Archive of Our Own

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Macy hissed from behind her. Their steps on the gravel path sounded thunderous in the silent forest, and Macy’s quiet, almost-whispered question reminded Mel of gunfire. They were close to the Safehouse now, after about twenty minutes of walking through the cool forest, and every sound, every breath felt like it would set off an avalanche. Mel didn’t like making noise when she was this close. Well, more noise than necessary since she couldn’t really do anything about the gravel crunching under her feet.

The sky was getting darker. Mel reasoned that that was understandable since the sun was about to set and invite in the late evening. It was shaping up to be quite a pleasant, warm summer night. There were only a few clouds off to the east, and Mel was pretty sure they would disappear in time for them to have an unpolluted view of the stars. A perfect night for an ancient magical ritual or demon tradition or whatever they were there for.

“Yes. We were invited. Besides, wouldn’t it be good to learn more about demons, especially for you?” Mel bit back, trying and failing to keep the breathlessness out of her voice. She was not used to hiking through forests, even if it was only something over a mile. But, since the Safehouse was protected by ancient magic and new, they couldn’t portal closer. Although Mel understood the precautions, what with hunter witches out there looking for demons to kill, she also hated it because it put all her ideas of her own physical proves into perspective. Not even half an hour of walking through the forest, and she was already feeling the burn in her lungs and in her legs.

It seemed her sisters fared no better because when Macy responded, it sounded as breathless as Mel felt. “I only have demonic powers; I am not a demon. I wasn’t born one.”

“You have demon blood in you; learning about them wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, I do have demon blood. And that’s as far as it goes. Look, Mel, I didn’t grow up a demon; I know nothing about their culture. For all I know, they are bloodthirsty savages. You know how the demon blood acted up and made me hurt people. I don’t want their culture; I don’t want to know them. Either you grow up a part of a culture, or you’re not in it, and that’s it.”

“Is that why you and Maggie never talk about your father and your shared culture? Because she didn’t grow up with it?” Mel challenged. That was the wrong move; she could see it on both of her sisters’ faces. Maggie’s was marred with sadness; Macy’s held no small amount of anger.

“That’s completely different!” Macy protested vehemently.

“Oh, really? How?”

“Guys!” Maggie stepped in. She had her brave mask on, the one she used when she didn’t want anyone to know she was sad or scared, and she speared both of them with stubborn stares. “We’re here to learn about magic and to show these demons we’re no threat. So, stop bickering like children and start acting like sisters!”

Mel had to bite her lip not to point out that bickering was a part of acting like sisters. This was more than just bickering, she knew; this was important to her and both of her sisters. There were several issues they haven’t worked out ever since Macy moved in with them—if Mel was honest with herself, there were a few issues she and Maggie hadn’t worked out since way before their mother had died—but they weren’t going to resolve any of that here. Maggie was right; they were there for a reason.

Deciding to let it go, for now, Mel led the familiar way to the Safehouse. She had been there several times already, and her sisters had been there once or twice. However, she was still the one most familiar with the surroundings, and she was the one the demons were most familiar with, too. Some of them even liked her.

When they finally arrived at the clearing with the Safehouse tucked neatly off to the side, Mel smiled. She could already see people gathered there; tall, short, big, small, children and adults, all of them happy and carefree for the night.

Mel caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and she had to force herself not to ready her powers. She knew there was no danger here, the entire surroundings were well-guarded, and there were demons on patrols at all times. Sure enough, the movement was a demon. She’d seen him around before; he was a wall of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp, dark eyes peeking out from under dark eyebrows.

“Charmed Ones,” he addressed them politely. From experience, Mel knew that was as far as his politeness reached. “What are you doing here? This is a sacred tradition—”

“I invited them, Diego,” came a melodic yet sharp voice. Mel couldn’t place the accent, although it reminded her of a strange blend of Oxford and Glasgow with a hint of something much, much older than either of the cities. The woman who spoke with that voice was old. She looked to be in her late seventies, but there was something much, much older in her eyes that sparkled like jewels in water. She had white hair, long and pulled back as not to fall into her face. She wasn’t a tall woman, and her age certainly bent her back somewhat, but she was still taller than Mel. She wore a simple tunic tied with a leather belt held together with a silver buckle, with several small satchels hanging from it. She walked surprisingly fast for such an old woman, with a spring in her step that clearly said she didn’t need the cane she was carrying.

“Mathír,” Diego bowed.

The woman nodded her head at him. “Have you found someone to switch duties with you later? I want you to be able to enjoy the ceremony as well.”

“Yes, Mathír.”

“Good. Thank you, Diego. Now, we shall leave you to your work,” the old lady said. Diego disappeared into the shadows. The woman promptly wrapped one hand around one of Mel’s, the other around one of Macy’s, and started leading them up the hill and towards the crowd already gathered there.

“Thank you for inviting us to see this tradition of yours, Daighair,” Maggie said from beside Mel. She struggled with the name of the old woman, and Mel wasn’t surprised. Even she wasn’t able to pronounce it correctly despite trying numerous times.

The old woman didn’t seem to mind. “Hmm-hm. It’s not my tradition, dear, nor is it a tradition of the demons. Not originally. It was a witches’ tradition, too, a long time ago. And it belonged to all magical beings before that. It’s your heritage as well as mine, and everyone who has magic in them as well.”

“A witch tradition?” Macy asked, clearly confused.

Daighair merely patted her hand and led them on without faltering. “Of course! Most witch traditions are at least similar to demon ones! They did evolve from the same thing, after all.”

“Uhm, so, what is this tradition, exactly?” Maggie voiced.

“Ah, young witches… so much knowledge and culture has been lost to you,” the old lady sighed. She didn’t answer the question, though, and neither of the sisters wanted to question her again. They walked up the hill, which wasn’t so steep at all, and Mel was certain that Daighair could have walked it herself just fine, and she’d be up faster than the sisters.

When they got close enough for Mel to tell the people on the clearing apart, Daighair stopped and allowed the sisters time to look around. The large house was nicely decorated with fairy lights. There were dots of fireflies further down to the other side of the clearing. The light was coming from several bonfires and torches lit in the space in front of the house. But when Mel looked closer, she noticed something strange. Among the bodies, some of which were dancing, others singing, some playing with the children, and some just talking and enjoying the evening, was something like a mist. There were hues of every colour imaginable, some strong, some weaker, just hovering in between the people. And as they got closer, Mel noticed that the mist was… connecting the people there? Different colours went from one person to the next, intertwining and creating bridges of misty hues. It was beautiful and reminded Mel of the aurora borealis pictures she’d seen, only instead of green, the most prominent colours in there were the warm tones of pink, orange, red, yellow, some light and spring green, with a dash of blue and violet and some pure white.

“Those lights?” Daighair said after a moment with a knowing undertone to her words. “That’s what this tradition is about. It has many names and many forms across the world. Even humans adapted it in some countries as a way to tell the future! Bah! Then again, I suppose I can see why. It does help one tell who they will spend their lives with. Hmm-hm.”

“What do you mean?” Mel asked, glancing at the older woman, who was beginning to impatiently pull them up the hill once again.

“Everyone wants to know their future,” Daghair muttered, seemingly ignorant to Mel’s question. “Will I be rich? Who will I marry? How many children will I have? Balderdash! Not asking the right questions. Think, dear! What is the right question?”

Macy glanced at Mel over the older woman’s head, and that got her a strangely aggressive tug on the hand.

“Ah, you have fire in your veins and smarts in your head, dear, but you don’t know! So much knowledge lost to demons. And to witches, much, much more.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t understand—” Maggie tried, but the old woman cut her off.

“No, you don’t. And that is the problem, isn’t it?”

They walked several more paces before Daghair stopped them again.

“I wasn’t sure you’d accept my invitation,” the old woman started slowly. “But since you did, I would ask a favour of you. As you know, this is an important day for all magical beings. It is one of the very few days when the world is aligned perfectly for us to feel the magic. Some would not be able to live this moment to the fullest because of guard duty and our safety. I have pulled up old magic to protect us, and Abigael used both demon and witch spells to strengthen my spells. But I would ask you to, just for tonight, grant us the protection of the Power of Three.”

“Are you expecting an attack?” Macy, ever the logical and analytical one, asked.

“You are very perceptive, dragonblood. Hone that skill,” Daghair nodded at Macy. “As I said, the world is aligned. Many magical beings can do things they wouldn’t be able to do on a normal day. If we are found out… I fear most of us are too happy to perceive danger. We could be killed.”

“Like the sanctuaries before,” Mel added sombrely.

 “Yeah, we—we can do that,” Maggie agreed. “If you guys know the spell.”

“Thank you,” Daghair bowed her head. She let go of Macy and Mel and started walking up the hill. “Come find me later. I would like to tell you more about this day and why it’s important.”  

