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  When she was fifteen, an enormous tornado swept through the village demolishing several of the churches. This fact had Dorothea and Bertha laughing for months, as many of the very devout had been most unkind to the two older ladies and as Bertha and Dorothea impressed the point of “doing no harm” to others onto her, they could attest that the pious condemnation of some of that church's congregation had indeed harmed them. Local youths had broken windows and thrown stones at the old ladies as they walked home with groceries.

  Now that Emery was older, she informed her mother she had a job as a nurse’s aid with the King cousins. While this was not an ideal situation - after all it was with the King cousins - the fact that she had such a responsible job at her age was a bragging point for her mother. The sisters still just rolled their eyes and made fun of the old biddies.

  Since Emery was now raising a rather impressive flock of chickens for the cousins, she had money from their sale that doubled as her “wages”. Once a month a grizzled old man with a deformed hand that was just two, large, stuck-together fingers in the form of a pincher, came and took off a crate of the hens that had stopped laying and returned two days later with packages of meat ready for the frying pan. Emery was glad the cousins had hired the man to butcher her chickens somewhere else as she was very fond of her clucking gaggle and it hurt her every time he hauled a batch away. The cousins would cheer her up with a pot of the weirdly bitter tea, which she had learned was a combination of chamomile and wild asparagus root meant to calm the nerves and incite more lucid thinking and dreams.

  Dreams were very important to the King cousins and when Emery told them about a recurring dream she had, which made absolutely no sense to her, they informed her that it made complete sense to them.

  In the dream Emery manifested as an enormously old and hearty Forsythia bush in glorious, early-spring full-bloom. Her bright yellow blossoms shone like beacons in the early spring gloom.

  The family, atop a series of rusted bicycles, rode circles around the bush in swerving, chaotic rotations. Each of the siblings and her mother were armed with a set of rusty, manual hedge-clippers and in mad lunges would swoop past on their rickety bicycles and lop off one of her heavily flowered branches. Until, in the end, she was just a stumpy, ugly bush with no blooms.

  The cousins explained the dream to her. Her family was cutting back her creativity, expressions of love, and ability to branch out. They were slowly killing her will to blossom as a person. It was all about containing her and not letting her be her real self. In deep contemplation, Emery decided that was just about right and began to be even more secretive about her time with Dorothea and Bertha.

  Chapter Four

  The Protection Ceremony

  Since Emery was ready for her lessons in scrying to begin, Dorothea had impressed upon her the importance of being protected from outside forces. Emery had participated several times in a full moon ceremony to protect the house and grounds from nosy-parkers, as Bertha called the townsfolk. Now, it seemed, she was going to have her own ceremony to protect her from all manner of things. It was very exciting.

  Having been instructed by Dorothea to come ready for the ceremony to be out of doors, Emery had dressed warmly in her waffle-weave flowered long-john set, old jeans, lace-up boots with wool socks, and an insulated jacket and stocking cap. She’d learned the importance of always having gloves with her since some of the herbs could be very rough and prickly.

  It was the second full moon in her birth month, September, and the cousins informed her that when this happened, it was known as a “blue moon” and so was even more powerful than a full moon. Coupled with the power of her own astrology sign, this was going to be one “hum-dinger” of a protection spell according to Bertha.

  Standing in front of the two old ladies, Emery was full of excitement. Dorothea spoke, “You know that it is very important to be protected from outside forces.” It was more a statement than a question and Emery nodded solemnly. “Because this is your protection spell, Bertha and I can not tell you what ingredients to choose. You must go out into the woods and nature and find the things that symbolize protection to you. These items will have properties that will shield you from all types of danger. Do you understand?”

  “I believe so,” Emery said slowly. “It’s like when you summon the air to hide the mansion, because you're an air sign.”

  “Yes, precisely,” Dorothea said, smiling enough to show her jagged teeth. “You’ve got the idea. Now, go on. You need to be back within the hour.” With that Bertha flapped a shooing hand at Emery and the two cousins tottered back into the side door to the conservatory.

  Emery turned, looked out over the moon-frosted, scraggly lawn down towards the woods and set off. She didn’t know for sure where she was going, but she put her head down in thought and let the earth guide her.

  Forty-five minutes later she was back, carrying a wild rhubarb leaf pinned with a twig, that she’d shaped into a cone for carrying her precious items. Laying them out onto the flat rock the cousins used as an outdoor altar, previously the base for the broken stone birdbath she would soon learn to scry in, she lined them up in a loose arc for the women to look at.

  Bertha looked over the collection, murmured something to Dorothea and then went to stoke the small fire she had built on one end of the long, granite slab.

  “Tell me why you chose each of these items,” Dorothea said, pointing first to the end item. It was a clump of moss with two different textures.

  “I chose the moss because it covers and camouflages things and you can not see the stone or wood beneath,” Emery said, hesitating. At Dorothea’s surprised nod of approval, she continued. “The next thing is a thorn of a hedge tree. While we cannot harm anyone, nothing says we can’t stop them with things they’d rather not impale themselves on.” This statement was met with a burst of snickering from Bertha and again, Dorothea nodded approval.

