The Witch of the Coven

“I exorcise thee, Goddess of Water, to cleanse us pure, that we not be harmed in the realm of the spirits.”

Cindy finishes the first chalk circle and steps back, bowing her head beneath her cloak. Tara sprinkles a handful of sand over the enchanted knife shoved into the floorboards at the circle center.

“I exorcise thee, God of Earth, to let good enter this coven. Let me bless you with my offering and aid me in my sight of things unknown.”

Tara rips the petals off a white rose and blows them inside the circles. She steps back, shifting under her white robe, no doubt trying to fix her underwear without touching it. The room falls still, and I tip to the outer edges of my boots, hovering in a graceless balancing act. Someone clears their throat, and I glance around anxiously. Tara lifts her eyebrows and points with her head at the circle. Oh, it’s my turn. I lurch forward.

I light the staged candles with a long wooden match. I stumble over the edge of my velvet robe as I draw the third circle, stooped over like a wobbling turtle. I glance around, my cheeks burning. Cindy glares at me from under her scarlet robe. With an embarrassed grimace, I nod back at her. She huffs and circles her wrists in an impatient, let’s-move-it-along gesture. I lift my chest and begin my chant in barely a whisper.

“Oh, Lord of Fire, protect us from those who wish to harm our names. May those spirits retire outside these halls.” Relief floods me that I remember my part, and I step back and hide under my brown robe hood. I didn’t want the brown cloak, but I am the last witch to join the coven, and the pretty, feminine colors were taken.

Cindy takes chalk from her pocket and draws a pentagram through the circles, connecting candles to chalk and earth. She claps three times, and we raise our hands to the skies.

“Oh, Earth Mother, grant us wisdom and knowledge. Guide us with your winds, and give from your bosom should we thirst. Light our way with your sun, and renew us with your moon.” We cry out in unison, the voices strong with the youth of seven women. Each of us cracks a packet of lavender salt above our heads and spins in slow counter clockwise circles. Our beginning ritual is now complete. Our little coven is open to the spirit world.

My palms grow damp as I panic a little. This feels slightly unsafe, like something my Mother would frown upon. But this is my Freshman year of college. What better time to be a little freaky? I know there is good and bad magic, but Tara promised me the coven never did anything mean-spirited. She brought me into the fold, and I know they are harmless since they focus on vision boards and skincare. I hold back a giggle as I remember the sage and lavender Tara gave me. She had said it would make a boy fall in love with me if I rubbed it over my nipples and chanted his name. I’m saving it for a special boy on the baseball team.

But over the past few months, things have soured. Cindy is getting more agitated with the social media following of another small coven on campus. They post live videos of spells they build in jars and bury in the woods. Sometimes, they post slumber party light-as-a-feather games. She obsesses over all their pages and follows all their followers, hoping to gain the same traction. But no one cares about real spells, just girls being sexy. She mocks their matching short skirts and knee highs in orange, claiming it’s the color of simplicity. I don’t care about the other coven. I want to learn the spells in the Edwardian Era book Tara gave me. I sit with it nightly and practice spells, omens, gift of sight, and invisibility. I am too scared to ask if we could try some. But I will. Soon. Maybe next full moon.

“Did you bring it?” Cindy tosses her hood from her face and peers at Valerie. Valerie nods and brings out a small doll made from burlap and stuffed with salt, earth, and dried rose petals. It’s an ugly little thing with a crude slash of red yarn for a mouth, beady button eyes, and a butchered chunk of hair taped to the head.

“How did you get her real hair?” Tara asks.

“I followed them to a party last week. I cut a piece as they waited in the keg line.” Valerie snorts and covers her face to try to hide it. Cindy rolls her eyes as the rest of us burst into giggles.

“Enough!” She yells over us. “We need to anoint.”

Tara holds the dolly at the circle's center and pours whiskey over it from a dainty silver pitcher. “Rise! Awake, sweet babe. In Good and Evil, Wake up, Kate.”

The room falls silent.

“Did it work?” A whisper from the back of the room. She has a point. We have no idea if it worked.