They watched as she walked off in the direction of the other demons, her pace brisk and the cane in her hand swinging energetically with every step. After she was far enough away, Macy turned to her sisters. “Are we really going to do this?”

“What? Macy, they might be in danger—”

“They are demons!” Macy whisper-growled. “They are the danger!”

“Not them,” Mel said. She tipped her head back to stare Macy in the eye. She usually didn’t mind being the shortest one, but now, she wished she were just a few inches taller to help her drive her point across. “They are not dangerous; they just want to live their lives in peace and safety! Just like everyone else does!”

“Macy, I think you might be getting ahead of yourself,” Maggie stepped in. “They didn’t hurt anyone. They are refugees, driven from their homes and from their lives, and we can’t even find the people responsible.”

“I understand that Mel protects them because she has a thing for Abigael, but you, Mags?”

“Wha—I do not have a thing for Abigael!” Mel protested. Heat rushed to her cheeks and spread down her neck at the thought. While she knew Abigael harboured feelings for her, deep ones if her reactions and looks were anything to go by, Mel didn’t return them. They were friends. Colleagues. Just a witch and a witch-demon hybrid working together to bring peace and safety to the magical world, which was in disarray after the Elders died and new regimes started taking root. And yes, Abigael understood Mel and accepted her, and Mel always felt safe with her, but that was just a thing that happened with friends. That was normal. She felt safe with her sisters, too.

“Oh, stop lying to yourself,” Macy said at the exact same time as Maggie sighed: “How can you be so dense?”

Mel huffed at her sisters. “Look, the important thing is that we have to do the spell.”

“We don’t. What if that old crone just wants to see us do a Power of Three spell so that she can find a weakness in it?”

“There’s no weakness to the Power of Three except for our relationship as sisters. There is literally nothing she can do, Macy,” Mel said.

“But—how do we know she isn’t lying? I don’t even feel anything different about magic today, do you?”

Mel looked around. There was something different today, and it wasn’t just the colourful hues she could see hovering between people. The air felt charged like it was getting ready for something. It made her hairs stand on end, and her heart beat excitedly in her chest. It felt like electricity or little whips of flame kissing her skin. It felt like soft, warm fingers wrapping around her own; it felt like vanilla and spice and cinnamon and jasmine and home.

“I do,” Mel said finally. “There’s something… strange about the air today. About magic. And if the demon-hunters feel that, too, they will try to find another sanctuary and destroy it. And this is the last one in this part of the States.”

“What is our job as the Charmed Ones?” Maggie asked suddenly.

“To protect innocent magical beings,” Macy responded without a thought.

Maggie nodded. “All these demons, they are innocent. And they are magical beings. So, it’s our job to protect them.”

It was quiet between them for a moment. Macy was frowning like she usually was when she was thinking about something very hard or about to do something she didn’t like. Then she let out a sigh. “Fine. But if it turns out that they just want to use us—”

“It won’t,” Mel assured. “They have children here, Mace. Old and sick people, unable to defend themselves or run away. And you saw what happened at the last ransacked sanctuary. It was a massacre. If an attack fell here, it wouldn’t be a fight but mass murder.”

“I said I’d do it; you don’t need to guilt-trip me into it,” Macy huffed, offering her hand up to Mel.

“I’m not trying to guilt-trip you; I’m trying to point out that this is the right thing to do,” Mel said, taking both of her sisters’ hands. “Ready? It doesn’t need to be a big shield, just enough to cover the house and the people around. We’ll take it down in the morning.”

“You’re planning to spend the night here?” Macy asked.

“Maybe? I don’t know how this whole thing works.”

“Guys,” Maggie reminded. The one word and Maggie’s impatient tone were enough to make Macy and Mel stop debating and focus on their spell.

Once they said the spell, they watched as the sky around them shimmered, distorted by the energy they let out. Then the spell settled over them like a blanket, the distortion stopped, and the darkening sky looked just as clear and sharp as it had before.

The sisters slowly made their way to the large group of people. The music got louder the closer they got, and it seemed that the darker the sky got, the louder the people spoke and sang. A group of demons of all ages and sizes sat at one of the bonfires, singing a fast-paced tune, lead by the sharp sound of several violins and guitars. There was even someone playing an old-looking hand drum. Around them, people were dancing and jumping around, laughing and yelling out the words they knew and humming those they didn’t. And amongst it all, in the waves of colourful mist, ran children. Big and small, chubby and skinny, some with scars on their faces, some with a limp in their step, some with their faces looking older and more worn-down than they should.

There were a lot more children than Mel remembered. Her heart squeezed painfully at the implication.

As the sisters got closer, close enough that they were somewhat illuminated by the bonfires, the children stopped running around, their squealing laughter stopped as if it was cut clean off. They stared at the sisters with wide eyes, filled with mistrust and fear.

“Witches!” said one of them. Then another repeated it, and soon enough, the whole gaggle of children were running away from the sisters.

Everyone stopped. The silence that followed was deafening and hostile. Mel swallowed. She’d been in the Safehouse; she’d sat at one table with some of these people, eaten the same food as they had, helped heal their wounds. She has been sure that they would recognise her, just like Diego had. Now that she was standing at the edges of the lit-up area with her sisters behind her and a group of demons eyeing them warily, ready to run or fight if need be, she was not so sure.

“It’s all right, everything’s fine,” came the familiar, honeyed voice. Just hearing it made Mel straighten her posture and shake her head to make her hair fall into place properly. The crowd opened up to reveal Abigael, kneeling on the ground, with the gaggle of children huddled up to her. She tried to hug them all close to her as best as she could, caressing each tiny face with gentle hands. “It’s all right. They are good witches; they’re my friends. See? They’re not here to hurt anyone. You’re safe. Camila, come here. Look. It’s Mel, see? She’s here with her sisters.”

At the mention of Mel’s name, a few of the children perked up. They looked at the three sisters again, which Mel took as an invitation to step closer. When she did, a little girl, no older than four, with sandy-brown hair and caramel skin, ran up to them, yelling out Mel’s name in a fit of laughter.

The fear fell away when Mel bent down and caught the girl in her arms.

“Hi, Camila,” she smiled at the child who hugged her as tightly as her tiny arms allowed.

“Will you come read with us again?” the little girl asked. “You can help make voices! Like last time!”

Several more kids ran up to her in the meantime. Mel recognised Camila’s little brother and several other children from the last few times she’d been there. Still, many more were huddled around Abigael, who now spoke with them in her demon form, her voice deep and distorted but no less gentle.

“I—I don’t know,” Mel admitted. She didn’t mind the idea; she had enjoyed spending time with the kids the last few times. She’d especially enjoyed watching Abigael interact with kids. When children were around, gone was the vicious Overlord and the calculating strategist. In her place was a goofy, gentle woman who loved to play with the children as much as they loved to play with her.

Suddenly, Abigael was there, still in her demon form, her white eyes staring into Mel’s intently and the magic glowing red right under her skin moving from her forehead down her nose and to her cheeks. Strangely enough, Mel wasn’t afraid when she saw the demon. Nor was she disgusted or disappointed. She was happy that Abigael could finally live with herself, rely upon this part of herself not to kill her or hurt others.

The demon touched Camila’s back, her jewelled hand soft and deliberate in its movements, the sharp, talon-like nails never even close to touching the girl’s clothes, let alone her skin. “The sun has set,” said the demon in that deep voice of hers, “and it’s going to get dark soon. Time for bed.”

“But Abi,” the child whined.

Abigael’s demon form slowly melted away as if she wasn’t even aware of letting go of it. “Don’t ‘Abi’ me, you’ve all already stayed up longer than you should have.”

“Can we play with Mel a little?”

“Maybe another time. Come here.”

The little girl pouted, but she let go of Mel and reached out her hands to Abigael. Mel let her go when Abigael picked her up. They locked eyes for a moment, and Mel felt something shift and prickle at her skin.

 Magic, she told herself.

Abigael slowly disappeared in the direction of the house and the gaggle of children followed after her. Mel noticed that while some still looked scared, most were already running around and laughing while Abigael kept telling them something in words that Mel didn’t understand.

“Ah, Charmed Ones!” Daghair voiced from somewhere in between the group of demons. The crowd parted again to show her sitting on a folding chair, almost uncomfortably close to the largest bonfire in the middle of the clearing. She twirled her cane in between her fingers and eyed them with sparkling eyes. Then, in a voice much louder than necessary, she said: “Thank you for your protection charm! I imagine the guards will be especially grateful to you for not having to patrol the forest tonight. Come, join the celebrations. It is your magic as well as ours!”

Upon those words, the chatter among the crowd started again. Soon enough, the music resumed, a bit slower this time, but enough to get almost everyone moving with it.

They reached the older woman with relative ease. She sat alone, nodding her head to the beat of the music, even tapping her cane here and there. Her eyes were closed, and it didn’t look like she noticed them.

