Family Magic, Chloe Price [christmas read aloud .txt] 📗

channel it somewhere, it would have destroyed us all. As it was, I felt like being destroyed may have been the better choice.

Meira clutched my hand as I struggled to catch my breath. I could hear crying and moans all around me as the witches suffered from the recoil of power. I struggled to a sitting position, feeling like I weighed a thousand pounds. I drew Meira to me. She cried in my heavy arms. I saw Mom’s motionless body not far from us and gathered what remaining strength I had. I slowly, so slowly, pulled the two of us to our mother. She was crushed into the ground, the earth around her indented with the weight of what she did. I knew she channeled as much of it through herself as she could. It saved the coven whether they knew it or not, but she paid the price. She literally imprinted in the ground beneath her, face-first in the dirt and grass.

I let go of Meira long enough to struggle with her limp body. I managed finally to roll her over. I had a panicked moment before she opened her eyes and looked at me.

I was never so happy to see her.

Mom pulled herself up, out of breath. Her face twisted into horrible grief. She clutched my hand hard for support. Our gazes locked.

“Syd,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

“Miriam!” Erica’s voice called, desperate and terrified, taking my mother’s attention before I could answer. “Jared!”

His body lay crumpled on the ground. Mom struggled to rise but it was Batsheva who made it to Erica first, who sent a surge to Jared and revived him.

I knew as I felt around the circle not everyone there was going to be so lucky. As the stunned awareness began to wear off, the wailing and weeping began. Too many of the witches felt like the twins, alive but empty. Mom’s tears fell as she sat there, looking around her but not really seeing with her eyes. She was searching with her power. What she saw, what we both saw, broke my mother’s heart.

It was Batsheva Moromond who broke her will.

“How has this happened?” The portly woman staggered toward us, naked shock on her face at the crumpled and damaged mass that was the most powerful coven in the country. “Where was your power, Miriam? Where was the Hayle strength to lead us?”

The wailing and crying stopped. Everyone still with us stared at my mother, glared at her. They demanded an answer with that collective glare. There was such a heaviness to them, a desperate anguish that needed to know what happened, wanting to blame. I was terrified so much negative energy focused on Mom.

I watched in awe as my mother, unbowed even then, found reserves within herself and rose under the weight of it. Chapter Thirty One

When I felt Mom trying to stand, I helped her. I stood next to her as she faced the coven and, more specifically, Batsheva. I tried to feed her but she blocked me, so I stopped. She wavered as she stood there, but her shoulders sat square. She was herself. I couldn’t ask for more than that.

“Well?” Batsheva demanded, voice throbbing with emotion. Her face twisted to a mask of grief. I thought she was laying it on a little thick. “Explain yourself! Explain this horror!”

Mom faced her, calm and poised. “I cannot,” she said.

A breath rippled through the coven, a regret. Batsheva seized it and used it like a weapon.

“You are our leader,” she spoke to them as she did to Mom. “You were to keep us safe, protected. This cleansing was your idea! We warned you,” she said, “attempting a spell so powerful this close to Samhain was dangerous. But you wouldn’t listen!”

The witches who could muttered, anger growing, accusations building. I held on to my mother and prayed I could protect her if it turned ugly.

But that wasn’t what Batsheva had in mind. In fact, I think I knew what she was after, what she had been after since the day I met her. Whether she was involved with the traitor or just taking advantage of the situation, the result was the same.

She wanted Mom’s job and she wouldn’t stop until she had it.

Not that my mom was going to give up without a fight.

“There is a reason it failed,” Mom spoke, her voice carrying past the murmurs. Silence fell. Batsheva turned to her, frowning.

“But you said…”

“I said,” Mom cut her off, “I didn’t know what happened, and I don’t. But I know why.”

I could feel the coven wavering back toward her. She pulled away from me and stood alone, turning slowly to them as she spoke.

“There is a traitor among us,” Mom said, “who sabotaged this ceremony and means to destroy us all.”

Fear rose again as they gasped. A ripple ran through the gathering.

“Miriam,” Erica said, “who is it?”

Everyone looked to her as leader. I did, even. I wanted an answer. I assumed she had one.

No such luck.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“And yet,” Batsheva seized on it, “there is a traitor.” She used scorn like a whip as she went on. “This mysterious traitor none of us has seen proof of. Only the unfortunate bumbling of a witch who can no longer control her own power. Or the power of her children.” I glared at her as she pointed at me. Seemed like Batsheva learned a thing or two from her darling husband. I refused to even glance his way.

“The traitor exists,” Mom said, her soft voice again cutting through the mutters and heavy emotions. “And is trying as we speak to separate us, to divide us.”

