Lyra


They didn’t burn witches, they burnt women I thought as I read through the book documenting the European witch trials. I knew from my history the church had taken no witches, we were too crafty for that. That did not stop the humans from setting the torch on their own to weed us out. That was when the decision to extract ourselves from the humans was made, not because we feared them but because we feared for the weakest among them who too often were blamed for anything wrong or unknown. 

The library was silent around me as I chewed on the end of my pen and finished transcribing notes from the book. The crescent-shaped birthmark on the inside of my wrist tingled, a strange feeling of being watched rose the hair on the back of my neck and I looked around with a start. I had intended to leave before it got dark, but I suppose I had lost track of time while reading and now it was well past sunset. Sighing, I quietly packed my notes. The round-faced librarian nodded at me as I left, and I smiled back at her. 

“Lyra,” She called. I turned to her “Honey it’s so dark out, maybe you have someone who can walk you? Or can I call campus police?” There was concern heavy in her tone. I smiled my best reassuring smile at her.

“No worries Mrs. Craff. I’ll be fine. It's not far and I can take care of myself. Plus I always loved the night” She still looked worried. I continued, pausing to check that my black hair was still in a neat bun in the large mirrors at the entrance, the strange streaks of white hair that I had never been able to cover up with magical or mundane means shone in the fluorescent lighting. I scrunched up my face at them, They always made me feel like an old crone going gray. 

My bright blue eyes shocked me with how ethereal they looked. They were more silver than usual now with the light blue ring around the iris barely visible. They always tended to grow more witchy at night but this was a little more than what could be excused as simply having interesting eyes. I concentrated on concealing the magic inside me and watched as the bright burning dimmed leaving my eyes still striking, but a little less otherworldly. The blue ring grew and the silver sheen dimmed. Satisfied I turned and walked out into the night.

I felt the cold wind bite at the exposed skin of my face as I rushed down the steps of the library. The energetic rush from the light of the moon filled me. I always had an affinity for lunar magic. The moon made my skin feel alive and ready to spark with energy.

 Despite this energetic rush, the October night had become bitterly cold and dark. I made my way down the well-lit path through campus toward my dorm. Large buildings, a strange mix of the thin slashing lines of modern architecture, and the round decorative curves on older buildings lined my path. I always admired the art of building design and the story it could tell if you looked hard enough. I felt the itching in my birthmark again and the sensation of being followed. I turned to glance behind me but I saw nothing.  As I walked through the cold I rubbed my hands together and then tapping into the embers of power constantly burning in my center I murmured “Fove Carnes Meas” so softly even if someone had been right beside me they would not have heard me. 

Instantly my skin began to warm as the magic spread over my body, heating my skin against the cold. Even with the chill banished the prickling feeling continued, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and setting me on edge. It was a simple spell, one that I had mastered as a small child, but useful nonetheless.  I tried not to think about my family back home as the comfort of my magic blanketed me. 

I had not left because I hated magic, on the contrary, I loved it. I adored the rush of using it, the feeling of being connected to something greater than me, it was soul-deep and vital. I was even quite good at it, better at my age than any other witches in my line, especially if the moon was full. My grandmother insisted I would be one of the most powerful witches of my generation, and that I should take the maiden position on the coven’s leadership counsel. That is why I had left. The idea of having my destiny be so planned, losing my autonomy to the will of my family. It was all determined for me, I would learn the craft, take up a position on the council, elevate myself, and eventually take grandmother's place as the crone on the high council. I didn’t want any of it. 

I wanted knowledge, adventure, and excitement. Above all of that, I wanted the freedom to experiment and make mistakes that I could not have with my coven. So I left, enrolled in college, and started to get a mortal’s degree. Even if it was a degree in history, one that focused on the history of witches specifically, it was still a shame to my family who shunned all things non-witchy. Every call from my father ended in a plea to come home. Every message from my sister seemed to have the subtext of “Stop playing pretend with the humans, you have responsibilities” and it was exhausting. My grandmother did not even bother to contact me. My mother had died giving birth to me, another omen to my family that  I would have great power.

