Blood Moon Witch

The sun gasped a dying breath as darkness consumed the sky. A thrill of anticipation coursed through me as the usually warm weather for September enveloped me in a hug and the last wisps of the clouds scattered into the inky horizon. Silver stars blinked into life and the moon, pregnant with silvery light, climbed higher overhead toward her zenith. Another shiver zipped down my spine as I thought of the years of magical study reaching its culmination tonight under that very moon.

My boots crunched on the patch of sandy beach under the stretched shadow of the Point Wilson Lighthouse. The white façade glowed under the glow of the full moon and the rust-red roof had the appearance of dried blood against the pitch darkness of the early night sky. A location I was innately familiar with, marching in a well-worn wide arching circle to spread a thin layer of salt crushed with herbs. A protective circle at my family’s ritual site for the most important night of the year—for me, at least.

Not only was Yule important to witches as one of our preferred holidays, but tonight, the acolytes of the Margrave Coven were being initiated as masters of the magical ability, singing in our blood. I felt the weight of my personal grimoire in my satchel, the blood, sweat, and tears of ten years of hard work pressing against my hip like a boon. An eager smile stretched across my lips as I doled out another handful of warding salt to protect the location of my family’s arrival from our coven’s hometown of Port Townsend.

Tonight, during the longest night of the year, the Margrave Coven would honor the winter solstice as we did every year; drinking, dancing, and sending a prayer to the moon at midnight when it rose to its peak among the diamonds of the heavens and other celestial bodies circling overhead. A nightlong celebration of our coven’s power and a simultaneous rebirth as those who were once novices transitioned into the hard-fought luxury of a mastery.

The mastery I’d spent ten grueling years studying for since my mother handed me the blank pages of what would become my personal grimoire at the ripe age of fourteen.

After tonight, the sun would return to full strength, and the Margrave Coven would take full advantage of the moon’s last hurrah before sinking into the heart of winter. As we had for generations before, meeting on the stretch of beach that overlooked the entrance to Admiralty Inlet. Salty sea spray on the chilled breeze tickled my senses, and I stopped on the rocky outcrop between the crunchy sand and the grass reaching for the lighthouse to admire the night dark sea rippling in the waterway that connected the Puget Sound and the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

I tucked the jar of leftover warding salt into my satchel, content to breathe in the ocean-tinged air and feel the breeze lifting the ends of my hair. A burst of high-pitched giggles and masculine laughter caught my attention.

“—where we can be all alone after all this.” Another flirty giggle followed the whispered voice of Emory Athens. I spotted the young man my teenage self was convinced I’d marry someday with his face buried in my cousin’s dark curtain of hair. “You’re all mine once the ritual is completed.”

“Emory calm down!” Bella Margrave swatted at his shoulder, blinking her large blue eyes at her boyfriend. And, as rumor had it, fiancé by the end of the night. As if Bella didn’t get enough accolade and attention being the heir to the Margrave Matriarchy, she was every inch the male fantasy with her big blue doe eyes, dark silky hair, and petite shape. She had Emory in the palm of her hand before we’d even turned eighteen.

Bella carelessly dropped a warding sigil around the salt circle I’d completed. With Emory sweeping his hands all over her in one of their usually insufferable displays of affection, she was bound to make a mistake. My salt circle was perfect. All she had to do was follow in my footsteps. Yet the older cousin would receive all the credit for my hard work despite any fuckups, and I rolled my eyes when she began giggling again.

With such a large cluster of witches gathering on Yule, protection was imperative. Magic pulsed along my skin from the wards, meant to keep out the eldritch monsters who hungered for witch flesh. It had been drilled into me by my grandmother, our coven matriarch, and my mother and my aunt all my life that when the shadows sang, we ran for the light of the moon. Mother only had to explain once, and I never left the house without a shielding talisman after.

There would be an abundance of power in the air tonight. A sense of unease dripped down my spine and I tugged on the loose white fabric of my ritual dress. I wasn’t afraid of the monsters, as they had generally avoided Port Townsend for the past fifteen years. Still, I fingered the charm bracelet on my wrist with the phases of the moon woven in—a gift from my mother for my birthday a few weeks ago.

The beasts were sure to come. Call it intuition, a witch’s second sense, or foresight. It didn’t matter, but there was a feeling twisting deep in the bowels of my core that pressed a warning into my bones. As long as our wards held strong, we would remain safe through the celebrations and the ritual. A salt circle laid the foundation, but the sigils banished the rotten creatures from entering the area.

Emory tickled Bella, causing her to yelp and race away from his outstretched hands. I scoffed, praying that she laid the sigils before sprinting down the stretch of beach before letting him distract her. Just because we’d lived relatively safe for so long didn’t mean our coven was innately guarded against all threats.

I sucked in a calming breath, reining my temper from running away from me. Where Bella was charming and demure, many considered me to be prickly and reserved.

The night was as important for Bella as it was for me. We were the only two acolytes ascending under the full moon that Yule. She wore the same loose-fitting white dress as me, marking us for the ritual. At any moment, the rest of our coven and relatives would arrive as we celebrated in the hours leading up to the penultimate moment our lives changed forever.

