The Faerie's Fate: The Faerie's Fate Trilogy, #1

By Sara Herreras Castel

Adarathiel, the faerie kingdom, has always been governed by a balance of powers according to the mandate of the goddess Lunalasathia. A natural harmony between the Moon King and the Lord Guardian Protector of the forest, also known as the Dragonfly due to their extraordinary wings, both chosen by the goddess. Both possessing the goddess' gifts and sworn to protect the realm's inhabitants.

With the arrival of the Dark Era, precipitated by the fall of Merlin, the chosen two vanished, leaving Adarathiel to sink into chaos and hopelessness. Time carried on until nature followed its course and the birth of the new Dragonfly was foretold.

In response, the Morganians worked to break the sacred and largely forgotten laws, committing unimaginable crimes and playing god.

Abigail Griffiths will find herself caught up in a conspiracy decades in the making, completely upending her life with both friends and enemies fearing her power and envying her for her wings and magic because she is the faeries' last hope.

The weight of restoring balance in Adarathiel rests on her shoulders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara Herreras Castel
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215589052

Book preview

Prologue

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The stormy night sky was laden with dark, threatening clouds that released all their tempestuous rage on those poor souls who hadn't yet sought refuge in their homes. The only available illumination came from flashes of lighting followed seconds later by the crash of thunder. Those briefly lit moments revealed a group of crows stalwartly defying the forces of nature as they flew towards a destination known only to them. They advanced despite the merciless winds that buffeted them and the rain that soaked their wings, amber eyes fixed on the small town towards which they flew, never veering from their path.

At the opportune moment, their leader abruptly turned, and the rest followed suit, heading towards the forest at the edge of the town. They flapped their wings harder in a final effort: not much longer now.

As they neared the ground, they angled their approach in anticipation of what came next. Magic began to fizzle in the air. Plants quivered beneath them only to then freeze as if time itself had stopped for a few seconds during which the crows vanished. Their bodies dissolved into a dense black fog and then changed shape. They emerged in their original, humanoid forms. Humanoid, but not quite human.

They were something more. Something that didn't entirely fit into their surroundings.

The transfigured crows were, in fact, a band of warlocks and some faeries. Lamiae, to be more exact.

Lamiae were only one of the many races of faeries. They were distinguished by both their physical appearance and their specific strain of magic. They had no eyebrows but a thin line of evenly spaced diamonds in their place. Rumor had it that those diamonds gave them incredibly sharp eyesight. They also had tattoos marking their foreheads and the rest of their bodies, and their eyes were a blue so pale as to be almost white. Their wings were generally black with tattered-looking edges.

Once time resumed, the rain soaked their night-black cloaks in a matter of seconds. They adjusted their hoods, both to protect themselves from the deluge and to hide their strange appearance and attire, which were decidedly not of this world. They murmured a few words in an obscure language, and magic wafted on the air again, preventing the rain from continuing to soak them and shielding them from any wandering glances as they made their way to one specific house.

The band of warlocks and lamiae were from Cenystel, a land of magic. It was a planet located far from Earth in an entirely separate solar system called Gethrinen. They therefore had a good reason to try and avoid detection by the mortal humans.

They advanced, shadowlike, among the houses until they reached their destination, a small red-brick home with one of the most carefully tended and vibrant gardens in the neighborhood. Its single lit window distinguished it from all the other darkened abodes.

Their spy had informed them that the hour had come. Time was now of the essence; their presence would not go unnoticed much longer.

Their queen's plan revolved around retrieving the package and getting out by any means necessary. The number of casualties didn't matter so long as the package made it safely to its final destination. Failure was not an option.

A lamiae tracker raised her head and wrinkled her nose as she sniffed the air.

It stinks of fairy, she concluded disdainfully, recognizing the distinctive scent.

Though the majority of the disparate faerie races lived in relative harmony, there was a rift between the lamiae and the rest of their kind, and the hatred on both sides was mutual. Ever since the Dark Ages, warlocks had been at war with the faeries. When the lamiae had chosen to align with the warlocks, they marked themselves as the mortal enemies of the rest of faeriekind. Even before that, relations had been tense, and not only because of their particular magic. But now they were true outcasts, utterly reviled by other faeries.

