Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 4
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 1
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 2
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 3
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 4
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 5
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 6
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 7
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 8
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 9
“You’re a witch!”
Hawthorne holds her hands up. If it were anyone else, it would be a symbol of surrender. But from a witch, it’s a threat.
Her eyes darted around desperately. “But I–”
“But what? Did you poison the tea?” The knife shook in my hands.
“No, I swear! I’ll leave; you’ll never see me again,” she begs.
“Why did you come here?”
“I thought you were a witch!” Hawthorn cries.
It takes every once of focus to keep the knife in my hand. She thought I was a witch? Confusion shudders through me.
“Yesterday, you had your awakening, because it was your fifteenth and a half birthday! You could see in the dark! And you have that telling glow in your eyes!” She stumbles over the words.
“What happens during an awakening?”
“Something big happens; it triggers your magic. Usually, in the six months before your sixteenth birthday.” Her eyes are wide, and her breath quickens.
“How would I know I’m a witch?”
Hawthorn deflates, her shoulders sagging as her hands fall to her sides. My fingers tremble, I hesitate for only a second, then I let the knife clatter to the ground, the sound sharp and startling in the heavy silence.
She steps closer, and I tense.
“I’m just going to show you something.”
I let her step into my space, and cup my hands in hers. She lowers us to the ground, and collects the broken teacup. When she pulls away a chill sinks in, as if she’s taken the warms with her.
“Close your eyes, and imagine the mug is whole.”
When I take a deep breath, it shakes in my lungs. In my mind, I picture the goblet as it was the last time I put it away. It’s been a while since they’ve come out. In the memory, I can hear my brother’s laughter at a joke Quince had made. I could see Jacob and Dad leaning against the opposite counter.
“Lean?” Hawthorn asks.
I open my eyes to the lonely room, my chest tight with longing. My trembling hands clutch the cup somehow whole again. A full bouquet of bright, fragile flowers sit neatly arranged inside it.
“I’d say that’s proof.”
The teacup clatters as I place it on the table, despite my efforts to be gentle, part of me wants to shatter it again. There are still tiny lines on the porcelain. I want to ignore all the evidence. Pretend this never happened.
What will Dad do? When he finds out that I’ve become one of them?
“I didn’t want to be a witch, I wanted to be a good daughter.” I tell Hawthorn, shame knotting in my chest.
“Most people don’t choose to be witches. It’s just the hand that fate deals. You can choose to ignore it.”
Something jolts through my body; a cold surge of electricity, or pure fear. Everything I’ve ever learned screams witches are evil. But the thought of turning my back on Hawthorn or this life I haven’t lived makes my ribs ache.
“I don’t want to ignore it.” My mouth concludes before my brain.
Hawthorn smiles again, big and bright. Her teeth are white and perfectly straight.
“I’ll teach you then,” she says, offering her hand. “Let’s go.”
Editor: Lucy Cafiero
