Father Sheahan called me a miracle of the Lord. He told everyone about me, every convent and church he could reach, tried to send a message to the Vatican about a child who had survived a house fire without as much as a blister. Of course, the pope never answered to his letters.

A friendly abbess did reach out to him, and got me a spot in an orphanage by the sea. It was a harsh Catholic institute on top of a black cliff. Sometimes, if the waves were tall enough, you could taste salt in the air. Being raised by nuns, although not as bad as being raised by my father alone, was not an easy life. They didn’t like the abnormal, and the older I got, the more peculiar things started happening around me.

On the coldest days of winter, the other children would cram themselves into my room because it was the only one where their lips didn’t turn blue. When older girls picked on me, they often found themselves in strange situations the next day — on one horrifying occasion, the ocean below.

In conclusion, the nuns didn’t like me. They thought I was a troublemaker, and it didn’t help when they caught me and one Rosie MacGorman under the stairs. She was sent somewhere else and I never saw her again and I had to do dishes for the remainder of the year, which was just over eight months.

Despite all the other nuns’ complaints, the abbess refused to send me anywhere. She had made a promise to Father Sheahan, whom she apparently had some sort of history with. I never found out what they’d been through together, but I had to assume it was something life-changing to keep me there.

I was just past thirteen that summer, when a man and a woman came to visit. I say man, but he couldn’t have been more than four years older than me. He was tall and black, possibly the most handsome person anyone in the orphanage had ever met. He wore a golden pendant around his neck; the head of a deer, and Gaelic lettering around it.

The woman was a head shorter than the man, but it was her presence that made the room dead silent. She had a black cane with the same deer head symbol carved into the handle. Her hair was red, like mine, but she had it in beautiful intricate braids that my untamed curls could never achieve. The best I could ever do was two frizzy braids barely held together.

She had terrifying grey eyes. The kind of eyes that could pierce through a person, cold as ice. Everyone else avoided them, but I felt drawn to them. They were challenging me.

“Fiona O’Beirne,” she said, and her voice boomed in the entrance hall like she had a microphone.

I stepped forward. I could feel the the nuns’ and children’s stares on me, but I didn’t look at them. I kept my eyes on the woman. “That’s me,” I told her.

“You will refer to me as Miss Dalton. Is that clear?” she said in a strict voice. Not strict like the nuns, but strict like she would kill me right there if I didn’t comply.

“Yes, Miss Dalton,” I said. I might’ve imagined it, but I thought she looked pleased.

“These children,” Miss Dalton said, now referring to the abbess, who had appeared behind me and had a claw-like hand on my shoulder. “They are all orphans, yes?”

“That is correct, Miss,” the abbess answered. Her grip on me tightened.

“We’ll take that one, then,” Miss Dalton said bluntly and nodded towards me. “Badru, would you please retrieve her belongings?”

“Now, wait one minute—“ the abbess started frantically, but Badru was already gone. There were stifled gasps — no one had seen him leave. Miss Dalton was the only one who didn’t look phased.

“Is there a problem?” she asked calmly.

“Yes! We’ve had one of your— your lot, come here before, and we made a promise, we would never again send a child with the likes of you!” the abbess fumed. “You are ones with the devil! To have her go with you would be to doom her to hell!”

“So you would rather deal with her yourselves, then?” Miss Dalton challenged with a raised eyebrow. She didn’t seem too concerned about dooming me to hell, which I found a bit offensive. I knew better than to interrupt adults, though.

“We’ve dealt with them before. There’s nothing hard work and a sharp ruler can’t fix,” the abbess said confidently.

“This is not a matter you can fix,” Miss Dalton hissed. She clicked the base of her cane on the stone floor, and an ear-piercing CRACK! echoed in the hall, and possibly throughout the entire building. The abbess stepped back, forcing me to go along with her. “If you keep her here, untrained and unaware of her abilities, you’ll sentence your own deaths.”

