I step through the gate tree Clay helped make on the family property. It had been a labor of love, making the enchantment for me to have a direct gate to the library. I’d had to do my own part, of course, finding a tree willing to house the enchanted charm Clay constructed. It’d been a freezing January, and I was only able to sneak out late at night back then. If I’d been a Green Witch, it’d be a no-brainer, I could ask and one would gladly volunteer. Instead, I’d waded through knee-deep snow, teeth chattering as I whispered to each one, waiting for some sign that they’d accept.

  It hadn’t been until the fifth night, the sky dark with clouds and the new moon, that I found it. A grand white oak tree, with large sprawling branches built for climbing and lounging in. The snow weighed its branches down as if to hug me in greeting, and when I pleaded my case through chattering teeth, I was met with a small gust of wind that kissed my cheeks with flakes. It felt right, so I buried the charm at its roots and when it worked I kissed its bark in thanks, giving a little happy dance in the snow.

  As I pass through now, I’m welcomed by a dozen or so orange-green leaves scattered on the ground. Fall is beginning to make itself known in New York. Walking the familiar path to the house, I keep an eye out for any sign of my cousins or one of the gardeners. My flats soften my steps, and I keep my skirts wound in my offhand to keep from tripping over any rogue twig or root.

  The manor looms with its strong brick and stone walls with lofty iron spiked windows. It’s been in the family generations, passed from one Coven Leader to the next. I pass through the heavy wooden entrance silently, making sure to hear the soft click of the door resealing behind me. Following the buzz of chatter through the Great Hall and back towards the family room, I can make out my aunt’s ringing laugh. That’s odd, normally the guest of honor is entertained there. But if she’s there, then my cousins are bound to be as well. Maybe they’re already acquainted with our guest, or even friends. I’ll pass.

  Instead, I make my way to the formal dining room mentioned in the email. We only use it for feasts and holidays, otherwise taking meals in the breakfast room, since there’s fewer of us in the house than before.

  She really wanted to set the mood this evening, based on the flickering candles and witch orbs suspended midair. As if that wasn’t grand enough, they’d opened the skylight, offering the stars a front row seat to my torment.

  She stands at the head of the table in her favorite dinner party outfit, a soft gray gown that could’ve been stolen from Jackie Kennedy’s wardrobe. She embodies a picture-perfect hostess, straight out of Martha Stewart magazine. But I know the truth, though she may appear harmless as a mouse, behind the matronly smile looms a cunning snake.

  To my surprise, our guest of honor is already seated at the table. The hairs on my neck stand on end. Something’s wrong. Grandmother always makes guests wait in the family room, –which is a misnomer because no one in their right mind would hang out there– with its gaudy floor to ceiling pink wallpaper and decorative soaps. It was a power play, inviting them into what should be an intimate space only to be completely isolated before they’re thrown before her disarming smile.

  “Ah, here she is.” She gestures to me and my blood fills with ice. “My darling granddaughter. Come over and meet our guest, Senator Cavanaugh.”

  The man rises from his seat with a smooth grin. He’s young for a congressman, maybe in his mid-thirties, with muddy brown eyes and a gel-slicked hairstyle that makes me want to gag. His face is fine enough, rather pretty in that perfectly clean-cut, no tricks up my sleeve, kind of way. But I’d be a fool to think a human, let alone a human politician, was someone to put my trust in.

  A jab in my back pushes me forward, and I’m moving without meaning to. Whipping my head back, I see my mother’s irritated gaze, she’s pissed. How had I not heard her behind me? My mask remains, keeping me smiling and doe-eyed, approaching sweetly to offer the senator a gloved hand. He takes it in his finely manicured one, lifting it to kiss my knuckles, eyes shining as he never drops my gaze.

  “Senator, what a pleasure.” My voice is a little breathy, and he seems to like that, rising back up with the same smooth grin. I can hear the approach of others, idly chatting as they arrive and take their seats.

  “Miss. Hargraves, the pleasure is all mine.” He gives me a sweeping look, the trail of his eyes leaves me wanting to scrub my skin off. “You look lovely this evening. Your grandmother somehow understated your beauty.”

  Alarm bells are screaming in my head as I politely giggle behind my hand. Grandmother has never spoken of my looks, it hadn’t been relevant. Though, dad used to say I was the spitting image of mother. No, I was told to focus on being useful and summoning my magic.

  “Sit, sit.” My grandmother insists, her smile a little tight. “Get comfortable, the food will be out shortly.”

  The rest of the family who’ve now joined us sit, comfortable mundane chatter easily filling the dining room. My cousins keep glaring and watching me from further down the table. The twins bicker over something I can’t hear, and my Aunt is whispering to my mother, who’s texting on her work phone.