“Why were those children so afraid? Before they realised it’s us,” Macy questioned quietly. Mel thought there was no way anyone but her and Maggie caught the question.

“You would be afraid of witches, too,” Daghair responded in that sharp voice of hers, “if you had watched your family burn at their hands only a week ago. If you had to turn away from everything you’ve ever known and run for your life.”

Macy looked around, and Mel watched her. She’d already been there; she’d already spoken to these people. She’d already known what hate was capable of, even when she hadn’t yet seen a witch attack for herself. Macy hadn’t. While she had been in the Safehouse, she’d never been faced with this harsh truth.

“Hmm-hm. It is very different to hear of something happening and to see the consequences with your own eyes, dragonblood. Especially when the consequences are living children with no families and nowhere to feel safe.”

“So why didn’t you let them stay out here and enjoy themselves?” Macy questioned.

“Me? Oh, I’m not the leader here. I’m just an old woman, enjoying my time in this place before it is time to move on. Hmm-hm.”

“Who is the leader, then?” Maggie asked.

“Who is the leader? Hmm. That, my dear, is a question for the stars. Everyone has someone to turn to in their time of need. Someone they trust will take care of them and their children when the time comes,” Daghair mused. Her sharp, jewel-like eyes closed again, and for a moment, it looked like she’d dozed off, but then she frowned. “Lights are a beautiful thing. But they can be blinding, too, especially to the young. Especially when they are not just lights! It is better to let the children sleep. Lonraigh is not a tradition for children.”

“Why not?” Maggie questioned. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh, it can. When you’re not ready for what you’ll find. Or when you’ve expected something else. Hmm-hm. But in the end, we find only what we make for ourselves, nothing more.”

“What does this night help us find, exactly?” Macy questioned.

“Oh, where have the times past gone, where witches relied upon each other the knowledge of their covens?” Daghair sighed. She stabbed her cane into the ground and looked around. “Soulmates, of course! Emotions and feelings, desires and hopes and dreams. And amongst that, yourselves.”

“Soulmates? As in, two people destined to find each other and fall in love? The fate thing?” Maggie question with apparent disbelief in her voice.

“Ah, my dear, with the gift of premonitions, you of all people should know that fate is often feebler than the flame of the smallest candle,” the old woman protested.

“So, what will we find?” Mel asked.

“You youngsters, you never listen! Bah! Try it yourselves! See what secrets you hold from yourselves.”

“How do we even—”

Before Macy could finish her question, the old woman stood up, surprisingly fast for how old she looked, and started walking through the crowd and towards the house. Mel followed after her, and her sisters reluctantly did the same.

“Lights. Light and colours and all hidden in mist,” the old woman hummed as if only talking to herself. “So many things lost to the younglings now. So many things forever gone. Not one more. It’s time for all magic folk to remember where they came from. Hm! Here!” Daghair stopped in front of what looked like a brewing table. There was a large cauldron next to the desk, with one demon pouring out drinks from it. The air smelled differently there, sweet but sharp. “Drink from that. And let the magic go.”

Mel was the first one to accept the cup from the smiling demon. She sniffed at the liquid inside; it smelled like lavender and sage and peaches, with a sharp undertone that she couldn’t recognise.

“What is it?” Macy asked.

“Pumpkin juice,” the old woman bit back. “Bah! What do you think it is?”

“A potion?” Maggie guessed.

“Indeed.”

“Only witches can brew potions,” Macy said with a confused frown.

The old woman speared her with a sharp gaze. “Hmm-hm. You have so much inside of you, dragonblood, and still, you refuse to let yourself see. Hm! Are demon and witch magic different?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Demons hurt. Witches don’t.”

The old woman scoffed. “And witches have never hurt anyone, have they? Hm. There are many ways of accessing magic. There’s witchcraft, brujería, charoslovo, shamanism, and so many, many more. That is for both witches and demons. There is only one magic, dragonblood, and it’s all around us, inside of us, living and breathing with us. The way we work with it and access it, that’s all that differs. So yes, demons can brew potions and cast spells just as well as witches can. And witches can use special abilities they were born with just as well as demons can. When it comes to what matters, we are all the same. You just refuse to see it because that would take away the illusions you’ve spent all your life crafting.”

“Mathír, please, don’t torment the Charmed Ones. That is usually my pastime,” came the honeyed voice from behind them. Mel turned to find Abigael walking towards them, her back straightened but her shoulders relaxed. There was an air of confidence around her that Mel had come to expect, but there was also something different. Something much softer, much more at ease.

“How could an old, peace-loving woman like me torment three young, powerful witches? Don’t be silly,” the old woman waved her hand dismissively. “I thought you were with the children tonight?”

“Jeff and his mate took over. They are in good hands.”

“Now, I just don’t know whether you mean Jeff or the children,” Daghair chuckled, prompting a small smile from Abigael and even a chuckle from Maggie and Mel. “You didn’t want to join the Lonraigh. I wonder what changed your mind.”

Abigael’s eyes jumped to Mel for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Mel to notice. Then she looked at Mel again; this time, her eyes went to the cup she held in her hand before she gave the old woman an unamused stare. “Are you forcing them to take part in it, Grandmother?”

“Forcing? My dear, I am not forcing anyone! I know all about you children and your desire to be strong and independent! So, it is what you are! They have their own brains, for better or worse.”

“Children?” Macy questioned. “We’re adults!”

The old woman pointed at Macy with her cane. “Of course, you are. But I am much older than everyone in here put together; I have the right to call you children for as long as I wish to! And with how little you let yourselves see; you are all children!”

“Mathír,” Abigael sighed.

“Don’t reprimand me, Spiky; I am old enough to say what I mean!”

Abigael blushed at the name, but she still crossed her hands and managed to look unimpressed. “And yet you never really do.”

“Of course not!” the old woman’s jewelled eyes sparkled with mischief. “Where would the fun in that be? Now, take it, drink!”

Letting out a defeated sigh, Abigael turned towards the demon, who smiled at her as he offered a cup to her the same way he did to Mel. Abigael thanked him, a soft sound that almost didn’t reach Mel’s ears through the loud singing and music behind them.

Before Mel could stop herself, she asked: “What does it do? Your grandmother didn’t really explain much.”

“She never does,” Abigael nodded. She held up the steaming cup and sniffed at it. “It’s mostly just moonshine with some herbs. Grandmother calls it a potion.”

“Because it is a potion!” the old woman huffed. “It makes you more in tune with your emotions. Helps the soul to express what it wants to. Hm!”

“The soul,” Maggie repeated.

“Of course! Everyone has one! Your emotions, your thoughts, your love and care, your magic, that is all a part of your soul. And this potion, it makes it easier to connect them all.”

“Essentially, you get drunk and philosophical,” Abigael shrugged.

“Don’t you simplify ancient traditions, Spiky!”

Abigael only smirked, then she looked at the cup in Mel’s hands and then into her eyes. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. This… it’s not for everyone. It can show you things you might not be ready for.”

Mel thought about it for a moment. She didn’t know what exactly was supposed to happen this night, and Daghair’s explanations were very vague at most. Still, she was curious about the whole soulmate thing. Not to mention, this was a part of magic she’d never known about at she had a chance to experience and learn about it. That was something she couldn’t just pass up.

“I want to do this,” she said slowly.

“Even if she decides against it, the potion is not the real magic,” Daghair remarked. “Well, what are you waiting for? Drink!”

Mel looked into Abigael’s hazel eyes, now shining with orange light from the bonfires and happy sparkles. She lifted her cup to her lips simultaneously as Abigael did and gulped the warm liquid down. It tasted strange, not unpleasantly, just a bit sweet and slightly oily. It warmed her throat and chest as it went down, and the warmth slowly spread over her entire body. It seemed Abigael experiencing similar sensations because she was smiling, her eyes closed, and her posture wholly relaxed.

“Now what?” asked Macy cautiously.

“Now? Now you drink, dragonblood! If you want. You do have demon blood in you; even if you believe this to be a demon tradition, you have more right than anyone to be a part of it!”

“I wanna try, too!”

“Hmm-hm. Only pour a child’s portion to this one,” Daghair decided, pointing at Maggie.

“Wha—I’m not a child!”

“Obviously. But you are an empath.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Of course not!” the old woman protested immediately. “This world could use a whole lot more empathy if you ask me. But this potion, it helps connect your emotions with your magic, something you have already mastered. It is dangerous to drink that when the person drinking can affect the emotions of everyone around.”

Maggie’s face fell in understanding and disappointment. “So, I can’t take part in this?”

“You can! You will just have to make your own way through this. Empaths are some of the most powerful and most dangerous beings. You can make a person mad with just a thought,” Daghair said sombrely. She closed her eyes and let the words hang between them for a moment. “Emotions can be dangerous and beautiful at the same time. Never be ashamed of your gift. And never be careless with it.”