“What abilities?” I piped in. The abbess held onto my shoulder so hard it hurt.

“You are special, lass. If you come with Badru and I, we will show you how to make something of yourself. Something great,” Miss Dalton said. She looked almost proud, like she could already tell what she could make of me. And for a moment, I could tell as well. I imagined a life outside of the orphanage, in a big house where people could afford golden emblems and nice clothes. Someplace warm, where people cared.

“The girl’s belongings, Miss,” said Badru, who was on Miss Dalton’s side again. He hadn’t broken a sweat even though I knew he would’ve had to run several stairs up and down to make it back so quick. He was holding the dusty old bag I’d come to the orphanage with, and it looked embarrassingly light.

“Thank you, love,” Miss Dalton said. A ghost of a smile danced on her face.

“Where— How did—“ The abbess was so confused in that moment that I discovered the opportunity to wrestle myself out of her grip and stumble to the side of the hall where Miss Dalton and Badru stood.

Miss Dalton smiled crookedly at me, and I found the courage to smile back. “I’m going with them,” I announced.

“Good lass,” Miss Dalton said.

“That is not up for you to decide, girl!” the abbess shouted.

“I’m afraid it is, Mary,” Miss Dalton said. Everyone’s eyes went wide; no one ever used the abbess’ first name. “We will come visit again if a situation calls for it. Goodbye.”

With the abbess left gaping where she stood, Miss Dalton and Badru started making their way out. I took in the scene; the other children, some of them my friends, struck with impress and jealousy, and the nuns speechless.

Miss Dalton didn’t stop; she was already at the doors. Badru, on the other hand, turned to look at me and said: “Coming?”

I took a few running steps to catch up, and he put a warm hand on my shoulder. He didn’t grip it like the abbess did, he didn’t hold on to me like he owned me. He was grounding and guiding me towards Miss Dalton.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

There was a car outside. It reminded me of the old film with guns and men in black suits I’d once caught one of the nuns watching on the telly. There was no driver, but we all sat in the back seats which were surprisingly roomy.

“Can you please go get some of the other girls as well, Miss Dalton?” I asked as Badru buckled my seat belt. “It’s a really bad place, you see, it’s cold and the nuns are terrible—“

“No,” Miss Dalton said.

“Oh.”

“They are not special like us, Fiona. They will grow up to be housewives and secretaries. You will be so much more,” Miss Dalton explained. That upset me a little. Sure, most of the girls at the orphanage weren’t the brightest, but they all had potential. Sister MacColgan used to say that there was no man’s job that a woman couldn’t do better.

Then, Miss Dalton did something incredible. She tapped her cane on the floor, and right on cue the car started on its own. The wheel turned and the gas pedal pressed down like there was an invisible driver there, but I reached to wave my hand in the air above the seat and there was no one there. The car was driving itself.

“Cool,” I whispered.

“You will do much cooler things than that, little crow,” Miss Dalton chuckled.

The drive took hours. I’d never had to sit still for so long, but Badru entertained me with a book he had pulled out of nowhere. They were fairytales, but not the ones I had heard over and over again throughout my childhood. These were something completely different. They sounded real, they sounded like he had been there when the adventures happened. My favourite was the story of a boy who turned into a crow to save his family.

We only stopped once, at a dimly lit gas station where the only customer besides us was a tired looking lorry driver. We ate greasy food, which tasted a million times better than the stuff they had at the orphanage, and Miss Dalton even bought us all chocolate bars. She told me to go to the bathroom there because we wouldn’t get to another one for a while.

When we got back to the self-driving car, I wondered where we were and most importantly, where we were going. The lady behind the counter at the gas station had an Irish accent, so we hadn’t left the country, at least yet.

I must have dozed off after the meal because the next thing I knew, the car had stopped moving. It was pitch black except for the crescent moon and stars, and an impressive Gothic building that towered a hundred or so feet from us.

