Septendecim

I know I'm still new to this whole mortal enemies thing, so you'll have to forgive me if the answer is obvious here, but should my enemy be shooting me awkward smiles pulled tight enough that he could be a cabbage patch kid? I almost wish we could go back to the previous brooding countenances he would grace me with that we held yesterday. At least he was still good to look at. Now things are awkward. How should one behave with their enemy when they're forced into close proximity day after day and the only thing keeping us from trying to kill one another is a tentative truce? For the time being, anyway. There's no telling how long this can simmer before boiling over.

Today is Thursday and the big homecoming game is tonight so we're all wrapped in our Hunter's Woods cheer uniforms despite the fact that it's getting to the time of year that the air is brisk in the mornings. I just finished putting oil and everything I needed into my bike last night and I was hoping to ride it in today, but that's not happening given the tiny skirt I currently have stretched across my pert ass.

There are still plenty of days left in the year before I should winter the bike and tuck it away. Unfortunately, the New England area isn't traditionally known for its mild winters. Even then, a big bruising Harley isn't exactly par for the course with my girly popular persona I've spent years cultivating. With a chip on my shoulder the size of a Grand Canyon, I've become more mean girl than a popular girl of late. It's just exhausting spending all day pretending to be someone I'm not sure I want to be anymore. It could be argued that keeping up the appearance of the "it girl" could help conceal the fact that I have magic flowing through my veins. Apparently, that's something that's even more important to protect than I realized. Almost being killed gave me a clue.

"You guys gonna come stay over after the game tonight?" I ask the girls that are walking in lock step on either side of me while we make our way down the hall before lunch.

"I thought that was already the plan," Poe shrugs.

It wasn't the plan, but it is tradition. "Yeah. I was thinking maybe we could get a good horror movie on Netflix or something and just veg out."

Veronica's nose wrinkles in the way that it does right before she says something she's unsure of. "I think that's a little boring for us nowadays. Can't we do something more fun? Like control the weather or make Jenny Newall's fake tits fall off?"

I snort. "Probably, but I don't think that's a trick I have in my spellbook. Poe?"

Her wry smile turns to find us. "No, but maybe we could teach you a thing or two. A couple of parlor tricks that don't require any real power to accomplish. Could be fun."

I wasn't aware that we could teach spells to those without witch blood, but evidently, there's a way to complete it. If that's the case I don't know why Poe wasn't teaching us both this shit since elementary school. I could think of a few people that could have been turned into pigs or other random farm animals and in turn, made life better for everyone over the years. Perhaps it's best that I didn't know.

Veronica's face lights with excitement at the idea and I can almost hear the gears turning in her head at the thought of the idea of holding any level of power. She hasn't said it, but being the one that's traditionally been the leader of our little clique, I can tell that the fact Poe and I have something that she doesn't leave her feeling a bit left out at times. I don't blame her, it would bother me if they had something I didn't. It's an inequality in our carefully constructed hierarchy. I guess that it makes it easier to bear that the three of us sit on top of the pecking order around these parts un-challenged.

"Yes. Absolutely. Can you teach me how to hide a zit? Oh! Or change my hair color, like they do in The Craft?"

"Okay, but you know that movie was fictional, right?" I ask, half serious.

"Of course I know it was fiction, but come on. If you can start fires and move shit with your mind I would think a little magical dye job should pose no challenge."

I sigh deeply as Poe and I share a look. Truthfully, she's right. I'm sure there's a spell for it. If you can dream it up, a witch somewhere has already put the idea through its paces and come up with a solution.

We make it to Ronnie's convertible in the parking lot before climbing in. Since we're seniors this year we're allowed to leave campus for lunch and the three of us have been using the hell out of that advantage.

As we roll out of the parking lot I catch sight of Oakley climbing into the driver's side of his Porsche, reminding me that just because we have a cease-fire doesn't mean I should pretend that he's anything but my downfall. It's already written in the stars. A foregone conclusion to a story I haven't learned the words to.

"Hey, do you guys wanna skip the rest of the day? I have some shit I've been meaning to get done and I don't have anything important for my last three classes."

Exchanging a glance both the girls give a shrug. "Sure, what did you have in mind?"

"I wanna head to the witch museum. See what we can find out about these hunters and their lineage. I want to know what I'm up against."

***

Despite having driven past the museum several times over the years, I've never actually made my way inside. I'm a little surprised by the kitsch if I'm honest.

Poe, Ronnie, and I make our way through the old displays that catalog the trial, mostly. There are a few displays that are meant to drive home the pure brutality of them. Knowing now that there are real witches, but none of these people were guilty of it causes an odd sensation to bloom in my chest. Guilt? I know that it's not my fault. I know that ultimately it's the fault of those responsible for pointing the fingers and tying the noose, but I can't help but wonder if there wasn't something that witches could have done back then to help these poor souls.

Finding an area that talks a bit more about the historical figures that were responsible for carrying out the trails themselves as well as the girls that were responsible for "crying witch," both literally and figuratively. My deep exhale must give away my unease.

"What?" Poe questions.

I shrug half-heartedly. "They were just people. They were all just people. If this is where the hunters came down from, where did their power come from? Their additional strength? I don't understand."

Poe cocks her head to the side. "Where did ours come from? I'm sure there are witches out there with theories, but I'm not sure that anyone knows for sure. Maybe there's a vampire out there that has lived since dinosaurs that knows the answer."

I snort a laugh. "So, what else then?"

She shrugs. "Genealogy? Try tracing their roots?"

I shake my head. "That's not happening. I'll just have to find another way to understand all this shit. Do you think your sister might know anything more that she's not telling us?"

"My sister is basically the Antifa of witches. I'm sure she knows more than she's saying, but she's pretty radical. She's knee-deep in supernatural bullshit. The more we talk to her about it, the more we expose ourselves to her crap and I assure you– the last thing you want is her problems."

I huff a frustrated breath. "So, what now?"

She shrugs. "Let's go back to your house and dig around in the attic and shit. See if we can find answers in things we already have our hands on."

I can't think of any other great ideas, so I acquiesce as I watch Veronica flirting with a tour guide across the old worn hallway. "Alright. You gotta get her, though. I did it last time."

Poe quirks an eyebrow at me. "Deal."