Under a spell

The warm night air blew in soft whispers across her bare skin, like the hungry breath of a lover’s kiss. The full moon shone down upon the field, casting the scene in an ethereal glow that only added to the magic being performed. Small torches, no taller than Freya's waist, adorned the field, their flames flickering no larger than a fist. Some of the women had brought crystals to be charged during the ritual. They had scattered their gems throughout the grass, the jewelled faces glinting in the moonlight. Every member of the Neothine Coven were present; their bodies bared for their gods. Bodies both young and old, both thin and plump, stood naked for all to see. Freya, once ashamed of the way her soft flesh curved, now stood amongst her sisters with her head held high, seduced by the power that blanketed the field. They chanted to the sky, their arms held wide, “Servum tuum domum adferimus, eam in amplexus tuos amantissimos suscipe”. Again and again, they sang their prayer to their God. Once they had finished, each woman plucked a blade of glass from the ground. Freya felt the cool glass bite into her hand and relished the tears that stung her eyes. In one collective wave, they brought the glass down to their palms and presented their blood to Dea Lunae. They let it spill from their wounds to drip softly to the grass at their feet. An intoxicating mix of power and adrenaline laced throughout Freya’s body. It’s happening, she thought to herself.

Every woman reached out to her neighbour, clasping hands, and mixing their blood. Power surged through Freya as she connected her magic to Leonie beside her, and as Caroline connected her magic to Freya. Energy sizzled throughout the field. Freya could almost see the shimmering wavelengths illuminating each woman’s aura. The women were now joined in a wide circle. In the centre lay the High Priestess Althea. She was withered now, her old skin like tissue paper. Her hair was white, glowing pearlescent in the light of the full moon. She had led this coven for 50 long years, and now it was time that she be brought to rest. With the intertwined magic of her coven surrounding her, Althea lay blissfully asleep in the grass. Her body, unlike her sisters and daughters, was wrapped in silky black satin like a cocoon. Her life on earth was her time as larvae, here before them was her chrysalis, and soon, the coven’s magic would transform her into a butterfly to float away from this world and into the next.

Freya and her sisters took in a deep, collective breath and channelled all of their energy into the circle before them. Althea’s body jerked, as if having come in contact with a great force. Her hair whipped wildly about her face, a tornado of pure white. As the women watched on from their circle, Althea’s body lifted from the ground. Still asleep, her body drifted upwards into the night sky, her arms and legs hanging loosely beneath her as she floated ever higher. The women below her watched on in wonder, tears in their eyes as they silently said goodbye to their leader. Freya said a prayer for Althea as she watched the woman be enveloped by the light of the full moon. Once her body had eclipsed the moon, bathing them all in her shadow, she disappeared. She was there and then she was not, like the blink of an eye. The power surrounding the women vanished just as quickly. The absence of the magic sent them sprawling backwards, like the end of a tether cut free. All 35 of the women landed on their bare bottoms, the cool grass kissing their skin. Freya landed hard, the air whooshing out of her lungs from the impact. A small rock had been lurking in the grass, and as she fell the rock had cut further into the open cut on her hand. She hissed and looked at her wound. It was deeper than it was meant to be. Her entire hand was painted in red, and it was still steadily dripping. She looked beside her at Leonie and Caroline and saw that their palms just boasted a small slice, like a line of red pen. Both of her friends looked down and saw her own mutilated hand. Caroline’s face, half-shadowed by the flickering torch light, drained of colour. The joy and wonder leeched out just as quickly to be replaced by concern.

“I think you need to go to hospital,” she whispered.

“I’m fine, Caroline. All in the name of Dea Lunae, hey?”

“No, I’m serious, Freya. That looks really bad. Look at the grass! Look how much you have bled!” Caroline grabbed one of the torches and ripped it out of the ground to point at the pool of blood that was growing. It looked black in the dark, like the night sky reflected upon the ground. She was shocked by just how much she had already lost, so she let Caroline lead her back to her car.

They reached the carpark and made their way to Caroline’s hot pink Range Rover. Freya felt the headlights’ stick-on eyelashes brush against her bare legs as she walked past. Caroline pulled out a spare pair of clothes from her Louis Vuitton tote that she used as a gym bag. Freya gratefully pulled on the tight white t-shirt and the black, stretchy yoga pants. She had been worried that they would stink of stale sweat, but they smelt like flowery perfume. She wrapped the fresh and fluffy gym towel tightly around her hand and climbed into the car. The seats were heated, and as they drove, her backside grew cosily warm. Caroline drove uncomfortably fast, letting the electronics of the car do most of the work. They alerted her to when she drifted too far to one side, they showed her their position in the road and showed a wide-lens view of the back half of the car. Wealth was a different kind of magic.

They arrived at the hospital with a screech of tires. Caroline practically jumped out of the car and raced to her side, ripping open the door and pulling her out. Freya was touched by the concern but overwhelmed by the intensity. They rushed into the hospital and Caroline, with her fancy clothes and air of superiority, got Freya seen to immediately. Freya was taken into a private room and the towel was unwound from her hand. An attractive male nurse attended to her wound, cleaning and prepping the cut to be glued closed. The nurse, whose name tag labelled him as “Alfie”, working carefully and attentively. His wavy blonde hair was hidden behind a blue cap that tied neatly behind his head. His warm, friendly brown eyes were focused on the work before him.

“So, how did you manage to do this?” he asked as he worked.

Caroline and Freya exchanged an awkward look. “Uhhh—”

His eyes flickered up to meet her own. “You don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s fine. I, uh, cut myself.” Caroline nudged her with a painfully pointy elbow.

Alfie laughed. “Well, yeah. I can see that.”

“I did it. With glass.” Freya didn’t know why she said it. Alfie looked up with concern.

“There are services we can help you engage with if you need any support. I should have asked earlier.”

She vehemently shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I did it with my friends. Like a… friends for life type thing. Caroline did it, too. I just overestimated how hard I had to do it.”

Alfie’s eyes flickered over to Caroline, who reddened and looked away. He looked back at Freya. “Right,” he mumbled and closed up.

Once her hand was glued shut, she had Caroline drive her home.

“Don’t worry about the clothes. Just have them dry-cleaned and have them sent to my apartment,” Caroline said as they stood in her doorway.

“Seriously, Caroline? Dry-cleaned?”

“Oh, fine. Just hand wash them in cold water and air dry them. I can pick them up later in the week.”

“Alright. I don’t know how well I can hand wash with my mangled hand, but I’ll try.”

Caroline looked down at the mentioned hand and groaned. She bit her lip. “Maybe I’ll just wait here while you go change into your pyjamas.”

Freya rolled her eyes and went to change. She stood at the base of her bed and stripped her clothes. Naked, she walked over to the window and opened the blinds, letting the ethereal silver glow of moonlight flood over her skin. She stood looking out over the town, her bare breasts basking in the light. She closed her eyes and leaned back her head and let the moonlight soak into her pores. A light, tingling feeling spread from her cut palm down into her fingers. It was warm, and yet her skin prickled. It left her hand feeling oddly weightless, like the feeling of numbness after falling asleep on your arm, right before the pins and needles set in. She took the bandage off of her hand, slowly unravelling herself like a mummy. She dropped the bandage on the floor at her feet and surveyed her hand. It was unblemished, the only evidence of her injury a white crust of dried surgical glue.

She looked up at the full moon and spoke in a soft whisper. “Thank you, Althea.”