Mel watched as Maggie took in the half-full cup and gulped it down. “Hm! This actually tastes kind of nice! Definitely better than most of your potions, Mel.”

Mel huffed. “Potions are not meant to taste good!”

Abigael chuckled from beside her, and Mel turned to her to send her a glare.

“Does Potion Princess take offence to someone criticising her potion-making skills?”

“Don’t push it, Abi,” Mel warned. She rolled her eyes at the smirk Abigael sent her way and looked away. She was getting warm, and she didn’t want anyone to think it had anything to do with Abigael. It didn’t. It was the potion and the bonfires and the warm summer night.

“Now, what do we do?” Macy asked after a moment. She placed her now empty cup onto the table and nodded her thanks to the demon who went to take it from her.

“Now, we go away from here. There are still quite a few people who haven’t yet had their drinks, and I think some of them might want to get theirs,” Abigael decided.

With a hum and a nod, Daghair stabbed her cane into the ground and started walking, rather energetically, towards her chair at the biggest bonfire. Macy and Maggie followed after her without a word, and Mel and Abigael walked after them, their pace slow and their shoulders almost touching.

“So, what is supposed to happen? What are those lights between people?”

“I see my grandmother is as vague as ever,” Abigael remarked, and Mel chuckled. Mel hadn’t known her for too long, but Daghair had always been rather cryptic in her words. She liked to say one thing and mean another or say something completely irrelevant. It was funny for Mel to watch Dahgair and Abigael’s stand-offs, simply because the older woman could withstand Abigael’s word games and honesty, and Abigael was better at navigating her grandmother’s thoughts and words with every conversation.

Mel only let out a confirming hum. She looked around them, at the people, at the colourful mist that seemed to shine with its own light under the stars. The fast-paced fiddles and fast words mingled together; people danced and stumbled and swayed and laughed. A group of young demons, about twenty years old, were taking turns jumping over one of the bonfires to see who jumps higher while the others cheered and laughed.

A burst of roaring laughter came from them when a tall, broad-shouldered boy jumped low, and his white pants caught on fire. The boy ran around the group, trying to put the fire out in the only way his alcohol and magic-addled mind could think of. Abigael chuckled from beside Mel and watched him run for a few seconds longer before she extinguished the fire with a wave of her hand and her pyrokinetic powers. The young man looked to her and bowed low in gratitude before he went right back to the others and waited for his next turn at fire-jumping.

“This night is called Lonraigh. In modern Gaelic, it means shimmer or shine. That word came from a Celtic variant of the demonic language, and in that, it means ‘the colour of the soul’.”

“Celtic variant?”

“Of course. Witches and demons have evolved similarly to humans. They had their tribes and their roots in different parts of the world. There are many types of demon languages, most of which have influenced or have been influenced by human languages.”

Mel was quiet for a while. She knew there was a demon language and a demon script that apparently, all demons had the natural ability to read. But she never thought there were more than one. “I—I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t, either. Most demons don’t. They know their language, the one they have been given by their parents through magic, and they don’t know much else. Having grandmother here… she is ancient. Older than the oldest civilisations, older than demons or witches. She knows what this world has been like up until now, all the lore, traditions, everything we had… she told me some things, and it’s incredible. We had such rich cultures, witches and demons, often together. But we killed each other, and we killed ourselves in the process.”

“Do you think she knows about witch traditions, too? The history behind demons and witches, what divided us. Maybe the history of the Charmed Ones?” Mel asked. She could hear the hope in her voice very clearly, and she was certain Abigael could hear it, too.

“I’m sure she does. But she will not tell you. Not in an understandable matter,” Abigael said with a fond smile. “I am still trying to decipher most things she says.”

“She does say a lot of strange things,” Mel admitted, prompting a soft chuckle from Abigael. They stopped walking sometime during their conversation and were just standing between the bonfires, the people and the colourful mist swirling in the air. Mel wondered for a moment if the others could see it too, for they didn’t seem to notice it. But then she looked around, really looked, and she saw people talking excitedly, pointing to colours and sharing happy laughs. So, they did see it.

But then, Abigael’s arm bumped into Mel’s shoulder, and she was brought back from her thoughts. She looked up at Abigael, studied her face for a second, traced the lines and contours with her eyes and committed them all to memory. And as she watched her, she remembered something else the old woman had said.

“Speaking of your grandmother saying a lot of strange things. Why does she call you Spiky?”

Abigael’s face flushed with a faint, pink colour and her long neck seemed to descend between her shoulders. The smallest of pouts appeared on her face, and she averted her eyes to the ground before she admitted: “She doesn’t think my horns are large enough to be called horns. In my demon form, I mean.”

Mel wanted to laugh. Abigael looked adorable at that moment, clearly embarrassed at the admission and annoyed at being told her horns were not horns. Mel wanted to agree; in her demon form, her horns really were rather small, and Daghair was probably right to call them spikes, even if it annoyed Abigael. Something told Mel the old woman was calling Abigael that just to annoy her.

“Now, that’s not true,” Mel found herself saying. Her voice took on a soothing quality, but there was a mocking undertone in it, which she couldn’t help. The thought of Abigael having a small penis complex about her spikes was both adorable and hilarious. “Your spikes are terrifyingly dashing.”

Abigael glared at her, but the power of that glare was significantly lessened by the pout still on her lips and the blush somewhat hidden by the orange light of the bonfires. “They’re three inches long, Mel; they aren’t terrifying.”

This time, Mel outright chuckled. Abigael seemed even more embarrassed by that, so Mel schooled her face into a neutral expression, which was very difficult with how warm and genuinely amused she felt. The potion seemed to be taking effect.

“Tell me more about today. The Lonraigh, what is that?” Mel asked instead of further teasing.

“It’s… Do you see the colours between the people? That’s what we call soul-links. They are the threads between souls and are made up of emotions, impressions, thoughts and magic. Everything you feel for someone is manifested in the colours. The brightest colour is your strongest emotion.”

“So, all my emotions will take on a colour?”

“Not all. From what grandmother has told me, only the feelings you have for people will show. So that you can find your soulmates.”

Mel frowned. “Soulmates. Plural.”

“A person has many soulmates,” Abigael hummed. “They can be your lover, but also your friend, your parent or your child, even your enemy.”

“How would that even work?”

Abigael shrugged. “Soulmates mean something different for everyone.”

“And what does it mean to you?”

“I—I don’t know yet. I’ve never taken part in the Lonraigh, and I don’t know what it’ll be like for me.”

Mel hummed. She watched Abigael for a short moment before she asked: “What do you think soulmates are?”

“Honestly? I haven’t the foggiest,” Abigael breathed out deeply. She looked around, and Mel followed suit. She focused on the colours now, the ways the mist seemed to roll and dance between the people, envelop them in what looked like a warm embrace. Many had no fog about them, no colours coming from them or towards them. Mel assumed those were the ones who hadn’t yet participated in the ritual.

“What did your grandmother tell you about them?”

“Not much. From what I understood, the soul-link forms when all parts of a person’s soul are in accord about another person and the emotions are positive or neutral. I suppose that means….” Abigael’s hazel eyes turned to Mel at that part. Mel could have sworn they were glassy with emotions and hope, but that might have been the trick of the light of the dancing fires. “You feel understood by that person. Like no matter what you say or do, they will be open to explanations, and they will understand what you tell them. You feel… cared for when they are around like you know even if they loathe you, they won’t let you fall. Whether that is physically or metaphorically. You feel safe with them and willing to share your past, your life. You would give them everything you are if you could.”

Mel felt that prickling at her skin again, the sparks of something that made her hairs stand on end, and her heart beat fast and hard in her chest. Magic, she told herself yet again, and it was. She believed it was the magic of the evening, the stars and the moon that started peeking over the trees at the edges of the clearing. But it also wasn’t. Mel wasn’t sure what the other part of those emotions was, but she decided she liked it. It was exciting and exhilarating and just a bit scary, and Mel wanted more.

“But there are many types of soulmates, and I suppose all of them are different,” Abigael said suddenly. She turned away from Mel to look at the celebrating demons again. She clasped her hands in front of her and played with her fingers. No rings, Mel noticed. She’d come to expect rings on Abigael, not only because they looked good but also because they gave her something to fidget with when she needed it. And it seemed Abigael needed it a lot, especially around Mel. “Your soul-link is based on your emotions about a person, your thoughts and your magic. If you are compatible in all three, the soul-link will form. And if they return your feelings, you are considered soulmates.”

“The different colours,” Mel pointed to the mist of colours rolling all around them, “they mean different emotions?”

“They do. The soul-link of a mother and her child will be different to that of two lovers, and that will be different to that of friends.”

“So, what do they mean? The specific colours?”