Cindy huffs and crosses her arms. “Of course it did.” She taps aggressively on her phone. “I’m watching their livestream.”

“Cindy! No, she will see you’re watching.”

“Relax, I have a ghost account.” We cram close together to watch. Six girls kneel in the woods in a semi-circle and craft manifestation jars. Kate sits at the center, her knees tucked under her. “Pull on the doll’s hair.” Tara pinches the doll's taped strands between her fingers and tugs until its head tilts. We stare into the video. Kate is holding her jar close to red lips pushed forward in a sexy pout. Her head isn’t moving with Tara’s yanks.

Cindy sighs. Someone asks if there could be a delay. Cindy shakes her head.

“Maybe it's the wrong moon phase?” Another hopeful voice from the back.

“Try it again. Maybe say it twice as you pour the whiskey.” Cindy clenches her phone tight.

Tara takes the dolly back to the circle center and repeats her steps. “Rise! Awake, sweet babe. In Good and Evil, Wake up, Kate. Rise! Awake, sweet babe. In Good and Evil, Wake up, Kate.”

This time, I mouth the words with her. I want to be as strong as Tara is. She told me all the spells she could do, and I’m trying not to be jealous.

Tara lifts the dolly’s hair in her fingers and jerks it one way. Kate’s head in the livestream jerks to one side. We squeal and dance, jumping up and down together. It worked. It worked! Tara is such a powerful witch. I’ve never seen results from our spells happen so fast.

“OK, OK. Relax. We have it now. Let's show the world how fake she is.” Cindy moves the doll’s left hand and makes real-life Kate dump out her spell jar. The girls on screen sit in stunned silence as our little group squeals in delight. I point to the corner of the screen at the live view numbers ticking up. Cindy’s eyes widen, and a mean smile slides across her face. She turns the doll end over end, causing Kate to roll backward and flash her bright white panties to the world for a small moment. Her fellow coven girls leap to help Kate as she rolls down the hill.

Our coven cackles and whoops, egging Cindy on. It is funny, but she’s a sweet girl, so it’s messed up to make fun of her. I feel more sweaty and not exactly comfortable with the happenings tonight. Not enough to tell Cindy to stop it, but enough to move to the back of the group. Cindy does a few more things. She makes real-life Kate pick her nose, stand up and do jumping jacks, and poke herself in the eye. Kate is sobbing, and her matching coven is trying to calm her. Yet, no one has bothered to stop the live video. The views go up and up.

Cindy looks over at us. “I have an idea. Remember I found that old book in the library? It had a spell to turn faux witches into chickens.”

“Why would there be a spell for that?” Valerie asks.

“Why is there a spell to turn fake princes into frogs? Because being a fake witch is an insult to all of us real witches. We are real witches! Look what we are doing!” She shakes her phone above her head, with an image of 6 girls crying in the dirt.

“I don’t think…,” I whisper, but no one hears me. The girls chatter over each other, each looking at the spell in the book Cindy has produced. They write their names along the chalk circles, then link hands. Six pairs of eyes stare at me, waiting for me to write my name. Tara is holding the chalk out for me.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “They only stay chickens for one night. It’s just a gag.”

I nod and write my name beside the others. I take Tara’s hand, and together we chant.

“Preside in my favor, oh wicked one. Should you be a fraud, become one with our feathered friend.”

We raise our voices, louder and louder, singing to the rafters.

“Preside in my favor, oh wicked one. Should you be a fraud, become one with our feathered friend.”

We drop each other's hands and turn in circles.

“Preside in my favor, oh wicked one. Should you be a fraud, become one with our feathered friend.”

I keep my eyes squeezed shut, scared to look at the screen. No one speaks. I suck in a breath. And another. I hear a chicken cluck. No. It can’t be. I can’t believe we did it.

I open one eye and look around the space. Six chickens stand where my friends had stood. Six more fill the screen on Cindy’s fallen phone. I scream long and loud, scaring the chickens around my feet, and I send them scattering.