Trial by Fire

Lily let the words sink in. “She fully funded a college for scientists?”


“She did. Lillian started out as the most liberal Salem Witch in history. And then she changed.” Tristan’s face fell suddenly, and his blue eyes filled with sadness. “They were the first people she rounded up, you know. The people in her own college. The kids she sent to work camps. The older ones she hanged.”

Lily stared at the dark windows, and imagined the horror of that last day of school. She could nearly hear the sound of marching boots and screams echoing through the now vacant rooms.

Tristan stood, ending the conversation. “Come on. He’ll throw a fit if you stay out here any longer.”




The fire was high, the cauldron bubbled and steamed, and the sun blazed through all of the windows and skylights in Rowan’s apartment. The great room was already swelteringly hot when Lily joined Tristan and Rowan on the black square of silk in front of the hearth.

“It’s a sauna in here,” Lily complained. She flapped her hands, trying to wave a breeze into the robe Rowan had told her to wear to this afternoon’s ritual instead of the silk slip. “What are we making today? Deep-fried witch?”

Rowan and Tristan smiled at her joke, but neither of them laughed. Their eyes were hazy and their breathing slow. Their willstones heaved with sluggish light, indicating that they were in a half trance. Lily had seen Rowan and Tristan in a trance like state before. Every day at dawn, they did a series of exercises that Lily insisted was a form of yoga, even though they’d never heard the word. At the end of their exercises, they both sat cross-legged and meditated deeply. But this was different. They’d never put themselves in a trance for a ritual before.

Today, they were both wearing white shorts, and sweat slicked their nearly naked bodies. Lily wished she could focus on Tristan alone, but her eyes always seemed to wander back to Rowan. In front of his folded legs was a small wooden bowl, filled with a bright red paste, and next to it, a paintbrush. Tristan sat behind Rowan and to his right. In front of him was a long strip of gauze folded into a large pile.

“What are we making today?” Lily repeated, seriously this time.

“We’re moving away from small magic and into the second level. Healing magic,” Rowan replied, his hazy eyes focusing on Lily. “Sachem needs anti-infection tabs. There’s been an outbreak of fever and lots of Outlander children are dying.”

“Okay,” Lily said with a firm nod. “What do I do?”

“Take off your robe and lie down in front of me,” Rowan said.

Lily balked. She was only wearing panties under the robe. After a bit of hemming and hawing, she met Rowan’s level gaze and sighed.

“Well, it is for the children,” she said, and shimmied shyly out of her robe, covering as much of herself as she could with her hands. Rowan couldn’t seem to help himself and cracked a smile, which helped to ease some of Lily’s nerves. She lowered herself to the floor and stretched herself out in front of him, arms still draped over her breasts.

Even though it was unbearably hot in front of the fire, Lily’s skin puckered with goose bumps. She could feel Rowan’s breath falling on her from above. His gaze felt like touch, skimming over her like the downy edge of a bird’s wing, over her belly, her breasts, and her thighs. Gently, he lifted one arm and then the other, and lay them by her sides, then picked up the wooden bowl and the paintbrush and positioned himself at her feet. Tristan stood and went to the fire, throwing a large cord of wood onto the flames. The fire roared. Lily’s willstones echoed the power of the fire, and the rose stone flashed with a bright light. Lily felt herself fill with heat.