Abigael looked around again. “I don’t know. I suppose affection, respect, love, understanding. But I couldn’t tell you which colour signifies which emotion.”

“Do you know who you’ll be soul-linked with before the ritual?” Mel asked, eyeing the people around them.

“Some people do. Those who are in tune with their emotions. You will most definitely be linked with your sisters.”

“What about you?”

I—” Abigael hesitated. Her eyes landed on Mel, heavy with sadness and guilt and something Mel couldn’t read. “I doubt I’ll have more than two soul-links. And I already know they will not be returned.”

Mel’s heart squeezed painfully. “Why?”

“Grandmother is too old and too powerful to take part in this ritual, and if she cares for me, I will not be able to see it.”

“And the other one?”

Abigael didn’t respond. Her eyes glazed over with what looked like regret and her face took on a mournful expression. She let out a breath and looked to the ground. “We should probably find Grandmother. The potion already had enough time to work; we should join them and perform the ritual.”

“Are you sure you want to do it?” Mel asked, voice so soft she worried Abigael couldn’t hear it over the singing and laughter.

“I have come to accept what is,” Abigael said after a moment of silence. Her voice sound cracked like she was about to cry, but there was also undeniable strength in it. “And these traditions, they are a part of the culture we have lost. A culture we still can reclaim and one that can help us put a stop to the killing and hatred between witches and demons.”

Mel nodded. She understood what Abigael meant, and she understood her willingness to face the pain and sadness she believed she would find for the sake of the world. If Mel was faced with the same choice, she would do the same thing.

They made their slow way through the crowd of people. Many stopped their dancing and singing to bow to Abigael as she passed them, and she bowed her head to every one of them. It took Mel a moment to realise why they did it. They revered her. Daghair was right when she said she wasn’t the leader. Abigael was. Abigael was the one all these demons turned to and looked to when they needed something; she was the one they freely offered their respect to because she deserved it. While Daghair might be their Mathír, a position she wielded only through her age and knowledge, Abigael was the one they chose to follow and trust.  

Truly a question for the stars, Mel thought as she remembered Daghair’s words from earlier.

When they reached the largest bonfire, they found Daghair sitting in her folding chair with her cane stabbed into the ground, explaining something to the confused-looking Macy and Maggie. She stopped, rather abruptly, when she saw Abigael and Mel approach.

“Hm! It is time!” she proclaimed.

The music stopped. The people formed a circle around the bonfire and around them and watched, the colourful hues around them swirling excitedly with an energetic, yellow taint.

“Grandmother?” Abigael voiced barely above a whisper as two demons brought in a small, folding table in front of the roaring fire. Then two more demons brought four clay jugs; one carried a large bowl and a large jar of water, and a young demon girl brought a small vial. They placed the items onto the table in what looked like a given order.

“Don’t be surprised, Spiky,” Daghair said almost nonchalantly as she watched. “You brought them here. You made this save heaven happen for them. They want to know where your heart lies.”

Abigael straightened her back, set her jaw, and her hands curled into fists at her sides. It was a pose Mel had seen her strike many times while she was the Overlord. It was a mask of poise, power and control.

Silence hanged between them for a few moments. The demons who dutifully placed all the items necessary onto the table were already amongst the others in the circle. There was no movement except for the dancing fire and the rolling hues of colour.

Mathír stabbed her cane into the ground and started speaking. Still sharp and pleasant, her voice took on a lower, deeper tone that reminded Mel of a growl. The words that came out of her mouth were rough but melodic, yet utterly foreign to Mel. She could see that Maggie was also at a loss, but Macy’s eyes were wide and trained on the old woman. She understood. It was a demon language, then.

“Tonight,” Daghair switched to English, “this young woman wishes to look into her soul.” More words in that strangely melodic demonic language. “Abigael, blood of my blood, fire-wielder, demon Overlord. Are you ready to face your heart?”

This time, Abigael said something in that demonic language. In her honeyed voice, it sounded even more pleasant and melodic, to the point where Mel wished she could understand it so that she could listen to Abigael speak it more often. Then, Abigael nodded her head and said a loud, resolute: “I am ready, come what may.”

“Step forward,” Daghair commanded, again preceded by a short sentence in the demonic language. She must be translating it into English for her and Maggie, Mel thought. All the demons understood her words, only she and Maggie didn’t. And Daghair wanted to make sure they were included in the tradition, too. It was as much theirs as it was the demons’, after all.

The thought made Mel’s chest flood with warmth.

“Choose,” Daghair commanded again. “Water, wine, moonshine or milk. Which will you pour into the water?”

“Wine,” Abigael proclaimed, reaching for the second jug in the row. She poured a little into the small vial the demon girl had brought in, then placed the jar back into place.

“Choose,” Daghair said again, “which three herbs will you put in the wine?”

“Sage. Pine. Lemongrass.”

Mel frowned. Sage and lemongrass were both meant to cleanse, and pine was considered to have protective properties. Why would Abigael choose those? Pine was clear; she wished to protect the Safehouse and the demons in it. But sage and lemongrass? Sage was meant for healing as well as cleansing. Maybe she wanted to ward off the demon-hunters? Or maybe, Mel thought, she wanted to ward off her own inner demons. She wanted to cleanse herself of her past and her trauma.

Or maybe choosing the herbs had nothing to do with any of that, and Abigael merely said whatever three herbs first came to her mind. But no, Mel decided, that wasn’t it. Abigael was too clever and too calculating for that. And this ritual, this tradition, definitely meant more than that. The herbs must have some meaning.

Dahgair reached into the small satchels tied around her belt and offered Abigael a bit of each herb. Abigael then slowly placed all of them into the vial. She twirled the vial gently, then lifted it into the air for everyone to see. “On this night, let me bare my heart to the world. Happy or sad, in company or alone, I wish to know what lies in my soul.”

Then Abigael brought the vial to her lips, took a tiny gulp of the wine, and poured the rest of it into the large bowl of water.

Mel expected something to happen. She expected a burst of colours or tendrils of mist or at least a shimmer. She expected something. But there was nothing. The red wine swirled around in the water; the crushed, dried herbs floated around. The air was warm and dry and silent except for the breathing of a crowd of demons and the crackling of the bonfires.

Abigael’s shoulders rose as she took in a deep breath. Then she placed her hands onto the bowl and flipped it. The water flew through the air, shining in the orange glow, and disappeared in the fire. The fire, however, didn’t seem affected at all. A white mist rose from it, much thicker than it should. Slowly, like a wild animal, the fog wrapped itself around Abigael’s body. It reminded Mel of when Abigael phase-shifted or when her demon form appeared.

The mist swirled around Abigael for a moment. It changed from white to shades of orange, pink, light green, blue, yellow and silver. Then, with a certainty, a tendril of the mist shot out and wrapped around Daghair, enveloping her in shades of light orange and pink, with just a dash of violet. Mel thought that those meant respect and care. Then another tendril shot out, fast and confident, and wrapped Mel in a gentle embrace.

It felt strange, being enveloped in this rolling and twirling mist in all shades of red, pink, orange, yellow, silver, grey, blue, green, purple, and many others. So many conflicting emotions, Mel thought. Still, they made her feel warm and giddy. The mist tickled at her skin, and for a moment, she thought she could see tiny hands reaching out from it and touching her. But that was just a trick of the light or her imagination.

Mel looked at Abigael, who was watching her with a strange expression. Not regret, but… apology. She had known this would happen, and she was sorry for putting Mel in this position. Mel understood, or at least she thought she did. Abigael had already told her that she cared about her, and Mel hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t even really thought about it. But to have those feelings expressed like this, for everyone to see, was different for Abigael. And Abigael seemed to think it was also different for Mel.

However, before either of them could react, the mist around Abigael reached out again with much paler shades of pink and orange care and fierce protectiveness settled over everyone around. Abigael, in her heart, cared for every single person there.

Abigael’s eyes were wide as she watched the mist expose her emotions. The poised mask fell away, and she looked vulnerable, almost scared. Mel wanted to run up to her and hug her, fight off everything that had ever scared her. But she couldn’t. Daghair had said this could be painful if the person wasn’t ready to accept their emotions. It looked like Abigael was still trying to convince herself that she was a terrible and selfish person. Being faced with the visible proof that those thoughts were far from the truth would take a lot of time to process.

Abigael stepped back from the desk, the colourful mist following after her. She stood at Daghair’s side, her poised mask and straightened back in place as she watched the demons prepare the desk again. She didn’t look at Mel.

“Charmed Ones. Do you wish to partake in your ancient tradition?” Daghair spoke in plain English this time.

Mel shared a look with her sisters. Maggie seemed excited but scared simultaneously, and Macy’s eyes held curiosity and apprehension in equal measures. They all wanted to join. They were just waiting for someone to take the first step.

With her head held high, Mel stepped forward. “I do.”

