Conjuring Fire and Whispers of Air

I remembered that day so clearly.

Everyone gathered closely—black clothes and umbrellas covering the small plot in Pendle Cemetery. I stood close to my mother and brother at the front. Our coven gathered around us, supporting and mourning my dad with us.

I felt numb. My cheeks were stained with never-ending tears. I tried to stay strong for my mother and brother. Sometimes, even the strong must fall.

My hand shook as I took a fist full of dirt and covered the wooden urn six feet into the ground.

His plot was not too far away from his mother as he wished.

As the rest of the earth was returned into the hole, I was distracted by a rogue squirrel running across the wet earth and looking down at her plot.

There was something… calming about graveyards.

I placed three silver coins onto the mound of dirt now covering the wooden urn, pausing to say a prayer. I gasped feeling a rush of unexpected energy. I had to take a shaky breath and closed my eyes hoping he didn’t notice.

When exhausted, I had difficulty keeping what little magic I had left, hidden.

A large hand on my shoulder told me he did.

Nixon, our coven leader, had a firm touch and I knew the words without hearing them, ‘I cannot control it.’

He let go with a squeeze… We would be having another ‘chat’.

I was too grief-stricken to care.

Mum stayed longer as the others travelled to the wake.

Wistful, I set fresh flowers down by Grandma’s headstone. I remembered the good times in my childhood; nostalgia came over me as I could hear her praises for my ability to conjure fire so easily…

‘What would she think now?’ I thought apprehensively, ‘She would be disappointed.’

“Lexi? Come on, it’s time to go.”

Lathen’s voice, coaxed me back to earth. I wiped away the light tears that surfaced and took his outstretched helping hand.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?” he whispered softly.

I caught his void like brown eyes, as he leaned down to match my height, and I could feel my lip tremble.

“I don’t have any more tears left,” I whispered back.

The look on his youthful face, called me a lair. I knew better than to lie to someone who could read your emotions like a book.

Lathen gently rubbed my shoulder, tucking me into his side in an arm hug.

I was grateful to have a kind friend, but I felt guilty, taking advantage of his kindness since my father’s death.

I cleared my throat, “May he travel quickly to you in the Summerland,” I prayed, before leaving a kiss and three silver coins on top of the headstone.

I left with Lathen to join the coven at the wake.

From that day, I hoped I would not see much death for numerous years.

Now, a year later. It was difficult to adjust without Dad, but somehow, we moved past the grief and held onto the notion that he was watching over us.

I missed his face, his smile.

I know my mum is still hurt and mourned for him. Yet she held it well as we visited the familiar graveyard.

“One year,” Mum mumbled standing before his grave, “Time does fly.”

I gently sighed pulling out the old, wilted flowers. My brother beside me, trimmed down the stems of the new arrangement.

As I stood back, she knelt down.

“I’ll see you two at home,” she turned giving a gentle smile.

She preferred to murmur to the headstone and said she felt he was closer when she was there. She would update him about the events over the year.

After bidding her a farewell and tidying up Grandma’s space, we left her there.

I pulled the car onto the driveway and slowly turned to my quiet younger brother, Alexander, who watched me the entire way home.

“Are you okay?” I asked gently.

“Yeah,” he muttered finally looking away, “I just... You look like Dad.”

I gave a sad smile and stroked the back of his tawny blonde hair. My pale skin striking against his tan complexion.

“And you look like Mum,” I laughed and left the car after ruffling his hair, much to his dismay.

Unlocking the door, I was greeted by the familiar sandalwood incense and beige walls and a wailing cat.

Sooty, immediately cried out for his lunch.

’Food, food!’ is mostly all I hear from him. Wasting away, dying from starvation…

“Alright, alright, come on.”

I watched a black mass dart from the living room, past me to the kitchen—Sat there, a black cat with a fluffy paw on the cupboard hoarding away his food.

As I pulled a pouch out, he dances around my legs while purring. He always makes me smile.

Placing the food bowl down, I gazed at Alex hovering in the kitchen doorway. He was inspecting the frame, his fingers grazing the groves in the oak.

He was looking at the pencil marks Dad has placed to measure our heights. The paint was peeling away from the frame, but it felt wrong to cover the memories and D.I.Y left. It is difficult for my mum to make changes around the house.

The last thing he installed was the sliding patio door, for easy access to the back garden and our herb and vegetable garden. It was now a pastime I did alone.

A small sigh escaped me and acknowledged the large clock on the wall, reading 2 p.m.

Time for more research.

I got comfortable on the sofa with a thick book in hand and a pencil in my teeth. “Rare curses and defensive spells”, a once-abandoned book by my father.

It was dotted with scribbles and Post-it notes. Some of my own and others of his. He taught me about these ‘Dark’ spells.

I remembered his anger at me finding the book and wanting to read it. After a short talk between parents, he began to talk me through basics. More importantly how to undo and protect against these spells.

Naively, I asked the coven members to help me after Dad passed… I should have known no one would help me. Nixon nearly set the book alight on ‘accident’.

Now, I self-taught from the scribbles Dad left behind. I got to work.

A couple of hours in, I came to another annoying halt. This is now the fifth page missing from the book, its edge frayed, some ink remaining, and the small piece left behind, but nothing to work with.

I sighed in frustration. I noticed the book getting thinner over the last four years. But I never mentioned it to my dad. There must have been a reason he didn’t want me to read into certain spells. I assumed he would return them when the ‘time was right’.

Now, I may never know them.

I moved on to the next section, ‘Jinxing Spells’.

Mew?

Sooty jumped onto the armrest and slowly approached me, making me put the book down. That was enough; a couple of hours of study gave me a lot to think about.

I checked my phone for a new message in the coven group chat.

As I typed a reply, the front door creaked open slowly. I leaned over the side of the sofa and watched Mum walk through slowly, shaking her umbrella off.

Behind her, the clock on the wall was stuck at 2:03 pm.

Every clock in the house had stopped at the same time.

The time of my father’s death.