Chapter 12

The Waterford Community Center covered an entire block in the downtown district, which seemed to be pretty big for a town this size. According to the bronze plaque hanging beside the front doors, the building had been built in 1977, and it looked like it, too — yellow brick, L-shaped, and with a weird blue tile mosaic that wrapped around the middle. I’d never been inside. Never had reason to before now.

I followed Sarah through glass double doors into a brightly lit lobby that smelled faintly of bleach. There was no one behind the industrial-gray info desk, but I could hear the squeak of sneakers on the indoor basketball court I knew was somewhere in the building.

“Is it always this dead?” I asked, cringing as my voice echoed off the walls. It felt like a library; I didn’t want to speak too loudly for fear of being shushed.

“On Sundays, yes,” Sarah replied with a shrug, taking the hall on the right. “Many people are at church right now.”

“At night? Whatever happened to Sunday morning services?”

Sarah winked. “Some people are lazy and won’t sacrifice sleep for God.”

Her yellow high heels were loud on the linoleum. I glared at her. “You really shouldn’t be wearing high heels while you’re pregnant. It can’t be good for Larsen Junior, and it sure as heck ain’t good for your back.”

My best friend rolled her eyes. “Are you going to lecture me every time I wear them?”

“If I did?”

She caught my eye, smiling sweetly. “I might lose my cool and beat you with one of them. Hormones, you know. I can’t be held responsible.”

I shook my head. “Watch it, priss. I may have you committed before you pop out that baby.”

Down a long, dim hallway, we entered Conference Room B. The room was a small amphitheater of gray seats and even grayer walls that would have looked at home in a university building. A blackboard stretched across half of the far wall, the other half of it covered by a white projector shade. On the stage at the bottom of the incline, several women, already chatting, occupied a circle of chairs.

“This place could use some color,” I remarked.

Sarah grinned. “You and your aversion to neutrals. Talk about having someone committed.”

The chatter stopped as Sarah and I approached. I flushed, uncomfortable under their microscopic gazes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in an intimate setting with a group of women. Probably the last “battered wives” meeting back in Louisville before this battered wife had turned the tables on her husband and fled the state.

I clutched my bag tighter, trying to draw strength from the magickal tools within. I would feel better when I had them in my hands.

“Please tell me they were expecting me,” I hissed through the side of my mouth, heart thumping.

Sarah nodded, and then turned to wave at her group. “Ladies, this is my friend Mena McGinty.”

There was an upbeat chorus of “hellos,” and the four women onstage stood to shake my hand as Sarah introduced them.

Marion was a tall, curvy woman with milk chocolate skin and a deep, booming voice. Georgette had a head full of flame-colored curls and a big yellow smiley face on the T-shirt over her barely-there bump. Nancy was an older woman with gray at her temples and a kind smile, while Chloe was a tiny brunette with hands that constantly moved around a substantial belly.

“Did you get Molly’s email?” Chloe asked Sarah, hands flapping.

“I did. She’s at her mom’s in Portland for the weekend for her birthday. And Tina isn’t feeling well, so she couldn’t make it tonight.” Sarah motioned for me to have a seat.

“What’s wrong with Tina?” Nancy asked, her voice wavering. She put both hands protectively on her trim stomach; she must not have been far along in her pregnancy.

“She’s fine, Nancy.” Sarah leaned over to squeeze the woman’s knee. “Don’t worry. Just some stomach issues. ‘Coming out both ends,’ she said.”

The six of us shared a laugh, and I relaxed a little.

“We were going to discuss formula versus breast milk tonight,” Georgette announced after we were all seated. “But in light of the situation with our sister Justine, Sarah has asked that we do a prayer circle.”

“An unorthodox prayer circle,” Sarah chimed in with a grin. “As you read in my email, Mena is one of the most spiritual people I know. But she’s not a Christian.”

A couple of the women tittered.

“Mena is a hedgewitch,” Sarah told them seriously. “She lives and worships the land, following closely the flow of the seasons and the phases of the moon. Her God is female and embodies all of nature, earth, and the universe. I asked Mena to come and perform a ritual for Justine’s safe return.”

“Which is even more important now that we know Justine may have been abducted,” Georgette said worriedly.

“I wonder where she is right now,” Chloe said softly.

There was a dip in atmosphere as the women’s faces fell.

“Ladies, if I may speak,” I said, “morbid thoughts will only make you feel worse. We need to remain positive for Justine’s sake. Positive in, positive out.”

“Is that like where you smile at yourself in a mirror for five minutes, and it’s supposed to make you happy?” Marion asked.

I gave her a thumbs-up. “That is exactly right. What you put into the universe is what you get back. If you’re running late to work, and you fret and think over and over that things will just keep making you later and later, then that’s what will happen.”

“So if I imagine all green lights and no traffic, I won’t be late to work regardless of when I leave?” Sarah winked. She was making a point.

“Not quite.” I waggled my finger at her as the other ladies chuckled. “With magick, you have to physically do what you need to do first, and then you perform the spell or affirmation to strengthen the bond and cement the deal. So you should still leave for work when you need to, but by expecting a positive ride there, you won’t be hindered on the journey.”

Sarah took that as her cue to start again. “If anyone is bothered by the idea of a witchcraft ceremony, please feel free to step outside. I know we all agreed to this by email, but it’s easy to change your mind when it’s time to actually do it.” Sarah spoke the truth. The very first time she’d asked to sit in on a ritual with me, she’d backed out at the last minute. That was the only time she ever chickened out on me. “The neat thing about it is, if you’re familiar with Catholic services, it really feels just like that. And even though Mena doesn’t necessarily believe the way the rest of us might, the ritual itself is soothing.”

