Chapter 7: First Sign of Trouble
I awoke on a tranquil Saturday morning, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet scent of warm pancakes. This delightful fragrance wafted through the air like an inviting melody, gently coaxing me from the depths of my dreams.
As I sat up, sunlight cascaded through the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft golden glow across the penthouse like a warm embrace. In the corner, Millie and Rory lay sprawled on the floor, tucked beneath a shared blanket that enveloped them like a cocoon of comfort.
Millie, in particular, looked idyllic and serene—her small frame curled into a cozy ball, one delicate hand cradling her cheek, while the other loosely grasped a stuffed animal that someone must have gifted her during the night. A soft smile spread across my face as I took in the sight; it was the epitome of innocence.
I stretched my limbs and silently navigated the labyrinth of sleeping bags and bodies that filled the room, making my way into the dining room just as Mom emerged, her arms laden with breakfast offerings.
The table was a visual feast—plates stacked high with fluffy pancakes, the syrup warming in a charming glass dish, and a vibrant platter of fruit arranged with a meticulousness that only my mother possessed. Each detail was a testament to her love and care.
“Will someone wake up Millie and Rory for breakfast?” she asked, her voice light yet commanding, as she placed down a carafe of steaming, freshly brewed coffee, its rich aroma filling the air.
Without missing a beat, Fawn sprang into action. “On it!” she chirped, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she dashed back into the living room to rouse the two sleeping beauties.
The morning unfolded in a warm tapestry of comfort and laughter, our voices mingling like a well-rehearsed symphony as we savored our final moments together before the girls had to return home. After breakfast, one by one, our sisters gathered their belongings and shared heartfelt goodbyes, promising to keep the group chat buzzing later.
All except for Fawn.
She lingered, and the moment the door clicked shut behind the last of our coven sisters, she turned to me, a mischievous grin lighting up her face.
“Mall?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
I returned her grin, the anticipation bubbling within me. “Absolutely.”
We sprang into action, quickly dressing in an eager frenzy. I chose my favorite black lace crop top, layered it with a mesh jacket, and slipped into my ripped jeans. My silver jewelry sparkled in the sunlight, and I couldn’t help but daydream about the new accessories I might discover on our outing. I had been contemplating a few more piercings for my ears anyway.
Fawn, true to her style, emerged in an explosion of pastel hues, adorned with an array of bows, high socks, and lace-trimmed skirts. Her Kawaii aesthetic was evolving at an astonishing pace, and today she was resolute in her quest to add another whimsical outfit to her collection—something pink and frilly that made her feel like a walking confection of cotton candy.
We grabbed our bags, exchanged a quick word with Mom about our whereabouts, and made our way to the elevator, anticipation shimmering in the air around us, ready to embark on our adventure.
Our styles, while similar in essence, contrasted in an enchanting tapestry of differences that accentuated our unique personalities. Fawn was a vision of radiance, enveloped in a harmonious palette of pastels—lavenders that whispered of twilight, baby blues reminiscent of serene skies, and soft pinks that conveyed a delicate sweetness. She embraced her Kawaii aesthetic with artfully layered skirts that danced around her knees, ruffled tops that added a playful flourish, and an array of cute pins adorning her cardigan, each carrying a story of its own. Her jewelry was understated yet charming: a scattering of delicate rings that twinkled like stars in the night sky, a whimsical charm bracelet bedecked with tiny stars, and, of course, her silver pentagram necklace, which now hung proudly over her collarbone, a symbol of her vibrant spirit.
In contrast, I reveled in the allure of bold colors and darker tones that brought a more dramatic flair to my wardrobe. My style leaned toward gothic lolita—a stunning duo of black mesh that clung elegantly to my form, dark plum that echoed the depths of night, and striking hints of crimson that sparked intrigue. Layer upon layer of silver necklaces adorned my neck, each piece distinct—one shaped like a crescent moon, another resembling a tiny dagger, and yet another depicting a radiant sunburst charm. My pentagram necklace, now prominently displayed, caught glimmers of light, shimmering against the ebony fabric of my top and giving off a subtle glow as I moved. Silver rings clad both hands, each intricately etched with runes and magical symbols, reflections of the arcane beauty I cherished.
Even my mom, sitting in the front seat with her carefully tailored business-casual attire, wore her pentagram necklace with an air of quiet confidence today. It gleamed strikingly against her outfit, a bold declaration that she was a witch—and she was done concealing her truth.
