Free Blood Tied by Jacob Z. Flores

everything we were as individual covens and the legacy of the station we had been elevated to in our community.
    My father, dressed in a black button-down and tan pants, stepped forward. He regarded each of us with his steel blue gaze before focusing his attention on the altars before him. Since Samhain was a Sabbat dominated by black magic, it was up to him as the High Priest of our coven to initiate the ritual. “Let us begin,” he said.
    He proceeded toward the altars, where Charles Proctor and Lawrence Stonewall, the high priests of their respective covens, joined him. The three men held hands, and all the candles across the four altars lit at once.
    All of us then joined hands in one big circle around them.
    “On this night, the gateway between our world and the spirit world grows thin,” my father began. “Tonight is the night to call out to those who came before us, and tonight we honor those ancestors.”
    For a moment, silence engulfed the room as we each called to mind the memories of our loved ones.
    “Spirits of our ancestors, we call to you. We welcome you. Join us this night. You watch over us and protect us and guide us, and we thank you by offering to share in our meal.”
    With magical synchronicity, we all turned to gaze upon the table, each of us offering a silent invitation to our lost loved ones before returning our gaze to the High Priests.
    “This is the cup of remembrance,” my father said before picking up the chalice on our family’s altar. He raised it high for all to see. “We remember you. You are dead but never forgotten,” he said with a slight crack in his voice. I shot my gaze to my brothers, who stared back at me. Though we all wanted to go to him and soothe the pain of missing our mother, we could not. We had to be strong. He had to be strong. At least until the ritual was over. “And you live on within us.”
    He then brought the chalice to his bearded lips and drank.
    With the ceremony concluded, we released hands and broke the circle. Everyone proceeded to their family’s altar to pay their respects. My brothers were at Dad’s side before I could even move. Mason patted his back while Pierce squeezed his shoulder.
    I should have been there too, offering my father the comfort he required, but I couldn’t move.
    A fiery pinprick had formed a few feet above the altar. Everyone was too focused on their conversations to notice. It grew bigger and brighter with each turn of the pinwheel’s fiery blades.
    It had to be Aiden, but why was he coming back to our world again? I held my breath, my attention fixed upon the growing light. I shivered with excitement at the possibility that he had returned to see me.
     
     
    IT DIDN’T take long for the flaming pinwheel to attract attention. It grew in size quickly, radiating enough heat and light to rival a small sun. Tendrils of flame snaked outward from the spinning blades, and with each revolution, a loud whoosh echoed off the cherry wood walls of the library.
    For a room full of magical beings, I found their silent captivation both humorous and bothersome. Although I knew its appearance signified no threat, they did not. Someone should be sounding the alarm.
    “Get behind me!” my father commanded. His body immediately turned to stone as he thudded closer to the spinning flame. It did my warlock pride good to see someone from my family spring into action. Since warlocks were typically the first to jump into a fight, I wasn’t all that surprised.
    “I think this is more up my alley,” Charles Proctor said as he rushed to my father’s side. His active power was fire, and it made him a rather formidable witch. His disdain for my father was well documented, and he enjoyed attempting to one-up him whenever the occasion merited it.
    Lawrence Stonewall snuffed at them both. A sneer curled up the right corner of his dark lips. As was commonplace with wizards and their gray magic, he believed he was the only one capable of handling any