I didn’t mean to forget about the dream. I didn’t even forget, really, since it nagged at the bag of my mind at least once an hour. Telling the others about it was a different story. Logically, I should’ve told them right away. Dreams don’t always come true, but with one like that you can never be too careful — one that included the crow. Seeing everyone’s excited faces as we landed, though, I didn’t want to ruin it.

We had a whole month in Spain. I could wait until the next day.

It was a two hour train ride to Valencia. Killian and Dennis spent it talking in hushed voices and going through some papers. Amelia and I looked out the window and marvelled at the views.

There was a car waiting for us in Valencia, rented by Killian. It was a much better fit than the Mini, and even had working air conditioning so no one had to conjure up a magical breeze. We drove it to the outskirts of the city and up a green hill. On top of the hill, there was a big house with a terracotta roof. It was the Caballero House, Killian had told us on the way. Our residence for the month.

A woman was waiting for us in front of the house. Her legs were ten miles long, she was skinny like girls in fashion magazines, her hair was sleek and black and she looked like she never smiled. She had a long cigarette between her lips and a leather wallet lodged between her underarm and side.

“Cecilia,” Killian greeted as he got out of the car, smiling widely.

“Killian,” the woman said coldly. The rest of us got out of the car and started pulling out the bags.

“I hope you don’t mind, we’re a tad late. Dennis here couldn’t spot his suitcase,” Killian said. He didn’t seem to mind Cecilia’s attitude at all.

“You’re here now,” Cecilia said. Now that she said a full sentence, I was able to place her accent; she was French. Maybe Amelia was right about all French people being smokers.

“Everyone, this is Cecilia Bouchard,” Killian said once all the suitcases and bags were out and we were in a neat line in front of Cecilia, who didn’t seem to be wanting any introductions. Killian went on with it anyway. “Oscar, my nephew. Bella’s son, you know who he is, I’ve told you… And this is Dennis Highmore. Brilliant young man, absolutely brilliant. Much potential. And this young lady here is Amelia Highmore, just as brilliant herself. Incredible illusionist…”

Amelia practically glowed at the compliment. Dennis kept it cooler, but I could see a red tint in his cheeks.

“Pleasure,” Cecilia said bluntly.

“Well. We know the way in — or I do, they don’t. Dinner is at ten, yes?” Killian rambled to fill in the silence. It was odd because Killian rarely rambled, unless some rare old book was involved. Either he was a different man in Europe, or there was some history between him and the ice queen of Valencia.

“As always,” Cecilia said and raised an eyebrow. That seemed to ignite something in Killian because for a second, he could do nothing but stare. Then, he walked into the house without another word and we had to scamper and hurry after him. I swear I could see Cecilia’s lips turn upwards before she was out of my sight.

Inside the house was a welcome change in the air. It was perfectly cool; enough so to feel refreshing after the humid air outside, but not too cold.

Killian took us to a narrow hallway with four doors on each side. Two of them were bathrooms, the rest bedrooms. He explained that Dennis was to stay with someone called Tomas, Killian himself would get his own room (unfair) and Amelia and I got to share.

The room had spartan decor; it was clearly not in full-time use. There was a single bed against each wall, and a window in the middle that opened into a terracotta tiled courtyard with a pool, a sitting area and a fire pit. Next to each bed was a nightstand, and against the wall opposite the window was a big empty wardrobe.

While Amelia started putting her clothes away into the wardrobe, I put my hands on the windowsill and looked out. There was a small group of people by the pool. One of them was a handsome older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a stubbly beard. He was instructing a tall black boy who looked around my age. He had a healed scar across his brow.

The boy’s face was still with concentration. His lips barely moved as he chanted something that I couldn’t hear all the way in our room. The instructor paced behind him slowly, mostly observing but giving direction when he felt like it was needed.

The third person was a small blonde woman with freckles all over. She was sitting on a bench behind the others and peeling a basket of oranges, glancing over at the boy every now and then.

There was a flash in the boy’s eyes, and his tense shoulders relaxed. I could almost feel all the energy he was letting out. And then, just like in the bible story my dad had once told me, the water in the pool parted.

The man laughed and clapped and the woman smiled proudly. The boy let out a breathy laugh as well. The two masses of water rose into the air. They trembled ever so slightly, peppering the courtyard with rain, but kept their form.

“That is seriously impressive,” Amelia said, sounding flabbergasted. She had joined me at the window at some point. “That’s a complicated spell, and not to mention the weight of all that water…”

“It’s not very useful though, is it?” I pointed out. Not that I wasn’t impressed; for a boy my age, what he did was insane. I’d been completely spent after my first official lesson, and all I had done was ancum.

“Could be. And I think it’s just for training anyway.” Amelia shrugged.

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We watched as the boy started lowering the water back in the pool. Evidently, this took much more concentration out of him. I could see his face glisten with sweat. The masses of water wobbled and splashed on the boy and the man. The woman wasn’t troubled by it; she stayed completely dry under what looked like an invisible umbrella.

After a considerable amount of struggle, the water was back in the pool — or most of it, anyway. The surface was a bit lower than it used to be. The boy’s knees buckled and he sat next to the woman clumsily. She gave him a handful of orange slices, which he ate gratefully.

The man snapped his fingers and said something. A long, green snake slithered into view, past his feet and hung off the pool’s edge— No, it wasn’t a snake. It was a garden hose, and it started spewing water into the pool.

“Cool,” Amelia said. I agreed very much.

The door creaked open behind us. It was Uncle Killian. “Dennis and I are going into town in about an hour if you want to come with us. We’ll grab something to eat and maybe explore a bit,” he said.