Daghair said the exact words she had to Abigael in the demonic language before slipping back to English. “Tonight, this young woman wishes to look into her soul. Melanie, Charmed One, Sister of Time, protector of magic. Are you ready to face your heart?”

“I am ready, come what may,” while she didn’t dare to even think about repeating Abigael’s demon language words, Mel spoke the English words the same way Abigael had, resolutely and loudly. She could feel her hands trembling, and she balled them into fists, much like Abigael had. She only now realised that the entire clearing was still silent, still watching. None of them had ever seen a witch participate in this tradition, and they were all curious. Mel was interested, too.

“Step forward,” Daghair said. Mel did as she was ordered and approached the desk. “Choose. Water, wine, moonshine or milk. Which will you pour into the water?”

Mel thought about it. She wasn’t sure what different liquids signified. Water probably meant purity, wine and moonshine she couldn’t place, but milk seemed to mean nutrition and health. She reached for the last jug. “Milk.”

After Mel poured a little bit of milk into the tiny vial, Daghair spoke again. “Choose. Which three herbs will you put in the milk?”

Mel had to think of it again. She was sure the herbs held meaning in this ritual. But how was she supposed to choose? Based on what she wanted for herself? What she wanted for others? A little bit of everything?

Abigael had chosen sage for healing and cleansing, and that could go for her as well as everyone else. She’d chosen pine, a protective herb, which could also apply to both her and everyone else, as could the cleansing and energising properties of the lemongrass.

Mel closed her eyes. Her thoughts swirled in her head, and she wished she could calm them and herself. She wished she could calm Abigael, too, and her sisters, and this entire damned conflict they had on their hands. She wished she could protect her sisters, protect Abigael and protect the world. And she wished she could ensure that everyone she cared about was happy.

“Lavender. Aspen leaves. Catnip.”

Daghair eyed her with a knowing gleam in her jewel-like eyes as she handed her the herbs from her satchels. For a second, Mel wondered how many satchels she carried and how many herbs she had. She didn’t voice those questions and instead focused on pouring the dried and dusted herbs into the vial of milk. She lifted the vial, twirled it a little like Abigael had, then she lifted it up. “On this night,” she started, her voice shaking as her mind raced to recall the words and tell them in the correct order, “let me bare my heart to the world. Happy or sad, in company or alone, I wish to know what lies in my soul.”

Then she brought the vial to her lips with a trembling hand and took a sip. The milk tasted strangely on her tongue, sweet but sour at the same time, and it almost made her gag. She quickly poured the rest into the bowl where water was waiting, with the reflection on the flames dancing on top of its surface.

She watched as the milk swirled and dissolved in the clear water. She wondered how this ritual worked. Was this some sort of a spell? She felt her magic dancing underneath her skin and the magic in the air dancing atop it, electrifying and exhilarating, but she didn’t know if it had something to do with the ritual.

What would she see? She was certain her first soul-links would lead to her sisters, but then? Maybe she would end up being the one with only two soul-links.

She didn’t want to wait and guess what would happen. With a deep breath in, she reached for the bowl and threw the water into the fire.

With a hiss, white mist rose up from the fire. It rolled in waves for a few seconds before it shot straight for Mel. It mixed with the mist Abigael’s ritual had created and added entirely new ranges of colours to it. It was beautiful and terrifying simultaneously; it tickled at her skin and reached inside of her. She could feel it like she could feel magic, rushing through her veins, searching, settling.

Three strands of mist rose from the cloud-like snakes. One wrapped around Maggie in shades of pink and orange and green, another wrapped around Macy with bits of violet and light-blue in between the pink and orange. Mel could see Maggie giggling through the rolling mist as she tried to pet the colourful cloud-like she would a dog. She could also see Macy looking at it with wonder in her eyes before she looked up to Mel, eyes glazed over with happiness and a silent thank-you. Mel smiled at her. Even though they’d had their differences about demons and whatnot, Mel still loved her sister dearly and trusted her with her life. Macy deserved to know that, and Mel promised herself to let her know more from then on.

The third tendril stood there, twirling and rolling and swelling by the second. Most of it was deep red, pink and orange, with lots of light-green, a little bit of blue and grey, and some violet splashed through it. There were more colours than Mel knew she had emotions at all, let alone for one person.

The strand of mist moved. Slowly at first, then with more and more speed, it wrapped around the mist Abigael’s spell had left between the two of them until it finally reached the half-witch and swallowed her in a gentle embrace that hid her from the world entirely.

The mist between them shone with a dull but persistent light. The colours swirled and rolled together until it was impossible to say which colours and emotions belonged to who.

Their soul-links connected. They were soulmates.

Before the truth of that statement had a chance to settle over Mel, the mist around her swirled again and then, in a thin, even blanket, covered everyone on the clearing. She watched, her hands clenched still and her eyes wide, as the mist told her what she had known but hadn’t wanted to see. She cared for all of these people, all of these demons. Somewhere along the way, she stopped distinguishing between witches and demons and just saw them as people with the same desires and flaws and the same will to live and be happy.

Her heart squeezed painfully. How had she never realised this? How had she never known?

She looked back to Abigael. The mist around her settled, although their joined colours swirled around her and between them in waves that went from fast and excited to slow and disbelieving.

They were soulmates. She shared Abigael’s emotions for her; she felt the same way Abigael did. How had she never known this? How had she ignored her feelings so strongly? While Mel didn’t have the best track record when it came to recognising and dealing with her emotions, she at least had always recognised she felt something for someone.

But she had recognised she felt something for Abigael. She had known she cared; she had known she hadn’t wanted Abigael to die or to suffer or to fall into the darkness of what Mel thought was the demon world. She just didn’t know her feelings went that deep.

Daghair was correct; it was painful for those who were not ready for it.

Mel slowly stepped back and allowed Maggie to perform the ritual. She tried to watch, to be present for when Maggie chose her herbs and when the colourful mist of her sister’s spell wrapped her in even more gentle but persistent mist. She tried to pay attention when Macy stepped up to the desk, with her head held high and nervousness in the way she kept shifting her feet. She wanted to pay attention when Macy’s mist wrapped around her; she wanted to show Macy that she appreciated this link they shared, that she liked the conformation of them caring so much for each other, of them choosing to love each other enough to be soulmates. But her mind was muddled, and her thoughts couldn’t seem to settle.

Abigael was her soulmate. How did that happen? When had she even started caring for Abigael so much? When had that care grown into love? They had known each other for three years now, that was true, and in those three years, Abigael had gone from a dangerous adversary to a reluctant ally, to an annoying pain in Mel’s arse, to something else entirely. In this past half a year, she had seen parts of Abigael she had never thought she would get to see. The care and the curiosity, the gentleness she held for those worthy of it, the playfulness she showed to children, the genuine interest and desire to help. She had seen glimpses of all of those traits in Abigael before, but she hadn’t thought of them like that.

And if she thought about it, really thought about it, she had to admit that Abigael made her a better person. Helping Abigael change was one of Mel’s most outstanding achievements, but now she realised it wasn’t a one-way street. Abigael had helped her change, was still helping her change. Without Abigael, Mel would never see demons as worthy of protection or care. She would never see the love they had, the lives they wanted to lead. She’d always thought that demons were evil, selfish, cold, calculating, violent and enjoyed hurting and killing. And that was true for some of them, of course. Those so high up in the chain of command that they made sacrifices without ever having to kill for themselves or those so consumed by greed, ambition or selfishness that they didn’t care for others. But those weren’t only demon qualities. Humans were like that, too; those Mel had spent most of her life fighting and pointing fingers at, politicians, some in the police force, in the army, and everywhere else. And witches were like that as well. Mel had seen that before, with the dispute of the two witches, which almost caused her to try and kill Abigael. And she’d been seeing proofs of it ever since.

Abigael opened her eyes to the injustices and ugliness of the world. But also to the beauty of it. Abigael had always been there when Mel needed to talk; when there was so much on her mind that she could cope, couldn’t breathe, Abigael would appear and say the right things to ease those thoughts. She’d always protected Mel without making Mel feel incapable or like a burden. And she had always allowed Mel inside the walls she’d built around herself. It took a while, but Abigael not only opened the gates for her but navigated Mel through the castle of her soul until they reached the deepest parts of it, and Mel was happy whenever she caught a glimpse of that part of Abigael.

Of course, they were soulmates. There was no other option. They drove each other crazy, and they bickered, and they could match the other metaphorical blow for blow, but when push came to shove, they were there, they supported each other, they held strong so that the other one could be weak if needed.

Mel let out a disbelieving laugh. How had she not seen this before?

“Hmm-hm,” sounded from beside her. When she turned, she saw Daghair standing there, watching the bonfire, her cane firmly on the ground. She had a calm expression on her face, but her lips were curled ever so slightly, and Mel was sure that were her jewel-like eyes open, there would be mischief in them. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Fire.”

