A Special Place for Women, Laura Hankin [brene brown rising strong .txt] 📗

influencing things, carving grooves in the world so that the water flows where we want it to,” Iris said.

“Like, for example, I wanted to focus on my career for as long as possible before settling down,” Caroline said, “but I also didn’t want to wait too long to start a family, so the day I turned thirty, we did a summoning circle to find my husband. I met him the next day. A man who checked all of my boxes.”

“And she had a lot of boxes,” Margot said.

“I had an average amount of boxes,” Caroline said.

“When that troll ruined Vy’s art installation,” Iris said, “we did a blocking spell so that the police wouldn’t look too hard into who had vandalized his home. And they never even brought anyone in for questioning.”

Or, the voice inside me snarked, Caroline glommed on to the next attractive man she met, and the police left you alone because you had money and power.

The other women, the ones I didn’t know, began to speak too, introducing themselves—Tara, Ophelia, Gabby, and Nina. They each told their own story, the ways in which this coven had protected and promoted and shaped their lives, and the whole time I just kept waiting to wake up.

“And, well, we’ve done bigger things too, in service of some larger goals,” Margot said. My ears perked up, but Caroline cleared her throat, so Margot didn’t elaborate. She just leaned over the altar and began to light the candles on it.

So this was the big secret. That they were absolutely nuts.

“Wow,” I said. “Were you really into Wicca in high school, or—”

“This isn’t Wicca,” Vy said.

“Although it might look that way at first, from the outside,” Margot said.

“It’s not some hobby,” Caroline said. “And we’re not going to move to Salem and open up a witch store to sell candles. It’s sacred, and it’s secret.”

“Our great-grandmothers started it,” Margot said. “Mine and Caroline’s. Almost a hundred years ago, they began to meet in this building. It was just an old abandoned button factory at the time, with three women sneaking in to start a fire.”

Three? I wondered as Caroline took over the story. “Back then, hardly anybody came out this far west. That changed over the years, of course, thanks to us practicing here. We basically made this neighborhood.”

“I’m sorry, are you saying that you made the West Village—” I began, but Caroline was still talking.

“They passed it down to their daughters. My grandmother bought the building and invited in more members. Then our grandmothers passed it down to their daughters too. The Coven seemed like it might die with our generation. When Margot’s mother . . . well. I thought maybe it was antiquated and unnecessary anyway. But after 2016, I saw that it wasn’t, that we could use our magic in the service of a new goal—” Caroline cut herself off, then shook her head. “Anyways, we found our way back to each other.”

What goal? I wanted to ask, but Margot had jumped in.

“At first it was just me and Caroline,” Margot said. “Then we tracked down some of the daughters of women who had belonged over the years.” Margot looked at Vy, who gave her a nod. “And then we started the club.”

“Wait, so Nevertheless itself is just a beard?” I asked.

“No!” Caroline said. “Sure, we’re doing the real work up here. But I knew there could be a way to help other women in the process, to give them community and connection while we drew inspiration from them on the other side of a door. That’s why I said that we should start it.” She tossed her head, making sure she got the credit, still a little passive-aggressive even in what, for her, seemed a holy space.

“And besides,” Margot said, “now we keep an eye out for members who have an extra power inside of them. A . . . potential. Those are the ones we bring in here. Most of them haven’t ever realized the extent of what they could do, haven’t ever thought of themselves as witches, at least not in a serious way. But when we all worship together, our magic can be unlocked.”

What the ever-loving fuck. Magic was not real. This madness was not what I had signed up for. I just wanted to write an article and move the hell on.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Margot said, touching my hand gently. “This part is always strange for the initiates.”

“I almost ran away when they first told me,” said one of the women—Tara, she’d said her name was.

“But soon,” Caroline said, “everyone believes. Do you have more questions?”

A million fought and jabbered inside my brain. “Why?” I asked.

“Why what?” Caroline asked.

“Why do we do this?” Margot asked, and I nodded. She straightened her shoulders. “Because of power and sisterhood. Because to be a woman in this world is to know that you’re never truly equal, even when you put in ten times the work. Because it scares the men who want to keep us quiet, those who want to control us.” I thought of the pictures of Margot with her ex-boyfriend, who made her look small. Now, in the darkness, in this pocket of forest in the middle of the West Village, as tree branches rustled around us and firelight danced on her wild mane of hair, she seemed ten feet tall. “Witches used to be respected, used to heal and help until men decided to take their power away, to burn them, to call them hags. But in here, in the dark, we clasp hands and make things happen, and we will be equal despite them, or we’ll be better.”

The other women watched Margot, rapt, as she spoke. But something flickered on Caroline’s face along with the firelight, a kind of envy at the speech. She swallowed again. Maybe it wasn’t envy, but discomfort.

“So, no offense to your picking methods and obviously I’m honored and everything, but . . . why me?”

“You’ve known hardship and come out the other side.