The stench of fairy is all the more reason to hurry, the head warlock bit back. The package is about to arrive according to Cameron's reports. We can't lose any more time on these quarrels. We have more important matters to deal with.

The warlock’s words only served to increase the tension between the two factions. The lamiae narrowed their eyes, gazes bright with hatred. But then their leader stepped forward in an attempt to defuse the tension. This was neither the time nor place for a fight. She took hold of the warlock’s arm.

Careful, wizard. Snakes strike when you least expect it, she warned, loud enough for everyone’s benefit before continuing in a whisper, Now's not the time, Walter.

He shook her off easily – an icy gleam in his eyes – and put some distance between them, trying to keep up their charade that they were not secretly lovers.

I hardly need the advice of a lamia, Clarisse.

He turned on his heel and took up the march again.

The warlocks used their charms and enchantments to keep the rain from permeating their clothing as they set off towards the house, still undetectable to mortal eyes. Such magical invisibility could only be overcome by someone who already knew what to look for.

Cameron waited in the doorframe for them pass the walled garden. This was the doctor whom they’d appointed to care for the package. Very soon, under the scant beams of light that filtered between the clouds, they would finally witness the results of all their efforts.

Results that perturbed the lamiae, who couldn't help the collective sense of unease that gripped them. What they’d done was strictly forbidden, and they all knew the consequences of breaking such sacred laws.

Fear of those very consequences was the reason it had never happened before.

Until now, that is. They had committed a crime against nature, may the thirteen gods forgive them.

He's not home; you can come in. There's no danger. Cameron opened the door and stepped aside, allowing them to pass. You're late. A bit longer and the whole plan would have fallen apart.

We know. Walter crossed the threshold and made his way upstairs.

The warlock was singularly focused on his goal. He took the steps slowly, but continued ever upwards, not bothering to take in the house's decor or the photos hanging on the walls. The proof that this was a happy home.

Cameron waved them towards the single lit room, the last one off the hallway, where they found a woman stretched out on the bed and covered in sweat. Her face was a mask of terror mixed with anguish and unbearable pain. She was about to give birth.

She glanced at them in panic, ignorant of her true fate and that of her unborn child. But she knew she didn't want to die.

She suppressed a groan when the next contraction came over her, fingers desperately clutching at the sheets as the intruders entered one by one and took their places around the bed, gazing impassively down at her.

The warlocks raised their hands and closed their eyes in concentration. They started to chant in the arcane language of Cenystel while the lamiae danced in place, their movements more like spasms than choreography. They emitted a song that was half shriek, half lament.

Magic. Not just one kind, but a conjuration of two powerful magics coming together for what was about to occur. What was about to arrive.

Walter placed a hand on the mother-to-be's stomach.

You should be proud. Your contribution to the war will be of great importance, Walter crooned.

The woman let loose a cry of pain, unable to hold it back this time. It poured forth from the very depths of her being, and when it was over, she glared at the warlock with profound hatred.

He pulled his hand back with a start, having suddenly felt the intense current of magic emanating from the mother's womb, from the small creature that would be born this dark night. He backed up a few steps, frightened by what he'd sensed.

Doubt crept into his mind, casting shadows on all the plans he was to carry out. But it lasted only a moment before he regained his composure. He jerked his head at Cameron: a signal for her to make ready.

The doctor got into position.

Okay. Push! she ordered.

After a few minutes that seemed to last much longer – minutes during which all that could be heard were the cries of the expectant mother and the chanting of the lamiae and warlocks – Cameron pulled the child free.

Silence fell, only to be broken by the newborn's cries.

Cameron held the baby aloft so they could all observe its right arm, where they saw a mark in the shape of a dragonfly.

It's... a girl, she declared.

They could all sense the icy malevolence in the infant's gaze; a shiver passed through all those gathered.

One lamia, unable to hold back any longer, cried out, It's a monster! We should never have interfered with the natural order. We've created an abomination. A crime against nature!

Walter unsheathed his knife and slit the lamia's throat before the last syllable had even left it.

These are the queen's orders. Her word is law. He stared down the rest of the band. Does anyone else doubt our queen?

Nobody rose to his challenge.

Clarisse, get rid of the body, he commanded, wiping the blood off his knife.

