Pentacle

Petunia Everthorne stood within a dense, white fog, her breath hitching as the image of the terrified girl faded away. The haunted mist illustration clung to her olive complexion, sending shivers down her spine. She swept her long, ebony hair behind her ear and surveyed her new surroundings: an endless wooden path flanked by an abyss on either side. Her violet eyes narrowed as she glanced behind, only to find the same never-ending trail, leaving her with little choice of where to go.

Suddenly, the air rippled a few feet in front of her, causing her to groan in protest. A moment later, an elderly woman with long silvery hair and lilac eyes materialized from the once lively atmosphere. Petunia's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the woman. She was as mesmerizing as Petunia, with a twinkle in her gaze and a warm smile.

“I told you to stop doing this, Aggie,” Petunia scowled, crossing her arms, unfazed by the woman's unusual arrival.

“You never listened to me when you were growing up, so I think I’ve earned the right to ignore you now,” Aggie replied, the creases around her eyes deepening as the edge of her lips curled upward. She approached Petunia, closing the gap between them. “So, no hello for your great aunt, huh?”

“What do you want?” Petunia asked, her tone sharp.

“It’s time to come home,” Aggie answered.

“Not happening,” Petunia snapped, determined to keep moving down the path despite not knowing where it led.

“You’ve always been so stubborn,” Aggie grumbled as she followed her. “But you don’t have a choice, Nia.”

“Orders like that is exactly why I’m not going back,” Petunia retorted, quickening her pace, hoping to lose her great aunt in the darkness.

"Petunia, you can't keep running away from your responsibilities. You saw what's happening, I know it," Aggie's voice reverberated through Petunia's mind as she materialized in front of her. She grabbed Petunia's arm with a vice-like grip, her countenance solemn. "We don't have much time left."

"I said no, Aggie! Let go of me—and stay out of my dreams," Petunia snapped, jerking her arm from Aggie's grasp. Her momentum betrayed her, sending her tumbling over the edge to plummet into the dark void’s depths.

***

Petunia bolted upright in bed, heart pounding, lungs gasping for air, and eyes still clenched shut. Even though she knew it was only a dream, the sensation of falling to her doom was never an easy one. A piercing scream wrenched her from the lingering traces of her daze.

"Mommy!" cried a shrill, desperate voice, every syllable laced with urgency. "Mommy!"

“Zinny?” Petunia tried to respond, but her words were garbled by a bout of coughing. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by a thick plume of black smoke that stung them. She instantly realized flames were devouring the room, the fire hungrily inching down the hallway. “Zinnia!”

Petunia sprang from her bed, guided by the faint, terrified cries that led to her daughter's bedroom door, now consumed in a roaring inferno.

“Zinny, it’s okay, Mommy’s here,” Petunia shouted, her voice cutting through the curtain of fire.

“Mommy!” The tiny voice broke through a fit of coughs.

Extending her hand towards the burning wall, Petunia quickly withdrew it, feeling her skin blister from the searing heat.

“You can do this. You have to do this,” she whispered fiercely to herself, pacing before the doorway, but what exactly was she going to do? Zinnia's anguished scream spurred her into action. Petunia’s eyes flashed a silvery blue, and a matching crackling light swathed her like a suit of armor. She rushed into the room, coughing and wheezing, as she sprinted to Zinnia, who was huddled in the corner of her once pink bedroom. The young girl whimpered, cradling her scorched leg.

“It’s alright,” Petunia soothed, pulling Zinnia into a hug as the blue shield expanded to surround them both. She immediately dashed from the room and down the fiery staircase, only to skid to a halt when a beam crashed down, blocking the door—and their path to freedom.

Gasping and choking from the acrid fumes, Petunia frantically searched for another way out, but every direction welcomed her with the same inferno leaping towards them, eager to devour everything in its path.

Petunia grabbed her head as she cradled Zinnia close. Her vision ebbed in and out as the noxious fumes overpowered her. She shook her dizzying head, fighting to focus, but it was futile. Gradually, her protective shield waned along with her vision until the searing heat touched her skin directly, and the sweltering roar of the flames drowned out her excruciating screams.

“It’s alright. We’re alright,” Petunia murmured, more to reassure herself than her wailing daughter. She clutched Zinnia tighter as her legs began to tremble and buckle under the strain, her vision blurring further. She collapsed to her knees, coughing violently. Looking into her daughter’s tear-filled dark brown eyes, glowing in the firelight, she made one last attempt to stand for her sake, But her strength deserted her. She closed her eyes, rocking Zinnia softly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s—”

A gentle breeze brushed against Petunia’s face, chilling tears she hadn’t realized stained her cheeks. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared in shock at the scene before her. Flames danced and twisted around their house as if mocking their plight, but now she and Zinnia sat safely on the sidewalk across the street. She coughed, her lungs greedily pulling in the fresh air, as she looked down at Zinnia.

The girl, breathing more easily now, appeared more exhausted than scared. She snuggled into Petunia as she continued to rock her. Petunia kept her gaze on the vestiges of what was once their beloved home. The heat within the house accumulated until all the windows shattered, sending glass shards flying in all directions. In the distance, the faint sound of firetrucks grew louder, their sirens blaring as they neared.

Petunia let out a shaky breath and hugged Zinnia closer. “We’re okay,” she whispered, unable to yet believe it herself.

