Chapter 3 — Chapter 3

Althea

I stretch languidly as sunlight streams through my bedroom window, the familiar tingle of magic awakening in my veins. My apartment greets me with the soft rustling of enchanted plants—my ivy, Elara, named after Gran, sways gently as if sensing my mood—and the quiet hum of magical artifacts.

*Home, sweet home.*

Padding barefoot across the cool wooden floor, I make my way to the center of my living room. It’s time for my morning ritual, a necessity to steady the guilt simmering from yesterday’s clash with Seraphine. Sinking onto the floor, legs crossed, I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, grounding myself in the earth’s energy. With practiced precision, I weave intricate patterns in the air, my fingers trailing shimmering light.

“Elements of air, fire, water, and earth,” I chant, my voice resonating with intent. “I call upon your strength to center my magic and align my spirit.”

A warm breeze swirls around me, carrying the scent of roses from my balcony garden. Tiny flames flicker at my fingertips, but for a fleeting moment, they stutter, as if disturbed by an unseen force. I frown but press on, feeling the comforting weight of the elements embrace me. Magic surges through me, powerful yet contained.

With a quiet smile, I rise and head to the kitchen.

*Breakfast time.*

A flick of my wrist, and the refrigerator door swings open. Eggs float gracefully through the air, settling on the counter. Another gesture, and a pan nestles onto the stove, a soft blue flame igniting beneath it.

As I crack the eggs with a single, deft tap, I hum a little tune. The coffee maker across the room whirs to life at the melody, a charming enchantment I crafted for convenience.

“Now, for my morning masterpiece,” I murmur, reaching for my favorite mug. I sprinkle a pinch of ground cinnamon into the bottom, followed by a few drops of vanilla extract. As the rich aroma of coffee fills the air, I whisper an incantation, infusing the brew with a touch of magic for that perfect warmth.

I savor the last sip of my enchanted coffee, the taste reminding me of quieter mornings shared with Seraphine, laughing over burnt toast at Gran’s old kitchen table. The memory stings now. Guilt gnaws at me over yesterday’s argument at Moonshade Brew. I was too sharp, too quick to judge her struggles with magic. It’s unfair to hold her to my standards—or Vera’s.

“Time to make this right,” I mutter, reaching for my phone.

I dial Seraphine’s number, the rings echoing in my ear. Once, twice, three times. No answer. Voicemail.

“Hey, Ro, it’s me,” I say, voice softer than I intend. “I feel awful about yesterday, and I need to make this right. Call me back when you can, okay?”

I hang up, brow furrowing. It’s unlike Seraphine to dodge calls, especially from family.

*Or she’s avoiding you.*

The thought bites deeper than I’d care to admit. I send a quick text:

*Hey, sis, sorry about yesterday. I was out of line. Can we talk? Love you.*

I stare at the screen, waiting for the telltale dots of a reply. Nothing. Delivered, unread.

Sighing, I set the phone down. “Well, that went well,” I say to the empty room.

I try to distract myself by tidying up, but my mind loops back to Seraphine. I should’ve been more patient, more understanding. Being the odd one out in a family of powerful witches isn’t easy. I recall a moment years ago, at her first spell-casting lesson, when her charm fizzled and I laughed—thoughtlessly, not cruelly—but her crestfallen face still haunts me.

“I’ll try again later,” I resolve, glancing at the clock. “Maybe she just needs space.”

Yet an uneasy knot tightens in my gut. Something feels off, unresolved.

Settling at my desk, I open my laptop to tackle admin work for the family company. As I sort through invoices and contracts, my gaze drifts to a framed photo from last summer’s solstice celebration—the three of us, arms linked, laughing. Seraphine’s smile is hesitant but real. When did her insecurities start overshadowing her warmth? Vera, our firecracker, brims with talent and drive, but I worry she pushes too hard, proving something to herself. And me, always the eldest, caught between them, trying to hold us together. I grip the frame tightly, the weight of that role pressing down. I’ve often tried to control rather than listen, a flaw I see clearer after yesterday.

My thoughts flicker briefly to Heath Moonshadow, a childhood friend, magical royalty in our community with his mother Astra and aunt, the High Priestess. We’d spent endless summers weaving spells by the creek, his laughter a constant. I shake off the memory, focusing on an odd invoice from a magical supplier—unusually high for simple herbs. Strange.

After hours of work, I decide to break for lunch, texting my friend Lydia to meet at Willow Creek Park. Fresh air might clear my head, and Lydia’s humor never fails.

Strolling through the park, I spot her waving from a bench near the duck pond, the quacks and distant giggles of children filling the air. Her bright smile lifts my spirits as I approach.

“Althea! Over here!” she calls, patting the spot beside her.

I settle down, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. “Thanks for meeting me on short notice,” I say, pulling out a container of homemade pasta salad.

Lydia shrugs, unwrapping her sandwich. “Are you kidding? Any excuse to ditch my cubicle. Remember that time we snuck out of history class to picnic here? You nearly set the grass on fire with that botched sun spell!”

I laugh, the memory easing my tension. “Hey, I got it right eventually. How’s the party planning going?”

As we chat about work and family, I relax, sharing my worries about Seraphine. Lydia listens, her presence a comfort.

“I’m sure she’ll come around,” she reassures, squeezing my arm. “You Blackwood sisters are tough cookies.”

I’m about to reply when something catches my eye—a figure at the treeline, half-hidden in shadow, their gaze piercing. A chill runs through me, an echo of a dark omen I once glimpsed in a vision.

“Lydia,” I whisper, keeping my voice steady. “Don’t look now, but do you see someone watching us over there?”

