The night was thick with magic.

It drowned the world, deep and potent, an unstoppable tide. Its currents swirled through the woods and fields and flooded the town, rushing through the paved streets and winding around the deserted gas stations.  She couldn’t see them, but she sensed their violent clash from the safety of her bed. Her bedroom was dark. The door was shut, and the eerie glow of magic-powered fey lanterns in the hallway made a shimmering blue outline around it.

The magic slithered through the building, up the stairs, and into her room. There was no place to escape.  Nowhere to hide.

The currents wound over her bed, slid over the blanket, and slipped deep inside her, where a ball of opaque ice waited, huge like a mountain and so cold. The magic swirled around the ice.

A single bead of water formed on the ball’s surface. It lingered, swelled, ever so slowly slid down, stretched, and fell. 

Drip.

The impact reverberated through her whole being.

The house was loud. People ran back and forth, the sounds of their steps thudding on the wooden floor. She heard her grandmother’s voice, shrill and urgent, then her mother’s brisk, cold commands. She knew that tone. It meant the end of all arguments. It didn’t matter what she said or how much she begged, that tone meant it was time to close her mouth and obey. If she didn’t, she would be punished.

Drip. Drip.

Outside the window people spilled into the streets, carrying torches. A herd of cows entered the town in a long line, each animal led by a man, their dark flanks painted with pale symbols. Father led the first cow. She caught a glimpse of his face, lit by the torch in his other hand: his teeth gritted together, his mouth skewed, his eyes mad… It scared her. She shied away from the window and hugged her big stuffed dog to her.

The magic was getting thicker. The light bulbs in the chandelier above crunched, hairline cracks splitting the glass. She cringed and hugged the doggie harder.

Drip.

Drip.

A flare had started. Magic ebbed and flowed through the world, unpredictable, here one minute, gone the next. When it was up, guns and cars didn’t work, and when it was down, spells and potions were useless. The flare was a magic wave that came every seven years. If a normal wave was like the tide, the flare was like a hurricane surge. It drenched the world, lasting for days. Her grandmother had told her it was the time gods and monsters walked the land.

Drip.

Quick steps approached the door. It flew open, and Mother marched in. She was tall, with a stern face and pale skin, and her light brown hair, usually put away in a bun, fell loose around her shoulders. She wore a long linen dress. Red sigils marked the light fabric. They shimmered with power, and she knew they were drawn in blood.

“It’s time,” Mother said.

Behind Mother, her two aunts strode into the room, the same severe expression stamping their faces. She shrank away from it, trying to wedge herself into the furthest corner of the bed, wishing desperately for the wall to open and swallow her whole.

“Come,” Mother ordered.

She shook her head.

Mother leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “What is this?”

Her voice came out weak. “I’m scared.”

Aunt Brooklyn smiled. It was that fake adult smile that didn’t mean anything.

“This is why you were born,” Mother said, “This is why I let your dimwit father climb on me when I was 13 years old and why I raised you for six years. I’ve made countless sacrifices for this moment. It’s your purpose in life. We don’t have time for you to be weak right now. Come.”

She shook her head again, clutching on to the dog.

Mother’s voice cracked like a whip. “Bring her.”

Aunt Stella jerked.

“I said bring her!”

The aunts lunged for her. The dog was torn from her hands. They grabbed her by her arms and hair and pulled her off the bed. She kicked and screamed, but they were stronger, and they hauled her out of the bedroom and into the light. They dragged her through the hallway into the great room.

She was up to her ankles in the melted water now. It washed over her, and its magic was so cold…

“Stop!”

Grandmother! Grandmother would help. Grandmother would save her.

The aunts dropped her to the floor. She looked up. Grandmother stood in front of her wearing another linen dress marked with blood. A crown of flowers sat on her white hair.

“Can’t you do anything right, Marie?”

Mother grimaced. “She wouldn’t come.”

“We can’t send her out there screaming and crying. That makes it real. It takes her from the Pure One to a frightened child. There are people out there who won’t stand for it.”

Mother rolled her eyes. “Do I care?”

“You should care. These are basic things a leader must understand. You must make them fear you, but you must make them love and worship you. This must be a moment of awe, Marie. You won’t get any worship if you keep barking orders like a pissed off bitch and manhandle a six-year-old while she’s screaming at the top of her lungs.”

Aunt Brooklyn giggled and choked it off.

Mother glared back at Grandmother. “Then what would you suggest?”

Grandmother rolled her eyes. “Must I do everything myself?”

“Do you want this done or not?” Mother asked.

Grandmother sighed and crouched. A warm comforting glow bathed her, her blue eyes kind and gentle. “Look at me, child.”

She looked into those eyes. The glow washed over her, soothing.

The water inside her splashed against it, cutting through the glow like a knife. It was as if her grandmother had become a ghost, a see-through creature like a jellyfish. She looked deep into her grandmother and saw a terrible twisted thing squatting there with wicked teeth and sickle claws.

She froze like a little mouse cornered by a hungry cat.

“Don’t be afraid, child,” Grandmother crooned. “Nothing bad will happen to you.”

The thing that wore her grandmother like a glove stared at her with hateful eyes. The warm, outer shell was fake. This was the real core of her grandmother, human, but evil, twisted, and power-hungry. If she had been a monster, it would’ve been less scary.

The surface of the ice split into cracks with a deafening snap.  Water poured down into her soul, a flood of overwhelming power. None of them heard it. They couldn’t sense it, she realized. They didn’t know.

“See?” Grandmother straightened. “Nothing a little glamor won’t fix. Stand up, child.”

Hands picked her up off the floor and stood her on her feet. She had to pretend to obey.

The icy water flooded her to her hips, dark and cold, reassuring, nurturing, and brimming with power.  She waded through it, soaking in magic, and above it a pitted ice core hung, glowing gently with pale light, a massive moon in the sky of her soul. This was as far as she could go on her own. To melt the rest, she would need help.

“Tell them to start the Ritual,” Grandmother said. “She’s ready.”

Mother flung the window open and yelled, “Bring the cows!”

Yes, cows would work. People would be better, but cows would do.

They started down the hallway. She walked meekly between her mother and grandmother. They thought they were powerful monsters. They had no idea what a monster was. She wouldn’t show it to them this time. Not yet. But she was awake now, and she would not sleep again.

“Make sure to wash her feet,” Grandmother said. “The vessel must be clean to accept the essence.”

She was no vessel, and nothing they’d do would make a difference. She was whole. There was no room for anyone else’s power in her.

“What if the Dark Princess doesn’t take her?” Aunt Brooklyn asked.

“Then we will need one more generation,” Grandmother said. “In 7 years, we will breed her during a flare.”

The same way they bred her mother.

They were foul, but her magic didn’t care. Their souls would taste delicious.

It wasn’t time yet.

Not yet. Her body was still too small. Too much of her remained frozen.

The front door of the house swung open in front of them. A big altar rose in the nearby field, with a ring of cows arranged around it. A crowd waited, faces lit by torches. They had no idea, but they were here to celebrate her rebirth. It was a paltry display, but she would take it.

Her grandmother and mother turned to her, identical expressions on their faces, eyes lit up, mouths hungry.

“This is your destiny,” Grandmother said. “Today is your special day.”

“Go on, Elara,” Mother said.

She stared straight ahead and walked to the altar.