Page 58 of Spring L.A.W.
Brianna uncorked a bottle of pinot. “We should probably plate another set of s’mores.”
Lioness snorted. “S’mores are plated now?”
“Everything’s plated if you have enough attitude,” Victoria said.
Minutes later, Katie reappeared, lantern bobbing, and right behind her, the boy. Headset pushed up like a crooked crown, eyes dazed but curious.
“I smell chocolate,” he said.
“We have dinner, too,” Joell offered.
“And s’mores,” Lioness added. “The fancy plated kind.”
The boy gave a shy half-smile and followed them into the firelight. Katie nudged him toward an empty cushion, then flopped back onto the inflatable couch as Bubbles resumed orbit.
Rayna raised her cup. “Now that everyone’s accounted for… witches, witch-adjacent mortals, and invited familiars, let’s let the boy feast.”
The moon crested the ridge in full silver glory, the altar candles caught the first glint of lunar light, and the clearing hummed to life. Somewhere above, a goldfish whispered prophecy: “The boy realizes he isn’t alone,” and it was as if the night leaned in to listen.
16
The witches always feastedbeforethe ritual.
Not because it was tradition. Not because Ostara demanded a ceremonial cheeseboard. But because, more often than anyone liked to admit, the night of their sabbats tended to spiral into chaos. And saving the world on an empty stomach was just bad planning.
So, they’d eaten. Lavishly. And now, beneath the full silver gaze of the moon, the air pulsed with a deeper kind of hunger.
Rayna lit the altar candles with a whispered incantation and a flick of her fingers. Ribbons of fire spiraled up from each wick, dancing like serpents before settling into a calm flame. Crystals shimmered around the circle’s edge. Fresh eggs gleamed in woven nests. Someone had placed a half-eaten s’more on the offering plate. Rayna left it.
“Alright,” Joell called out, clipboard forgotten for the moment. “Circle up. Let’s honor the moon Goddess, our bodies, the season, and whatever strange magic decided PMS was a nice accompaniment to impending blood loss.” The witches formed a ring around the altar.
“At least we can thank the makers of Seasonale for limiting our monthlies to quarterlies,” Magda said.
“Is that some benefit I’ll get by hanging out with you all?” Katie asked.
“Yup. For now, just relax.” Magda grinned. “We’ll get you synced up next month.”
Katie stood between Lioness and Victoria, her green robe slightly askew.Please don’t make me chant anything in Latin. Bubbles orbited her like her own slow, sentient moon.
Eli hovered at the edge of the circle, barely inside it. The glow from the candles caught the paint on his arms, now faintly pulsing like bioluminescent ink. He watched the ritual unfold with wide, uncertain eyes.
Lioness beckoned him forward. “You’re part of this now, Eli. Come closer.”
He stepped in slowly, shoulders tight, his hands twitching slightly at his sides.
Joell circled the altar, her silver staff projecting a glowing line, like a comet, over everyone’s heads.
When she finished casting the sacred circle, the witches began their chant—a low, hauntingly beautiful hum that vibrated through the clearing like a tuning fork pressed to the soul. Wind rustled the trees. Somewhere, an owl called once, then fell silent.
Katie leaned toward Eli. “You okay?”
“I remembered something,” he whispered, not looking at her. “Just now. I think I was supposed to meet someone.”
“Here?” she asked, startled.
“No. Before.” He frowned, gaze flicking to the fire. “Before the tunnels. Before the Between. Before everything. Someone was supposed to help me. They said they could read my markings. Help me finish the mission.”
Katie felt the skin on her arms prickle. “What mission?”
