The Maple Tree

One would never guess that Maxine Ravenwood was in her mid sixties at first glance. With long, wild black hair and smooth, freckled skin, she looked the same as she did when was in her late thirties. Maxine plaited her hair so it was away from her face and sighed, adjusting the wide-brimmed hat sitting atop her head. She thought the hat, cloak, and birchwood, orb-topped staff were a little too on the nose for her place of work, but it was her last day before retirement, so she decided to ignore her costumed appearance for once. She grabbed her quilted tote bag- equipped with jars of ingredients, potion bottles, and her matching birchwood wand- and reached for the leatherbound spell book laying on the side table next to her bed, but hesitated. 

She always knew this day would come. For the past ten years, retirement had been a looming presence; an omnipotent being that was neither benevolent nor malevolent. Other witches her age were excited to be done with the coven, to finally leave the archaic rules of their group behind and sequester in a secluded cottage far away from prying eyes, where they could practice their magic in peace. 

Maxine, on the other hand, loved the archaic rules and the prying eyes. 

A knock sounded on Maxine’s bedroom door. With a flick of her wrist, Maxine willed the door to open. A stout woman with cropped red hair and a silver-threaded cloak walked over the threshold, a tear-filled smile alighting her features. She immediately enveloped Maxine in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Hello, my dear,” Maxine muttered, rubbing her hand consolingly on the young witch’s back. 

“I-I’m going to miss you so much!” The young woman sobbed.

“Now, Gertie,” Maxine said, disentangling herself from the woman’s ironclad hug, “I’ll only be a short drive away.”

“Yes, but it’s not the same, Blessed Mother.”

Maxine flinched at the title and took a minuscule step back. Blessed Mother was a title reserved for the most powerful and wisest witch in the coven, and those chosen for the role oversaw the entirety of the group. They were considered royalty among witches, and even though Maxine was retiring, she would never quite shake the reputation the moniker had bestowed upon her. 

“Today is my last day as the Blessed Mother. Please, call me Maxine.”

“Yes, Ble- I mean, Maxine,” Gertie replied, still whimpering. 

Maxine patted the young witch’s head affectionately before leaving her bedroom behind.

The house where Maxine and Gertie resided- along with a slew of other witches- was the largest home in the coven’s community. Hidden in the middle of a nameless forest and protected by a large, wrought-iron fence, the community, known as Starwood, was the biggest in the United States. And soon, Maxine would be leaving Starwood behind, forever. 

Maxine passed a handful of doors as she made her way toward the grand staircase. One by one, they opened, as if the witches behind them could sense their Blessed Mother’s presence. All of the witches that resided in Maxine’s home were her past apprentices. A knot lodged in her throat as the witch took in all the familiar faces. 

Maxine quickly descended the steps. At the bottom was a flamboyantly dressed, brightly-colored witch. Wearing a neon pink witch’s hat and a contrasting traffic-cone-orange cloak, the witch stood out in all the wrong ways. She flashed a gap-toothed smile as Maxine joined her at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Good morning, Max,” The witch said. Maxine’s left eye twitched at the use of the hated nickname. 

“Hello, Taffeta,” Maxine said curtly. 

“What a joyous day!” Taffeta exclaimed, and her loud voice caused Gertie to shrink. 

Maxine raised an eyebrow, “yes, quite a joyous day. Is the car ready for me?”

“Not so fast, Max,” Taffeta said, wagging her finger teasingly, “there’s still the ceremony to be performed. Trying to leave us already, eh?”

Maxine sighed. No, just you, she thought. The ceremony in question wouldn’t take too long though, merely a ceremonial passing of the crown to the next Blessed Mother. Speaking of…

“Has the Oracle decreed who the next ruler will be?”

The oracle was a crone of a woman, older than the world itself, it seemed. She was the only witch able to see into the future and foretell who the Blessed Mothers will be, according to the already-written future, or something like that. Maxine was never able to wrap her head around the concept. 