“My sister would say it’s just a chemical reaction,” Mel remarked.

“Indeed. But so are many other things. Does that mean they don’t have magic in them, too?”

Like love, Mel thought. Like Abigael.

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter what I meant,” Daghair waved a hand dismissively, “but what you thought of when I said it.”

Mel looked back to the bonfire in front of her. Radiant, warm, dangerous. Still, she wanted to be close. Abigael was like that fire in some ways. Which was fitting, considering her power was pyrokinesis, and she was a descendant from dragons. That concept still felt strange to Mel. Actual dragons. Although, she was sure that if she asked, Daghair would tell her that many, many more legendary magical creatures had existed and had changed into demons or witches.

She would need many more lessons of magical history from Daghair to truly comprehend that concept.

Mel opened her mouth to respond, but she was quickly cut off by an impatient stomp of the cane on the grass-covered ground. “I’m not the one you should be telling that to. I’m also not the one who needs to hear it.”

“She saw it—”

“Everyone saw it, dear; that doesn’t mean she believes it,” Daghair sighed, a sound filled in equal parts with sadness and irritation. “My granddaughter is smart and an excellent strategist, but in some things, she is dumber than a sack of bricks. She doesn’t believe it because she doesn’t believe she is worthy of such feelings.”

“But she is!”

“Would you believe that after a lifetime of being told the opposite?”

“But that’s—that’s—”

“That’s what it is. Abigael has a big heart. She loves so much even though she’d never known love for herself. Cheap imitations and thrills, affections born of necessity,” Daghair scoffed. “She has never been loved, not truly. She expects it will cost her something to get even the slightest bit of affection.”

“All the people here love her,” Mel protested.

“They love her because she is useful. She protects them, leads them, gives them certainty and purpose, and most of all, the feeling of safety. They have nothing to worry about. Some go to work; most work here. Some grow crops, some sew clothes, they lead their simple lives, have their festivities and laughter, and when the day ends, they go to their rooms, kiss their children and loved ones goodnight and sleep peacefully because they know they have someone looking out of them. So, you see, their love costs her more than any other. What does your love cost, witchling?”

Mel didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to.

“Hmm-hm. She is useful to you, too. For if there is light in her, surely, anything wrong that you have ever done can be corrected and forgiven. For she validates you more than you’d think to admit.”

“She makes me a better person,” Mel said. “She showed me so much I hadn’t known about. She keeps showing me this world in ways I haven’t even considered. It’s selfish, but….”

“Ah, but love in its core is selfish. It is the most selfish of emotions, some might say. Others would say it is the most selfless one. And neither would be wrong. Love is what we make it. Abigael’s love is selfless and pure but difficult because while she believes it, she doesn’t trust anyone would ever return it. But it is also selfish, for she only loves when she hopes the person she loves would see the good in her, validate her, and be there for her. As you have undoubtedly done.”

“How do you know so much about her?”

Daghair smiled at that question. “When you live long enough, you see the same people wearing different faces. Hmm-hm. She comes from my fire, from my blood. She loves the same way I used to love. Ah, but that is a long and sad story for a different night. Today is about the future, not the past. Find her. Make your future.”

Mel watched as the old woman walked back up the hill and disappeared in the crowd and glowing colourful mist. Then she sighed. How could she even find Abigael with all these people around?

Her eyes fell to the mist swirling around her. Two strands, orange and pink and green and violet, swirled in one direction. Another strand, singing with every colour imaginable, led off of the clearing and into the bushes. It made sense that Abigael would want to be alone, Mel supposed, if she felt too exposed or hurt. She’d always liked to lick her wounds alone.

Mel followed the colourful string connecting her with Abigael, down the hill and into the bushes. Abigael wouldn’t be far; despite her desire to be alone, she still felt responsible for protecting her people, and she would lurk close enough to hear them if anything happened.

When Mel finally found her, Abigael was standing on a rock, overlooking a forest creek that murmured and whispered over the stones and twigs and leaves in its path. The closer Mel got, the more the mist between them swirled. Mel even thought she could see flashes of light between the cloud-like colours.

“Hey,” she voiced. Abigael looked at her and Mel smiled, though she wasn’t sure whether it had any effect in the dim forest. “I… I think we should talk.”

“Did grandmother put you up to this?” Abigael asked. Her voice sounded cracked like she was on the verge of crying. Or like she had been crying.

“She might have given me a little push,” Mel admitted. “But this, this thing between us, it has nothing to do with her.”

Abigael let out a sigh, a wet, almost desperate sound. Whether she was desperate for Mel to say something or for her to leave, Mel wasn’t sure.

“Abi,” Mel stepped closer. The mist between them flashed with a silvery light.

“I didn’t want this for you,” Abigael said after a short moment. “Not like this. Not me.”

Mel’s throat clenched, but she didn’t say anything. Abigael was looking into the water, her hands clasped in front of her, and even though Mel couldn’t see them well, she knew Abigael was playing with her fingers.

“You were never supposed to know. That’s why I never brought it up, why I never pursued you, not really. I knew… you deserve better than me.”

Mel swallowed down the lump that suddenly grew in her throat and took a few steps closer.

The mist crackled, a soft sound almost lost in the creek’s song and the gentle breeze in the trees.

“Don’t you think that’s up to me to decide?” Mel asked quietly.

“You’re too good. Too good for me. I knew that if you knew, that you’d push yourself and you’d think I expected something from you and that you’d try to force yourself to feel something because you pity me—”

“Never,” Mel cut her off, taking another step forward. They were only about two feet away now. “I have never pitied you. First, you irritated me because you were unpredictable and selfish and so sexy I couldn’t think when you were near, and I always, always wanted to prove myself to you. Then I saw the good in you, the potential; I saw what you could be if you let yourself care the way you wanted to. I believed in you. I still do. I’ve had so many feelings for you, Abi, but never pity. Compassion, attraction, affection, all of those, but I’ve never pitied you.”

Abigael turned to her. Her hazel eyes seemed to shine in the dusk around them, so vulnerable and so full of tenderness that Mel’s heart squeezed at the sight. Abigael then looked at the mist between them, cracking with light and colours and quiet thundering sounds.

“I knew it would be you,” Abigael spoke softly. “My soul-link. I knew it would go for you.”

“Why?”

Abigael let out a humourless chuckle. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Maybe I want to hear it.”

Instead of responding, Abigael looked back to the trickling water.

“You know,” Mel spoke after a short moment, “I think I should have realised this much sooner. You… you showed me a world I never knew existed. You showed me the good, and you showed me the bad, and you showed me everything in between. But most of all, you showed me hope, and you showed me that no matter what you do, you can always work to be a better person. And I… I cared about you, so much, even before you admitted it during the trial.”

“That seems like so long ago now,” Abigael sighed. “And yet, nothing’s changed.”

“Something has,” Mel protested. She stepped even closer. She was standing only a few inches behind Abigael now, and the mist between them rolled and swirled and cracked with tiny lightning strikes every few seconds. It felt like the fog was charged with electricity, with magic, and Mel thought that maybe it was. This night was supposed to be filled with the magic of emotions, and the two of them had more magic and more feelings than perhaps even they understood.

The mist between them crackled again, and Mel swallowed. She’d always been brave and reckless and went in head-first. This would be no different. And she already knew how it was going to turn out; there was no reason to be afraid.

But she was afraid. Abigael had spent too long doubting herself, and Mel had spent too long ignoring and redirecting her emotions. What if it was too late? There were so many people here who loved Abigael; what if she decided that loving Mel was too much of a hassle?

But she didn’t, and the proof of that was in between them, crackling with magic and the force of their emotions, tickling Mel’s skin and filling her with nervous energy.

“All this time…,” Mel voiced slowly. Her lips felt like they were made out of lead, and her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but she pushed through for herself and for Abigael. “All this time, I didn’t know what it was that made you… From the first moment we met, there was something. And then you just had to be irritating and a demon, and I didn’t know what to make of that because I couldn’t ignore you even if I tried. I decided to be angry at you because that was so much easier than what I really wanted. And then everything happened, and you—you decided to change, and I couldn’t be angry at you anymore. So, I ignored everything because that was easier, too. And then you left, and I had no idea why I felt like I got my heart broken.”

Mel’s throat clenched, and the words got stuck. She’d never allowed herself to think about this, let alone to say it out loud. But at the same time, it felt good to finally put it into words. So, she cleared her throat and continued.

“It was so… boring without you. And so much scarier. I got used to having you around, I got used to the idea that if there was something my sisters or I needed, that you would back us up, and then you were gone, and I felt like a part of me was missing; like I gave you a part of me to take with you when you left. And then you came back, and I was—god, I was so happy. I couldn’t go three days without seeing you, and I didn’t know why. It was safe and exciting, and things finally felt normal again. Then you showed me this, the sanctuaries, your life’s work. You helped me realise so many things. But there’s one that I only realised today that I should have seen so long ago….”