  Instead of sitting again, the senator comes around the table to pull out my chair for me. The volume of chatter dips as everyone sidelong’s the exchange.

  “Thank you,” I dip my head slightly, looking anywhere but him as I accept the seat. He pushes the chair in perfectly as I lower myself down to meet it, the textbook gentleman. When he’s seated again, grandmother gives a quick clap. The hidden servant’s door opens silently, covered plates of food whisk in, floating over to their designated table places. It’s theatrical and over the top, a witch flaunting her skill in front of a powerless human.

  I watch for our featured guest’s reaction, since humans aren’t overly fond of magic. But he seems to be enjoying the show. My dome covered plate slowly descends in front of me, landing without a sound. Her control over magic is exceptional, it’s no wonder that she was meant to be a Coven Leader. A twinge of envy wriggles in my chest, but I shove it away to keep focused on the meal.

  I’ve been to enough family dinners over the years to know the protocol by heart. So when Grandmother lightly taps her wine glass with a knife to gather our attention, I’m prepared.

  “Thank you all for joining us tonight for another wonderful family dinner. I am so grateful to have so many loved ones in my home together for another meal.” She puts a hand to her heart and a few sounds of affection come from further down the table.

  “Before we eat, I want to give a warm welcome back to our dear Brigid.” I try not to squirm in my seat. That’s not part of the normal script. “As you all may or may not know, she has been spearheading academic research, and we are so very proud. But as that chapter comes to a close, she will be moving on to even greater opportunities, benefitting her house and station.”

  My eyes dart up to her face, sweetly looking down at me. The itching feeling is growing worse, and I want so badly to take steel wool to my skin. I clench my folded hands.

  “As well as a first time welcome to Senator Cavanaugh, visiting us all the way from D.C.!” I’m not feeling hungry anymore. “He’s a member of the human government, and a strong supporter of improving interspecies relations.” Wait a minute, hadn’t mom said there was supposed to be multiple guests? Was she lying? Did grandma really only bring this guy?

  Several appreciative oohs and ahs and quips are thrown in response, which seems enough to stroke his ego a bit. Give me a break.

  “Now, with the frivolities out of the way, let’s enjoy!” She gives another winning smile, before sitting and instructing the plates to be served. All the domed lids float off like stainless steel UFOs, returning to the kitchen and shutting the servant’s door behind them. It’s a familiar family meal, often served around this time of year. Whipped mashed potatoes with piped dollops of butter sit next to a bed of leafy greens where a glazed fillet of salmon steams up, carrying the scents of soy and brown sugar to my nose.

  The senator is about to grab his fork, and in a move I couldn’t explain even if I tried, I kick him under the table. Just enough to startle him into dropping the fork, his eyes returning to me, wide with shock and unspoken questions. I give the smallest of head shakes, hoping he sees it, before bowing my head with the rest of the table.

  In Coven Hargraves, a silent communion with the Source begins every meal. It’s one of the many unique things about my family’s practice. The only person left out is the guest of honor. And me. I’ve sent countless prayers over meals, worried that if I didn’t then the Source would be angry at me for not taking my duties seriously and abandon me for good. Now I know the truth, it was never there for me to begin with.

  I don’t raise my head until I hear my grandmother move, eyes focusing on the strange human seated across from me. He cocks a brow, and I notice his hand slowly creeping for the fork again. The motion amuses me enough to pick up my own fork in confirmation, digging in with the rest of the table.

  The first spoonful sits in my mouth, heavy with the weight of enchantments baked into the filet. Chewing slowly to get a better taste, I recognize the sticky sweetness from previous dinners. Grandmother is loosening tongues at the table, and by the looks of it, no one is the wiser. It won’t work on me, of course. But that doesn’t mean it won’t try. Swallowing down with difficulty, I hide my grimace behind my napkin as my stomach begins to protest. The magic cannot process or digest, left to claw at me from within. Scooping a bite of the potatoes, I am happy to find it isn’t spelled and dig in with gusto.

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  “So, Brigid,” my fork pauses and I look at the Senator who’s been watching me since I arrived. “What is it that you’re studying?”

  I hear the snicker of one of my cousins but hold back my snapping reply. Despite what my grandmother said, no one actually cares about my research. They’re far more invested in securing power and influence for the family. But maybe I can take the opportunity to make myself appear boring.

  “I’m researching the interconnections of magical linguistics.” I can feel my grandmother and mother’s eyes weigh on me. “I’m particularly keen on finding ways to combine schools of magic.”

  “Yes, Brigid is quite the dreamer. She often sees the connections where there otherwise wouldn’t be any. Such a unique gift.” My grandmother interjects, and I see that the Senator’s eyes are the size of saucers.