She scans the area casually. “Where? I don’t see anyone.”

I blink, and the figure vanishes, as if dissolved into the air.

“That’s…odd,” I mutter, frowning. “I could’ve sworn I saw someone.”

Lydia nudges me playfully. “Maybe party stress is getting to you. Or, ooooh, a ghost! Spooky!”

I force a smile, but unease lingers. My instincts rarely mislead, and something about that shadow felt wrong. Dangerous.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say, not wanting to alarm her. But the sensation of being watched clings to me, even as we finish lunch and part ways.

That foreboding shadows me as I prepare for the local Coven Conclave meeting. Driving to Aurora Greenleaf’s home, I can’t shake the park incident, my grip tight on the steering wheel. Her charming cottage, nestled in a lush garden, greets me with the scent of herbs and flowers. A carved door knocker whispers a soft “Welcome, Althea” as I approach, and the door swings open to reveal Aurora’s warm smile.

“Althea, dear! Come in,” she ushers me inside, the furniture subtly shifting to match my tense posture. “The others are here.”

I step into the cozy living room, nodding to Marina Tidecaller, Astra Moonshadow, and Thaddeus Runeweaver. The air feels charged despite Aurora’s hospitality.

“Now that we’re all here,” Thaddeus begins, his deep voice filling the space, “let’s discuss the matter at hand. There’s been an increase in vampire activity in our area.”

I lean forward, pulse quickening. “I’ve noticed it too. Just today, I felt watched in the park.”

Marina tilts her head. “Could it have been a trick of the light?”

I bristle slightly but keep my tone even. “I trust my instincts, Marina. Something’s not right. If we don’t act, my sisters—our whole community—could be at risk.”

Astra nods slowly. “I’ve had…dreams. Shadows creeping closer. I believe Althea may be onto something.”

“What do we propose?” Aurora asks, concern in her eyes.

I take a breath. “We need stronger protections. Additional wards around town. And we must warn our people to stay vigilant.”

Thaddeus shakes his head. “That risks panic. We can’t act without evidence. Remember the skirmish fifty years ago? Our ancestors’ hasty truce with the vampires came at a cost. We’re bound by that pact to avoid provocation.”

“But waiting might be too late!” I counter, frustration rising. “We can’t ignore this.”

Marina sighs. “Althea, I share your concern, but rash moves could reignite old conflicts. We must be cautious.”

I scan the room for support, met only with hesitant gazes. The reluctance maddens me, though I understand the weight of history behind it. I sit back, irritation simmering beneath a calm facade. The meeting drifts to mundane topics, like the Midsummer festival. I nod along, suggesting my moon-glow enchantment for lanterns, but my heart isn’t in it. How can we plan celebrations with danger looming?

As the meeting ends, Astra lingers by the door, her voice low. “Althea, I’m with you on this. Let’s talk soon—quietly.” Her words offer a flicker of hope, a potential ally.

“Well, I think that covers everything,” Thaddeus announces, standing. “Unless anyone has more to add?”

I bite back a final plea, sensing its futility. “No, nothing else,” I say, voice tight.

As we file out of Aurora’s cottage, exchanging amiable goodbyes, a heaviness settles in my chest. Nothing’s resolved. We’re no more prepared than before. The sun dips low, casting long shadows across the street as I head to my car. My unease grows with each step—streetlights flicker faintly, an unnatural silence pressing in.

*Better safe than sorry.*

I glance around, ensuring I’m alone—witches still guard our magic from prying eyes. Centering myself, I weave a protection spell, fingers tracing silvery patterns. I recall a time it shielded me from a minor hex; it’s not infallible, but it’s held before.

“By the power of earth and sky,” I whisper, magic building, “shield me from harm, let danger pass me by.”

The spell wraps around me, warm and steady, a second skin against minor threats. I quicken my pace, eager to reach my car, the twilight deepening. But as I round the corner, my heart slams into my throat.

“Witch…”

The hissed word lingers in the air. Dark figures emerge from the shadows, surrounding me. Dread floods my veins as my worst fears materialize.

*Vampires!*

Their pallid skin and glowing eyes are unmistakable, fangs glinting under street lamps. I raise my hands, magic crackling at my fingertips, ready to fight. But there are too many. My mind races, a memory of a near-fatal encounter with a rogue hex years ago flashing through me—fear then, fear now, but I won’t yield.

“What do you want?” I demand, voice steady despite the tremor beneath.

A tall figure steps forward, and I gasp, staggered by the familiar wave of dark hair and violet eyes.

*This can’t be.*

“Heath? What are you doing?” I ask, clinging to a shred of hope. We grew up together—shared spells, childhood games by the creek, trusting each other implicitly. His family is coven royalty.

But this isn’t the boy I knew. His face twists, cold and calculating. “This is bigger than us, Althea,” he says, no remorse in his tone.

I don’t wait for more. With a shout, I unleash a blast of energy, toppling two attackers. Another lunges; I dodge, striking back, but the numbers overwhelm me. My protection spell falters under their assault, panic clawing at my chest as I struggle to hold ground.

Heath’s voice slices through the chaos, chanting in a tongue I don’t know. Black tendrils of magic snake toward me, and pain erupts as they strike, my own power suppressed. I scream, the betrayal cutting deeper than the agony—a memory of him laughing as we perfected a levitation spell now shattered by this darkness.

*Dark magic. Evil.*

My knees buckle, vision dimming, but I muster the last of my strength for a desperate psychic cry.

*Seraphine! Vera! Help me!*

The plea echoes in my mind as power drains, the world narrowing to a pinpoint of black.