Giving her the benefit of the doubt, knowing she’d worked hard in her own way over the years, I trusted Bella’s work with the warding sigils and moved on. And as sweet as everyone believed she was, no one messed with Bella since she was in line to take over as the matriarch after her mother Ingrid, my mother’s older sister. Witch inheritance always descended through the maternal lines.

I wouldn’t risk getting on Bella’s bad side, and for the most part, we stayed out of one another’s way. More so after she began dating Emory. It had been my fault for confiding my crush to her all those years ago. Bella deemed herself entitled to everything anyone had that she didn’t, whether it be boys, dresses, or someone else’s invented spell.

The distant rumble of engines and crunch of tires on gravel alerted us to the arrival of the coven. Several cars parked at a distance from the lighthouse, their headlights nearly blinding after my past hour, tending my duties in the dark. I blinked to clear the stars from my eyes when the engines died, and steps echoed down the path.

Bella shrieked excitedly, rushing up the dip from the beach to greet the coven. Emory passed me, gently nudging my elbow along the way. I was thankful he had never learned of my crush. He’d remained cordial through the years, and I appreciated that about him.

Grandmother Evanora Margrave breached the ritual circle first with Bella on her arm. The coven matriarch grasped a chic black cane with a crystal handle, barely leaning her weight on it despite her thin, hunched form. She breezed over the sand as if floating on the wind and carried by a surge of magic in her muscles. Her long, wispy white hair gleamed silver under the moonlight, fluttering around her midnight blue kaftan. Her essence sang of elegance, and the smart glint in her eyes commanded respect.

“We’re so excited, Grandma!” Bella tittered, words popping out of her like bubbles. Her sharp gaze flicked to me. “We worked so hard to get everything absolutely perfect. Isn’t that right, Rhea?”

“Yeah, of course.” I offered Grandma a smile and a quick kiss on both her cheeks. She smelled like lavender and incense, a comforting scent that filled me with the warmth of all my memories of her and her lessons.

“Good job with the circle, Rhea,” she offered. The young voice in my head that always wanted her attention preened under her compliment. Then she faced the others marching over the hill from the grass. “We’ll begin once everyone arrives.”

Auntie Ingrid crossed into the circle, practically dripping in layers of gems with her new husband clinging to her skinny arm. The third one, and a man whose name I didn’t care to remember. Some banker from New York who paid for Ingrid’s shopping trips. His graying mustache spread as wide as his white-toothed grin as he beamed at his wife with her neat pixie cut and glamorous makeup.

“Rhea, my dear, wonderful to see you again,” she greeted me with an air kiss on the cheek.

“Yes, Auntie. Happy Yule.” I returned the gesture before she breezed away to mingle with other arriving witches. Her new husband’s beady eyes lingered on the ass of every witch he passed.

A witch in a plum wrap dress, some distant second cousin within the cousin, turned on the music. An enchanting melody blanketed the beach, joining the song of rippling waves and rustling dry grass. Someone else popped a bottle of mead, and another witch pulled out homemade mulled wine. Drinks flowed along with the excited conversation as the moon crept toward the peak of the dome overhead.

I sipped at a warm glass of sweetly spiced wine, making a brief conversation with the coven members. The smile on my face slipped as another vehicle parked near the lighthouse. Nerves wrestled like worms in my intestines, as if to prove that the hour approached, and their arrival heralded the significance of the night.

“Ah, Fiona and Blaise, perfect timing. Let’s get this party started!” Someone called out as two figures emerged from a sleek black Lexus. I went on alert, standing taller as my mother and father made their fashionably late-but-not-too-late appearance.

Circling the edge of the ritual grounds, I avoided my parents for as long as possible. They made their rounds, greeting Grandma and my mother, air-kissing her sister. My father fell into a bland conversation with Ingrid’s husband about golf, and I skirted the area with a drink clutched in hand. I had another full glass to soothe my vibrating insides and warm my suddenly frigid blood before they caught up with me.

“Rhea, darling. Happy Yule.” Mother snuck up from behind me. I startled and almost spilled a drop of red wine on my pristine white dress. She smiled at me with delicate features nearly identical to mine, though I had my father’s brown eyes and lank blonde hair. Mother had the blue eyes and dark locks of the other gorgeous Margrave witches that had men eating out of their hands like willing thralls.

Her luxurious black kaftan flowed around her legs but was cinched tight around her narrow waist. A white-gold chain with a single tear drop sapphire sat heavy at her throat. It honestly surprised me she wasn’t wearing as much jewelry as Aunt Ingrid.

“Hey, mouse,” Father’s rich, low voice eased my raised hackles. “You left these at home.” Blaise Reynolds-Margrave dressed comfortably in slacks and a sweater vest over his button down. With his short shaggy, blond hair and red-tinted beard, smart glasses similar to mine, and the smile lines stressing his square features, he looked like some lost oxford professor who stumbled upon the witches more than belonged among them.

