Induction by T.K. Eldridge (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

front that looked like an antique brooch added to the beauty and mystique of the piece.

Mom pressed her palm to the brooch piece and whispered a few words that I couldn’t quite make out. A soft click and she lifted the lid. I could only see a little from my perspective – the corner of a red leather book, some loose papers, a photo or two, and something shiny, like a necklace chain. She rummaged around in the box, pulled out a few things to set beside her where I couldn’t see and then closed the box. I picked it up and set it on the table, then took my glass and sipped the juice. I knew better than to push Mom for information – she’d tell me when she was ready.

“Before you go to the Academy, there are a few things you should have. They’ll help protect and educate you.”

“I appreciate it, Mom. What do you have there?”

She lifted a necklace, the chain a twist of silver and gold. The pendant was an ornate disc, about the size of a quarter with a gold fleur-de-lis set in a silvery metal, likely white gold. Worn etchings around the edges on the front and on the back, a deep engraving of a stylized F set with gemstones at the cardinal points.

“This has been passed down through the Fortin family for centuries. It is a protection charm and a warning system. If something is threatening, it warms up. Just wear it against your skin. It also helps deflect any negative spells cast at you.”

I cupped the charm in my hand, then looked up at Mom. “Are you sure you want me to have this?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course, I do. You are going where I cannot protect you, and you are the next Fortin heir, so yes, you should have this.”

When I looped the chain over my head and dropped the charm down my shirt, I felt a shiver run through me. It brushed against my skin and instantly warmed, then settled to skin temperature. “Thank you, Mom.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something for Sinclair, too. A bracelet from your father’s family that does the same for him.”

“Good, thanks.”

“And then there’s this,” she said and handed me the red leather book.

About the size of a trade paperback, but easily four inches thick, I opened it and saw that the pages were a mix of old and new. “What is this?” I asked her.

“It’s the family grimoire. I had it recovered with this red leather about twenty years ago. The original cover nearly dissolved in my hands.”

“How old is it?” I handled it with reverential care.

“The first entry is dated 1695, when Aimee de Rohan left Salem, Massachusetts for the wilds of Belle Cove and her marriage to Jacques Fortin. This was a small French trader outpost in those days and Aimee got out of Salem after watching several of her non-witch neighbors die from false accusations. The real witches stayed out of the whole Trials.”

“How are the pages not dissolved into dust?” Then I laughed at myself. “Duh, magic.”

“Yes, magic. I’ve added my own work over the years, but it is now time for you to have it. I know you have your personal grimoire, as do I – and yes, you’ll get that someday too. But this is the family grimoire. This is where you put those things that are uniquely your magic, your thoughts, ideas, and the way magic is viewed in your world.”

I carefully turned a few pages. “The names, Mom. We’re related to all of these people? Aimee’s grandson, Rohan Fortin wrote something, dated 1775, about the first battle in the Revolutionary war. This is incredible.”

“You and your brother were almost named Reina and Rohan. Reina is an ancestor who made gunpowder twists for the Union soldiers.”

“This is fascinating. Thank you, Mom. I’ll cherish it and take good care of it.”

“I know you will. There’s a special case for it on the top of the bookcase over there. It is spelled to protect the book against fire, water, any kind of damage really. It also has a homing spell tied to that charm. If you lose it or it is stolen, you can use the pendant to locate it.”

“That’s amazing, Mom. Thank you.” I let out a slow breath and took a minute to process everything she’d told me. “So,” I said as I set the grimoire aside. “Do you want peach or rose nail polish today?”

The rest of my visit with Mom was more normal. I did her nails, we had pastries and juice, and when she started yawning, I tucked her in. I took my heirlooms and the protective box and left her to sleep. In the kitchen, Grandma waited for me.

“Siddie, come sit with me for a little bit? If you’ve got time for your old Grandma?”

“Old? Grandma, you’re not even looking middle age in the eye. Don’t pull the frail old lady act with me.” I laughed at her and kissed her before I found a seat at the table.

“So, you got the heirlooms. Good. It’s well beyond time that you should have had them.”

“How old was Mom when you gave them to her?” I poured the coffee, grateful for the caffeine.