***

“That girl,” Aggie Everthorne murmured, her eyes wearily fluttering open. She massaged her temples and shook her head. Contacting Petunia had been a long shot, but she had to try. Petunia needed to return home. Hopefully, she’d have better luck with Petunia’s sister, Briar-Rose.

Aggie arched her back, attempting to ease the stiffness from forcing herself to sit cross-legged for so long. She was no stranger to the practice required for projecting her spirit, having done it since before she could remember. But as time passed, maintaining the position had become more challenging than it was in her youth.

She chuckled softly, realizing the futility of reminiscing and dwelling on the unchangeable. Her magic granted her many abilities, but ceasing the aging process wasn’t one of them—not if she wished to stay on the right side of the magical divide anyway. And she’d worked too hard and for too long to risk slipping to the darker side, especially for vanity of all things. She stretched her arms towards the sky, releasing the last remnants of tension in her stiff limbs.

Her gaze landed on the circle of white-lit candles around her, each puddled and half consumed by their tiny flames. With a swift motion, she flipped her palm from facing the floor to twisting it up into a fist. Instantly, the candles extinguished, leaving thin wisps of smoke rising from their charred wicks.

As Aggie stood up, the candles levitated alongside her as if an extension of her very being. She frowned at the hardened wax surrounding each candle. Then, lifting her hands, she began pulsing her fingertips toward her palms. Her fingertips glowed a burnt orange, pressing the air until the wax around each candle liquefied.

With focused precision, Aggie delicately raised her fingers toward the ceiling, causing the wax to reshape back onto the candles, leaving only small indentations with a hole in their centers. A glint of satisfaction crossed her eyes as she made a mental note to replace the burnt-out wicks later.

Once satisfied, she gestured towards one of the many bookcases lining the walls that held an assortment of bottles, bowls, and herbs. The candles floated to a shelf stocked with various colored candles, only faltering briefly when Aggie detected a faint sound at the door.

The soft clicking of metal had caught her attention. Her eyes flashed a metallic blue, and the doorknob matched their hue, eliciting a crackling noise against the metal. The sparks only ceased when an “Ouch!” was heard.

Once the candles were in their proper place, Aggie released a slow, calming breath. Then, one by one, the bookshelves emptied and rearranged themselves, leaving behind only a few scattered books. The intricate etchings adorning the walls and floors faded away, and a large chest under a row of windows vanished. Only a table with a few chairs, the now sparse bookcases, a sofa, and an old armchair remained. Nodding, pleased with her work, she ambled to the door and opened it.

“We don’t take kindly to eavesdroppers in this house,” Aggie told a bewildered boy, who appeared no older than fifteen. She watched him cradle his right hand—presumably the one that had been on the doorknob—in his left, blowing on it as though it were aflame.

The boy shifted his gaze from his throbbing hand to Aggie, his jade eyes narrowing and brows furrowing. “I wasn’t eavesdropping!” he protested. “What do I care what some wack job old lady does behind closed doors?”

“We don’t take kindly to pick locks either,” she countered, arching a brow and tilting her head as she sighed at the smoldering metal tools beside him. “Jason—”

“It’s Jace, and I was just trying to get you,” said Jace, pushing back his chestnut bangs with his uninjured hand, his steely gaze locked on Aggie. He tapped his tools warily, then slid them into his back pocket, pulling away when she reached out to help him to his feet. “I tried yelling, but you didn’t answer. I figured you croaked because you know… you’re old.”

“Sorry. You’re stuck with me for the time being,” Aggie said with a grin. “Now, what do you need?”

“The chick—”

“Harper,” Aggie corrected Jace.

“Yeah, whatever. She won’t stop bawling. You can hear it everywhere,” Jace groaned, annoyance etched on his face.

“She did just lose her parents last week,” Aggie replied softly, empathy permeating her tone. “It’s expected.”

“It’s annoying.”

“No one would think less of you if you felt like crying,” Aggie said, inching closer to him. “You lost your parents too.”

“Foster parents,” Jace corrected her. “And they weren’t worth the dirt they’ll be buried in.”

“Jace….” Aggie’s voice faltered, followed by a sigh, before offering him a smile. “How about we find Harper—”

“Just follow the sobbing brick moans,” Jace muttered under his breath.

“—and then, I’ll make us some tea and a batch of my famously scrumptious cookies,” Aggie continued, ignoring Jace’s sarcastic remark. “After that, maybe you can help me clear out a few rooms.”

“Why?” Jace asked, flexing his sore hand. He’d been in a lot of weird foster homes in his life, but Aggie’s was by far the strangest. His social worker dropped him at the house two weeks ago, and he still found her eerie, or at the very least peculiar.

“I think we might be having a few visitors soon.”

“Whatever,” Jace huffed. The last time Aggie cleared out a room, she received a call about the crying girl needing a place to stay the next day. “But I doubt a tea party’s gonna make that girl forget her parents bit it.”

“Perhaps not, but it might make her pain a bit more bearable.”

“You’re putting a lot of stock in your cookies,” Jace said, eyeing his eccentric new foster parent.

“Trust me,” said Aggie, draping her arm around Jace’s shoulder. He resisted her embrace at first but relented as she persisted. Leading him down the hallway away from the room, Aggie continued with a playful twinkle in her eye, "They're magically delicious."