With a simple spell, the dead lamia’s corpse went up in flames and vanished, leaving no trace of what had happened. Of the rebellion that had very nearly occurred.

Walter took the baby girl into his arms hesitantly. He was loath to touch her, but he had to do this so that the queen could see her through his eyes.

It is done, My Queen, he announced, speaking to her through a magical connection. No sooner had he sensed her incoming wave of triumph and joy than the connection was cut off.

He walked towards the door without even a glance at the woman still panting on the bed.

Kill the mother and let's go. There's no time to lose.

Cameron nodded, and filled a syringe with a dark, viscous substance. Death in liquid form. But as she went to inject the woman, who was pleading for mercy all the while, they heard a sound from the floor below them.

We must go, said Cameron, her alarm making her forget the syringe.

The intruders’ worry was palpable as they retreated from the room, on edge. This thing they'd brought about over the last nine months was considered an unforgivable act in Cenystel. Someone must have discovered them and followed them. Despite all their precautions.

They had to flee, but most importantly, they had to do so with the girl. They rushed to finish the job, no longer caring if they made noise in their haste, quickly gathering up all the evidence of their visit and running towards the forest where they would open an illegal portal. It was a dangerous undertaking; directly connecting two worlds could have catastrophic results, but they were desperate enough to try.

Just as they reached the forest, leaving the town behind them, magic erupted all around them. They were under attack; the other faeries of Cenystel had hunted them down. And based on the urgency of their strikes, they knew exactly what their foes had done.

Panic ensued and the warlocks and lamiae started to run for their lives, forgetting all else.

Stay together! Walter spat in vain. Nobody heeded his orders.

He tried to shield himself from the projectiles and blasts, making his way further into the forest, searching for a suitable spot for the portal.

Clarisse’s eyes grew wide as she caught a familiar scent and taste of magic. It’s La Fleur! she called out.

Walter never even heard her warning. One of the enemy attacks found its target, piercing his chest. He fell to the ground, dead on impact. Clarisse screamed and ran towards her lover while some of the group provided cover and another unit broke off to make their escape with the girl.

She could hear the warlocks summoning a portal up ahead.

Zmluok et kon ujxjtykon!

The girl would be safe. They would accomplish their task, but sacrifices would be required to distract the faeries who pursued them. The mission was what mattered above all right now.

She tore off her cape and threw it down to one side at the dead warlock’s feet. She rose to her full height, preparing for the imminent fight.

Grt ko Ltjxo qt et wrtlcon, she implored the skies.

Her enemies caught up to her, and La Fleur appeared, golden wings outstretched in all their splendor. It was only a group of sylphs, faeries of the air, for which Clarisse gave silent thanks; they wouldn't burn her alive then. That had always been a fear of hers.

The group that brought up the rear began hurling various spells at the faeries, using their best combat magic to delay them. The forest echoed with flashes and explosions from both sides. Tree trunks exploded, showering the ground with splinters. Moss flew up at them along with the rocks that had been dislodged by the impact.

The warlocks and lamiae fell one by one until Clarisse was the only one left standing.

As La Fleur circled her prey, her long, blond hair wafted on a nonexistent breeze, a byproduct of the magic that surrounded the faerie. Her blue eyes simmered with rage.

You're too late, fairy scum, Clarisse spat out with a mocking grin. The queen has won.

She may have won this battle, but not the war. La Fleur and her cohort began to unite their magic to deal the final blow.

The lamia closed her eyes, safe in the knowledge that the others had escaped only seconds before. Clarisse smiled as La Fleur took her revenge and darkness swallowed her.

Chapter 1

Magical Birthday

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Abigail Griffiths was an average, ordinary girl with an average, ordinary life just like any other teenager. There was nothing unusual about her everyday life nor anything that marked her as special or different. She was just another face in the crowd. Except on this day. On this day, she was special and different. Today was her birthday. She was turning seventeen, and in September she'd start her last year of high school. Just one more year until college. Exciting decisions awaited her: about school, her future. But it wouldn’t all be sunshine and rainbows. This year, she'd lose a very important part of her life.

Her best friend from childhood, Christopher.

His family was moving to the capital, the big city, and Abigail would be left behind. All alone. Without the person who’d been her companion and biggest fan for as long as she could remember.