  “I’ve chosen a feather to stir the air and misdirect leaves and wind to obscure sight. I found this piece of burned wood, which I brought because fire can ward off wild animals.” Emery nudged the last item back onto the stone ledge as it tried to trundle off. “I picked up this box turtle because he has a shell that protects him and that would be a good thing to have too.”

  “The last pile are gooseberries and I brought them for an offering,” she added, not sure about that. Usually the cousins just drank a lot of wine, sprinkled it around as an offering and got tipsy.

  The two cousins glanced at each other and nodded. “You’ve done well. How do you plan to put these things together to make your spell?” Dorothea asked.

  Emery frowned. She’d thought they’d tell her how to do it. Now she realized she was going to have to come up with a plan for the spell as well. Stumped for a few moments she grinned suddenly and said, “Well I’m going to use the moss as an antiseptic after I give myself a tattoo in the shape of a turtle with the hedge thorn using the charcoal of the burned stick as the ink. Then I’ll stir the air with the feather, make my incantation with it and then ask the turtle's blessing and let him go. Then I’ll burn the moss after the bleeding stops and send the feather up into the air on the fire's updraft?” Emery said, barely daring to look at the two women in front of her. It was a crazy idea she knew and she was probably totally flunking the whole thing.

  Glancing up from under lowered lashes she saw that both old ladies were staring at her as though she’d crawled out from under a rock. “Ah, shit,” Emery thought.

  Suddenly, Dorothea began to cackle wildly, then Bertha joined in. It took a few minutes and then both quieted down and Dorothea said, “An excellent plan. Best get to working on your incantation. Give her a paper and pencil Bertha!”

  It took Emery only a few minutes to make up her chant. It didn’t even begin with the same words as the older women’s usual incantation. Emery figured if this was her protection spell then she’d get protection from the source she believed had the power. Dorothea and Bertha used god and go
ddess as the beginnings of their chants, but Emery figured it was really the Earth. So she was going with that.

  I call upon the powers of the Earth!

  With this fire I call down the moon

  and offer up the fruit of the sun.

  I beg protection to be born this night

  From sun and moon and earth’s might.

  I ask the moss for the power of camouflage

  With the thorn I ask the protection of nature’s spears

  From brother turtle I ask for a shell to hide under and

  to stop wounds and harm

  I ask fire to ward off enemies

  And the feather to raise the wind and obscure me from those who would cast negative thought or action my way.

  With this offering of gooseberries and ask,

  So mote it be.

  There had been many ceremonies with Dorothea and Bertha where Emery had seen and felt the power of magic. Often the winds would swirl around the cousins and the scent of lightning and fire would ride on the wind. She knew to expect a little something unusual, but she wasn’t prepared for what happened when she began her chant and punctured her forefinger to put a drop of her own blood in the fire as an offering before starting the charcoal turtle tattoo.

  When she did that the wind rose, lightning cracked and the earth around them quivered a bit. Emery stopped. The cousins looked at each other then said in unison, “Keep going!” Emery did.

  By the time she’d finished chanting her spell, drawn the outline of the box turtle on her inner arm with the end of the burned piece of wood she’d found, rammed the thorn into the outline a good twenty times, and waved the smoke from the small fire up into the heavens using the battered feather, some serious weirdness was going on. The fire leapt high and suddenly Emery fell to the ground as a searing pain ripped through her left arm where she’d drawn the turtle image. Her jacket, which she’d now pulled down over the image, caught on fire.

  Dorothea, acting quickly, muttered a few words, waved her hands in a circle and the fire went out, leaving a smoldering stink and singed tatters where Emery’s old zip-up sweatshirt sleeve had been.

  Bertha helped Emery to her feet and both old ladies tried to peer at the inner arm she was now clutching in pain. “Move your hand, girl! We’re trying to see what’s happened!” Dorothea ordered her, no sign of sympathy or empathy in her tone.

  “Let us see,” Bertha demanded. “I think you’ve been branded. That hardly ever happens!”

  Emery slowly dropped her hand from the burning pain in her forearm and held it out towards the old women. Several tears slipped down her face and Dorothea, seeing them, reached out and caught one on her withered fingertip. “Well, Bertha, is it a brand?” She snapped at her slow responding cousin.

  “Yes, yes it is. It’s the same as the one she drew of the turtle. Look!” Bertha demanded, pulling Emery’s arm forward in excitement - practically pulling the slim girl off her feet, which were none too steady at the moment.

  “Hmmm, yes. I see you’re right. This tear will bind the brand and make it even more powerful,” the old woman said to Emery. “Tears have power. The pain the brand caused you will be sealed in with this tear and pain has power, just as pleasure has power. You’ll see as you get older. Both the ups and downs of life have their own type of magic.” With that Dorothea rubbed the salty tear over the burn, which Emery hadn’t had a chance to see until that moment. The salt of the tear made the raw brand burn even more and she gasped at the new onslaught of agony.