Batsheva played at being offended. “Are you accusing me?”

“That’s not what I said,” Mom answered. “But we need to stand together, now, to uncover the real truth before it destroys us.”

Erica stood, helping Jared to his feet. “What do you want us to do?”

I saw the expression on Batsheva’s face as she recognized she was losing control of the situation. I even knew the moment she made her decision to destroy Mom if she could.

I just wasn’t in any position to stop it.

“Yes, Miriam,” she said, “tell us what to do. Tell us how to find this traitor.” A whisper of power slid around the circle. The witches wavered. “Tell us, oh mighty leader, how to make this,” she gestured around at the damaged group, “right. Tell us how you plan to reverse this, to save us all, because so far you have only managed to bring this coven to its knees.”

They leaned to Batsheva, linking to her. They agreed with her, actually agreed. I felt her win them over at the same time my mother did.

Mom sighed. Whatever she clung to faded. I watched her crumple in on herself. I couldn’t help her because she wouldn’t let me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve failed you all.”

Batsheva must have sensed victory because she softened and approached us with gentle concern that turned my stomach.

“Miriam,” she said. “As much as we want to believe you, you have no proof. Do you?”

My mother shook her head. I wanted to scream.

“So we have only your word,” Batsheva went on.

I wanted to tear her a new one.

“You understand how this looks, sounds,” she finished.

Mom was drained, done. I wanted to die.

“I have known you most of my life,” Batsheva said. “Since we were girls together. You have always been a woman of integrity, we all know that,” she turned to the other witches, “don’t we?”

Murmured assent. At least they weren’t going to throw us on the Samhain fire. Things were looking up.

“Miriam,” Batsheva went on, “you have served this coven faithfully until now. But, I think it’s more than obvious to everyone you can no longer fulfill that role.”

A moan from many throats. She had spoken it, said the words that made the thought on everyone’s mind real. I choked on tears, turned to Mom, desperate. Surely she would fight back. Wouldn’t she?

Not this time. My mother stood frozen and quiet. I worried she was taken again. But the eyes raised to mine were hers. I figured out about a heartbeat too late what she planned to do and why.

To protect my sister, to protect me and Gram and Dad, Miriam Hayle made the ultimate sacrifice.

“My coven,” she said. “What say you? Am I still leader or do you choose another?”

A wave of shock turned to fear turned to agreement. Celeste stepped forward.

“We choose another,” she said.

Mom, my amazing mother, simply stepped back.

“Done,” she said, and it was.

At first, there was nothing, held breath and total quiet. The power, our family power, began to gather about her, glowing ropes of blue and amber, twining around itself as it came. It coiled, her body buried in the pulsing column embracing her, a living, breathing thing that made Miriam Hayle who she was. I saw her expression change as she forced it from her, face crumpling in despair.

I could only imagine the pain it caused her.

It rose from her, came off in a wave, but didn’t leave her completely. She staggered as it separated from her, the thin touch of its tail wrapped firmly around her left wrist, anchored. I felt the brush of it as it flowed past me, inhaled its sweet breath of fresh earth and flowers. I smelled the distinct aroma of lilac.

It wound its way through the crowd, passing through the broken coven, a flaming ghost. It brushed a witch here, a witch there, but didn’t settle. In fact, it seemed to be struggling in its search, trying to retreat over and over to the form of its owner. She held it off despite its wishes and it finally relented. I watched as it slid around Celeste, lighting her face with its brilliant glow, heard my mother whisper. It moved on to circle Erica. I knew then Mom guided it, making the best choice she could under the circumstances. Despite my concern for her, I knew she was doing her best to keep us safe.

The column of gold and blue bumped against Erica, nuzzling her like a puppy. I felt Mom’s relief. I also felt her let go. The thin wisp that kept her tied to it slipped away. The family magic dove at its target.

There was a surge out of nowhere. The collected energy seemed to divert as it flew to its choice. It crossed the last few feet and instead plunged into Batsheva Moromond like she called it to her.

No way. Batsheva, the new leader? It had to be a set up. The final lash that drew the column to her was no coincidence. I thought more and more that the Moromonds had to have something to do with the traitor. But now that she was leader… I stepped up to my mother and took her arm. She leaned on me, feeling somehow smaller, more frail than she ever had before. When she looked up at me, the woman I knew was gone with the power of the coven.

On the other hand, Batsheva glowed.

“My friends,” she said, voice full with the magic, “my thanks for choosing me. I am honored by your faith. You will not live to regret it, I assure you.”

Odd choice