A Dark and Secret Magic

by Wallis Kinney

As a hedge witch, premonitions come to me shrouded in the mists of dreams. But when I’m awake, I watch the forest.

The broom has fallen over again, its wooden handle pointing directly at my front door.

The pain is immediate. A tugging vacuum-like sensation twists my stomach. Every hair on my arms stands on end, my skin begins to prickle and sting, and my ears swell with pressure. I try to pull my hand away, but Margaret’s grip has turned viselike, her fingers clutching into the skin of my wrist. The intention of her magic coils around me, squeezing like a constrictor snake and burning cold.

“The veil weakens as Samhain approaches. The King Below tests you. Find your mother’s book, and you’ll know why she named you a hedge witch.”

In the Atlantic Key, tradition dictates a girl wait until her thirteenth birthday to choose her magic. But my mother chose my path the day I was born. As the sun set that Halloween, she swaddled me in a forest-green blanket, named me Hecate Goodwin, and proudly announced to the women gathered around her that I would be a hedge witch. An ancient practice, I would be the first in any coven in almost two centuries. This sent rattled whispers scattering among the women of the Atlantic Key.