That was definitely a downer. She'd been depressed ever since she found out a few months back. He was her only friend, the person who understood her best. And even though they went to different high schools and she had no other real friends, he'd helped her to feel like she wasn't alone in the world ever since her father had remarried.

But now he was leaving, and everything was going to change.

She'd been up for hours, a small part of her still looking forward to this day even though she didn't expect much of it. It was the middle of summer, and it had been especially hot, so she opened her bedroom window in an attempt to air out the room before the sun reach its highest point. She pulled her hair into a messy bun to try and get all the strands off her sweaty neck and then got dressed. She picked out some short, thin leggings and a pale, lightweight dress. It was sleeveless, and the fit was nice and loose.

As she fastened on a necklace, her gaze landed on a framed photo of a smiling woman. It was Abigail’s only memento of her mother, who’d died in childbirth.

Wanda, with her bright, silky blond hair and gray eyes like a stormy sky, totally unlike her daughter. Abigail had wavy auburn hair – like an autumn afternoon, with golden highlights – and dark eyes. Where her mother's skin was white as snow, Abigail’s featured even more constellations of freckles than her father’s. In fact, she favored her father, Henry, in most ways. Still, she often spent hours gazing at that old photo trying to find some small resemblance.

Henry always said they had the same smile.

Several years ago, her father had gotten married again. To Susannah. She and Wanda were like night and day. The marriage had been her father’s vain attempt to provide Abigail with a mother figure, or at least that's what Abigail told herself as she lay in bed at night. She'd never understood how Henry had fallen in love with Susannah, a woman for whom she personally only felt hatred. And the feeling was mutual.

Every year since had been more torturous than the last, and she yearned for the day when she could leave this house, even if it meant leaving her father, too.

Her only consolation was her grandmother Caroline, Henry's mother. She always had time for her beloved – and only – granddaughter. Over the years, Caroline's house had become a sort of refuge for Abigail. Certainly ever since Susannah had come into their lives.

On this day, her birthday, she felt restless, different, unmoored. A bevy of feelings assaulted her, sending her off on an emotional roller coaster. When she was at the top, it was all excitement and joy, but when she came down again, disappointment, bitterness, and sorrow.

But the thing that most irked and distracted her was an incessant itching at her back, which had been tormenting her all night.

She’d lost track of the number of times she'd reached back for those stinging spots. Without thinking about it, she snaked her hand yet again to her shoulder blades where she could now feel a scab forming.

It had to be bug bites. With the heat that summer, she'd been keeping her window open frequently. She didn't even stop to wonder if it might be anything else. Just tried to keep herself comfortable despite the constant itching.

Unable to stall any longer, she took a deep breath – readying herself for whatever she'd find on the other side of her bedroom door – and entered the hallway to face the reality that was her daily existence.

Outside her room she found her stepbrother, Daniel. He was twenty-something and in college. He was rarely home during the school year, but whenever he came back to spend time with the family, it left Abigail tense and on edge, uneasy under Daniel's inscrutable gaze. There was a darkness in his eyes, and she didn't care to find out what it meant.

With this heat, you'd be better off in something skimpier. A miniskirt or maybe a bikini, Daniel remarked as he looked her up and down with a grin that Abigail found far from friendly.

Abigail couldn't help her answering grimace. She found it hard to put up with Daniel, but just a few more days, and she wouldn't have to see him again until Christmas. He’d always represented everything she hated most: the typical popular kid with his blond, wavy hair and blue eyes, used to getting his way and having girls fawning all over him. The way Daniel treated women gave Abigail chills. It was clear he wanted only one thing from them.

Daniel moved to block her path. She couldn’t get past him on the stairs unless she wanted to graze her body against his. So instead, she opted to shove past him with her shoulder, but his grin only widened. He seemed to get on off her discomfort.

She made her way downstairs, practically falling down the steps, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and her stepbrother. But then she discovered another obstacle in her way: Susannah.

Her stepmother was finishing her coffee and croissant in the kitchen, and her father was out in the garden – his mind as absent as ever – tending to his flowers. Though in his current mental state, he'd relate better to a vegetable. Or a zombie.

His decline had begun when her mother had died. Henry never managed to recover from the blow of losing Wanda; he'd been slowly losing his mind ever since. Abigail didn't expect birthday wishes from him. She didn't expect anything really. But she expected even less from her stepmother.