Mel’s hands trembled as she said that. Without thinking, she tugged at the sleeve of Abigael’s shirt until she stopped playing with her hands, and then she wrapped her fingers around Abigael’s.

The mist between them let out the loudest crack yet.

“It’s always been you, Abi. I tried to tell myself something else because I was scared, and I didn’t know if you were the right person for me, and maybe you really did have to figure yourself out away from me before either of us was ready, but now… I’m ready to say it. It’s always been you. Not because of pity. Not just because of compassion, either. But because we had so much to give each other, to show each other. We still do.”

Abigael didn’t look at her, and Mel was both thankful and disappointed. She wanted to see her eyes, to see the emotions swirling inside, to see what was going on inside her head. At the same time, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to finish what she started if she looked into those eyes.

Abigael squeezed her hand. Mel squeezed back.

“I don’t want to force you into anything,” Abigael said, her voice barely over a whisper. “I wanted you to have your own life, your own choices. I didn’t want you to feel responsible for me or my feelings for you.”

“I do have my life and my choices,” Mel said. “And at every turn, I chose you. And I always will.”

“I still don’t understand why.”

“That’s pretty simple,” Mel said. She tugged at Abigael’s hand gently but persistently until Abigael turned to face her. Mel finally, finally looked into those hazel eyes full of emotions, of hopes and dreams and doubts and silent pleas for Mel not to break her.

Mel wouldn’t break her.

Mel reached out with her free hand. She traced the line of Abigael’s jaw, letting her fingertips whisper across the skin on Abigael’s neck, before she moved them further, around the shell of her ear and into her hair. It was soft, Mel thought, like the thinnest strands of velvet running between her fingers. She shuffled even closer, only inches between them now. The mist swirled around them, crackling with lightning and thunder, colours mixing and rolling one over another, red, pink, peach, yellow, until Mel’s eyes hurt from the light.

Abigael’s free hand came to rest on Mel’s jaw. Her fingers were long and slim, warm against Mel’s skin. The caress was feather-like, barely a shadow of touch, and it sent shivers up Mel’s spine.

The mist crackled, and sparks flew across Mel’s skin. They tickled on touch and filled Mel with excited, nervous energy. And yet, even with all that nervousness inside of her, all that anticipation, she felt completely at ease. Safe and content and happy, just standing this close to Abigael, breathing in the vanilla and spice of her perfume, with the sounds of their emotions hidden in colourful mist coming from all sides.

Abigael’s eyes shone hazel in the mist around them, and Mel couldn’t look away. They were earnest and so beautiful it took Mel’s breath away.

They were close now, so close Mel could feel Abigael’s warm breath tickling her wet lips with every exhale. It was an exhilarating sensation, one she wanted more of. So she moved closer, craned her neck to get closer to the vanilla and spice, to the warmth and hazel-green eyes.

Mel’s hand slipped from Abigael’s grasp, albeit reluctantly, and found purchase on her jaw. She dug her fingers into the soft skin, tugged a little at the velvety hair with her other hand, and she gently led Abigael closer. And Abigael let her; followed her touch willingly and without any resistance.

Mel had just enough time to open her mouth slightly before their lips touched. Her heart skipped a beat. The kiss felt like electricity and wildfire and a calm, summer morning. The scent of vanilla and spice filled her nose, her lungs, every cavity in her body. The warmth from Abigael’s hands and lips spread over her skin like a blanket, gentle and comforting and safe. And around them, the colourful mist of their emotions stormed on, crackling with lightning and thunder, shining with the light and the colour of the setting sun, swirling and roaring around them.

The kiss was gentle. Slow. Abigael tasted like whiskey and magic, and Mel couldn’t get enough. Her hand gripped at Abigael’s hair, the other one locked behind Abigael’s jaw to hold her in place, to keep her close for as long as possible. But it didn’t seem like Abigael wanted to go anywhere, either. The hand that was on Mel’s jaw slipped a little lower and further back until the tips of her long fingers were pressed at the nape of her neck, her palm warm and gentle against Mel’s pulse. The other hand found a place on the small of Mel’s back, pulling her closer, closer until there was no space between them.

The mist around them calmed, the thunder stopped.

The kiss ended as slowly as it started and left a tingling sensation on Mel’s lips. Even with the kiss ended, it seemed neither of them was ready to give up this closeness, this intimacy, for they both held on tight on each other. Their foreheads touched, Abigael’s skin was warm against Mel’s, her breath soft, hot puffs against Mel’s lips. When Mel opened her eyes, she could see the lights of their mist on Abigael’s pale skin, red and pink and orange and yellow and all warm and beautiful. It was quiet, though, as if calmed down. No more thunders and roars, no more menacing swirling and rolling. They were finally at peace with their emotions.

Mel debated saying it then. With their foreheads pressed together, with their breaths mingling, with their grips on each other gentle but firm and persistent. It was intimate and safe and the perfect moment. But Mel knew that everything Abigael felt was always reflected in her eyes. And she wanted to see them, to read them like she had so many times before. To look into those hazel eyes and reaffirm her truth as many times as needed until Abigael believed her.

Mel placed another, short kiss on Abigael’s lips and pulled away. She chuckled when she saw Abigael chasing after her with her eyes closed until she realised Mel was too far away. Then her eyes opened, and there was wonder in them and hope and fear waging war as she tried to process what the kiss meant.

Mel’s hand moved from Abigael’s jaw to her cheek. She smiled. She breathed out. She knew she wanted to say it. She was ready to say it. Even if she wasn’t, the proof of it was all around them, hidden in the colourful mist. She felt like maybe that should scare her, that maybe, she should be embarrassed or angry that her emotions were out there for anyone to see. But she wasn’t. She knew if she hadn’t been faced with her feelings like that, she would have taken much longer to realise them. Too long, perhaps.

The thought made her throat clench.

“I love you,” Mel said. Abigael’s eyes took on a surprised gleam, her mouth opening just a little. Disbelief then showed on her face, and she looked at the mist around them. Mel could feel Abigael’s grip on her tightening until she was pressed against her in a firm embrace. She burrowed her face in Abigael’s neck, breathing in the scent of her as she lowered her hand from Abigael’s cheek to wrap around her back and hold her close.

They stood there like that for a long moment, just holding onto each other, relishing the safety and honesty of the moment. Mel tried not to get lost in the warmth and scent of Abigael, in the sparks that tingled on her skin, in the way they fit together like they were made for each other. She knew Abigael needed this, this closeness, this intimacy, this reassurance that Mel was real, that she was there and honest. So, she hugged her tighter and held on.

After a few moments, Abigael moved her head back. She didn’t let go of Mel, didn’t let her pull away; she just kissed at the shell of Mel’s ear and breathed: “I love you, too.”

Mel smiled at the words. The nervousness energy in her sparked up again, prompting her heart to beat faster, her blood to rush through her veins. She’d known Abigael felt like that. She’d known that Abigael would say it. Still, hearing the words coated with that Sussex lilt and the honey of Abigael’s voice made Mel things she hadn’t expected. She felt… grounded. Wrapped in warmth and understanding and care, safe and most of all, calm.

On instinct, Mel placed a short kiss onto the silky skin of Abigael’s neck. “Should we go back to the others?”

“Not yet,” Abigael decided. “Grandmother will start singing as soon as she sees us together.”

“Why?”

“Tradition. If there are soulmates who didn’t know about their soul-links for each other before the ceremony, they have to dance together at midnight while the eldest people in the group sing engagement songs.”

Mel pulled back to look into Abigael’s face, her eyes bugged wide open. “Engagement?”

“According to grandmother, the couples who find out about their feelings during this night always end up married within a year, and they live long and happy lives together. That’s why the engagement songs were made a part of the tradition. It is also why some cultures adapted our tradition as a sort of divination ritual.”

“I love you, but I don’t want to be married in just a year.”

Abigael’s eyes shone with happiness and excitement at Mel’s words. “We don’t have to follow all the traditions. Besides, if we don’t go up there until midnight, we technically won’t be considered engaged. I think.”

“And what do you suppose we could do until after midnight?” Mel quirked an eyebrow.

Abigael smirked in that confident, seductive way that she often did, and she lowered her head to whisper into Mel’s ear. “I can think of a few things.”

“Like what?” Mel whispered back.

Instead of a response, Abigael captured Mel’s lips in another kiss, and despite her words, this kiss was just as soft and slow as the first one. Mel sighed into it, smiling. While she didn’t doubt that the teasing and banter would result in other activities, later on, she knew they had time. For now, they could just enjoy being close in the colourful mist, with the sounds of water trickling by and faint songs carried on the soft summer breeze.