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Her approaching steps, beneath her dark-green broom skirt, are steady and strong. Her posture, outlined by a yellow formfitting blouse with emeralds along the sleeves, is straight and regal. Though her honey-colored hair is piled atop her head, it descends across her high forehead and prominent cheekbones like wispy, shiny vines.
She’s incredible.
The air escapes my chest just like before. For long moments, her very aura steals my ability to form words.
But already, a beautiful certainty crashes through my chest and soothes every inch of my soul.We’re going to be okay.
As it resounds in my mind, a smile grows across Hecate’s graceful lips. Her eyes start sparkling with every color at once, a brilliant contrast to her silken sienna skin.
“No looming castle,” she says with a musical lilt. “Just our humble retreat, here to be your refuge.”
Maximus lifts his head with a quizzical frown. “Ourretreat?”
“My apologies, dear prince.” Hecate bows her chin toward her prayerful hands. “Where have my manners fled? The evening must have tired me more than I thought.”
Despite her statement, the glimmer doesn’t fade from her serene gaze. But I’m not given any longer to contemplate the contradiction. The next second, the atmosphere seems to quiver and change. From the midst of that disruption, six more females emerge and fan to either side of their queen.
Witches.
I already know it as fact, as certainly as there are stars in the sky and a sharper wind in the canyon. A breeze as firm but comforting as their gazes on me, each glowing with the same multicolored light as Hecate’s.
“These are myministras,” she declares. “They are all eager to meet you and to join me in welcoming you to Iremia, where your journey to your own power begins.”
CHAPTER TWO
MAXIMUS
Iremia is much bigger than it looks from the figurative curb. The complex is more like a luxury hotel, not that I have a ton of experience in that arena. The few academic conferences I’ve attended as a representative for Alameda were at places close to airports, with beds in which I had to sleep diagonally while listening to my neighbors through cardstock walls.
But this…
Well, it’s not theBlair Witchcabin. Or even the big, brooding castle from Kara’s reference.
I could actually get used to all this.
Beyond Iremia’s front entrance, which is weirdly bare of any guard gate or security apparatus, there’s a wide courtyard with various fishponds and picturesque bridges. One of the larger pools empties down some rocks and becomes a sizable stream that disappears around a bend. Cradling two sides of the courtyard, like a wide V, are long stone buildings. Their brightly lit interiors reveal a community room with worn leather furnishings, a dining area with communal tables, and a library that has me thinking of Recto Verso rebooted, the British decor accents replaced by mandala prints, Moroccan lamps, and sherpa chairs.
Ahead of us, positioned in the open side of that V, are a dozen freestanding cottages of different styles and sizes. They’re all accessed by connected wooden plank paths, enhancing the bohemian feel of the complex.
“We’ve arranged some welcome treats for you out in the grove,” the goddess says with a serene spread of her arms. “But first, some introductions.”
I’m not opposed one bit to that idea. Even without Kara’s empathetic skills, I’m aware of the keen curiosity from the others. Their glances say as much, like visual lasers at us both. But the blasts aren’t hostile so far as I can tell, conveying needs to illuminate instead of decimate. I attempt to breathe easier, sensing that Kara knows that too. Still, her lips are taut as she attempts an encouraging smile at Hecate.
“Thank you,” she says. “I think I’d like that.”
“I can start.” The words are almost ironic, since they come from the most easily identifiable female in the bunch. The iconic witch practically announces herself with a mother-of-pearl complexion and red curls that extend past her waist. “I am called Circe.”
“You’re kidding,” Kara sputters. “I—I mean Iknow.” And then she turns an adorable shade of red. “It’s so awesome to meet you.”
In that trying-but-not way of hers, my woman has put everyone at ease. The laser glances fade to friendly smiles. One of them widens on the face of a petite olive-skinned woman to Circe’s left.
“I am Aradia of Italy, and I am so happy to welcome you,” she says while approaching with graceful steps.
The striking brunette next to her is cooler about her presentation. “Morgana of Camelot. Charmed.”
I’m not too sure about her finishing statement but shrug it off as the others take turns offering similar greetings, delivered with musical inflections from their origins. Marie’s voice has Creole influences. Kiama speaks with gentleness that strikes me as original to an African nation. Liseli’s voice is the same as her Native American accessories, bold and noble.
After everyone is done, Hecate clutches her hands at the middle of her chest and swishes her long skirt with her joyful swaying. “Thank you, everyone, for working so quickly to ensure Kara and Maximus’s warm arrival. I know the circumstances were sudden. Now let us proceed and celebrate!” She turns back to us, nose scrunching from her strange little smile. “This is also a little unorthodox, but after everything you’ve already been through, thesalamight be a bit…overwhelming.”
