Amelia was still sound asleep when I woke up, so I got up and dressed quietly. In the kitchen, Tomas — a large man with a kind smile — gave me a fresh bread roll, an apple and a paper bag of strawberries for breakfast. I thanked him, grabbed a juice box from the fridge and wandered off.

I decided to take a walk, get to know my surroundings. I found an old farmhouse that still had dry piles of hay on the loft, a well I didn’t dare to look down, and a tree that twisted and curved so much it must’ve been a good climb.

I had finished most of my breakfast and was eating the strawberries when I came across a small field a short walk away from the house. Ingrid, the blonde woman I had seen with Hadi and Jonah in the courtyard, was kneeled on the ground collecting what looked like weeds and flowers.

She noticed me immediately, smiled and gestured at me to come closer. I walked over to her, careful not to step on any plants she might want to pick, and took a seat on the ground next to her.

“Oscar, right?” she said.

“Yeah. Strawberry?” I said and offered the bag.

“Thank you,” she said and took one. She put down her woven basket in front of me and asked: “Recognise anything?”

“Uh…” I took a closer look at the plants. I was surprised to find that many of them were familiar. “Rosemary and fennel. Elderflower… and is that yarrow?”

“I’m impressed,” Ingrid said, and she didn’t even sound sarcastic. She picked up her knife again — a small and simple blade, nothing like the intricate silver ones I’d seen some other witches use — and started picking clusters of plants I didn’t recognise.

“I used to know someone who had a big garden,” I explained. “Well, the garden is still there, the person isn’t.”

“That’s a shame. I hope they’re both doing well,” Ingrid said.

“What are you gonna use those for?” I asked and nodded towards the basket.

“Some of them I’ll grind and dry to use later. The fresh ones will be for tomorrow’s hangovers,” she said.

“Oh. Are we having a party?” I asked.

“The entire country is having a party,” Ingrid corrected. “But yes. It’s a special night for us.”

“I thought it was a christian thing, San Juan and everything,” I said. I picked up a blade of grass and started knotting it, just to have something to do with my hands.

“The festival has pagan traditions and a christian name. Just like Christmas,” Ingrid explained.

“I never thought about it like that,” I said. I instinctively brought my hand to the beads around my neck.

“There is no right way to celebrate something. Or believe in something,” she said pointedly.

“I’m not catholic,” I said quickly. “It’s my dad’s. I know I’m not supposed to wear it on my neck.”

“But it makes you believe in something, right? Maybe not a god or heaven, but there’s a reason you wear it,” Ingrid said patiently.

“I guess so,” I said.

Ingrid nodded. “That’s enough of a reason,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said, a little confused.

“My family back home are very devout christians, but they’re very supporting of my powers. You can believe in many things at once,” she said.

“They’re not witches?” I asked. I’d never heard of a witch who had been born into a non-witch family.

“My grandmother was, but my mother isn’t,” Ingrid said.

“Did your grandmother give her magic up or something?” I asked. My mom was supposed to do it before I was born, but hadn’t gone through with it for some reason.

“My grandmother was a witch until the day she died, but for some reason my mother didn’t inherit her powers,” Ingrid clarified.

“So there could’ve been a chance that I wasn’t born a witch,” I muttered. I thought about the prophecy Sibyl, the prophet, had told my mother long before my time. The one that predicted the end of the world by my hands.

“I’m afraid you were always destined to change the world, Oscar. Which path you decide to take, however, is up to you,” Ingrid said. She put her hand on mine and squeezed gently.

“What if there is only one path, and it’s a bad one?” I asked.

“There’s always another,” she promised. She stood up and patted the creases and dirt off her white dress. I followed suit and picked up the basket for her.

“Your uncle is looking for you. Better run back,” she said. She held her arms as if waiting for a hug, and I was confused before I realised she wanted the basket. When I gave it to her, she added: “I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Prophecies never turn out the way you think they will.”

—

Uncle Killian was indeed looking for me. Apparently it was going to be a big day; he wanted to brief Dennis, Amelia and I before it started properly. We sat around the picnic table under a pergola in the courtyard, right next to the pool and the fire pit. Tomas had brought out a pitcher of virgin sangria and glasses for us, as well as a bowl of fresh grapes.

