Their hands clasped together. Bethan clutched Elnora’s on her left and Circe’s on her right. Agatha stood, holding Circe’s other hand, her other with a stranger.

She hadn’t realised the witches started chanting in the old linear. Chorus-like voices echoed through the temple; she shut her eyes and whispered the worship’s intricate enchantment to the three goddesses, hoping they’d return her magic. But she knew, deep down, these goddesses did not exist, and neither did the Devil.

‘Banseth Le Adom. Savire Lev Trine,’ they repeated.

The Trine was not watching her like the scriptures said. They did not usher anyone to a life of fulfilment or into Hestgartia, the heavens. If they were, her sister would be here, standing next to her—

Elnora squeezed her hand. Bethan opened one eye and peeked at the grey mist of power floating around everyone’s hands and fingertips but her own.

Her heart sank.

Lower than it already had.

She pulled her hand away from her friends. Letting the long sleeves of the pitiful white gown fall past her fingertips.

She knew she looked ridiculous wearing a gown two sizes too big. She hadn’t planned on coming, and she threw away her last gown when her powers vanished. When she arrived at the ancient temple, she and Elnora ran straight to the lost property to fish out an old shift from the three-metre-high bin. Her current gown was the only one they’d found, much to Bethan’s dismay.

Although, it was hilarious watching Elnora dive into the bin headfirst with her high heels dangling out of it. Bethan wished she wasn’t there because she wouldn’t be silently praying for her magic to come back. She would be in bed, reading a book of the romance persuasion, ignoring her problems.

She wouldn’t be watching the Grey Witches perform the Small magic she no longer had.

It is the most common form of witchcraft—and the simplest, the other lines of the craft rare or extinct. Small magic took the form of a grey mist; when Bethan had that magic, she would describe it as looking like the night sky since it would look like tiny glimmers of gold she thought were little stars.

She glared at her hand, as if waiting for that grey magic to return.

With another nudge, she noticed six pairs of eyes on her. The enchantment had stopped, and the witches had filed out. But others like her and her friends lingered on.

‘It’s okay—’ Elnora said.

‘There are a lot of older witches here, participating in the rite, and they don’t have any magic,’ Agatha said in an airy voice.

Circe palmed her forehead, letting out a disappointed laugh.

‘Yes, comparing her to matron witches is the exact thing she’d want to hear.’ Sarcasm laced Circe’s voice. That made Agatha wince at her words.