Grandma set a plate of sandwiches on the table and I took a chicken salad with spring lettuce on a homemade crusty roll. The food here was always amazing.

“Well, you and Sin were about three years old or so, so she was twenty-six? Something like that.”

I took a swallow of coffee to wash the sandwich down, one brow arched at my grandmother.

“Yes, I am aware that it was a bit late, but we were still processing the fact that she’d married a shifter and not a witch.”

“Bigoted much?” Yeah, I said it, but not in a mean way.

“We were, yes. I got to know your Dad and he’s an incredible person. Most of our experiences with shifters before him were less than positive. That’s changed, obviously.”

“Benny’s told us some of the problems shifters and witches had before. He remembers the war, too. The fact that he was friends with Mom and has helped Sin and I, says a lot about his character.”

“Let me speak truth to you, Sidonie. I was angry at your mother for not choosing a witch husband. I was terrified when she became pregnant because most hybrid babies died before or shortly after birth. I did not want that pain for my own precious child.” Grandma reached out and took my hand. I watched as she straightened in her chair and looked at me. “I am Alicia Meline Fortin, daughter of Marcel Fortin and Margaret Fraser, wife of the late Pierre Fortin. You, Sidonie Marie, look so much like your aunt Marie-Sidonie, yet you have stronger magic, a brilliant, strategic mind, and the added gift, or curse, of your shifter side.”

Her words shivered through me and I took no offense, simply curled my fingers around her work-scarred hand and listened.

“When I see how much you resemble my own Sidonie, my heart both aches and fills with joy. Our Fortin bloodline is the oldest and most pure witch bloodline in Belle Cove until you and your brother came along. I was even wed to a distant Fortin cousin in Pierre because the World War had taken so many young men, there were too few to choose from.” Grandma looked down at our joined hands and cupped mine in both of hers. “Many would call this a stain on our family. Many have said that the taint in the bloodline brought on by your birth should be erased from the family records, meaning they want to disinherit you and not allow you to claim your bloodline heritage. I fought them all.” Her gaze lifted to meet mine. “Because I believe you and your brother are the saviors of our family and not the curse so many claim. You have shown this old woman that long-held beliefs can be wrong. You and Sinclair have brought fresh life and strength to the Fortin family and for that, I am grateful.”

I lifted our joined hands to my lips and kissed the backs of hers. “I love you, Grandma. You have always been a strong, loving woman who could run a business and a family, seemingly effortlessly. I admire you and hope to one day be as kick-ass as you are.”

Grandma laughed at that, patted my cheek, then refilled my coffee cup. “Eat your sandwich, Siddie. You’re getting skinny with all this prep for the Academy.”

It was only then I noticed today’s t-shirt. It said, “If you can’t stir with the big girls, stay away from the cauldron.” I snorted into my coffee, wiped my mouth, shook my head and kept laughing. “Grandma, I love your t-shirts.”

“Let me tell you a little secret,” she said. “When I was younger, I was always so concerned about being proper and socially perfect. Presenting the ideal image. I only wore work clothes when I was working. I had manicures every week. It was exhausting. Then I realized that no one cared. Your grandpa preferred me relaxed and comfortable. Your mom and her sisters liked it when I dressed up for special things but didn’t care much about the day to day. I kept trying, but one day I heard Marie and Bernie arguing over how they looked and if they could wear this or that. I realized I was influencing their ideas of what was acceptable without even actively instructing them.”

“Well, they say children learn what they live, right?” I asked.

“Exactly that, Siddie. Now I do like a manicure now and then, but I own an herb farm. No one expects me to have nail extensions and perfect hair. I take care of myself, but I do it for me, not for anyone else.”

“That’s a good lesson to learn. Mom showed me that early on. While friends of mine were chasing the latest fashion, I was spending my allowance on new books.”

I finished my sandwich and got up to put the dishes in the kitchen. Grandma waited until I set them down, then hugged me so tight. “Be careful, Siddie. The Academy is a dangerous place at the best of times. For you and Sinclair, it’ll be worse.”

Her worries echoed with mine, but I hugged her back and kissed her forehead. “We’re going to be smart and careful, Grandma. I love you. Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Love you too, Siddie girl. See you later.”