Page 33 of The Beginning (Covert Moon, #1)

Marigold

The Human Realm

* * *

D ad's car rolled into the underground parking garage that served the tenants of the townhouses on my street.

I eased into a visitor's spot, grabbed Aunt Beatrice’s birthday box, and got out of the car.

Every muscle in me felt stiff and aching after the beating I'd taken and then for sitting for so long on the road.

My shoulder throbbed with each movement, and the bandaged stump where my finger used to be had started sending shooting pains up my arm whenever I jostled it.

Luckily, the doctor hadn't forced me to stay overnight.

I didn't need anyone poking at me further, or worse, calling anyone in my family.

I hurried to the door leading to the elevator, grateful for the keypad instead of having to find a key.

My hands were shaking slightly, whether from shock, pain medication, or just exhaustion, I couldn't tell.

I punched the code, and hustled down the hall, careful to keep my hand up against my chest, moving my arms as little as possible.

I got to the elevator and pressed the button, waiting for it to arrive.

Sending up a prayer to whatever goddess was watching to not let me run into anyone.

It had to be at least three in the morning.

The building was silent; the whir of the elevator filled the hall.

When it arrived, the elevator let out a soft bong as the door slid open and I stepped inside.

I tapped my code into the keypad and pressed L, unlocking my access to the ground floor lobby.

I leaned against the wall of the elevator, finally feeling like I could catch my breath.

A few moments later, I stepped into the lobby on the ground floor and exited to the sidewalk.

Looking around, I didn't see or hear anyone, but given my current state, that might not mean anything.

The streetlights cast long shadows between the buildings, and every dark corner suddenly looked like it could be hiding something dangerous.

Carefully, I made my way down the sidewalk.

A few buildings down, I climbed the steps to my townhouse, entered the foyer, and stood completely still, listening for anything out of place.

I took a deep breath, smelling the air, trying to pick out anything that might be wrong.

My clothes reeked of wet dog, sweat, and blood.

Gross. Unable to open the entry door with a spell, I fished my key out from behind the painting in the foyer.

The simple magic that should have unlocked it easily just..

. wasn't there. Like trying to flex a muscle that had gone completely numb.

I opened the inner door and entered my townhouse.

Grateful to be home, I activated the alarm system for the first time in months.

I made my way into the bedroom and placed Aunt Beatrice's box on the bedside table, peeling off my clothes as I went.

I left a trail of shoes, socks, jeans, and shirt on the carpet from the bed to the bathroom door.

Each piece of clothing was stained with blood or dirt or both, evidence of just how completely this day had gone off the rails.

I turned the shower on full heat and closed the door behind me to let the bathroom fill with steam as I hobbled back to my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed.

I stared at the wooden box, unsure if I was in the mood to visit with Aunt Beatrice just now. I no longer felt like birthday was worth celebrating. It all seemed a little stupid now, meaningless in light of the attack and the fact that Calyx might be in very real trouble.

Oh hell. It wasn't Aunt Beatrice's fault that I had the worst day in the world. And she'd clearly gone to a lot of trouble to make sure the box was delivered to me on this day. I turned off the shower, slipped on my robe, and sat on my bed.

Fumbling with it with my unbandaged hand, I flipped the lid off the box and leafed through the contents.

A picture of me and Calyx as little kids sat on top of a stack of old photos wrapped in a rubber band.

I rifled through familiar images and placed them on the bed.

I could give them a closer look another time.

Under the photos, I found an envelope from Aunt Beatrice, addressed to me at my parents' address as though she had intended to mail it. It was the only other thing in the box. I ran my fingers over the handwriting, familiar, though now only a part of my past.

Aunt Beatrice's face filled my mind again.

The way she smiled at me. The way she looked at me and really saw me.

I think she might've been the only adult who actually truly cared for me.

I wondered now if she knew at that time that I was starting to feel apart from the family.

If she worked doubly hard to be warm toward me knowing that I was not getting attention anywhere else.

I opened the letter and scanned through it.

A picture of Aunt Beatrice fell onto the bed, I flipped it over and looked at her face.

It was taken in Paris, in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Her wide smile filled her face, and her big round sunglasses blocked the view of her eyes, but I knew they were squinting in laughter.

She smiled at the camera and waved. I unfolded her letter, read her words again, this time through the lens of this evening's attack at the church.

The first couple of pages were all about her Paris trip and her European tour.

She updated me on her chemotherapy treatments and assured me she wasn't going to let them stop her from seeing everything there was to see.

Even facing death, Aunt Beatrice had been more alive than most people I knew.

I skimmed over the rest of her vacation summary and stopped at the second to last page, where she got serious, where the real purpose of her letter was contained.

Now, Marigold. Honey. You listen to what your Aunt Beatrice needs to say to you. First of all, I want you to save this letter. I don't care if you want to burn that god-awful picture of me, but this letter is important.

Got it? Good.

I wonder if you'll recall that afternoon years ago when I tried to tell you about Grandmother Goldie, and that she was the Vessel Witch. We'd been in my solarium when your mother interrupted us right when I was about to get into the juicy details.

The memory came flooding back now, sharp and clear in a way it hadn't been before.

The warm afternoon light streaming through the glass walls of Aunt Beatrice's solarium, the smell of her garden drifting in through the open windows.

The way Mother had appeared like a storm cloud, cutting off the conversation with knife-like exactness.

You'll forgive me, I hope. But I know you're old enough to hear this now.

It's a crying shame that you girls have been saddled with that mother of yours. She is just too selfish for her own good. When she heard you and I talking about the Vessel Witch, she made me swear a blood oath not to breathe a word of it again. I had no choice but to cease and desist because you weren’t of age, and underage witches are subject to the wishes of their parents.

