After introductions were finished and dinner plates and bowls were emptied, Rose stood, rising to her full five-feet-four-inches, and spoke. “If your role is to set up for tonight’s ritual, you are exempt from clean up. Plan to meet me at the trailhead in ten minutes. Everyone else, pay attention. Those of you on kitchen detail can put all foodstuffs—and I mean all—into the trunk of Belle’s car. Make certain there is nothing left out that would interest bears. Once we’re good to go here,” she added, gesturing to the tables, “and while we still have some light, gather your ritual objects, change into your dresses, and I shall see you at the trees.”
The other women shooed me away from the eating area with the excuse that, as the star of the night, my time would be better spent in preparing myself. Power emanated from every one of them. Even Busy and Belle, who I’d met earlier, had taken on a kind of gravitas the closer my watch ticked to the start of the ritual.
Back at the shared tent, I brushed off my trepidation and shook out the knee-length red dress I’d brought per Rose’s instruction. Next, I washed my feet at the water pump and slipped a fresh pair of lightweight wool socks over clean toes before re-donning my boots. All I had to add was the length of ribbon, my athame and my wand, and the poncho my aunt had assembled from black-and-white squares crocheted by my mother. At least, that was the story my aunt offered. I had enough skill with a needle to keep the garment mended and would to do so until the end of its days or mine, whichever came first.
“Ready?” Busy stepped through the row of trees that provided privacy to each campsite. Her smile infused me with sweetness and strength.
“Ready,” I replied. “Should I go to the trailhead?”
“Sure. Or wait for me if you’d like company. I want to wash the smell of scallions off my fingers before I put on my dress.”
“I’ll wait here.” I gestured to the bench at our picnic table and tucked my dress behind my knees, avoiding the greasy spots as I sat. I parted my lips and exhaled a soft breath. The humming sensation that accompanied Busy was oddly comforting.
“Don’t be nervous.” My roomie returned smelling of soap. The tent swayed as she rifled through her things. “You’re in very good hands, Calliope Jones.”
“I know. I trust Rose.”
Busy unzipped the flap and crawled out, clutching the skirt of her white dress to her belly. She stayed in a crouch as she closed the entrance to the tent. “Don’t want any bugs or critters joining us tonight.”
Dropping her hem, she stood and wiggled her curves into place.
“You look radiant!” I was amazed at the transformation. Busy’s honey-gold hair floated away from her face, catching every last bit of light. “It’s like you’re a…a goddess!”
Busy beamed. “We’re all goddesses,” she assured me, “and tonight, we’re here to celebrate you. No pressure, of course.”
I giggled. “Let’s go meet the others before I totally chicken out.”
Chapter 12
The walk to the sacred grove was mostly awe-filled and peaceful. I had to keep my gaze to the ground, what with tree roots making random appearances and loose footing where winter’s snow and ice had deposited a tumble of river rocks. Even the raised boardwalk, with its rotted or missing slats and loose nails, called for caution.
Ahead of us, Rose’s group had tied strips of cloth to head-height branches, marking the turns with a luminescent wave whenever the path split. And when a section of boardwalk dead-ended at a washout, we hiked up our skirts and dresses and scrambled along a narrow ledge. The drop to the shallow river below was less than six feet, but it was straight down and I had no intention of needing any kind of a rescue before, during, or after the ritual. Once the path resumed, I followed it around thigh-high clumps of ferns to where the others waited.
My nighttime sensors took in the depth of quiet in the old growth forest. Pausing, I gazed upward past the lacy tips of branches to witness twilight settling its sheer blue-black cape over the massive Sitka spruces ringing the ritual area. These trees had stood for hundreds of years, some for over a thousand, and I could feel the weight of their ancient presence.
The witches spaced themselves into a rough circle within the clearing. Once I was at my designated spot, I unlaced my boots and bared my feet. I needed to root down to find a place of inner calm, one that wasn’t worrying about leaf mold-loving critters or spiders and other bugs. Especially not the bugs with hundreds of squiggly legs running up and down their sides.
I wasn’t in the basement of my aunt’s house. No one had forgotten me. I was fine. I was in a circle of powerful women, and it was my night to be initiated into the mysteries of modern day witch-hood.
A ripple moved through the women.
Rose spoke. “As we prepare to enter this ritual of initiation, does anyone have anything they wish to say before we begin?”
Heads, illuminated by the light of the rising full moon, shook slowly.
“Very well. Calliope, as you are a witch who is new to ritual,” she continued, everyone’s attention settling on me, “there is one thing you must understand.
“Rituals do not always take hold in the way we hope or intend. There will be moments tonight when you will be asked to trust this place, to trust the women around you, and to trust me.
“I will explain every part of our ritual as it is happening. As you follow my voice, as you feel that trust build, know that hardest of all
