"After the invites have been sent." Jesse jumped in. "Wait, do I have to do another batch of different invites for the bachelorette party?"
Brenna wrinkled her nose. "Do we want anyone else there?"
"Do you want anyone else there?" Zoey pivoted the conversation towards me, and I wished I wanted to be part of it more, but the truth was I wasn't certain I cared.
"Not really." I shrugged after thinking about it for a moment. "We might have to invite some of the Bratva women - I mean it might be an affront if I don't."
"Fine." Brenna swirled her wrist as she spoke. "We'll check with Dimitri about who is important and who isn't."
"What about Emily?" Jesse's voice was far too jovial whilst discussing my mother.
Brenna rolled her eyes before she spoke. "I doubt she'll want to come to the burlesque club, which was why I was thinking we should do a brunch for everyone else to attend."
Jesse squealed in delight, excited by the prospect of hosting another function, whilst I felt only dread.
"Does this mean I can create a second invite for the brunch?"
"Yes." Brenna huffed. "But the colours for this function are pink with a black accent."
The ease with which everyone settled in at the table left me with hope, and with the help of my fellow Witches in place of the dream I had once felt at the prospect of organizing a wedding, excitement now built.
Hours turned into days, and soon an entire week had disappeared, being eaten away by wedding planning, which largely consisted of dress fittings and cake tasting. Dimitri had been surprisingly attentive throughout the entire process, involving himself in every aspect of the wedding in an attempt to relieve the load. As a result, he and Brenna had a few standoffs, and when the tension grew so heated at a cake tasting experience over whether or not the icing should have pistachio in it or not, I dragged Dimitri into a cloakroom, pressing my lips to his as I swallowed his frustration, allowing him to fill me up in that delicious way of his. When we emerged, my hair had all the tell-tale signs of being raked and pulled during pleasure, and my face was a bright blush. Dimitri, by comparison, looked entirely unaffected, but the tension that sat evident between his shoulders had somehow dissipated, and I found it difficult to be annoyed at how unaffected he seemed when I felt his groans reverberate through my body only moments before.
On a nameless Wednesday, we stumbled into the fifth dress store on our list and I halted in my tracks. A Hoodoo man stood on the sidewalk, hissing at me outright, muttering about Demons and deals and how we were all an abomination to the craft.
But after what I had done to Lauren, I had wondered the same thing - had considered leaving the path of Magick and Tarot entirely. But even during those melancholic thoughts, I knew it would be impossible - knew that even the thought alone was futile because Magick was so ingrained in me that such a separation was an impossibility.
I ignored his mutterings and stepped inside the store, seeking shelter and comfort, only to be greeted by the dress.
It wasn't new, but neither was it old enough to be deemed an antique - it simply was.
The dress boasted a sweetheart neckline in an off-white colour, with a flaring skirt that made me want to twirl beneath the stars, but the lace stitched into the bodice that stretched across the chest, covering the shoulders and forming long sleeves, was what made the dress truly unique. The lace was so fine and soft that even Brenna clucked in appreciation.
"It's Spanish lace." The owner suddenly emerged, stepping forward from the dusty shadows as she offered her input in her deep southern drawl.
Her grey hair was picked up on her head, and despite her dark skin, she had the bluest eyes that I had ever seen. The contrast was shocking and beautiful, but it was the Magick pulsing off of her that had me bringing my hand to my chest as I fought to stifle a gasp.
"So you're the one they're all talking about." Her grunt was neither filled with approval nor disdain, like the dress and all the other items in this shop, she simply was.
Brenna pushed herself towards the front, shrugging her shoulders as she took the full brunt of the woman's energy. But then, The Sun could always withstand far more heat than anyone else.
"Gossip is for the idle." There was no mistaking the threat in Brenna's tone as she eyed the witch before us.
"Aye. But listening to the right gossip will also keep a good Witch alive."
"Am I that?" My voice was soft, but in the quiet of the dusty shop, it seemed to carry to every nook and crevice. "Am I a good witch?" I pushed on, needing to clarify.
The woman studied me, her blue eyes seeing far more than I was comfortable with. Finally, after seeming to weigh me, she spoke.
"Having a knack of survival and being good don't often go hand-in-hand, but only you can determine what kind of Witch you are. There is no room for martyrs here - not when we all know how it turned out for our kind in Salem and the likes - it didn't do us any good."
Brenna gasped at the mention of her own history.
"They are talking because you lot are different - you will bring about change. Some argue that such change is necessary - needed, even, while others want to stifle the winds that blow in their very tracks, ensuring that the things that have always been will come to pass."
I blinked, unsure of what the old Witch was saying. It was as if she was saying one thing, but truly meant another.
"We are not scared of the Voodoo Clan." Brenna proudly proclaimed.