I was not even the only witch on campus, though Eve was here with her family’s blessing. She was studying botany and while she did not excel at internal magic as I did she was an excellent potioneer. I smiled thinking about my roommate. She was a bit awkward and weirdly afraid of the humans. Her family ran a flower shop that catered to the mortals and she had decided to attend college to learn the science behind her potion ingredients believing it would give her a better understanding of her craft. Her reasons seemed much nobler than mine. I sighed again. I needed to end the personal pity party. It was really and truly out of hand.

I cut down a dark walkway that went behind the dorm and right up to the back entrance closest to my room, not wanting to walk through the crowded common area of the dorm or risk seeing Hector. Even with the eerie feeling of being followed, I was willing to risk it over having to have one more awkward conversation with him. We had gone on one lackluster date and he had been determined to irritate me into a second one. Not only was it foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with a human, but he was so dull. I had only agreed because I thought it would be fun and he was quite cute. It was not, in fact, fun. He had also seemed decidedly less cute after the fact, especially when he took every opportunity to corner me and try and get a second date. What was it about mortal men that made it so hard for them to accept no as a valid response? I was quite close to breaking my no magic on humans rule and doing a severing on him just to get him to back off. 

There was the snap of a twig behind me and a flashing electric jolt from my birthmark and I froze for a second. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and a feeling of wrongness grew higher than before. The gut feeling around where my center of power rested screamed at me to run. I obeyed without thought. I propelled myself into a sprint, regretting declining Eve’s offer of a jog every morning as the cold air burnt my lungs. I vaguely heard the sound of pursuit as I rounded the corner and slammed into a hard-muscled body. The impact was jarring and sent an instant rush of pain through my head.

Instantly I knew how screwed I was as my lungs filled with the musky scent of werewolf. They always had a musky wild scent about them that was unmistakable. I looked up into the gleaming eyes of the man I had run into. He was tall, well built, and smiled at me with a predatory glint. His face was marred with a massive scar stretching from his left eye to his jaw. Even in his human form, I could tell he was a werewolf. His teeth were sharp and white as he opened his mouth.

“Got you, little mouse” He growled low. I felt my heart thumping in my chest and made to back up, magic didn’t work right on wolves. Their dual nature meant you had to take your time and even then your spell was likely to go wrong. I bumped into another hard form. Turning around I saw three more massive men, all with the same hunting gleam in their eyes. They were on the prowl and I was the prey. 

“Stop! By the treaties of power, I am a witch and you are a wolf, and-” I began reciting the law that was supposed to stop those of us in the supernatural world from fighting and attacking each other. The first man clicked his tongue.

“No no little mouse, that won’t work.” He placed his large hot finger against my lips, bending down so his glowing orange eyes were level with mine. There seemed to be a wildness in them that communicated a lack of control. 

I was not about to be taken down by anyone, let alone a nearly feral werewolf, not without a fight. I bit down hard on his finger, tasting the metallic tang of his blood. It was slightly sweeter than I anticipated like a rusted penny dipped in unrefined syrup and then washed off so only a hint of it lingered. Quickly channeling power for a spell into the blood in my mouth I spit it into his face.

“Blood and fire, burn and mangle”. He let out a howl of pain as the blood connected with his skin and sizzled. It worked, the wolves behind me were too stunned and the man before me was too injured to stop me from dashing forward and around the corner, angling to the door of my dorm, panting heavily. 

My heart thudded in my chest as I almost reached the door, inches from its light strong hands grabbed me and jerked me back. I tried to bite the hand over my mouth again but it moved. I reached for my power, intending to send frost over his hand, but the spell backfired and caused intense icy pain to shoot up my wrist as my hand was encased in a thin layer of ice. Damn. I knew my luck wouldn’t hold. I slammed my foot back into his shin and he grunted. When magic fails, good old-fashioned human violence might be my saving grace. I tried to wiggle free of his massive arms with little success. 

“Give me that Witch bane!” the one holding me growled and a cloth was shoved over my face. I fought against the cloying smell of the chemical, flailing my arms about. All too soon, despite my efforts, my vision flickered and I lost consciousness, falling limp in the man's burly arms.