I sighed but smiled at him all the same as I accepted the glasses I’d purposely left behind. When I slipped them on, he pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, gazing at me with all the pride in the world.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“All your hard work is paying off!” He grabbed my shoulders and squeezed. Then he turned to his wife, imploring. His lips thinned when he noticed her eyes flitting over the two dozen coven members drinking or sway-dancing.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” she muttered. “Have either of you seen Bella? I got her a gift?” Mom held up a sparkling gold box with white ribbon.

My stomach dropped, and the corners of my smile fell.

“There she is!” Mom waved enthusiastically before scuttling off.

Dad huffed under his breath, intending for me not to hear it. He cleared his throat before pulling me to his side. I was nearly as tall as him, but that didn’t stop Dad from treating me as if I were still his little girl.

“Ignore her. She just hadn’t seen Bella before tonight.”

“Right,” I exhaled.

“Look, mouse, we are so proud of you!” Dad reached into his pocket and pulled out a smaller box without the wrapping or ribbon. “A gift from us in honor of your ascension into the coven.” A bell chimed, signaling the start of the prayer. An electric pulse zapped through me. “Open it later.” He pushed the box into my hand and urged me toward the center of the circle.

I tossed my arms over his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. “Thanks, Dad.” He hugged me back, fixing his glasses, when I released him.

I shoved the gift box in my satchel, clutching the strap over my chest tight. Sucking in a breath and stealing my resolve, I inched toward the heart of the ritual circle where Bella waited with Grandma. Grandma dipped her head, smiling at me as I joined them, and I replied with a weak grin.

“As we have for generations before us, we are gathered here tonight to celebrate Yule, the longest night of the year. With this year’s Yule, we are welcoming the rebirth of Bella and Rhea Margrave as masters of the lunar magic they’ve inherited from our ancestors.” Grandma’s voice damped the melodic lull of the music and the undertones of nature permeating the area.

Everyone went silent, keen and trembling with delight. Overhead, the moon neared the peak, seconds from hanging above my head.

“We begin with a blessing.” She spread her arms, and Bella and I clasped hands. Around us, the rest of the coven formed a circle with interlocked fingers. “May you find peace in the promise of the solstice night that each day forward is blessed with more light, that the cycle of nature, unbroken and true, brings faith to your soul and well-being to you. Rejoice in the darkness where we find the moon and may the days that follow be abundantly blessed. By my power and the moon, this I command.”

Grandma clapped her hands together, grasping her cane between them. She jammed the cane down into the sand and a wall of power blasted outward. A glimmering sphere radiated over me and my cousin, making us both gasp from the flood of magic slamming into us.

“Do you feel that?” Bella asked, breathless and face flushed.

I nodded, holding her hand tighter.

Our coven chanted, repeating the blessing and raising their arms. The tide rapidly lapped at the shore, the wind gusted over the brittle grass, and the salty air turned as crisp and sweet as a bubbling champagne.

The silvery white of the moon blurred, swirling into a fast-paced rotation alongside the stars. Magic fizzled over my skin as the world twisted into an odd kaleidoscope of dark colors, like a painting of the night melting off the edge of the canvas. Faces turned blank and amorphous, and voices merged into one buzzing drone.

I swore I could have jumped and defied gravity. My core felt weightless, as though my body needed to float away like an aimless balloon. White-hot lunar magic crackled over me, seeping under the surface of my skin and sizzling the marrow in my bones. A giggle burst from me as the intoxicating sensations increased.

I felt like living, breathing power. Like a true witch—like a god.

The moon spun and spun and spun. Time stretched into an endless eternity of liquid, humming magic infiltrating my body and cascading through my limbs.

Gasps interrupted the chanting—an abrupt halt that snapped a band around my heart. My eyes bolted open, and I couldn’t remember closing them.

Fingers slipped from mine as Bella snatched her hands free and stepped away. I opened my mouth to speak before realizing the rest of the coven holding their breath, covering their mouths, eyes wide with fear. And the world was red.

As red as wine or–

Everyone else remained in distorted color, so I glanced down. A beam of ruby light descended from the moon directly over my head, targeting me. My spinning head struggled to grasp the severity of that bloodied omen. Everything awash in that light looked odd, so strange and bizarre. And I felt like I could run across the world, or fly, or teleport. But breathing was a struggle, rasping through shrinking lungs and a tight chest while my heart thundered like a war drum.

“This hasn’t happened in a century.” Grandma’s words were a warning and a harbinger. Panicked voices cracked through the fuzz in my head.

“They’ll come for all of us!” Ingrid snapped, only furthering the fluttering panic.

My knees trembled, and I nearly dropped to the sand. If not for the potent influx of lunar magic seizing hold of me, I might have sunk to the center of the world.

The wind howled—a sharp, piercing sound that didn’t come from the breeze but from the wall of trees in the distance. Not the wind. Not the trees. The shadows were shifting, turning toward the ominous red light spilling like blood from the slit throat of the full moon.

“Rhea is a blood moon witch.” Grandma’s blue eyes pierced through me, sharper and deadlier than any knife. “And the Lycans are coming for her.”