The Boy Witch

Chapter 19

It was early in the morning when Sam brought Mallory her breakfast, like he did every morning. He walked down the stairs solemnly, holding onto the plate of food. Whenever he visited her, he felt so serious. He would not allow himself to smile, or even be nice to her. She was an evil woman who did not deserve warmth.

Standing in front of the door, Sam placed the meal down while he unlocked it. When he opened the door, Mallory was sitting on her bed, bored. She barely looked up when Sam opened the door.

“It’s breakfast time,” Sam declared, too serious.

“What is it? Scrambled eggs again?” Mallory asked, rolling her eyes at the boy bringing her breakfast. “I hate scrambled eggs.”

“You get what you get and that's that,” Sam replied, making sure not to let a hint of warmth or humor transpire through his voice.

Mallory sighed, as she stood to meet the tall boy standing in the doorway of her room. She grabbed her breakfast. Sam noticed as he had before that Mallory's hands shook as she reached for the plate. She could tell he was looking.

“Not pretty, hey?” she remarked with a smirk. “It would be really helpful if you managed to get me something to drink. I mean, besides juice. If you know what I mean.”

“I'm afraid that won't be possible,” Sam faked as much compassion as he could. He prepared to leave when Mallory had something else to say.

“I don't understand you,” she started, holding her plate.

Sam turned around, curious, his hand on the door, ready to close it. “How so?”

“Why would a handsome, popular boy like you give up everything to follow my son?” She stared at Sam with a questioning look. “Unless…” she added as her hand, the one not holding her plate, made its way to her chin. “Yes, that must be it.” Mallory looked away, ready to focus on her meal, now that she had reached a satisfactory explanation for herself.

“What is it?” Sam asked, insistent. He could figure out, too, that maybe this was a trick, and he was prepared for it. But curiosity was getting the better of him.

“Oh, you probably don't want to know.” Mallory turned around, waving her free hand to dismiss him.

“Maybe I can decide that for myself,” Sam replied, increasingly frustrated. “Now, spill it.”

Mallory turned back around to face him, her hand stroking her chin pensively. “Well, as you may not know, the Prime witch possesses a lot of innate powers. You see, I wouldn't be surprised if Miles had inherited…my power of persuasion.”

Sam stopped in his tracks for a moment and pondered her words. “Are you implying that I'm here, that I followed him, because he’s controlling me?”

Mallory lifted her shoulders and blinked her eyes. Sam almost wanted to laugh. He stepped forward and approached her, using his height to intimidate her. “You see, the problem with that hypothesis,” Sam started, “is that Miles is not an evil, manipulative person like you.”

“If you are so confident, young man,” Mallory replied, not much intimidated by Sam, “then I can't convince you otherwise.”

“On that note,” Sam concluded, “I hope you have a nice breakfast.” He turned around on his heels, exited the room and locked the door behind him. He found himself frazzled, frustrated by Mallory's attempts at manipulation. He took a deep breath and tried to let it go.

Besides, it was time to serve breakfast to the witches, and they disliked being served late.

***

Sam returned to the kitchen where he helped Sebastian serve plates of food for the witches, which Sam covered with cloches and brought two-by-two to the table.
When breakfast was served, the witches entered the dining room. Reagan was grumbly as usual, walking into the room like she owned it. Miles and Eleanor followed Felicity closely. Marina walked in too, still reading from her textbook, studying for her upcoming finals, Carrie Anne following her, closely.

The witches took their seats at the table and uncovered their meals, before eating them with appetite.

“Marina,” Felicity began, “could you close your volume while at the table?”

Marina responded with a powerful sigh. “I have finals coming up,” she said, turning the page of her book, “and I need to study.”

“Surely, you can wait a few minutes, and study after breakfast.”

Marina rolled her eyes and shut the textbook with a loud thud.

“Thank you,” Felicity replied, with a forced smile.

As her students ate, Felicity turned to Sam who was eating his own breakfast, sitting at the table, not quite belonging there. “Sam,” she called the boy.

He lifted his eyes off his meal. “Yes?”

“Did you feed Mallory her breakfast?” Felicity asked.

“Yes, I did,” Sam replied, grabbing another forkful of eggs. “She was not pleased with what I served her.” He could not help but ponder what Mallory had said, about Miles controlling him, but he tried to push her words to the back of his mind.

“Well, that's just too bad,” Felicity added, turning back to her breakfast.

“That’s basically what I told her.”

As the witches ate, the doors of the dining room opened dramatically, revealing Bartholomew, Philomena and Millicent. The council was well dressed, and serious.

“Good morning,” Millicent declared. The witches put down their forks and listened. Well, all except Reagan, who continued eating.

“The council has a declaration to make,” Bartholomew added.