  “Quite a gift indeed,” is all he replies. His tone sounds weird, and I can’t tell what’s going on behind those muddy eyes.

  “Do you enjoy reading, Senator?” I pivot, hoping to avoid having to listen to my work be discredited again in front of complete strangers.

  “I find with travel and long hours, it makes reading difficult.” He must see something in my face because he tacks on at the end, “but I enjoy audiobooks since I can listen while on the go.”

  My grandmother watches our exchange with interest, quietly eating her meal that I’m sure isn’t actually enchanted like the others. I can tell the magic is working as everyone appears more relaxed, laughing and chatting away as they serve themselves another helping. I put food in my mouth robotically, the magic beginning to bubble uncomfortably within me. After dinner, I’ll be able to excuse myself, get home and…well we had time to get to that.

  “Beautiful…” I hadn’t realized I’d gown distracted, whipping back to find Cavanaugh’s eyes, pupils blown wide, watching me. The magic must be working because he realizes what he’s said, cheeks glowing red, giving him almost a boyish charm. The poor man never stood a chance against grandmother’s spells.

  “Yes, she is. Isn’t she?” My grandmother hums, and now it’s my turn to feel flushed. I only hope it comes across as shy, because I’m fighting every urge to run out of the room. Nothing has gone to script tonight, and my mother’s irritated face only makes me more on edge.

  “Grandmother,” I clear my throat behind my napkin. “You mentioned an opportunity for me. After my research program has concluded.”

  She pins me to the spot with her amber eyes. The signature feature of a Hargraves. Yet grandmother’s eyes remind me more of fire, painful to look at for long. Then her lips quirk into a smile I’ve seen in thousands of photographs, matronly and loving.

  “Yes dear, something truly grand.” She looks over at the Senator, who’s now giving her a sweet smile. I feel like an agreement has been made right in front of me. I bite my tongue until the tang of blood fills my mouth.

  “Our family has long been involved in bettering the lives of others, as you well know. It is a point of pride that the Hargraves help prop up those in need. Given your unique condition, I believe as Coven Leader you, much like your mother, are meant to serve as a conduit. In this case, working alongside the Senator Cavanaugh here, as an ambassador.”

  That doesn’t sound so awful.

  “Given the sensitive nature of our existence, and the need for discretion, you and the Senator are to be wed before the eyes of the Council and Human government. Together you will forge the path towards inclusion and acceptance.”

  I think I’m going to puke. “M-marriage? But, couldn’t there be an alternative? Surely there–”

  “The Council has already authorized the marriage.” My mother’s voice cuts through me. Was that the cabinet meeting she mentioned on the phone? How long has she known?

  Everything is spiraling, and I think I’m going to lose control over my stomach. Tap tap tap.

  “I think my granddaughter is a bit surprised by all the excitement.” I hear grandmother say to Cavanaugh. “Give us one moment, would you?”

  I’m out of my chair, numbly following my grandmother, feeling the weight of my mother’s presence behind me. When we are in one of the several side rooms, she shuts the door behind us, and glares at me like I’ve ruined her night.

  “You said you would brief her.” Grandmother whirls on my mother accusingly. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch.

  “I gave her as much as I could, she’s not exactly easy to get hold of.” Her voice had a brittleness to it that came out when she was trying not to lose her temper. Tap tap tap.

  “Well thank the Source she didn’t mess it up for all of us.” They both looked at me with flaming, eyes. “You will marry the boy, do you understand me.”

  Everything was hollow, surely mother hadn’t agreed to such a thing. She wouldn’t let me marry a human. Tap tap tap.

  But I’ve never been that good at understanding my mom because instead she seals the deal. “You do understand what this requires, don’t you? You’ll show him a few of those little tricks you keep in that tacky costume jewelry to keep him convinced, and report to us regarding progress.”

  “Yes mother,” I reply, chest hollow. I’d always known I’d marry, but not like this. Father used to say I’d be a princess, picking from a pile of jewels one day. But he is long dead and nowhere to help me. While I’d love to be able to rage at my family, there’s no use. They would never hear my pleas, and I’d only get a beating for it. I don’t want to worry Clay by coming home covered in bruises.

  “Good, now go accept the proposal and get out of my sight. I know how you hate to linger.” It’s a double insult, but I just nod, moving numbly for the door.

  I can still hear his voice from the dining room, waiting for my return. Tap tap-tap tap. With a shaky breath, I repaste my smile and rub at my cheeks to ease the tension in my jaw. Passing silently through the dining room doors, I see him chatting to the twins. Paddy and Sean are as thick as they are tall, with curly auburn hair and wicked bright eyes, usually full of cruel amusement. But Mr. Cavanaugh seems disinterested, perhaps due to grandmother’s spells, instead he tracks my every move, leaving my skin crawling.

