and Fey fought the urge to rub away the memory of the old woman's touch from her skin.

The Priestess wasn't done. She retreated further into the temple, grabbing a handful of beads and stones and something that looked suspiciously like bones. She chanted softly to herself, casting them upon the altar, and watching where they fell. Suspicious. Displeased.

Fey didn't like the Priestess, didn't like her angry stares, didn't like the way her eyes darkened with each test she performed. The woman was old and wrinkled, like an apple left to rot in the sun, and Fey didn't like that either. She hadn't liked being touched by this ungentle woman, who clicked her tongue in disapproval but didn't speak. She had wanted to leave.

But Fey did all that had been expected of her. She wanted to be good. So when the old woman had poured water in her hair, she hadn't flinched. When she had waved the incense smoke in Fey's face, Fey hadn't coughed. The Priestess spoke only to herself, under her breath, taking her time as she brought Fey through each of the tests and rituals until she said just one word .

"Drink," the Priestess said to her now, just as she had back then, thrusting a cup of gray liquid into Fey's hands.

And Fey drank, though the elixir tasted of rot and soil, and made her choke. She drank, and when the woman refilled the cup, she drank again.

But when the woman filled the cup a third time, something sparked in Fey's mind.

No , a voice far away from her said in the dream. Her own voice, years older, somewhere different. Safe in a bed, miles and years away from this moment.

No, the voice said, this isn't how it happened.

She couldn't finish the third cup. It tasted of rot and earth still, but also ash, and it was thick in her throat. She gagged on the taste of it but, determined, she drank, and drank, and drank.

This cup was endless, and Fey drank that awful concoction for what felt like hours, gagging and choking, as the old Priestess watched her, clicking her tongue, antipathy etched in every line of her face.

No, the voice in her head repeated. This isn't right. This isn't how it happened.

Finally, the old woman took the cup from her, though some still remained at the bottom, a testament to her failure. The front of Fey's ceremonial white robe, the robe of those not yet Awakened, was covered in elixir, and Fey's saliva and tears.

The Priestess shoved her toward an altar, and the dream returned to the past, as Fey recognized the items there.

A bowl of oil.

A bowl of sand.

A single clod of dirt.

And a bowl of water.

"Water," the Priestess had demanded, pointing to the bowl.

Fey raised her hand, focusing her power.

Years ago, when she had been to the temple on her tenth birthday, she had needed to wait only a moment before the elements reacted. The water, her primary elemental power, roiled and moved under her command. The Priestess had only nodded and demanded she switch to Air. And a moment later, the sand from the bowl twisted and rose in a spiral of wind.

Water primary, Air secondary, the Priestess had declared, draping a blue sash around her neck—marking her as a member of the Water Coven. And Fey had been shepherded out of the temple before the words could even sink in.

But… again, the dream changed, and what had happened was not what did happen.

Fey focused her power, as she had back then, but the water remained motionless. She focused harder, sweat beading on her skin.

She reached for her power, willing it to rise to her command, as she had a million times since. But where that power dwelt, where that pulse of water usually pooled under the surface, there was nothing.

Gone.

It was all gone.

She was crying in the dream now, and the old Priestess was shaking her head in disgust.

Nothing. No power, no strength, she was useless. Broken.

Fey screamed as hands grabbed her, pulling her away from the altar. She screamed and pleaded.

This was wrong , she knew it was wrong. Something burned in her, power burned in her, and she knew it . She had to show them, had to do something. She couldn't go back home like this, couldn't go back to being a helpless child. She couldn't.

But it was too late, and she screamed and thrashed to no avail, as the hands pulled her out the door.

And shoved her down the temple stairs.

Fey awoke with a shuddering gasp, her hand coming up to cover her mouth and stifle a scream. She was coated in sweat, drenched in it, despite the cold chill of her room. Her sheets pooled around her, as wet with sweat as her skin.

Heart hammering in her chest, Fey sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her bed, taking deep shuddering breaths .

A dream. It was just a dream.

Shaking with something that could have been fear, Fey reached inside for her power.

Her skin hummed in answer, and she felt it. The pulse of power as Water filled her, energy flowing just under her skin, filling her entire body.

The sound Fey made in relief could have been a laugh, a sob, or some combination of the two. She called Air next, and a different sort of power filled her veins. A softer power, a whisper beneath her skin. The air in the room swirled in response, dancing around her, cooling the sweat on her skin.

Just a dream.

A soft knock on her door announced her sister's arrival a fraction of a second before she entered.

"Fey?" Joy called, poking her head inside the room. "Are you okay?"

Fey tried to nod, tried to say something, anything , in response, but all that came out of her mouth was a strangled sound. She was crying.

Joy crept into the room, closing the door silently behind her. She crawled onto the bed behind Fey, wrapping her in a tight hug.

"Shhhh," Joy murmured against her neck. Her hands rubbed soft, comforting circles over Fey's shoulders and down her back. "It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay. We've got you. You're safe. Deep breaths, Fey. Breathe with me, little sister."

Fey struggled to draw an even breath, leaning back against Joy as she breathed in, her breaths wet and ragged. She tried to match her sister's even, slow breathing.

It took longer than Fey would have liked, but eventually, her sobs lessened, and Joy's soothing worked. She took deep, even breaths, willing the fear to subside.

"I'm okay," she told Joy, finally. "I'm okay. It was a dream, that's all. Just a dream."

Wasn't it?

Joy's hands slowed their soothing path over Fey's back and stilled. She leaned over Fey's shoulder, cocking her head to look her in the face.

"A dream?" Joy repeated, Fey's fears reflected in her bright blue eyes. "And you're sure it wasn't something more?"

Sometimes a dream is just a dream—a random assortment of thoughts and images cobbled together into a nonsensical story while you slept. Sometimes they reveal the things that we struggle with during our day-to-day lives, the myriad problems and anxieties we encounter throughout our waking moments laid bare before us. And sometimes they mean something more . A warning. A message from the Goddess herself.

Fey shook her head, swallowing. "No," she insisted. "It was just a dream. A regular dream." She laughed humorlessly, looking down at her hands and remembering that horrible emptiness where her power should have been. "A nightmare."

Joy watched her as though she still wasn't sure. But finally, she nodded, accepting the statement.

They stayed entwined like that a while longer, Joy holding her in a gentle embrace while the dream faded into a bad memory.

"Do you want me to stay?" Joy asked softly.

"No," Fey answered. She took Joy's hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm okay. Truly."

Joy smiled in return and planted a kiss on Fey's tear-streaked cheek.

"You sure?" She asked, her eyes twinkling. "We wouldn't have to sleep, you know." She teased in a breathy voice.

It had been an offer Joy had made for Alice years ago. An offer Alice had taken her up on, night after night. An offer Fey wasn't at all surprised by.

She smiled. To Joy, who saw love in everything around her, joining Fey in bed would be as natural as breathing. There would be no shame in it, no strings attached. Just a night of comfort. Love.

It was tempting after the night she'd had. Oh, so tempting to forget it all and invite Joy to share her bed, if only for the night. But Fey shook her head. "I'm sure," she said. And meant it. "Now get out of here. Let me rest."

"Fine," Joy huffed, hopping from the bed and wriggling her hips as she left. "But the offer stands if you change your mind." She winked at Fey over her shoulder, before opening the door and slipping out into the hallway .

After Joy left, Fey pulled her sweat-soaked sheets from the bed and grabbed herself a spare blanket from her closet.

Wrapping herself in the blanket, she lay back in bed and waited for sleep to calm her.

It was a long, long wait.