Arenea

I stare up at the starlit sky, watching the full moon disappear behind a bank of clouds and drift out again. The stars are bright tonight. I sit on a chair by my windowsill, Starfire curled up in my lap like when she was a little kitten. The black cat purrs, rubbing her head against my hand as her tail wraps around my arm. 

“It’s a perfect night, Starfire,” I whisper. Against my will, a grin breaks free and a giddy laugh escapes me. I clutch her to my chest. She yelps and wriggles out of my arms, falling to the floor. She meows. “Right, focus. No giggling. No grins.” I take a deep breath before standing and pulling my curtains closed. I flicked on the lights. My room is as ordinary as any other in the house, a simple layout. On the right is a bed with dark violet sheets and an unused bed for Starfire at its foot as she’ll only sleep on my bed. Against the left wall is a desk with my cauldron sitting on top, a bookshelf filled with old tombs of my ancestry, and a broomstick leaning against the wall. All typical for my kind.

Meow. I looked down at Starfire, who had perched herself on my desk. She paws at the electrical clock on the nearest shelf beside my personal potions. 10:48. Already? The witching hour is almost upon us.

“Thanks, Starfire.” She purrs, rolling over on top of a spell that I’ve been perfecting for days now. Honestly, I never thought it would be so hard to write a necromantic spell from scratch. I suppose that’s why it hasn’t been done before. Starfire disappeared into the hallway, her tail raised high as she went. I closed the door and leaned back against it, closing my eyes to take another deep breath. 

“Tonight is important,” I remind myself in a whisper. “It’s special. I can’t mess up. I have to be…”--Another breath and I open my eyes, staring at the closed curtains.--“emotionless.”

I changed into my dress, the black silk falling down to my ankles. Gold spider webbing threads through the cloth, creating delicate designs of webs and spiders running across them. I slipped on my black boots with a two-inch heel and three silver buckles.

I had designed this dress specifically for tonight and I can’t ruin it all with a stupid grin. Who needs to smile anyway? What’s so great about smiling? It’s already bad enough that I don’t look half as witchy as any of the other girls that will be there tonight. I can’t screw it up by slipping up, even once. I was only able to convince Aunt Ester to let me go to this Coven meeting because she believes I have poor genetics. She’d never let me leave the house if she found out I’m half-human.

Aunt Ester and Grandmother Tabasa took me in after my parents were killed by another Coven. I was five when they were murdered. My Coven did take revenge, stealing the caster's magic and sending them into the non-magical world for the rest of eternity.

My Mother, Pamela Zatara, had fallen in love with a mortal man, Mason Aranea. There are laws against this, that is why my parents were killed. But my Coven took revenge without waiting to hear the explanation, which is the only reason I am still alive. Witch Law is incredibly strict about communication with the non-magical world. The penalty is death, even if you did not ask to be born this way.

I take a breath, reminding myself to push it all away. Witches are notoriously excellent at disguising their emotions and that is how I must behave. I step in front of my mirror to look at myself.

The dress fit me like a glove, the golden spider webbing bright against the fabric. My features are softer than those of my family, my face rounder, and my skin a darker shade. My eyes, simple dark brown, are unusual for a witch. A witch’s eyes are something extraordinary. Fiery red or deep violet with hues of dark blues, not simple brown.

I don’t have many memories of my parents, only three. The first is from when I was really little. I was curled up on Mother’s lap as she told me bedtime stories and a feeling of such warmth and love that left me when she did. The second is of black boots. I remember standing on their toes and holding my Father’s hands as we danced around the room. Mother would join us and we would be listening to the most beautiful music. Mother and Father were always dancing. I still love dancing but it’s not a very witch thing to do.

The third memory will always be my favorite. I was sitting on Father’s lap, I couldn’t have been five. We were on a porch swing. Mother came out of the house, a small little building but it was home. She handed Father a big glass of lemonade and gave me my favorite pink cup. I refused to drink out of anything else. She sat down with us, leaning her head against Father’s shoulders. I still remember her smile on that day, bright as the morning rays. I snuggled in between them. I can still see her brilliant green eyes with specks of golds and reds and oranges like a flame burning inside of an emerald. I had asked her why her eyes looked so strange. She said, “They’re no stranger than your eyes, Diana. You have your Father’s eyes.”

Two months later, I was moving in with my Aunt and Grandmother.

