The Witching Hours

chapitre trois

"Witches didn't need blood to survive,

but humans didn't need wine, either."

- S.J. Mass

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

There she was in all her glory. A queen, Law and Power etched into her, rigid posture, and cunning eyes. Behind her stood, some familiar faces. Curious eyes stared back at Kora. The wind blew Kora's black hair across her face, the sun carefully hid behind drifting clouds, casting the Manor in a soft gloomy darkness. Silence was king. Even the birds' flapping wings, ceased, even the buzz off lingering flies, quietened, even the beating of Kora's heart lowered to a near deadly tempo.

It was a few seconds of raging platitude. The calm before the tempest. As always, Kora could not understand what Tahlia was thinking, no hint of anger or fury, only that smile that promised violence. Her lithe body covered in black pants, and a black vest with silver embroidery, that covered her throat and her long arms. Her long midnight hair was unmoving, as if not event he elements could disturb this Witch, as if she too was a force herself, a pillar of rock, that neither time nor torment could touch.

Silver carefully walked to her sisters, her Supreme only acknowledging her, with a slight nod of her head. Silver did not want to leave her friend, and yet, she knew, that Kora had to settle this on her own.

Kora did not move, unsure of what she should do. Those few seconds of indecision were the longest she had ever felt. Finally, Tahlia walked down the steps, with a slow, graceful pace, that reminded her of those lionesses surveying their prey.

She stopped a few feet away. Her gaze unflinching, the smile still there.

"Tahlia," Kora breathed out, looking her superior in the eyes.

"Tahlia? Not Supreme? You have grown bold Kora."

Not a single twitch, not a single expression marred her face. An unnerving stillness settled over her features. Tahlia was utterly unreadable, and Kora hated it. Perhaps, calling her Supreme by her name, was an erroneous move on her part. The anxiety had left her body. She dangled over an edge, unable to stop herself from falling. She had things to say, things to do.

"Let's go for a walk."

Without hearing her answer, without even needing to, the Supreme turned around, towards the vast gardens that surrounded the Manor. Kora followed, lacking any choice in the matter. She barely glanced at witches she left behind, the sisters she had not seen in so long. Only a fleeting glance, that revealed curious and nervous eyes. Kora wondered, what had become of her Coven, would they still care for her, when she did not? Would they still care for her, as they once did?

The thoughts, and questions, hurled at her mind, pulling it toward dark corners she had long ago tried to avoid. Tahlia, walked slowly ahead. A predator's graceful gait, unhurried, as if time itself bent to her will.

The sun seemed to hide behind passing clouds. An omen perhaps, of what would happen. The Manor sang of life and, of strong magic: a steady flow, that quietly ebbed away into her skin, a lover's touch she had not felt. A comforting presence, she had missed dearly. In London, she had only ever sensed a ghost of this pulsing energy. An absence, that drained and pulled at her soul and mind, and a tiredness she could not shake.

"How has London been treating you?"

A question, that was everything but innocent. An assessment, of another kind. Kora knew that Tahlia, knew everything that had been happening to her for the past few months. Through Silver perhaps, through some other Witch, or maybe, even through some far-seeing magic.