So Mote It Be
I draw you to me, to me. I draw you to me, to me. True love it must be, it must be, I draw you to me, to me. I draw you to me, to me. So mote it be.
My sisters chanted along with me. I wrapped a red string around my wrist as we chanted the spell. Red for love. Our voices rose into the night and into the bonfire that sparked into the stars. They were helping me find my true love. We were bringing him to me. I had to help him along to find me.
Every witch has a soulmate. I was never lucky enough to meet mine. My sisters and I stood in a circle around the bonfire. My back was cold, turned to the dark woods. I heard a twig snap behind me. I jumped at the sharp sound. When I turned there was nothing there but darkness. The spell would take some time to take root, I knew. So, I waited, patiently, for weeks.
One month later, news came to me of a new person in town. My heart fluttered in my chest. I knew who it was and why he had come. I smiled to myself and dressed more carefully than I normally would otherwise.
I went downtown so I would meet him as if by chance. He would think it was fate after we had met. I walked down Main Street as the wind rustled my dress. I found him in our local coffee shop. I learned his name was Jake when they called his name to pick up his drink. I went to order as he made his way to the counter, making it seem as if I had just bumped into him. I apologized first as he turned to face me. He stared before he said anything. I smiled up at his bright blue eyes that looked like ice.
“Strange question, but do you want to join me?” he finally asked, as the barista handed him his coffee. I nodded and followed him back to his table once I had picked up my own drink. We talked for hours. It was as if I had known him my entire life. I hoped he felt it, too. How could he not? I made it happen, after all.
We saw each other every day after that first meeting. Always at the coffee shop. At one of our meetings, he said, “I don’t know why I am here. In this town. It feels like I was supposed to meet you.” He seemed puzzled by that idea. I tried not to laugh, just looked as innocent as possible. We were engaged soon after, in the fall. People were shocked at how fast we had gone to each other, but I did not care. I knew Jake was mine.
After we married, he seemed different. He spent more time on his own than I would have liked. He read so many books every day. I saw sorrow in his eyes, but I did not know why.
“You cannot force anyone to love you,” my coven leader, Cynthia, told me when I told her.
“But the spell,” I said, confused.
“It doesn’t always hold, and it certainly doesn’t last forever.” She put her hand on my shoulder in sympathy. I became angry with Cynthia then. I knew it wasn’t her fault, but I couldn’t see past that. I will make him mine forever, I vowed.
After we had two children, Anne, and Alice, I made my second spell for love. I did the spell on my own, so it was my mistake if it didn’t work or went horribly wrong.
I made sure that Jake would come back to me in the afterlife and stay with me, always. He would never be able to leave my side. I put arsenic into his tea one afternoon. He smiled at me and put his book down for once. I almost put my hand out to stop him from drinking the poisoned tea.
I clasped my hands together to stop myself. I watched him drink every drop of the tea. I went out for a walk after that and waited. I was always waiting for him. I sat on a fallen tree in the woods, where I called Jake to me in the first place.
I held the red string in my hand. I had braided the first string and wore it as a bracelet. This one, I held and rubbed between my fingers. I heard a twig snap behind me. I turned and I saw Jake. He stood there in his blue jeans and red shirt, but he wasn’t solid anymore. I could see right through him to the other side of the woods.
“Now, you will never leave me,” I told him.
About the Creator
I am Fiona Howell, an Irish musician and a writer hailing from New Hampshire, US. I have two books out on Amazon: The Locked Box and Blackwood. I have three poems published in anthologies by the Peterborough Poetry Project.