Taffeta smiled widely again, “The Oracle foresaw that I, Taffeta Brown, will be the next Blessed Mother of Starwood.”

It took a mere second for Maxine to compose herself and not sink into immediate panic. Taffeta Brown, of all people? All of the reasons why that was a terrible idea flooded into Maxine’s mind. When Taffeta was an apprentice, she refused to learn the combat portion of the spell book, claiming to be a pacifist. All of her potions were brewed terribly; the ingredient portions were always off. Not to mention, when there had been a zombie outbreak three years ago, Taffeta had been the cause of it. Maxine thought a mandrake root would make a better Blessed Mother than Taffeta Brown.

“What a lovely surprise,” Maxine replied, folding her hands together to keep them from shaking. Gertie stiffened next to her. “Speaking of the Oracle, I would love to meet with her before the ceremony.”

“Do you doubt the Oracle’s decision?” Taffeta asked, her smile turning plastic. 

“Oh, not at all, my dear,” Maxine replied airily, “The Oracle was immensely helpful during my time as the Blessed Mother. I simply want to thank her.”

Taffeta hesitated. The large smile was still plastered on her face, but her eyes held a wariness to them. Maxine wondered if her request would be denied, but then Taffeta moved to the side and allowed her to pass. 

The Oracle lived in the woods surrounding Starwood. No one knew where precisely. The Oracle always seemed to make herself known when she was needed. 

As Gertie, Taffeta, and Maxine neared the edge of the wood, Taffeta gasped. She patted down her cloak and then gasped once more. 

“What’s wrong, Taffy?” Gertie asked, her eyes wide. 

“It seems I left my spell book behind. Oh Gertie, would you be a dear and fetch it for me?”

Gertie frowned, confused, “why do you need your spell book?”

“It has the words Max and I must speak during the ceremony. It’s important. Please, Gert?”

Gertie glared but nodded. Taffeta waited until Gertie disappeared back into the house before turning back to Maxine. “Shall we?”

“We aren’t going to wait for her?” Maxine said, “we need a witness for the ceremony.”

“Oh, she’ll catch up,” Taffeta said assuredly. Maxine raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Taffeta entered the forest. The woman was acting strangely, though. 

The two women made their way through the overgrown undergrowth, the large trees blocking out most of the mid-morning sunlight. Maxine thought it weird that they were venturing so far into the forest. Usually, the Oracle would have sought them out by now. Maxine stared at Taffeta’s back, but nothing about the way she was carefully making her way through the woods gave away that anything was awry. Still, Maxine tightened her grip on her wand. Eventually, they made their way to a clearing, and Taffeta stopped, her back turned to Maxine. 

“This should do,” she said cheerfully. 

“Isn’t it odd,” Maxine said carefully, “that the Oracle has not found us yet?”

“No, not at all,” Taffeta replied, “considering the Oracle is dead.”

And then, Taffeta struck. 

The magic hit Maxine in a bright green flash, and quickly the spell started working. Maxine’s feet turned into roots that burrowed themselves deep into the soil of the Earth. Paint laced up Maxine’s legs, and she bit back a curse as they hardened and turned to wood.

“What have you done?” Maxine panted. 

“I can’t have you interfering with my plan, Max,” Taffeta said, “I’m sorry that it had to come to this, but I have no other choice.”

“What...plan?” The magic had fully transformed Maxine’s legs and torso and was now hardening her hands and arms. 

“The plan for witches to take what is theirs,” Taffeta explained, “the world.”

“And why wouldn’t I agree to that?” Maxine bit out. 

“Because the mortals will have to die in the process.”

Before Maxine could respond, the spell was completed. Maxine’s jet-black hair grew long and green, morphing into smooth leaves. Branches sprouted from Maxine’s arms and legs and reached high into the sky. Where Maxine was standing now stood a tall and beautiful maple tree. 

Taffeta clicked her tongue sympathetically as she caressed one of Maxine’s leaves, “it’s such a shame that you won’t get to witness the rise of the witches, Max. But, once I have what I want, perhaps I will think about saving you.”