Conjured LoversBy: Riley Moreno
Shifter Romance with Menage
Violet eyes stared into violet eyes, wide and unblinking. Dark brows lowered, focusing into the flame, and the mirror image followed. Deep breaths sounded loud in the silent room, both chests rising and falling under the same cream colored sundress. The late afternoon light cast a hazy, golden glow around the attic room, but still, the eyes gazed at the motionless fire coming from the unscented white candle.
Suddenly, Hazel shifted on the hard wood floor, her thighs and curvy hips tingling as blood surged back to the muscles.
“Damn it.” She said softly as she looked past the unwavering candle into the mirror standing just behind it. She took in the soft, brown waves tumbling over gently curved shoulders. The cotton sundress she was wearing hugged her more than ample cleavage, trailing down past the spot where her waist nipped in to be tangled in her legs as she sat on the floor cross legged.
Hazel sighed at her image, watching her same unusual, violet colored eyes fill with disappointment yet again. The same eyes her mother used to have, and before that her grandmother, going back for centuries, the mark of her ancestry. Eyes that should tell of the power that resided in her, generations of magic wielders and coven leaders. And she could barely move a tiny candle flame. The slight summer breeze blowing through the black hills would have done more.
Familiar frustration roiled through her, bitter like acid in her mouth. She was twenty four, almost twenty five. Long past the age when most witches come into their power, but not her. She had her moments, like that time she accidentally set the shrub in the front lawn on fire. Embarrassment filled her at the memory. She’d had to call on other members of the coven to come and put it out because she hadn’t been able to, despite how hard she tried.
Then there was that incident with the old weeping willow tree that had sat sentry for hundreds of years by White River Falls. She had been so caught up in her own grief after the death of her mother, she hadn’t even noticed at first as she’d thrown herself to the ground under the tree. Her eyes blinded by a flood of tears.
Until she had felt it, big cold tears splashing on her from above. She had looked up to see the willow tree was actually sobbing, and then it had started moaning and wailing so loud Hazel was sure the people from the next town could hear it. Desperate, she had tried to stop it any way she could.
When magic didn’t work, she had even tried to comfort it. Saying sweet words over and over again to try and get it to quiet down. But nothing had worked, instead it had just cried harder, flooding the stream next to it until she had been standing knee deep in now rushing water where before had been dry land, trapped there by a sudden flood.
Desperate for help, Hazel had cried out, panicking now that the water level was creeping up above her hips, splashing coldly against her stomach and then brushing the bottom of her ribcage before she had even had even finished a shout. She tried to pull herself out of the water, but the weight and speed of the flood kept her trapped in place.
She had been sure she was going to die, drowned by the tears of a weeping willow of all the ridiculous things. Truly afraid now, and just a little pissed about the absurd situation, she shouted her head off.
Just before the water level reached her chin, the water was gone. Just…gone. As if it never happened except for the soaked clothes leaving wet, dripping trails of icy water as she stumbled back away from the bank of the stream. Slowly, she made her way home, grateful that she didn’t run into anyone. How could she possibly explain why she was drenched from head to toe on the cloudless spring day?
There had been a few more times where her powers would manifest on their own, but at least she hadn’t set anything else on fire. Yet, at least. There’s always tonight, the thought rang unprompted through her mind, setting off jackhammers of doubt that settled in her stomach like weights. It was the summer solstice, and the Black Hills coven would be celebrating like they did every year. With the transmigration ceremony which called on each member to pass around an undying flame, maintaining it with the power from within and solidifying each witch’s place in the hierarchy.
The mother guardian, Elizabeth Putney, was at the top. She had taken over as leader of the coven when Hazel’s own grandmother had died when she was just a baby. There had been hopes that Hazel would one day take over, but as the years passed it became evident that she took more after her non magic mother than her lauded grandmother. And that left her smack dab at the very bottom.