A War of Whisks and Witchcraft

Chapter 1 - Barrier

The morning light poured through the high-arched windows of Starhaven Keep’s grand dining hall, bathing the long oak table in a golden glow. The scent of buttery biscuits and rich, peppery gravy mingled with the crisp air, punctuated by the warm spice of huevos rancheros. Emma lifted her glass of tea, the amber liquid within cooled by the ice cubes she had so scandalously introduced to magical society. After her takedown of the Dark Lord Draeven, the people were looking to her as a trendsetter, but also a peer. She could say nothing about her true origins as a Mortal-born from a no-name town in Texas, now that she was ‘Lady Starhaven’, a false title she had picked up after Seraphina Luxford, her best friend at Thornmere Academy and the true daughter of the Duke and Duchess, had passed her off as her ‘sister’ in order to save her from days enduring bullying, name-calling, and magical wedgies on campus–a lie that had gotten her close enough to Draeven to prevent him from rising to power afresh. She could say nothing of her rare gift of kitchen witchery, the very talent that had enabled her to orchestrate Draeven’s downfall. And as far as sweet iced tea went…

Everyone was content to believe she’d simply invented it herself.

As she magicked the home bar counters clean with a few well-placed spells, the Duke and Duchess indulged in the breakfast she’d prepared for the house with the delight of conquerors feasting on spoils.

“Exquisite,” the Duchess declared, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “My dear, you didn’t have to put yourself through all this trouble, but I’ll be the last to complain that you did. You make me wish I had any sons to parade before you. This ‘Tex-ass’ cuisine would make any warlock a happy husband indeed! But of course, I’m sure you’re happy with Master Blackwood…”

Seated at the table, along with the two of them and Seraphina, Dorian Blackwood, the ‘mere son of a Military man’ she’d taken as her husband in a dramatic move before the whole magical world, swallowed the last of his eggs in one huge bite, followed by a deep drink from his own tea. “She’d better be. She practically kidnapped me. Anyway, I’m plenty happy with her.” Under the table, he palmed at his stomach under the table, teasing Emma with its heft and jiggle. And to think, he’d been so thin when he’d first asked her to the previous year’s Winter Snowball, but once he’d learned she liked her men on the heavier side, he was all too happy to give in to long-contemplated indulgences…with a little of her help. And to think, his father, the Colonel, now insisted he spend the summer with Emma in the hopes that in overbearing wifely fashion, she’d whip him back into shape.

“I’m happy as a clam,” said Emma, joining the others at last at the table. “I just wanted to make sure…you and the Duke are both truly comfortable with how Seraphina introduced me to society. As another Luxford daughter.”

The Duke chuckled, setting his goblet down with a heavy thud. “Comfortable? My dear, it’s a stroke of brilliance. The Grand Enlightenress, raised in our house?”

Emma dipped her head. “I’m pretty sure that’s a made-up title. Like, do I have a political office? Or a real military rank?”

“Oh, it’s absolutely fabricated, but you have something even more important than anything that can be handed to you by any establishment: influence,” said the Duke. “Your triumph over Draeven has elevated you to a position of immense power, even if that power only exists in the public’s eye, it exists, nevertheless. And, as fate would have it, that power is now tied—publicly, inextricably—to the Luxford name.”

The Duchess reached across the table to pat Emma’s hand, her rings glinting. “What my husband is trying to say is, you’re family now, dear. As far as magical society is concerned, you are a Lady Starhaven. It would be foolish of us not to embrace such a wonderful narrative.”

Emma swallowed, uncertain how much of that statement was genuine sentiment and how much was cold strategy. Perhaps it was both. The Luxfords were nothing if not adept at turning circumstances to their advantage.

“I just don’t want to be… a liability,” she murmured. “People know that I’m an enemy of Draeven…he might be gone, but what if his sympathizers come back to power?”

“Nonsense,” said the Duke. “You’re an asset. The brightest jewel in the Luxford crown. Besides, our family has too long walked a tightrope, never declaring a true stance…however, the time has never been more appropriate to declare allegiances, thanks, all, to you.”

“No more talk of politics!” Seraphina declared all of the sudden. “Mother? Father? You’re crowding my friends, and if we don’t get our suitcases the rest of the way packed, we’re going to miss our…what was that thing called, again, Emma?”

“Plane,” said Emma.

***

The border between the magical and mundane worlds was an unimpressive thing—nothing but a thinning mist where the air itself seemed uncertain of which reality it belonged to. Professor Aldric Graves stepped through with measured steps, his cane tapping lightly against the frosty gravel that lay upon the uneven ground. Usually, he was happy to go without it, even with a leg that had never quite healed from an old curse. His office at Thornmere was close enough to his quarters–a shorter walk than any other teacher had to contend with, in fact, and it had been worth every minute of petitioning MOSHA. For long journeys like this one, though, it was nice to have onhand.

He pulled his coat tighter around his plump frame as a gruff voice, thick with amusement, greeted him.

“Well, well. If it ain’t the old professor himself, creeping back around like a rat sniffing for scraps.”

Colonel Blackwood leaned against a wooden checkpoint post, arms crossed over his chest, his broad frame wrapped in the dark navy uniform of the Army of the Arcane. His grizzled beard was streaked with silver, his face a craggy map of old scars and broken bones that set wrong. He smelled of burnt mana and cheap beer, a stench Graves had long since associated with the man since their days as Privates.

Graves sighed, long and slow, as if beseeching Avalon itself for patience. “Colonel Blackwood. To what do I owe…? Well, to what do I owe it?”

Blackwood chuckled, a sound like gravel tumbling in a tin pail. “I work here, Graves. What about you? What takes you back to the ol’ border? Sick of the Academy yet? Surely you haven’t found yourself a woman to warm your bed? Not with that gut on you…” His smirk widened as he poked Aldric in the belly with the tip of his battle-staff. Aldric winced and rubbed the sore spot, but provoked no fight. “Or is this some scholarly pilgrimage? You gonna write a book about how the mundane folk fry eggs?”

Graves handed over a crisp, twine-tied folder. “I’m cleared to cross, you’ll find my papers all in order. If you have any questions, feel free to write Lady Starhaven. You know, our Grand Enlightenress? I’m here on her orders.”

The truth was, he’d been invited to vacation with Emma and her coterie. After the year they had endured, she’d decided they all deserved it, and nobody dared question her wherabouts in the wake of the Dark Lord’s fall. Not out loud, at least, and even if they did, what could be done to her? To them? At least, for the moment…

Blackwood’s expression shifted, curiosity darkening into something meaner. “Starhaven, eh?” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Ain’t that the bird what dragged my son out of the heap and decided to take him home?”

Graves took a deliberate step closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper, ensuring only Blackwood would hear his words. “If it were me in your shoes, I, too, would be proud enough of Dorian to give him my name.”

Blackwood stiffened, the blood draining from his face. For the first time in years, if only for an instant, the Colonel shut his Avalon-besieged face.

Graves gave him a pointed, almost pitying smile, tipped his hat, and strode toward the barrier.

“Y’know, they say those who can’t do, teach?” Blackwood shouted at his back.

“I may have heard the adage somewhere,” said Graves, “but just the same, Colonels with nothing to teach their men seldom become Generals.”