As she navigated the road with ease, Fawn and I filled the backseat with laughter and animated chatter, our voices weaving a vibrant tapestry of youthful exuberance. We were oblivious to everything but our conversation, animatedly discussing school, the latest fashions, and spells that danced at the corners of our imaginations. I excitedly shared my aspirations for new ear piercings, while Fawn, brimming with creativity, began mentally assembling an enchanting outfit overshadowed by her favorite shades of pink.
Little did we know, a large black SUV had slipped into the shadows behind us, its presence cloaked in secrecy. It trailed our route, lingering through each turn like a dark cloud hovering just out of sight. The windows, tinted to an almost oppressive degree, concealed whatever or whoever lurked within. Yet, we remained blissfully unaware, caught in the intoxicating thrill of being young, wild, and teeming with magic—lost in our captivating bubble, unaware of the lurking danger that shadowed our carefree revelry.
As we arrived at the mall, Fawn and I eagerly tumbled out of Mom’s opulent sedan, the sleek black exterior and darkened windows shimmering brilliantly beneath the sunlight—an understated but clear testament to our family’s considerable fortune.
Mom emerged with an effortless poise, straightening her blazer with a practiced motion as her keen gaze swept over the entrance. Even in her casual demeanor, she had an innate ability to command attention, a quiet authority that seemed to envelop her like a magnetic aura.
“Alright, girls, where to first?” she asked, her voice ringing with playful mirth, a teasing lilt adding an air of indulgent excitement.
Fawn and I exchanged glances, our faces lighting up as wide, infectious grins spread across our cheeks, banishing any hint of hesitation.
In a spontaneous burst of energy, we both erupted in joyous harmony, our voices intertwining as we exclaimed, “Hot Topic!”
Mom let out a gentle laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she shook her head in disbelief. “Of course. I should've known,” she replied, a warm smile dancing on her lips.
Fawn and I intertwined our arms, skipping ahead with a bubbling excitement that thrummed through us, eager to uncover the hidden gems inside—graphic tees emblazoned with vibrant designs, delicate black lace gloves, edgy chokers, towering platform boots, and the trendiest witchy accessories, each waiting to be discovered.
Behind us, Mom strolled at a leisurely pace, her expression one of tender affection, as if she were savoring each fleeting second of this beautiful moment, cherishing the bond we shared.
As we stepped into the store, we were instantly enveloped by an atmosphere that felt more like home than any other corner of the mall. The dim lighting cast soft shadows, while alt-rock melodies drifted lazily through the air, mixing with the scent of aged wood and the faint undertone of incense. The walls were adorned with racks overflowing with an eclectic assortment of clothes and accessories, creating a maze we had navigated countless times, every turn familiar as the back of our hands.
Without exchanging a word, Fawn and I instinctively dispersed, each gravitating toward our beloved corners of the store—a perfect dance of unspoken understanding. I made a beeline for the accessories, my heart racing with anticipation. Within mere moments, I stumbled upon a treasure I had been searching for: a pair of black spider web lace fingerless gloves. They cascaded elegantly to my elbows, the intricate lace pattern exuding a beguiling blend of drama and ethereal beauty. I held them up to the faint light, a smile creeping onto my face as I admired the perfect design.
Next, I wandered over to the silver jewelry section, a treasure trove of delights where I could have lost myself for hours among the shimmering chains, crescent moon earrings, and rune-etched rings. As I sifted through the earring sets, something caught my eye—a velvet crimson choker adorned with delicate black lace, radiating both elegance and mystery.
It was breathtaking. Refined yet bold, with a witchy allure that instantly captivated me. I could already envision the perfect outfit to complement its striking design. I eagerly snatched it up and added it to my burgeoning collection, then perused a few more silver stud sets to adorn my ears—tiny pentagrams, crescent moons, and dagger charms, all whispering secrets of rebellion and enchantment.
Feeling triumphant with my spoils, I threaded my way through the aisles, my arms laden with gloves, earrings, and the alluring choker, until my gaze landed on Fawn near the back of the store. She held a graphic t-shirt up against herself, squinting at her reflection in a nearby mirror. The shirt—a vibrant pink emblazoned with a quirky cartoon demon chewing bubblegum—was unmistakably her vibe.
With a wide grin, I held up my finds, eager to share my discovery with her. “You have to see what I found!” I called out, excitement bubbling in my chest.
Fawn turned, and the moment her eyes fell on the gloves and the choker, her face lit up like a firework. “Oh my goddess, yes! You’re going to look absolutely amazing in those!”
As we began to concoct plans for outfits and matching jewelry, our enthusiasm bubbled over, making the simple trip to the register feel like the start of a magical adventure.
