Coventry Coven

Sam pressed her back against the door, her arches already aching and her shoulders heavy. Her family stood on the other side, their voices — too low for Sam to hear — dropping like hail on the old wood floors. The scent of hyacinths filled the church, pollen clinging in the lace crescents of Sam’s dress. The flowers demanded to be smelt, and the dress had been designed to be heavy — designed to be felt. 

And Sam was feeling it alright, tightening around her ribs as she bent to the floor. She pulled out a hair pin, the prick of its edge no less sharp for its absence, and stuck her fingers until they bled, drawing the smallest of stars at her feet. From beneath the layers of lace, she wrestled free a sachet of salt and scattered it carefully. 

The star shimmered and she spoke quickly.

“Samantha Hastings. I need an exit. Holy place.”

A warbling chime slipped through the star, then the blood shivered with a near silent crackle. Another echoed from the desk, louder. Sam staggered up and tore open the drawers. From the very top came a girl, stretching up from among the pens. She was a slight thing, not more than ten, with a drooping pointed hat and black robes and a pair of bright red gumboots. Golden spells had been woven into her sleeves, dancing merrily around a stitched badge that read Cathy – Coventry Coven.

“Ooh, a bride!” The girl clasped her hands beneath her chin, smiling widely. She was missing one of her bottom teeth. “Before or after the vows?”

“Before,” Sam murmured, glancing nervously at the door. 

“Excellent, makes my job easier. Is that hyacinth I smell?”

“They’ve covered the aisle.” It was beautiful actually, perfect except for the groom and the dress and the whole wedding business. 

“Sending some mixed messages. Guests?”

“Three brothers, my parents, his parents, about three dozen uncles, aunts and cousins.”

“No friends?”

“None of mine.” Her brow creased, worry gnawing at her lips. “You can do this, right?”

“Oh yes,” the girl grinned. “Just seeing how much fun it’ll be. You ever hopped before?” Sam shook her head. “Best take off those shoes then, it can be a bit bumpy on landing.” 

The girl stepped out of the desk, growing a little taller, flipped the drooping end of her hat over her other shoulder, and took Sam’s arm in her own.

 “It’ll just be a hop, skip and a jump to the street. Aggie’s out front, she’ll take you on to the coven and they’ll sort out where to send you.”

“I was hoping for Milan,” Sam said wistfully.

“Well sure,” Cathy said, raking her eyes up and down Sam’s dress. “In that?”

“I don’t want to hear that from basic black.”

“No need to get testy, Hyacinth.” She scuffed the summoning circle with the toe of her gumboot, then drew from a pocket a small vial of glitter. Sam jerked her hem back and the girl huffed. “It washes off! Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Sam grimaced, trying not to watch the glitter cling and stick in the lace. It glowed blue, smoking lightly, the smell shifting between sour watermelon and sweet candy apple depending on the breath. Cathy linked their arms, one foot raised.

“On three. One, two — ”

They hopped. There was a tightness, like all the air squeezing out of a balloon, then a grating noise. The little room twisted away, and they landed on a stairwell overlooking the altar. They ducked behind the railing, their arrival hidden in the murmur of guests. Sam peered through the bars, spotting Pete at the front. He looked good, happy as he waited by the priest, and a part of Sam — the part from when Pete’s stubbornness was still an attraction and not an obstacle — surged with guilt. It didn’t last long. 

“Skip next,” Cathy whispered, glancing down the stairs and to the vestibule. “We’ll have to be quick about it though. Ready?”

Sam took her arm again. The glitter on her dress glowed mowed-grass green. They rose and Pete’s eyes glanced against Sam’s. Cathy lurched them forward in a skip—  

The railing swelled then shrunk and they were ten steps away from it. Another skip. The stairs gaped, guests gasping as they staggered down the last two. Pete was rushing towards them now. Sam pushed the next skip on and Cathy, her legs so much shorter, staggered with a hop.

Sam grunted as she slammed into wood, cutting off a curse as the door gave and they tumbled out of a confessional and into the thick of the guests. 

“Sam!” Pete called. “What on earth are you— ”

Hands reached out, but Cathy scrambled faster, dragging them into a series of skips that had Sam’s head spinning. Altar — aisle — stairway. In the vestibule, her skip turned into a leap and Sam landed, barefoot and breathing hard, on the stone steps outside. Sam doubled over, both squeezed for breath and overfull. Another witch was perched on a stone lion, younger than Cathy and freckled all over, two brooms laying across her lap.

“Steady on there,” she said pleasantly, rising with childhood ease. “Broom for Samantha Hastings?”

“That’s – me,” Sam gasped, forcing herself upright. 

“Better hurry, Aggie. Groom’s right on our tail.”

“Will you be alright?” Sam asked. 

“Just fine, Miss,” Cathy waved her off, grinning, and her eyes took on a strange yellowness.  

“Here, Miss,” Aggie said, passing one of the brooms. It looked plain enough, save for being strangely stiff and embossed with gold. “Just hold on tight and keep me in sight, the spells will do the rest.”

“Thank you, girls,” Sam said with sudden feeling. “I really don’t know what else I’d have done. Pete’s not a bad man. Just not —  not mine, you know?”

“No worries, Miss,” Aggie said kindly. “We get a lot of brides in our line of business. All sorts with all kinds of reasons. It’ll all be better once the day’s done.”

 “Good luck in Milan, Miss,” Cathy added, waving as the brooms rose. Sam held on tightly, every wobble threatening to unseat her, and when she turned back to wish Cathy well, a tabby cat had taken her place, curled up between the paws of the stone lion to enjoy the failing evening light. 

Sam turned back to Aggie, the broom jumping to follow her gaze, just as the church doors opened and Pete spilled out. By then, she was enjoying the height far too much to bother looking back.