“By what right do you lay claim to the title of Head Witch?”

“The right of my bloodline, being the eldest child of the last Head Witch, whose coven name was Brightstar.”

“What is to be your coven name, daughter of Brightstar?”

I hesitate. Up to this point I was too young to take a coven name, and so have used my given name, but as Head Witch this will not serve. All leaders of the Lazarus Coven must have coven names, and they are important. I have agonized over my choice for many sleepless nights since my father’s death. A witch’s name must mean something, must signify some quality or strength or aspect of that person’s nature that is important and special to them. For a Head Witch it is imperative the name fit, or it will not be respected. I will not be respected. I raise my chin and force my voice to ring out clear and strong.

“I will be called Morningstar,” I declare.

There is a collective intake of breath among the coven members, like the shocked gasp of a wounded giant. It is a response I understand.

The Master of the Chalice is driven to question me on my choice.

“Why have you selected such a name?” he demands. “You must have known this would be a contentious decision, child. Explain yourself.”

Slowly I turn on the spot where I stand so that my answer is directed at all of the assembled company. I must show that I am not afraid of any of them.

“I know that there are those among you who believe this name is synonymous with Lucifer, and so hold that it is another name for the devil. But I believe it stands for the star that is bright enough to shine in the daytime, to outshine even the sun. The star that in this way links the night with the day, as it is visible in both. For me this is the perfect symbol for the position of Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven, standing as I must between life and death, holding the hand of the living while communing with the dead. What could better represent my role? And if the name could be taken to refer to one who fell from the light into the darkness, might that not serve as a warning to others? A warning against pride and ambition beyond the good of the coven?”

There is a great deal of whispering among the witches, whispering that grows gradually louder and more forceful until the Master of the Chalice is compelled to strike the floor with his staff again to restore order and quiet.

“It is the prerogative of the nominee to select their own name,” he reminds the dissenters. “We will proceed. The candidate will step into the sacred circle.”