The Beginning

   Jezebel lays back against the sheets as she stares up at Hanson with half-lidded eyes and lazily runs her slender pink tongue across her soft, but swollen lips, the prize for a job well done. Jezebel, being the seductress that she is, runs a slender finger around her nipple before gently trailing her finger down the center of her breasts to her navel. She eyes Hanson as if she is a huntress on the prowl as her wild mane of chocolate brown locks fan out against the backdrop of pillows. Her silver eyes shimmer with mischief within their almond shapes and a promise of more debauchery. Her leg is bent at the knee and is showing a marvelous view of her glistening caramel brown clitoris as she beckons him with a smile. Her caramel skin glistens with sweat from the previous sex marathon, but as always, she is ready for more. Her long delicate finger enters her mouth and slowly pops free as a moan of ecstasy escapes from Hanson’s parted lips as he stands there and stares at her with barely suppressed need. “Come back to bed.” Jezebel eyes Hanson’s penis as he slips himself into his pair of tan colored breeches. Hanson’s eyes gleam with untampered passion as he watches her trail her fingers where his tongue wants to be, but with great energy and strength, he shakes his head in refusal.

   Jezebel sighs, knowing her battle has been lost, but determined to give it one more try. Jezebel slides her long slender legs from the bed as her calves clench and release with her weight. Jezebels sidles up close to Hanson as her glistening pink lips lean close and as her long elegant fingers run a sensual trail across his glorious pecs and down the trembling abs of her lover.

   Hanson backs away from her caressing in order to save himself. “We mustn’t.” Jezebel watches as Hanson continues to dress himself in a quick and uncoordinated process. The muscles of his large white biceps ripple as he pulls his long white shirt over his head as his arms became swathed in loose bandage sleeves and ruffles at the wrists. The gentlemanly ruffles from his collar to mid-sternum are tied together with crisscrossing laces… a male of true worth.  With a quick look at a still naked Jezebel, Hanson promptly blushes and turns his head in respect.

   The pleasure that came from knowing that she could undo the man with one look was a part of the satisfaction of being with him and was so often the only way they could communicate when in town. “We must get dressed. You need to pack and be ready to go at midnight.”

   “Are you sure about this, my love?” Jezebel wraps her arms around herself as she fights the sudden chill. “This is our home.”

   With a vigorous shake of his head, he says calmly. “Not anymore. Our love for each other will never be accepted here. Our families and our clans are constantly at war with one another. They would sooner kill us than let us love one another. A place where our love is considered an act of war and treason is not a place I want to live and raise our future children.”

    Jezebel gnaws at her bottom lip with her adorably pointed tooth. “Are we going to the colony up North? I hear that there are people like us, who are permitted to live as they wish and without discrimination.”

    “Yes, my sweet Jezebel.” With a nod, I step into my tan dress with its burgundy and green folds. Hanson comes around the bed and helps to tighten up the corset. With a gentle pat on the shoulder and a quick peck to her cheek, he takes his absence from our secret place and from our time together.

*Jezebel*

   Thirty minutes later, I followed his lead. With my head down as dictated by my station, I walk down the steps and out the front door of the inn. The inn was gorgeous in its simplicity. It contains a small brown wooden porch with two rocking chairs, surrounding a darling little table. The creaking of the chairs in the wind draws a smile to my face. As I gently close the door behind me, I can just barely see the wink from the inn keeper as I turn away with a secret smile. Jim is a lanky five feet eight inches with the personality of a saint. The inn keeper is the only one in the entire town that knew about me and Hanson and has no judgments of our love for each other. He keeps our rendezvous room empty year-round, having allowed this budding relationship of three months to take root. Without him, Hanson and I would have been separated with no place to express our love until the sexual and emotional need blew us apart.

   With haste, I walk to my cottage on the edge of town, making sure to show respect to the white population. Sweat slips down my back from the heavy weight of the dress and the heavy length of my hair as it sways across my bare shoulders.