  “Don’t be a wimp, girl!” Dorothea snapped. “Look at how wonderful that protection brand is.” The snaggle-toothed woman shoved Emery’s burnt sleeve out of the way and raised her stinging arm to the light of the full moon. Even Emery could see how deep and clear the turtle’s shape had been embedded in her arm. A deep surge of satisfaction burst through her, effectively cutting off her tears, pain and shock.

  “Wow! That looks good!” she said stupidly, staring at it. Both cousins cackled gleefully, patted Emery on the shoulders and then hugged each other.

  “We’ve got a keeper,” Dorothea stated gleefully to Bertha. “This is going to be epic! In a few years we’ll send her to Pico de Orizaba. Druscilla will be furious and green with envy!”

  “Who is Druscilla?” Emery asked, wondering at the two women’s obvious satisfaction. “What does this brand mean?” As the two women turned to stare at her as though she’d said something idiotic, Emery added, “I know it’s a protection rune, right?”

  “Yes. It is a protection rune and a very powerful one at that. More powerful than anything either of us have,” Dorothea explained. “We’re happy because our cousin Druscilla is always on about how many great apprentices she’s found for the sisterhood and is always rubbing it in our faces that we’ll never have a good apprentice because we’re out here in the middle of nowhere. We now have an apprentice that is more powerful than all the ones she’s thrown in our faces in the past put together. You are going to be a very powerful witch, girl. You’ve done a very good job tonight and uncovered a potential that neither of us has ever seen before. Tonight has changed your life, little girl. I hope you’re up to it.” With that the two old ladies trudged into the house, Emery following behind.

  Chapter Five

  Scrying

  The next two weeks were intense preparation for the new moon cycle that was coming. It was on the new moon that Emery would have her first initiation into the art of scrying. In the meantime, she had to learn all about what the different types of scrying could be. There were crystal balls, commonly seen in hokey movies, but effective according to Bertha. There was also smoke, water, mirror and wax types. Dorothea said wax scrying was about as ridiculous as reading tea leaves and didn’t even bother trying to tell Emery how to do it.

  The old ladies had produced a huge crystal ball with a few scratches and chips from an old cupboard in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Along with it came a round mirror with a beautifully intricate gold frame. Bertha said it had belonged to the cousins’ great-grandmother and only her own mother had ever had any luck with scrying from it.

  As the new moon grew near, Emery started to get a little nervous. Finally, bursting into tears, she wailed, “What if I don’t see anything in anything!”

  The two crones stopped in their tracks, stared at each other, then at her. Dorothea seemed to wilt a little. “I’m sorry girl, if we’ve put too much pressure on you. You don’t have to see anything. If you do, that’s good. If you don’t, it’s no big deal.” Bertha nodded in agreement.

  Bertha added, “I know we’ve been going on about besting Druscilla, but that isn’t what it's all about. You are who you are. You will be the witch you’re supposed to be - Druscilla or no Druscilla. Don’t ever think you have to achieve something. That’s not how magic works. You have it the way you’re supposed to have it.”

  Dorothea nodded, then said, “But don’t get us wrong. You can learn to make what you have more powerful and control it. But Bertha is right - you have to have the spark first. And the spark can be fanned, or it can be smothered by pressure and expectations. We have no expectations of you girl. It is good that we had this discussion so that you know that we only wait and see what happens. Whatever happens is enough. You are enough in whatever way your spark manifests.”

  Emery nodded, her panic subsiding and then smiled beautifically at the women. “I like that...that I’m enough in whatever way I manifest. My mom is always trying to get me to be different in some way. It’s tiring and I’m not interested. It makes me feel not good enough the way I am.”

  Dorothea inclined her head. “You are fine the way you are.”

  Bertha snorted, her clumped gray hair swaying violently, “You’re better than fine. You’re awesome.” Then she turned and stumped towards the conservatory, gold mirror clutched in her twisted knuckles. Dorothea tottered after her, crystal ball cradled against her bony chest as though it was a baby.

  The new moon lasted three nights. O
r at least that was when you could work on new moon spells. The first night, Dorothea plied Emery with the weirdly bitter asparagus root tea and then set her down in front of the fire outside to meditate on the smoke. Bertha occasionally threw a handful of sage onto the fire, creating small billows of smoke for Emery to stare into.

  Nothing much happened except she saw the shapes of a bunch of wild women dancing around a fire, then passed out. Too much sage, according to Bertha. The two old crones bickered about that for a good fifteen minutes the following night as they prepared for the crystal ball ceremony.

  Again the same bitter tea was presented. Emery had been practicing meditation every day and wasn’t sure why she’d passed out the night before. Just when things were getting exciting too. She’d been able to see the dark-skinned women dancing around a fire on a mountain top. Then bammo, she was slumped on the ground.