The four ladies exchanged glances and shrugs. I didn’t see any worry on their faces, only curiosity. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Sarah nodded at me, and suddenly, I was in the spotlight.

I had always been a solitary witch. I’d never joined a coven, nor participated in any of the open rituals put on in any given town with a pagan population. My magick was personal. Mine alone. I always felt if someone witnessed me in ritual, they would see my soul laid bare and naked. And until Sarah begged to see exactly what it was I did, I’d never shown a living soul. From there, I’d shared with Cathy, and then again last year when Sage and Lakens came to visit.

But this would be my first group affair.

“Everyone move your chairs closer. Make the circle tighter,” I said as I stood and placed my duffel on my chair. I unzipped it and was gifted with the strong scent of sage.

“Mm, what is that?” Chloe asked, leaning over to sniff appreciatively. She chuckled, cupping her stomach. “Mason likes it, too.”

I smiled. “White sage. It is a lovely smell, and a perfect purification tool. The thing about magick is you never want to allow negativity to enter your workspace. Negativity of any kind can severely limit the power you bring into the circle.” As I talked, I pulled out four mason jars and began walking around the outside of the now-tighter circle, placing the jars in their positions.

“What are you doing?” Marion asked. Of the four, she seemed the most leery.

I tried to keep my voice gentle, as if talking to a skittish animal. It was so important to me to show witchcraft in the right light, because many people either didn’t understand it or completely misunderstood it. “Each of these jars holds a candle, and each candle is the color of its respective direction. Yellow is for air and the direction of east. Red for south and fire, blue for west and water, and green for north and earth.”

Marion’s thick, dark brows wrinkled. “But what does that mean?”

“Oh, let me!” Sarah cut in.

I laughed and motioned for her to go on as I went back to my bag.

“Witches call on the spirits of the four elements — earth, air, fire, and water. The elements live at the four directions. By inviting them into the circle, Mena’s asking for an extra jolt for her spell. Oh, and protection from any negative outside influences.”

I glowed a little as my best friend finished. She had listened to me.

Carrying a single white pillar candle to the center of the circle, I asked, “Who brought the picture of Justine?”

Georgette held up a hand, and then leaned over to dig around in her brown leather handbag. “Got it here.”

When she handed it to me, I took a moment to gaze down at it. Justine Montgomery was stunning. She had high cheekbones beneath huge dark eyes, olive skin, and a wide smile. In the picture, I could see she was far along in her pregnancy. Her dark curly hair hung down above a big baby belly.

I laid the picture on the floor and then set the white candle on top of it. “I’m going for simplicity because, one, I don’t want to freak you guys out, and two, sometimes simplicity is all we really need for the Universe to listen to us.” I pulled a box of matches from my bag.

No pomp and circumstance. I walked clockwise around the circle and lit the four elemental candles, saying a silent welcome in my head for each, and then I lit the white pillar in the circle’s center, coming to a rest before it on my knees.

“Repetition is powerful,” I started, surprised to find my hands were shaking. I folded them in my lap so nobody would notice. “In school, we are taught to repeat things in order to cement the knowledge in our mind. We never forget the words to songs we learn because we listen to and repeat them over and over. Repetition is infinitely useful. Tonight, we’re going to use repetition to raise power for Justine.”

I glanced at each woman in turn. Their faces were strong and determined, and they’d already clasped hands without me asking them to. It struck me how close-knit this group of women was. They really cared about each other.

I guessed motherhood could do that to a woman: reinforce her need for other female companionship. Pregnancy was one of the great mysteries in life, one of the challenges a woman couldn’t understand until she was there herself.

“Is anybody asthmatic? Or does anyone have problems with incense smoke?” I asked.

Five heads shook.

Taking up the sage bundle, I touched it to the flaming wick of the pillar candle until the dried leaves caught. It flared steadily for a second and then dwindled to smoldering. I stood and walked the circle clockwise, waving the smoking stick over the women. Circle completed, I sat down before the candle again and re-lit the sage so it would smolder some more.

“Close your eyes,” I said, voice low. “Take three deep breaths. In. Out.” I counted their breaths as I did my own, reaching deep inside me to the place where my center lived. “Find that place within yourself. The place of balance. This is your still point. Your one-with-the-universe place. From here, you speak to the Divine.”

I let the silence rest a moment. A couple more deep breaths — this time, to steady myself — and it was time to begin.

Opening my eyes, I regarded them thoughtfully, all except for Sarah, who was directly behind me. “Ladies, I would ask that you repeat after me, if you feel comfortable doing so. As above, so also below.”

“As above, so also below.”

I was happy to see them all repeat it. I continued. “As the body, so also the soul.”

Again, all repeated my words.

“To the Divine we pray.”

Their voices joined together like music, swirling through the room with a kind of energy I’d never felt before.

“Bring home our sister astray.”

As they parroted the last line, I heard earnestness in their tone.

This last line I repeated three times, each time listening to the tenor of their voices rising together. The energy they raised was intense — warm, loving, powerful. If you’d asked them, they might not have felt what I did, but I could, and it was magickal.

This must be what a coven is like, I thought as their voices faded. But a circle of witches… how powerful that would be. For the first time ever, I wished I had a group of witchy friends. Cathy was interested, and still bugging me to go to the Gables Samhain festival with her, but I’d never been close to another practicing pagan.

“Open your eyes,” I whispered.

They did. I slid the photo of Justine out from under the candle, folded it in half and touched it to the candle flame. The paper caught with a whoosh, and I tossed it into the bowl with the burning sage.

“Blessed be,” I said. Justine’s visage burned and the power we had raised flew into the universe on the back of the pale gray smoke.

A moment later, five very different voices chorused, “Blessed be.”