  “If you would excuse me, gentlemen.” The Senator offers a blithe smile. “I wish to speak with Miss. Hargraves. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  I’m frozen in place, staring wide-eyed as my cousins are easily swept aside by this human man, that offers me an elbow. “If you would accompany me?”

  “Sure,” My throat is tight but if he notices, he doesn’t mention it. Sliding my gloved hand through his offered arm, I am surprised again to find he moves away from the dining room.

  “Your grandmother mentioned a garden,” his tone is casual, “I was hoping it may offer us some space to talk.”

  He’s so odd. I don’t know what to make of it, so instead I nod silently and guide him towards the back of the house, through ornately carved doors to the family garden. Magical and mundane plants grow in harmony, in the style of an English Garden with neatly trimmed hedges forming the walls, and decorative designs with plush walking paths circuiting throughout. The sun setting on the treeline makes the garden glow in a romantic light.

  “Here’s the garden.” I offer lamely. He doesn’t seem to mind, enjoying soaking in the view. The sun reflects off his hair, showing some red tint in it, I half wonder if he colors it dark brown to hide it.

  He turns suddenly, catching me staring, and I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I didn’t mean to suggest I was checking him out. But by his blown pupils, and the magical effects he’s under, I’m not sure that matters anyway.

  “Brigid,” it’s the first time he’s used my name. “I know this is a bit sudden, and admittedly rather unorthodox.”

  I continue to stare, desperate to escape the feeling of maggots crawling under my skin the longer I stay at this hellhole. His cheeks flush, the boyish side returning as his offers a tentative smile.

  “We have been given a unique opportunity,” he keeps talking but a wave of pain and nausea roll through me. The enchanted food was going to eject itself whether I wanted it to or not.

  We’re slowly trailing through the garden, passing by as most flowers close for the night, while the blooming jasmine and moon flowers are barely beginning to wake. We make it all the way back to the house, and he’s still babbling while I try to swallow down the saliva pooling in preparation for what’s to come.

  He’s still in the middle of whatever spiel he’s giving when I cut him off. “Senator Cavanaugh, I am honored and eager to forge a better future together. But I apologize, I have an early morning and must admit I am feeling a bit overwhelmed from tonight’s festivities.”

  “Oh, of course. How rude of me.” He backpedals, urging me to sit on one of the benches nearest to the door. “I got carried away waxing about the future.”

  I can only smile.

  “I look forward to our future together, Brigid.” He says it like a promise. What it really sounds like is a death sentence. “Have a good evening, thank you for such lovely company.”

  He leaves with a slight bow, kissing the back of my gloved hand once more before leaving without my reply. Either he’s confident or delusional, either way I didn’t want to spend more time with him to find out.

  Finally losing the battle with my stomach and nerves, I hurl all of my dinner into the shrubs, leaving a mess for the poor gardeners. It only feels slightly better. On shaky legs, I re-enter the house, avoiding the main rooms, instead taking the staff passages.

  I move for the back stairs, behind the kitchen. The staff ignore me, letting me pass through without a second glance, and I climb the seemingly endless flights until I find myself climbing out of the attic window to sit on the roof.

  No one will find me here, so long as I stick close to the chimney. Tugging off one of the ridiculous gloves, I pull my pocket spell and torch rings out of my purse to slide back into place. With a flourish, the cigarette case appears in my hand. I’d more than earned it –especially with the riot still raging in my gut– so I grab the nicest looking joint before dispelling the case and igniting the tip of my thumb. It takes a couple puffs to get it burning, but once it does, my skin doesn’t itch so bad and the pain began to dull.

  For a while, I just stare. Stare at the flame flickering on the tip of my thumbnail. Stare at the smoke curling from my lips, and at the stars overhead. My head is full of static, and I’m far far away inside.

  Married.

  The word is barely there before the static consumes it. I’m not the prized broodmare my grandmother makes me out to be for the sake of the deal. We both know the truth, I am paltry goods being pawned off to the naive humans in a gambit that would put my family in power over both governments. I am nothing more than a feather on a quill, meant for decoration while the real work gets done around me. My grandmother had been right when she called me a conduit.

  A shudder wracks through me, making my teeth rattle. I could leave. I should leave. I’ve already made my required appearance and grandmother already dismissed me for the night. Yet I can’t quite move from the roof, even after the sun sets and I see my new fiancé leave in his sleek black car. The glow of his tail lights burning into my memory. I feel frozen, locked in place as the emotions and thoughts buzz around like flies too fast for me to process. It’s not until my work alarm buzzes that I find my way back to my tree and leave. Back to the archives.