“Today marks the start of the election. It’s a special one since it lands on St. John’s Eve, and both celebrations occur at once,” Killian started. He plucked a couple of grapes off their stems and popped them into his mouth. “The election will start with a formal reading of the Twelve Laws at the courthouse. However, there were no seats left so we’ll be revising them now. Do you remember them?”

I looked at Amelia. I was horrible at remembering things. Dennis had made her flashcards for years, though, so she had no trouble repeating the first one. “By agreement of the Council of Valencia, on July 15th 1901, under a New Moon, those blessed by Magik shall not reveal their blessings to humans. We shall live among them as the same, and any being who reveals their blessings shall be judged by the Council for a crime against the Twelve Laws.”

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“Very good, lass. That’s the most important one, the one that was agreed upon first,” Killian said. “The second law is a trickier one. It lists the six degrees of punishment. Oscar, do you remember any of them?”

“Uh…” I said, feeling dumb. “The first ones are pretty tame, right? Just house arrest and mandatory learning or something.”

Killian nodded. “The sixth degree, which is the punishment for minor crimes, indeed calls for house arrest and rehabilitation by education. The degrees get worse as they go up. Does anyone recall what the punishment of a first degree is?”

“It’s complete exile from the magical community. It occurs when a convict doesn’t agree to any other punishment,” Dennis said.

“Isn’t one of those punishments literal death?” Amelia pointed out. “Of course you’d choose exile over that.”

“Punishment of the second degree is voluntary execution, yes, but exile hurts the convict’s family and friends as well and often leads to death either way. It’s a complicated matter,” Killian said. “Now, the third law. Amelia?”

Amelia struggled with that one. “Isn’t it about reporting crimes to the Council?” she said.

“Yes,” Killian said. He opened our family spell-book and read out loud: “Those blessed by Magik shall inform the Council of any crimes they witness. Not reporting a crime will be met with punishment unless otherwise decided by the Council.”

“I remember the fourth one!” I realised. I couldn’t tell who was more surprised; me or them. “It’s about the elections, right? How a new council is chosen every twelve years.”

“That’s true. It’s quite self explanatory. The fifth one…”

Killian went on with the lesson, listing each of the laws. The fifth law was about prophets; how every prophet was under the protection of the council no matter their crimes or background. Personally, I could never tell the difference between a seer and a prophet.

The sixth law was similar to the fifth. Every mythic was to be trained by an official chosen by the council. I had only ever heard of one mythic — Isobel Whitlock, who had mastered death. I was fairly certain Fiona was a mythic as well, but she had never confirmed it.

The seventh law strictly prohibited necromancy. It was fairly straightforward. The eighth made me feel a little bit sick to my stomach; it banned the creation of new creatures. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to be alive. I had witch blood from my mother’s side, and shapeshifter’s from my father’s. Not that I had been successful in shifting my form more than once. I had tried, every now and then alone in my bedroom, but it never worked.

The ninth law didn’t make me feel any better. It was about the creatures who needed to consume humans to survive. Charon was one of them. He didn’t talk about it much, but I knew that it involved a lot of paperwork and not nearly enough of rations per month to keep him healthy.

The tenth law was another straightforward one. “All spell-books must list the Twelve Laws.” The eleventh was about voting rights. All witches who had come to their magic and hadn’t committed any crimes against the Twelve Laws had the right to vote during the election. Criminals and other creatures had to apply for permissions. It sounded extremely unfair to me.

The final law stated that if the council couldn’t agree on something, the decision would be made by the three highest prophets at the time. What high prophet meant, I had no idea. Maybe they were just stoned all the time; that would explain Sibyl’s behaviour.

“Now, the schedule of the month is quite busy,” Killian said after we had gone through each of the Twelve Laws. “Tomorrow morning, the campaigns begin. Candidates will give speeches, host events and do charity work all around Valencia. I fetched us all programs last night.”

Killian handed each of us a program so thick it was more like a paperback book. The title — The Official Council of Valencia Election Program — was in big, bold font in English and Spanish, and in smaller text in multiple other languages. The background was a vibrant picture of the coastline.