“Sounds fun,” I said, and Amelia nodded.

Killian looked curiously at the window, which we were still glued to. He said: “Ah, yes. Jonah and Ingrid are having Hadi do some endurance training. Seems to be going well.”

“Can we try that as well?” Amelia asked.

“Maybe. Not today, though,” Killian said. He gave us a polite smile and left, closing the door behind him.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” Amelia asked as she flopped on her bed.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be wicked,” I said and sat down next to her. We grinned at each other widely.

The reason Killian had brought all of us to Spain was the election that happened every twelve years. The election for the Council of Valencia, which made up the judges and the juries of the magical world. Below the surface, Killian had told me, they were much more than that; they were practically the government for us.

The elections were a month-long operation, and witches from all around the world came to see and vote. For anyone that wasn’t interested in politics, it was more about the gathering than the election. Killian thought it was a good idea for us to see it.

—

“Why did they pick Valencia anyway?” I asked as we waited for our lunch at a small restaurant in the centre of the city. Only the bars and restaurants were open, and the streets that had been bustling when we drove through were now clear from everyone but tourists. Uncle Killian called it a ‘siesta’, which apparently took place in the whole country around lunchtime.

“They debated the location of the council for years — seven of them, if I remember correctly,” Killian said. He sat back, getting into his storytelling mode that Amelia, Dennis and I loved. He took a sip of wine. “Italy was a popular choice, but Rome is a werewolf sanctuary and so is most of the country. They didn’t want an annual gathering of witches in their turf. They almost settled on Athens, but it turned out two of the council members were banned from the city. A wealthy couple in Thailand offered a considerable donation to have the council in their city, but that never happened. Eventually, they settled on Valencia.”

“But why Valencia?” Amelia repeated my question.

“Well, it’s very easy to get to, isn’t it? Europeans can travel using magical methods or even public transport. The ocean is right there, so anyone coming from somewhere further away can sail. And of course, it’s quite simple to get a plane ride these days,” Killian explained.

“I thought there’d be, like, some sort of cool history behind it… Not that your story isn’t cool, Mr. Monroe!” Amelia said.

“Yes, well,” Killian chuckled. “The city does have over 2000 years of history. The Spanish Inquisition was an issue for nearly 400 years; there were thousands of witch trials during that period, but not many actual witches were convicted. The real magical history of Valencia is less well known.”

“But you know about it, don’t you?” I said smartly.

“Naturally,” Killian said with a twinkle in his eyes. But right then, our food arrived; a big plate of fresh bread still steaming, bowls of red soup and frosty glasses of soda for Amelia and I, and more wine for Killian and Dennis.

The soup was cold (and not because the cooks screwed up; Killian said it’s supposed to be served cold), which was actually nice since it was such a warm day. I dipped so much bread in it that by the time we were done with the soup and ready for the next course, I was worried I wouldn’t fit any more food into my belly.

Luckily it looked and smelled so good that after a small break, I was happy to keep shovelling food into my mouth. I had something called Pisto; cooked veggies with chorizo. Killian had paella, but it had clams in it so when he offered a taste I declined politely. Amelia had some sort of an omelette, and Dennis got empanadas.

For dessert, all of us got ice cream. Dennis was feeling brave and ordered a sangria even after three glasses of wine. He was red in the face and much more talkative than usual, which amused Amelia and I greatly.

“I reckon you need to take advantage of the siesta now, lad,” Killian told him patiently after paying. Dennis waved his hand dismissively and almost fell over in his seat.

“Can Ames and I stay?” I asked quickly. We’d only been in the city a couple of hours, so naturally I didn’t want to go back yet. There wasn’t much to do at the house.

“Nothing is open for another half an hour or so,” Killian warned us.

“It’s fine, we’ll figure something out,” Amelia said. She looked very determined.

“Fine. Don’t wander too far off and meet me here at eight, alright?” Killian said defeatedly.

“Yes!” I quipped. Amelia held a hand up and I high five’d her.

While waiting for the city to wake up again, Amelia and I sat at the edge of a fountain. We were accompanied by a number of old statues that posed gracefully in the water, and refreshed by the cold mist that sprayed at our backs. I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to sit there, but there was no one around to tell us off.

We watched as people started trickling back to the streets. Some were refreshed, some looked uninspired to get back to work. There were a couple of kids our age passing flyers to anyone who stayed still long enough, which included us.

“What does it say?” Amelia asked. The flyer was in Spanish. There were pictures of bonfires and fireworks, and a bit of info in the back.

“Noche de San Juan. It’s the shortest night of the year,” I said. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Do you think we could go?” Amelia said.

“I’ll ask Killian,” I promised; it did look fun.

Once everything started opening back up, we got popsicles from a small corner store and began to wander the streets. Neither of us had seen so many old buildings at once — back home, things dated back only a few hundred years and most old things had been replaced by new ones. Here, everything was ancient. It was really cool.

When we passed a convent, a gaggle of nuns looked at me disapprovingly and I decided it was the best to tuck my dad’s old rosary under my shirt.

After finishing our popsicles, we took a tram to the beach. People had started setting up bonfires already; different groups, families and communities had their own sites littered across the sand. I imagined there was fight over the best spots.

We hadn’t packed any swimwear so we didn’t go in the water, but we walked almost a mile along the coastline. I took my sandals off to walk barefoot. It felt completely surreal that we were in Spain. The ocean was so much different here — it was gentler, warmer. Even the sand under my feet felt different.

Our clothes were sandy and our hair was curly with salty ocean mist when we made our way back to the Caballero House.