“You are all to attend a meeting, after breakfast, in the ballroom.” Philomena concluded.

With that, the members of the council turned around and exited the dining room, leaving the witches a little stunned, but not silent.

“Can’t they just state their declaration now?” Reagan asked, before taking another bite of her food. “Why the need for all this formality?”

“What the council has to say is very important, capital for the coven even, and it shall be treated as such,” Felicity responded. “Everybody should change to your black robes for the occasion.”

Marina grumbled, almost desperate. “I really need to study.”

“It can wait until after the meeting,” Felicity concluded.

The witches finished eating their breakfast and Sam and Sebastian removed the dishes from the table, while the witches went to change. Sam wondered if he was invited or not to the meeting. He figured he would go to the ballroom and wait to be told. He was awfully curious to know what the council had to say.

After cleaning the dining room, Sam walked to the ballroom where he met most of the witches, waiting for the meeting, wearing their black robes. Miles was wearing one too for the occasion. It was a little too big and it swallowed him whole.

“Looking like a real witch,” Sam declared to his friend, who seemed nervous.

Miles let out a polite laugh, feeling uncomfortable in his garments. He figured he would get used to them.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asked, noticing his friend’s uncomfortable demeanor.

Miles gulped and looked away. “I’m worried about what the council has to say.”

Sam tried to comfort his friend by placing his hand on his shoulder. Miles returned a sad smile.

“Samuel, you can't be here,” Felicity told him as she approached the boys. She wore heels with her robes which peered out from the bottom, giving her a more authoritative air. “This meeting is for witches only.”

“Of course,” Sam replied with deferral. He squeezed his friend's shoulder goodbye and walked away from the ballroom.

But Sam did not go far, hiding in the doorframe to the next room. He listened to the chatter of the witches, until the council members appeared, wearing robes, too, and quietened everybody down.

“Good morning,” Philomena started. “Thank you for gathering here today.”

“We have gathered you because,” Bartholomew continued, “this council has made an important decision, one that will affect this coven.”

“Indeed, the council was faced with a challenge for many years,” Millicent spoke, “one of ruling this coven without a Prime witch.”

“Thankfully, this time has come to an end, since a new Prime witch has risen,” Philomena explained, with pride and joy in her voice.

Felicity stroke Miles' arm wordlessly and the boy tried his best to smile back, still worried about the mountain of responsibility his position brought.

“But we must still decide what to do with the old Prime witch,” Bartholomew said.
“Mallory was a poor leader for our coven, and a poor example of a witch,” Millicent added. “She committed many crimes during her time in the world, including murdering her own husband and son.”

“This has not been an easy decision,” Philomena continued. “But there is only one punishment great enough to fit her crimes, against her family and against this coven.”

The council exchanged meaningful looks as if their decision was not quite taken yet.

“Mallory,” Bartholomew concluded, “is to be burned at the stake.”

A general reaction of shock resonated among the witches and Sam, too, gasping in the doorframe, as he tried to keep quiet to not reveal his position. But no one was more shocked than Miles.

“You can't be serious,” he let out. “Why burn at the stake? Like people did to us?”

“Death by fire is the only way to ensure that a witch does not haunt the living,” Millicent explained. “Besides, she does not deserve a comfortable death.”

“No, no, this can't be happening,” Miles exclaimed, grabbing his hair, on the verge of tears.

As the group of witches disbanded, Marina finally taking her leave to study, Felicity tried to comfort Miles, placing her arm on the boy’s shoulder. “Miles, I know this is hard to hear,” she said. “But I promise you this is for the best.”

“Why? Why is the answer more violence?” Miles asked, emotional.

Felicity had nothing to reply, looking down at the floor. Miles ran away, as his tears finally breached his resolve. Sam rose from his hiding spot, his heart racing.

He ran to Miles’ room, and beat his friend to it, where Miles arrived a moment later. Miles was in tears. Silently, Sam approached his friend and offered him a hug, which he accepted gladly.

“The-the council,” Miles started, in the embrace, “they want to-to burn my mother, at the stake.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Sam replied. “Don’t tell the witches, but I was listening.”

Miles seemed unfazed. He had other things to worry about. He stepped out of Sam’s embrace and looked at him, his eyes still full of tears.

“What am I going to do?” Miles asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied. “Can’t you tell them to not do it? You’re the Prime witch after all.”

Miles looked down and pondered Sam’s words. “Do you think they would listen to me?”

“You can at least try.”

Miles nodded to himself, drying his tears with the large sleeve of his black robe. “Sam,” he started, “thank you for your advice. But don’t listen in to the witches’ council meetings. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Sam could only smirk. He had never been one for trouble, but he was not sure why, he was eager to know more of the witches’ secret world, regardless of the risk.