I opened the book and glanced at the table of contents. It listed titles of various speeches and seminars (Werewolves — Lifetime Enemies or Unexpected Allies?, Blood-writing 101: How to make the best out of your spell-book, Why Registering Creatures Works), and events (Blood Drive for the Vampires of Valencia, Testing for Magically Transmitted Diseases).

“You are free to choose which ones you want to attend, but please don’t go to any of them alone at least for the first couple of weeks. We don’t want anyone getting lost or,” Killian glanced at Amelia and I pointedly, “in trouble.”

“A bunch of these look like… not up my alley,” I said.

“There’s something for everyone,” Killian promised. “But do choose carefully. Your schedules will be packed for the month. I want you to pick at least six events from the program and report what you learned to me. I have chosen five seminars I want all four of us to go to together, and we’ll have lessons every day. Once a week, you’ll be trained by Jonah, Ingrid or Cecilia.”

I made a face. I didn’t know much about Jonah, and Ingrid seemed very nice, but I wasn’t looking forward to lessons with Cecilia. I had been looking forward to exploring Valencia and lounging at the beach.

“I did say this was going to be an educational trip. Not a holiday,” Killian pointed out when he saw me and Amelia’s faces. Dennis looked more neutral, but I imagined he wasn’t too happy either.

“Will we have any free time?” Amelia asked.

“I’ll try to have your weekends fairly empty,” Killian said sympathetically. That sounded good enough for me.

—

At sunset, we gathered around the fire pit. The flames were so tall that if I hadn’t known they were magical, I would’ve thought they were hazardous. Everyone was offered drinks — even Amelia, Hadi and I. None of the adults drank it yet, though, so I just inspected it with my eyes and nose. The liquid was clear and smelled strongly of alcohol and the abundance of herbs that had been stuffed into it.

We were joined by at least a dozen new people who didn’t reside in the Caballero House. They were all adults, so Hadi, Amelia and I were still the only teenagers. Hadi hadn’t spared a single glance our way though. He focused on chatting with Cecilia in fast-paced French. I wouldn’t have been able to follow even if I knew French.

Cecilia had switched into more casual clothes, a red dress that matched her nails and lipstick. Ingrid had a white summer dress on that flopped and twirled in the wind. She also wore a large flower crown on her head. Killian wore thin slacks and a dress shirt, and Dennis had a similar affair. Amelia and I were in just our usual clothes, denim shorts and t-shirts, so I felt a bit underdressed.

Jonah walked to the opposite side of the fire pit from me. I could barely see his face through the flames. He was dressed in a deep red suit and held the same drink as everyone else in his hand. He raised it theatrically and spoke. His voice was so velvety he might as well have been a siren.

“Dear friends,” he started, “old and new. We all know what the next month entails. But as always, tonight, we forget about politics. Tonight we gather as a family, share our lives and memories with each other, and most importantly…” He paused to smile and look around. “Tonight, we have a good time. All of us.”

He drank. Everyone followed suit, including me. I tried not to make a face or sputter the drink out when the taste hit me. It was awful. Amelia stuck her tongue out in disgust after swallowing.

Tomas started going around the fire pit. He took everyone’s glasses and replaced them with new ones. This drink looked more appetising; I recognised it as a mojito. People started scattering all around the courtyard and chatting, so I figured I was safe to suck through the straw without waiting for someone else to do it first.

Some of the adults finished their cocktails fast and moved on to beers. Others started smoking by the pool. I glanced at Amelia. Neither of us really knew what to do. Everyone else already knew each other; Killian was talking enthusiastically with two women with wine in their hands, and Dennis was engaged in a conversation with an older man who smoked a cigar.

“We should’ve just gone to the beach,” Amelia said under her breath.

“We could still go,” I pointed out. “It’s not a long walk to the nearest tram stop.”

“He did say all of us are supposed to have a good time tonight,” Amelia said.

So, it was decided. Amelia grabbed her backpack from our room and sneaked a six pack of beers into it. I grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen. It took us about fifteen minutes to walk to the tram stop. We were already buzzed, so the quarter hour felt like just a few minutes. We waited for the tram next to a young couple and a group of college boys.

“Do we know how late the last trams go?” I asked.

“Nope,” Amelia said. I shrugged. We had gone through worse.