Mom swiped her card with a casual flick of her wrist, the effortless motion conveying that this was just another ordinary day. Fawn and I emerged from Hot Topic, our hearts still buoyed by laughter, bags in hand—excited treasures nestled within: vibrant new earrings, sleek gloves, a delicate choker, and a pastel demon shirt that seemed to whisper promises of adventure. It felt like a moment plucked from the pages of a perfect afternoon.
But then, everything shifted.
As our feet touched the cool tile outside the store, an oppressive weight settled over us—a thick, almost holy presence that twisted in my gut, making me want to recoil.
Fawn halted beside me, her breath catching in her throat, while Mom's low growl rumbled, dark and dangerous, like distant thunder.
I felt it too: a palpable heaviness in the air, an unnatural tension that crawled beneath my skin, raising every hair on my body.
My gaze snapped toward the source, drawing me in. There they stood—five men emerging from the crowd, immaculate in their dark suits, each movement precise, their postures controlled. They exuded a raw power, not the unwieldy, fumbling bravado of Billy or his father. No, these were seasoned warriors, trained and lethal.
The man at the center stepped forward, voice smooth and deceptively polite, as though he was offering a handshake instead of a threat. “Ladies, I’m going to need you to come with us for a conversation.”
They positioned themselves, forming an impenetrable barrier blocking our path, every possible escape cut off.
I felt Mom tense beside me, a silent signal that this was not a negotiation we wanted to entertain.
Instinctively, I reached for her hand, squeezing it once to convey my resolve before I let it slip away.
Taking a bold step forward, I summoned my aura. It burst forth like a crashing wave, swirling around me with dark tendrils. Cold air seeped into the space, the temperature plummeting as light warped under the weight of my power.
Behind me, black-feathered wings unfurled—ethereal, yet undeniably real to the men who now stared at me, their expressions a mix of awe and trepidation.
They glimpsed something ancient, something formidable, and something they could not hope to control.
With fire igniting in my eyes, I hissed, “No. I don’t think we will go with you.”
Fawn’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, while Mom’s smirk dared them to test our strength.
The men faltered, their confident posture wavering. I could see the moment their bravado cracked.
I advanced again, my voice steady and laced with iron determination. “I am Lilith, High Priestess of the Raven Coven. You have shown hostility toward me and my sister witches. This will not go unpunished.”
Raising my hand toward the ceiling, I harnessed my energy, my voice gaining authority. “Storm.”
In response, lightning answered, an explosive strike that illuminated the sky outside, shattering the silence with a brilliant flash. The thunder followed, a deafening roar that reverberated through the building, rattling walls and floors, igniting chaos as shoppers screamed in startled confusion.
Power surged within me, thrumming through my veins, unmistakably mine. They felt it, a primal connection to the magic that lay dormant within their very souls.
The men recoiled—not merely from fear of my magic, but from the undeniable truth that radiated from me.
They hadn’t come to converse. They had come to take me.
But not today. Not without a fight.
My mother stood in serene silence, a stillness so profound it wrapped around her like a shroud. There was no need for words; her presence spoke volumes.
In a heartbeat, she vanished—dissolving into the shadows that pooled languidly beneath her feet. Her form evaporated into tendrils of darkness, weaving through the air like ink dispersing in water, a graceful yet unsettling transformation.
The holy fighters remained oblivious, their senses dulled, unaware of the swift specter that had slipped past them.
Moments later, she reemerged from the umbral depths, as silent and inevitable as death itself. Shadows coiled around her like a second skin, amplifying her aura of danger. In her hand, a long, jagged blade formed—not wrought from metal, but sculpted from living darkness, glimmering with an unsettling menace. It was sleek and ethereal, evoking more nightmare than reality.
Before the men could even comprehend what had happened, she struck—swift and lethal, a whisper of darkness amidst their stunned disbelief.
Her blade slashed across their chests in one swift, fluid arc—so fast it took a moment for their bodies to register what had happened. Then the pain hit.
They staggered back, gasping and clutching at the bleeding tears across their tailored suits. The wounds weren’t deep, but they burned—magic embedded in every slice. My mother had been merciful. This time.
Now I understood why the coven had chosen to keep her powers buried in secrecy. She didn’t fight like a witch trained in rituals or spells. She fought like a force born from the void, quiet and precise. Terrifying. Beautiful.
And no one saw it.
The other mall-goers were still too distracted by the lightning strike. Screams echoed as people scrambled for exits, sirens and alarms screeching through the chaos. Between the thunder, flickering lights, and crackling energy in the air, no one paid the five men and three witches any attention.