She almost hoped Susannah would forget it was her birthday so the woman wouldn't spend all day sending Abigail on errands or assigning her chores just to be petty.

Abigail tried to silently slip out into the garden, already having grabbed everything she needed to spend the day out. That's why she preferred to carry a big bag; she could always fit everything so she didn’t need to stop at home.

But no such luck today.

Abigail Jane Griffiths, not so fast. I have to talk to you. Susannah's tone was icy.

Uh, I'm in a bit of a rush... my dad called for me to go talk to him, Abigail lied hastily in an attempt to get out of whatever Susannah had planned for her. She gestured vaguely outside.

Susannah hadn't yet spared her a glance. If she looked up from her newspaper, she’d notice Abigail's bag, and all of Abigail’s plans would go out the window.

Susannah mused for a few seconds before making a decision. Henry's moments of lucidity were rare, so the family always took advantage of them.

Fine but come back here afterwards. I have a list of a chores to prep for your birthday party, she purred as she handed it over.

This was a surprise to Abigail, who could list several things Susannah was more likely to do than to bother planning a party for her stepdaughter. For a few seconds, Abigail had the strangest feeling that the universe might actually be smiling upon her today. But this thought vanished as quickly as it had come when she heard the disdain in Susannah’s tone as she continued, Tell Henry to come in, too.

Okay. Abigail quickly slipped out to the garden, afraid that Susannah might change her mind without warning.

Taking care not to crush any flowers, she set her backpack down next to the bushes. The garden was the family’s pride and joy. Henry spent almost all of his time on its care, each action carefully considered, and the results couldn't be any more spectacular. All the neighbors were jealous of their beautiful garden with its bright green lawn, tall rose bushes in vibrant colors, and trees that were resplendent no matter the season.

A gentle breeze pulled several strands of Abigail’s hair out of its bun, and she brushed them back as she approached her father and knelt by his side. As always, Henry said nothing, focused solely on his plants. He'd always had a green thumb and still did, even in his current state.

I've made some plans for today. I'm going to see Grandma Caroline, and I'll spend the rest of the day with Chris. He's headed for the big city soon, so I want to get in as much time as I can with him. Abigail didn't know why she bothered trying to pull her father from of his reverie. It never worked. And since it's my birthday today... Maybe I'll visit with Mom for a bit.

These last words were barely a whisper, and she doubted he'd heard. Henry slowly turned to watch his daughter stand up and shake off the grass that had clung to her dress before perusing the list of tasks that her stepmother had assigned her.

Abby... he began, but then his focus drifted back to the flowers.

She kissed him on the forehead.

Stay here with your roses, Dad. I'll see you later. Abby sighed and headed back for the kitchen.

Susannah and Daniel were waiting for her there. For the next five minutes, she pretended to listen to Susannah, her head bowed, as her stepmother scolded her and complained about how hard her life was and how she'd never asked for any of this. Abigail also ignored Daniel's smug grin. His signature attitude, one she always found off-putting.

As soon as Susannah was done, Abigail grabbed her bag and left the house, resigned to her fate.

Every day, she felt this growing pressure in her chest. A weight that was threatening to slowly suffocate her. She was hard pressed to recall a single moment of happiness in that house.

She walked slowly through town. It was still early, and most people hadn't yet gotten up to start their days. That’s why the sudden shout behind her caused her to jump. It was a voice that she knew very well.

Abby! Chris whooped as he rapidly approached her on a skateboard.

He was even tanner than usual that summer, sporting bronze shoulders and arms. His hair, a deep brown like dark chocolate, was always disheveled, as if he'd just been spit out of a tornado. He made it even messier every time he ran his hands through it, an unconscious habit he'd recently picked up. He was much taller than Abigail and thin, though he looked even thinner because his oversized, wrinkled clothes were always hanging off of him. He didn't care much for appearances.

What Abigail most liked about him, though, were his eyes. The color of a blue sky on a clear summer's day. His eyes were his most striking feature, and they lent him an air of magic.

A wide smile tugged at her lips as soon she spotted him.

Hey, Chris! She raised a hand, which he high fived as he zoomed past. Chris?