   “Jezebel!” I turn and watch as a fourteen-year-old Mae, an endearing but chaotic neighbor, forces her way through crowds of colored people as they grunt in annoyance from when her bony elbows make contact. “JEZEBEL!” Mae stands tall at 5’8 and has the body of a full-grown woman. Her bosom pushes against her bodice as the rest of her dress perfectly flows and accentuates her hourglass figure. She is coveted by boys and men alike. She was going to turn into a woman of true beauty as she gets older. Her platinum blonde hair flows to her waist as her ivory skin flushes with exertion.

   “Girl, why are you running through the crowds like that? You are a lady. You mustn’t run or scream. You must always be poised. It is the way of the world. Not to mention. You shouldn’t be seen talking to the black folk.”

    She runs until she is within arms reach before bending over to retch out this mornings’ oatmeal. I barely have time to back away; thus, resulting in a narrow miss of days old oatmeal on the bottom of my dress. Mae wipes her hand against the back of the mouth. Charming, nonetheless. “You know I don’t care about that. We form a sisterhood, and color should never be a factor. I will change that one day.” I have no doubt that you will try. “It’s The Witch Mother.”

   “What about The Witch Mother?”

   “She wishes to see you immediately.”

   “I was just headed in that direction.”

   Mae nods as I back up some more to ensure that there are no second or third vomiting events threatening my dress. “I was sent to find you four hours ago. I just now found you. Where were you?”

   We had gotten careless in our bid for freedom. We had taken too much time to be together, and our absences were no doubt noticed by our respective clans. The future High Priestess and the future Alpha of Mountain Saloon Pack were key players in their clans, and long absences were always treated with suspicion. “I was tending to the elderly in town. Speak and tell me what is wrong.”

   “She said something bad is coming, but as of yet, she cannot tell what.”

   I pick up the skirting of my dress and run to the cottage. I burst through the cottage door as the older woman is staring into a scolding pot of steaming water. “Witch Mother! Witch Mother! What do you see?”

   She turns to me. “I see water boiling, my child.” She offers a quick smirk as she sets to work cutting the carrots. Her wit is still strong even as her power and body declines with age. I stare and assess the Witch Mother. She wears a long night dress as she cuts the carrots with speed and elegance. Her gray hair falls in wisps around her face as she focuses.

   “Be serious, Witch Mother! I was told that something was coming.”

   Witch Mother stands at her kitchen island and continues to cut the carrots in quick succession. Her withered old body remains strong despite its rapid aging, moving with clear purpose in mind. I watch as her aged hands continue their nimble service. Being Witch Mother requires a lot of power, and one witch isn’t meant to hold on to that power for as long as she had. Often times, the power of the Witch Mother wears away at your soul and at your health when it is held on to for so long, resulting in the tradition of passing it down as next generation reaches a mature age.

   Witch Mother is the crone of our coven, The Sisters of the Path, and has led the coven for the last 50 years, putting her at 80 years old. My mother is known as the High Priestess and should have been leading the coven since she was twenty with my grandmother, Witch Mother, being her wise council, but as a forty-year-old with a title but no actual power, she has grown ever dark in her magicks. Then, there is me, who is the Young Maiden of the coven, and said to surmount my mother for the position of High Priestess once my daughter is born. Unknowingly to them, I would not be staying around long enough to assume the role or to raise my daughter in a town divided by race and species. I hadn’t even told Hanson yet. I was going to as soon as we were away from this place. “My dear Jezebel. My time is almost up.”

   “What?! You mustn’t say such things.” I rush around the island to her and turn her to face me. “Are you feeling ill Witch Mother?”

   “Oh no, my dear girl. This isn’t a demise born out of old age. It is the result of witches who have lost their way and turned to the darkness. My hope was to end this war for you and your child.”

   Witch Mother touches my stomach as I gasp. “How did you know?!”

   “The goddess told me. My dear girl, I am so happy for you, but the world is not ready for the likes of you.”

   “What do you mean?”

   Witch Mother looks to the door. “Time is up, my dear.”