I cross the room and pick up a single glass bottle from my shelf, the potion inside glowing faint blue. I glance at Starfire, who is standing guard at the door. I give her a little smile then turn back to the mirror. I uncork the bottle and begin to whisper the spell and I spill exactly three drops onto it.

“Winds of time, turn back your course, turn it now with raging force. Use this witch’s remedy and reveal to me, my precious memory.”

I watch as the three drops expand, coating the mirror’s surface. Pale blue vapor rose from the bottle. The glass rippled and stilled on that day, the three of us on the porch swing. The swing rocked gently in front of the small house, one story, painted pale yellow with white trim. I still miss the house. Father was a large man, a head taller than my Mother who was tall in her own right. He always had a scratchy beard and these big brown eyes that he passed down to me. Father was always grinning and he never left the house without a plaid shirt. Mother was much more elegant, it was this feeling about her. While Father felt like a lumberjack. In the mirror, in my memory, she was wearing tan shorts that were three shades darker than her skin with a green tank top. The large oak in front of the house swayed in the breeze, a green leaf fluttering by my little face. Oh man, I was adorable, wearing a shirt with a sparkly blue dog on the front and little pink shorts. Mother always tried to tie my hair back but I kept pulling out the headbands and barrettes. She eventually stopped trying and let it hang loose. I got my glossy, chocolate brown hair from her, and my naturally tanned skin and rounded features from him.

Maybe I could be the best of both worlds.

Maybe… 

I look down at the dress, tracing a spider with my fingertip. An Arenea. It was my Father’s last name. It means spider. I’m not sure where he was from but I know it wasn’t America. After I learned the meaning of his name, I wanted to have something to keep him close. So, I added it to my own name, Diana Arenea Zatara. Typical witches don’t have a middle name but I know that they are common in the non-magical world. Of course, I can never tell anyone about my third name. Knowing is enough for me.

Meow. Starfire sat by the door, warning me. I corked the bottle and the image disappeared. I placed the bottle back on the shelf as someone knocked on my door. I opened the door, finding Aunt Ester on the other side.

“It is eleven o’clock and you are still not ready,” she says, completely neutral in every way. I stilled my expression to match.

“I did not realize the time, I will be down when I am finished.”

She paused before leaving and I could see her turning something over and over in her mind. “Diana, I want you to know that you are not obligated to go tonight. You could always wait until next year if you are not ready.” I looked down at Starfire who sat at my feet. I raise my gaze to meet her’s again.

“This is my thirteenth Halloween, Aunt Ester. This is the first year that I’m allowed to attend the Coven meeting and meet witches my own age. If I wait until next year then the others will all ask questions. I only need a few minutes.” I turn my back on her and walk over to my desk, picking up a brush and busying myself with that. Knowing that the conversation was over, Aunt Ester left, leaving my door open.

That was the witch thing to do, straight to the point. There is no need for anything as excessive as an explanation of why I am not ready and the emotions that would come with it. Cast a spell with emotion and you will lose control of it, whether it’s weakened or strengthened depends on the severity of the emotion. I cannot rely on my Aunt or Grandmother tonight. They will introduce me to a few of their friends who will in turn introduce me to their children my age. The adults hope that we will form a smaller Coven inside of our own. After that, they cannot help. There are hundreds of smaller Covens inside of our large one. Those formed by family, friendship, and goals alike. All as powerful as the witches within it.

If you are in danger, your small Coven will assist. We cannot rely on the elders to fix everything for us. They are the oldest and most powerful of us all, they have no time for petty problems of the everyday. And neither do I.

I finished combing my hair and pulled it back in a long braid going down my back. I look in the mirror one last time, tracing my finger over the edge of the webbing depicting a spider near my hip. I whisper the spell.

“Spider, spider, I create you from your thread. Come alive with these words that I have said.” The webbing wriggled under my fingertip, becoming alive but stuck in place. I’ll always remember my parents, no matter how long it has been since they passed. I will honor my Mother by forming my own Coven and becoming a full witch. I will honor my Father with his last name and his features. I will honor the family name of Zatara, a witch’s family that has been around since before the witch hunts and survived through the ages, by helping my Coven in every way possible. I will be the best witch they’ve ever seen.

As long as I can keep my secret, I will be a part of everything. In my heart, I’ll always know that I’m part human. But to the world of magic...

“I am a witch,” I whisper to Starfire as I grab my broomstick and head for the stairs.