He continued riding away, enjoying the feeling of the wind on his face and the rush of speed, leaving Abby behind. She had no choice but to run after him.

I'll make you pay for this! she cried out, laughter bubbling up in her throat.

Chris laughed too, deeply and freely. He turned the skateboard sharply and came to a stop to face his friend. Not waiting for her to catch up, he tossed her a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

Happy birthday, Abby!

She held out her arms and tried, unsuccessfully, to catch it. It ricocheted out of her hands and landed on the ground.

I hope this isn’t anything fragile, she grimaced as she picked it up.

She sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, grateful for the shade of a nearby tree, and tore into the paper wrapping to gaze down at her gift.

A diary.

Very good, Captain Obvious, Chris teased.

It was made to look like an antique book with gold detailing on the cover. Abby loved it the second she laid eyes on it.

Thanks so much, Chris. It's beautiful!

You're welcome. It's for you to write about how much you miss me when I go and, like, how dashing I am. He gave her a playful shove with his shoulder.

Abby raised an eyebrow, chuckling.

More like how you're such a pain in my... She couldn’t finish her sentence through her laughter. It was impossible to be angry with him.

He leaned back, propping himself up by his elbows on the sidewalk.

Isn't that what you chicks are into? Secret diaries and all that? He shrugged, apparently mystified by the habits of teenage girls.

She grunted and used the diary to smack him on the head, though without any force behind it.

You're such an idiot sometimes.

I do what I can, you know. He rubbed the spot where she'd hit him, but the smirk remained on his face.

Abby gazed down at the cover of the diary, pensive, and ran a finger over its surface, feeling the worn leather. The cover image was a dragonfly. She was certain that Chris had her birthmark in mind when he bought it. The one on the middle of her left forearm. A perfect dragonfly. This had always seemed strange to her because birthmarks weren’t supposed to come in such clean-cut shapes; they were random or asymmetrical, but not hers. She'd been mercilessly mocked for it at school.

Chris was just trying to make her feel special on what was often one of the saddest days of the year for her. He knew her birthday was also a reminder of losing Wanda.

It pains me to say it, but before we do anything else, I have to run some errands. Susannah gave me a list for my own surprise party, she explained, rolling her eyes. She stood and held out a hand to help Chris up.

I'm sure it will be the best surprise party ever, he deadpanned.

Abby snorted.

"You don't have to tell me twice. In fact, please don't mention it again. You already know what I think. I'd rather spend the day with you and my grandma than with Susannah and Daniel." She glanced over at Rivertown, the nearby commercial center. Everything there was easily walkable if you were willing to cross a few bridges.

Okay, but until the stores open, you don't have anything to do, Chris reminded her, taking her hand.

For a second or two, her heart beat faster as she felt the warmth of his palm against hers. But he just gave her arm a tug to drag her towards a coffee shop for breakfast. They ordered some pastries and two strong coffees. Then they headed to the park and sat on one of the benches, killing time and enjoying the beautiful day until the shops opened.

Still, a terrible longing and sorrow would grip Abby's heart whenever she recalled that they only had a few weeks left until Chris moved to another city, far away from her. She didn't know what she'd do when he was no longer by her side. Abby's world had been crumbling like a house of cards ever since the fateful day he'd announced that his parents had decided to relocate. She felt lost and alone.

I can’t believe you're leaving in September, Abby sighed, unable to stop herself.

Yeah, was the only response. Chris tended to resort to monosyllables when he didn't know what to say.

She stared down at her pastry, having suddenly lost her appetite. Chris sipped at his coffee and looked off towards town distractedly. Each deep in their own thoughts. Abby finally broke the silence when she couldn't take it any longer.

It seems weird to me... Making you change schools for your final year. Moving to a different city. A different everything, right before college, she mused.

She didn't want to say out loud what she was really thinking, all the feelings she'd been keeping locked up tight for months. How much she'd miss her best friend and how alone she'd feel once he was gone. But most of all, it was the terrible feeling that an integral piece of her was being torn out. She had this ominous sense that she’d never see Chris again, even though he often promised her otherwise. It was the end of an era, of their friendship.

Actually, my parents have wanted me to go to this school for years. They went there, which you know... It's that whole legacy thing. Plus their work, of course. But anyway, next year we're all going to college anyway. It was always inevitable, Chris offered in a vain attempt to cheer her up.