   As the door bursts open, my mother rushes through and throws a bright white beam of light at my beloved grandmother, a gift given freely to all witches by the Goddess of Goodness, Witchadora. Witch Mother easily deflects the blow to the side, where it hits a potted plant of purple lavender, creating an explosion of wet soil and purple flames as the lavender swirls in fractals to the floor. “JaSwana! What is the meaning of this?” I watch in horror as my mother throws another blast of light with enough force that grandmother stumbles backwards just narrowly avoiding being thrown to the ground. I stare in dread as the magick surrounding my mother’s body turns a bright cherry apple red.

    My grandmother throws her own energy at my mother as she finds her footing from the previous blow. Despite her younger age, my mother was not fast enough to dodge the blast as my grandmother had and was thrown into the wall with a loud boom across the small space. As JaSwana rose to stand, her mouth curved up in a smile, and she did something I would never have expected. She throws a beam of magick at me. I stand there in shock as it reaches out to me and pounds me with waves of evil intent and anger, but my grandmother pushes me aside and takes the blow herself. In shock, I scream, “NOOOOOOO!”

   The beam hits my grandmother square in the chest, and as it pours into her, it’s color turns to blood red, indicating that one has completed an act of pure evil, and thus, completed the transition to a Dark Witch.

   My mother just committed the most heinous act. She turned on her own coven and brought harm to her Witch Mother. Her fate is sealed in darkness. I watch as my grandmother’s mouth goes slack and as the beam stops her heart immediately upon impact. Due to her age, she never could have hoped to fight off the energy of such a direct hit. Her eyes glaze over, and she falls to the floor where she lays sprawled, killed by her own daughter.

   I look to my mother in horror as a group of five other witches rush in and grab me around the arms. “What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?” I scream all of my pain and fury at my mother. I gather energy of my own.

   JaSwana was as fierce as she was beautiful. As heat rises to my mother’s face in her excitement, her ivory skin takes on a healthy pink glow. My mother’s platinum blond hair flowed around her in iridescent curls that absorbed the moon light and threw it back into the world with infinite grace. My mother’s long nimble fingers, not unlike her own mother’s, dancing through the air as she spoke. The only sign that she was evil being the dark shadows that surrounded her and the evil twinkle in her eyes. My mother smirks at me. “You thought you were going to take my coven? You stupid girl. You insolent child. You thought you could usurp me! ME!! I was never going to let that happen. The old bitch had to die; so, I could take my place as coven leader. It is a new era. An era where witches rule, and no one steps all over us. Those damn wolves should have been slaughtered ages ago!!! But dear old mother was too weak to do what needed to be done. So, here I am. Carrying that burden.”

   She turns to the people holding my arms. “Take her to the hill and get her set up.” My power builds as she talks. My hands glow with an inner bright light. My own power finally surfacing after years of waiting. The thing about witches, our powers have to be triggered. We can cast our spells and do our little curses, but the true power lies within and only presents itself in a time of great need. It allows us to do our magick without spells when necessary, and the Witch Mother, High Priestess, and Young Maiden are all unparalleled in their natural magicks. The henchmen inch closer to me as I reach the height of my power. With a mighty yell, my full power is unleashed as I am bathed head to toe in bright white light that bursts free from me and sends everyone flying through the air different directions. My power fades, and my glow dims in my grief as I stare down at my befallen grandmother. May the Goddess Guide You to the Other Side. I will avenge you grandmother. I don’t know how, but I will. I find myself caught by surprise as two men suddenly appear at my sides, taking a hold of my arms. They must have gotten the least of the blast because across the way, dear old mother was still trying to pick herself up off the floor. 

   I struggle against the hold and attempt to call on my magick to free myself, but as I struggled, an iron cuff was clamped around my neck. No more magick for me. Time was up for more than just you, dear grandmother.

   As I am hauled out of the house, the innkeeper is standing off to the side and refusing to meet my eyes. What would he be doing here during witch business? My mother comes out and offers him one hundred dollars for his cooperation. I shake my head in anger at his betrayal, but what was worse? I had the dawning speculation that I wasn’t the only one this betrayal was going to hurt. Oh Hanson, where are you?