Now that you're twenty-one and I am long dead, there is nothing that woman can do to me.

It's time you know who and what you are, even with the suppression that's been a part of your life since you were born.

You should have been told this long ago, even before I began to tell you, so that you could be taught, and trained, and ready for what is coming.

A blood oath. That explained so much about why Aunt Beatrice had suddenly stopped those intimate conversations, why she'd become more distant in the years before her death. Mother had literally sworn her to magical silence.

The Vessel Witch carries the family's power.

You see, in each generation of witches, the power moves through the women.

There is always one in each generation who is the keeper of the essence of the family's power.

They are like the sun, and the rest of the family are like the planets orbiting around them.

They need each other, for power does not happen all by itself.

However, without the Vessel Witch, the rest of the family would be diminished.

I can hear you asking, "How do you tell who the Vessel Witch is?"

I shook my head, enthralled. Lost in the story, smiling a little, because I could hear Aunt Beatrice speaking to me through the years.

Vessel Witches are like magnets turned against each other.

And no one knows exactly why, but there is something pushing them away from everybody else.

You feel like you don't belong in your own family, and don't try to fight it because they also feel like you don't belong.

They treat you like an interloper, one who is unwanted.

I am so sorry that I haven't been there to be able to share this with you.

Thanks to your mom's blood vow, I haven't been able to breathe a word.

My whole body tingled with the truth of it.

All those years of feeling like something was fundamentally wrong with me, like I was broken somehow.

All those nights wondering what I'd done to make my parents treat me like a stranger in my own home.

It wasn't my fault. It wasn't even really their fault.

It was just... nature. Cruel, inexplicable nature.

Back to the Vessel Witch. This is nature's way, you see, cruel as it feels. Because if you all got too close, they would be overwhelmed and eclipsed by your power. And so, the Vessel Witch is kept at a distance, alone, so the rest of witchdom can also use their power as well.

You, Marigold, are going to be the Vessel Witch in our family after me. It's hard to explain how I know this, since I am the Vessel Witch now, and I shall remain so while I live, but I just know that when I die this mantle will be passed on to you.

The pieces were falling into place now, forming a picture I'd never been able to see before.

The priest's words about the "Original Vessel.

" That’s what he was seeking, the power of the Vessel Witch.

The way my magic had been growing stronger as my twenty-first birthday approached.

The reason Mother had become even more cold and distant after Aunt Beatrice died—she'd known what was coming.

I don't mean to alarm you with my drama, but it is important for you to understand the seriousness of being the Vessel Witch, Marigold.

If another witch intended to do harm to your family, or anyone in your family, the first thing they would do is harm you.

Taking away your power diminishes everyone else's power to almost nothing. The Vessel Witch is the cornerstone.

My hand throbbed, and I looked down at the bandaged stump where my finger used to be. Had tonight been exactly what Aunt Beatrice was warning me about? Had they been trying to diminish my family's power by killing me?

So, be careful darling. And know that no matter how difficult it becomes, your family's feelings toward you are not intentional.

They cannot help it. It is the way of the Vessel Witch.

But most of all, take care of yourself. Surround yourself with people who love you.

Find those who will help and teach you, but do not tell them what you are.

Find those who will watch out for you when your family will not—can not.

Good golly, but this letter is just full of doom and gloom, isn't it?

My love. I don't know what the future holds for me, and given my situation, I felt it was best to give this to you the old-fashioned way and force you to oblige your old Aunt Beatrice by making you wait until today to give this to you.

It's better that your mother thinks I've let it go, and that she doesn't feel so threatened.

She thought she'd be the next Vessel Witch, or if it couldn't be her, that it would be Calyx.

But no one gets to choose who holds the power for their generation, and it's you, honey.

Know that I love you. There will be others who come to you, find you, and give you all that you need to go forth as you ought to.

The Vessel Witch draws what she needs to her side.

I wish like hell it could be me, but... your mother.

Need I say more? Do not trust her, my sweet girl.

She has upset the order of things because they didn't work the way she wanted, and that is even more dangerous than it sounds.

She is not your ally. Not in any way. You will need to make your own family, I'm afraid.

But know that I'm the first of them, and I love you now and forever, even when I'm gone.

All my love,

Auntie Bea

I wiped my tears and picked up the picture of Aunt Beatrice again. I smiled despite my feelings. That woman was a powerhouse. God, I missed her. This information changed everything about what happened today. Could it be that Silas and that priest were trying to hurt my family by hurting me?

The priest had said as much, though I didn't understand at the time.

He'd said he thought it was Calyx at first, but then realized it was me.

He'd never said the words 'Vessel Witch' but what else could it be?

The way he'd talked about the "Original Vessel," the reverence in his voice—he'd known exactly what he was looking for.

How would I find out? Who was this priest?

What the hell was up with that dog? Why had it bitten off my finger?

I had to get some answers. I had to find Calyx.

And in that moment I knew.

This is what had to be done. I had to set aside my personal feelings; the anger and resentment.

I had to swallow all of it. I needed to put that stuff in an envelope, and pack it away in a box like the letter from Aunt Beatrice that changed everything.

I stood, and took Aunt Beatrice's picture and shoved it in the frame of the mirror above my dresser.

I touched her face, remembering the lines around her mouth and the wiggle in the skin of her neck. And suddenly I was overwhelmed with the smell of her. She smelled of flour and cake and fresh laundry taken in off the line from the sun.

"I got the message Aunt Beatrice, loud and clear. Don't worry. I'm going to make things right."

I padded back into the bathroom, still full of steam, and turned on the shower again.