I know, I know.

It's not the end of the world. I'll call you whenever I can, Chris promised for the thousandth time.

Abby didn't respond. She just silently pondered how the operative part of his sentence had come at the end of it. Whenever I can. So maybe never.

Neither one of them resumed that conversation, nor did they change the topic. There was nothing more to add, so they sipped their now cold coffees and finished their pastries. Even though Chris was acting the same as always – perpetually upbeat – they both knew that September meant the end of a friendship, no matter how much effort they both put in. They'd each continue with their own lives and grow apart, and it would never be the same as it was before.

None of this was helped by the itching on her back, growing more and more insistent and bothersome by the minute, which only added to Abby’s distracted state.

As soon as the stores opened, they threw out their plastic coffee cups and set out to check items off her list. Chris carried the basket while Abby tried not miss anything as they walked the supermarket aisles.

Abby was grabbing some cosmetics for Susannah when she heard, A bit early for wrinkle cream, no? This from Kate, a classmate of Abby's, who had appeared at the end of the aisle.

A chorus of snickers accompanied her snide comment: the rest of Kate's posse.

Abby frowned, ignoring their jeers. What else could she do? Chris, however, refused to stand aside and watch these girls mock his friend, whom he wouldn’t be able to protect much longer.

At least we're not here getting dye to hide those grays, he quipped unexpectedly, nodding at the box in Kate’s hand.

Only a weirdo would defend a weirdo, one of the other girls answered.

Better a weirdo than an airhead with no personality seeking everyone else’s constant approval, Chris shot back, voice dripping with disdain.

The girls fell silent, momentarily stunned to find their insults thrown right back at them. But Chris moved faster than they could recover. He grabbed Abby's hand and walked away, giving them no time for a comeback.

You shouldn't have done that. You're leaving, but I'm still going to have to deal with them this year, Abby reminded him. She was genuinely annoyed but had also admittedly enjoyed watching Chris defend her.

He shrugged, brushing it off.

I have to do it now, while I can, right? Don't take that privilege away from me. Besides, I'm sick of all of them. Who do they think they are, judging us? It's not like they're any better.

She smiled and carried on with the shopping list.

As soon as they'd finished, they rushed back to Abby's house to drop off the bags. Without being spotted by Susannah if possible.

After successfully completing that mission –  and once they felt they’d retreated far enough from the house – they both let out grateful sighs.

Done. Now it's Susannah and Daniel's turn to prepare everything. Abby had done her part.

You're such a bad daughter, leaving things in their inexpert hands. They might break a nail if they have to lift a finger, Chris teased.

Despite what everyone seemed to think, Abby didn't really know how to cook or sew. She could barely iron and fold laundry without it wrinkling immediately. She wasn't perfect; she had her faults. She was just your average, ordinary teenage girl: one who detested the endless chores that Susannah gave her. Mindless household tasks that her stepmother didn’t want to do herself.

Abby smirked. I’m the bad one? Then you must not have met Susannah. She's a real... witch.

Of the worst possible order?

The worst, she agreed.

~

Susannah made sure Abigail had walked away with her friend – that boy with the appearance of a tornado's aftermath – from her upstairs window, hiding behind the curtains so no one would notice her presence. Once they’d gone, she checked that her husband was still tending the garden in his vegetative state.

She didn't want any interruptions.

She retreated to the bedroom. She hated this house. She hated her husband. But most of all, she hated that girl.

In her room, she listened in silence for a few minutes. Just in case. There was no one there. The coast was clear.

She quickly rushed over to her vanity, creams and jewelry scattered across its small counter. She sat down on the stool and gazed into the mirror. Her reflection gazed back at her, eyes full of ice.

Bmxtbuout tnztam zmluok, she intoned in an unearthly language staring into the mirror’s depths.

The image reflected back at her began to waver, slowly vanishing to be replaced by something else. A figure hidden by a cloak with a dark hood. Susannah couldn't make out any of their facial features.

Why have you summoned me? It was a man's voice, responding in a similar language to the one she'd used on the mirror. Susannah couldn't help but notice the slight irritation in the man's tone.

She tried to swallow down her unease and lifted her