To the world, it was just a freak storm.
But we understood the truths that lay beneath the surface.
The five holy warriors stood before me, their hands shaking as they pressed them against the jagged wounds that marred their skin. Their eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed on me—not with the flames of anger or the sparks of defiance, but with something much more primal.
With fear.
I took a deliberate step forward, the remnants of my wings—phantom appendages shimmering like silken shadows—flared out behind me, casting an ethereal glow that danced in the dim light. Energy crackled in the air, charged and alive, the lingering scent of ozone swirling around us, a palpable reminder of the lightning bolt I had just unleashed.
My voice dropped into a chilling, deliberate snarl, each word laced with the weight of an impending storm.
“Now, run away before I decide to use you as a human sacrifice.”
They didn’t argue, their expressions taut with unvoiced fears.
They didn’t speak, the silence between them heavy and palpable.
Instead, they ran.
Like panicked prey, they scrambled over one another, their bodies colliding in a desperate bid for escape. The holy fighters melted into the tumult of the crowd, their figures blurring into the chaos as they sought to vanish into the suffocating shadows we commanded. The air thrummed with urgency, each heartbeat echoed in their frantic flight.
Fawn spun around to face me, her eyes still wide with awe, a mixture of admiration and trepidation dancing across her features.
“You were really scary, Lilith,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. A thoughtful frown settled on her brow as she tilted her head slightly, the strands of her hair catching the dim light. “Do you think they know we never sacrifice anything living?”
I shrugged with a casual nonchalance, though adrenaline coursed through my veins like a charged storm, igniting every nerve ending. “Doubt it. Doesn’t matter. They believed it,” I replied, attempting to cloak the underlying tension in my words with a veil of indifference.
A sharp sigh pierced the thick, electric atmosphere, a sound that was both jarring and irritatingly familiar. It sliced through the tension like a blade, resonating with the unspoken frustrations that hung in the air, evoking a sense of weariness that everyone in the room could feel.
Mom pivoted towards me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, one eyebrow arched in incredulity. “Human sacrifice? Really? That’s what you settled on?” she questioned, her tone a blend of disbelief and exasperation.
I grimaced, my mouth twisting into a reluctant frown, the warmth of defiance mingling with a tinge of regret. “I thought it sounded dramatic,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, tinged with the weight of my choices.
She narrowed her eyes, sharp and piercing like a hawk scanning the ground for its unsuspecting prey. “It was. And now, with whispers spreading like wildfire, they’re convinced they’ve unearthed evidence that we engage in ritualistic murders. You’ve truly stirred the pot, Lilith.”
I lowered my gaze, the weight of her disapproval pressing down on me like a leaden shroud, more burdensome than a hundred holy fighters armed with their righteousness. “Sorry, Mom. I was just trying to scare them off,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
For a long moment, she studied me, her expression a tumultuous sea of concern and disappointment. Slowly, her gaze softened, and she stepped closer, wrapping her arm around my shoulders in a gesture both comforting and protective. The warmth radiated from her, a balm to the brewing storm of my guilt.
“I know, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentle, like the soothing rustle of leaves in a quiet forest. “You did what you thought was right. You protected us. Just… next time, maybe stick to fire and thunder.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, the air escaping my lungs like a whispered confession, laden with relief and caution. Leaning into her side, I sought solace in her presence, feeling her strength envelop me like a comforting cloak against the chill of the chaos we faced.
“Now,” she asserted, her tone sharpening like a blade drawn from its sheath, “I need to report this to the elders. The Holy Fighters didn’t just send a scout; this was a coordinated group. That means our coven needs to be on high alert starting now.”
With determination etched across her features, she strode a few steps ahead, her fingers deftly pulling out her phone. Her voice turned serious as she began to dial, each word a signal that urgency had clawed its way back into our lives.
Fawn and I found refuge on a quiet bench nestled beside the indoor fountain, its serene gurgle creating a gentle melody that contrasted sharply with the turmoil we had just faced. The bench was half-shielded by a vibrant array of leafy green succulents and intricate crystal-infused artisan stalls, offering an ironically peaceful oasis amid the rising tension.
We sank onto the bench, allowing the weight of our bags to slip from our shoulders and forgotten at our feet.
Even in this moment of stillness, I could feel the tension coiled tightly in my chest and sensed the faint hum of lingering magic in the air, a reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond our fragile bubble of safety. Yet, with a conscious effort, I pushed those thoughts aside.
For now, we were safe. And more importantly, we were together.