“Welcome to Mother Aoife Nic Ciaraín Irish Coven,” Miss Dalton said proudly, leaning on her cane, as we climbed out of the car.

“Is there not a shorter name?” I asked. Badru stifled a laugh.

“You can take that up with the Mother herself if you wish,” Miss Dalton said, and then added in a lower voice: “Not that she’s listened to anyone so far.”

“The Mother? Like Mother Superior?” I asked.

“No, lass. We are a coven, not a convent. I can see why some get it confused,” Miss Dalton answered. We started making our way towards the building, which became more intimidating as we got closer.

“What’s a coven?”

“An institute of witches.”

I laughed nervously, but shut up promptly when Miss Dalton looked my way seriously. “Are you both witches?” I asked.

“Yes,” Badru said.

“Am I a witch?”

“We’ll see,” Miss Dalton said, a glint in her eye. “You have the gift of Magik, but whether you choose the life that comes with it is up to you. We will educate you, train you and mentor you, and if we deem you worthy by the end of it, you are welcome to join our coven.”

—

I was trained along with about a dozen or so other girls and six boys, by Miss Dalton and Badru. The Mother showed up at lessons every now and then. She looked younger than I had imagined, but her eyes had seen at least a hundred years. On her belt she wore two small deer skulls that clunked against each other hollowly when she walked.

The adults quickly realised I was different from the rest of the children. I learned faster, but my magic was less tame. I could touch fire without being burned. I could make fire, if I really wanted to. It shouldn’t have been possible, they said.

One night Mother Aoife told me about Mythics. Powerful witches of legends, born once a century if that. Mythics could harness a single element. Water, the winds, even death. I had been chosen by fire.

Badru was the only person I talked about it with. I had grown very close to him; he was almost like a brother to me. He never hesitated to back me up or offer me a listening ear on late nights. He was my family, more so than my father, anyone at the orphanage or Miss Dalton had ever been.

At fifteen, I felt that I was ready to go my own way. I had learned as much as I could in Mother Aoife’s coven; it was time to see what the rest of the world could teach me. Miss Dalton said that it was too early. She said my magic, especially my fire, was still too unpredictable. Of course, I didn’t listen.

Even Badru, who was always supportive, said that he would’ve liked me to stay a little longer. He begged me, even. He was prone to visions, you see — he was no prophet like Sibyl, but a seer nevertheless. He had dreamed of our home on fire, and not just any fire. Magical, tall flames.

I told him it must’ve been just a nightmare. I left the next day.

For sixth months, I travelled more than other children my age could have dreamed of. All around Europe, Malaysia, Indonesia, Australia, Mexico, Chile, Iran, Namibia, Egypt… I made money by practicing my charms, which were almost as good as a siren’s.

In a small town near the border between Malaysia and Thailand, I came across a prophet. He was a withered old man, almost dead. I asked him if he could tell my future.

He told me of a great prophecy, which all seers had seen. It was to decide the fate of the next millennia. It was about a two-blooded son, three fates on his shoulders, and a dead witch. I asked him what it had to do with me, but he would not give me a straight answer. He only said that if I played my cards right, I could bring back what was once mine. Bring back a life.

At first, I thought he meant my father. I had never known the man well, and had no desire to bring him back. So, I kept the prophet’s words in the back of my mind but never thought twice about them. That is, until I returned home.

I had never seen so much blood in my entire life. The corpses of my peers and my teachers, scattered across the house that had once been a new beginning, a hope. And Badru, the only family I had ever had, was still barely hanging on to life.

“Wolves,” he croaked when I got to him, kneeled by his near lifeless body. My clothes were drenched in his blood within seconds. “A pack from America, led by a grey wolf with one eye.”

He died in my arms, and the fires of my rage ate our home. Badru was the kindest man I had ever met. He deserved to live a long life, a happy life. The last thing he said to me was that he didn’t want to go yet.

—

Miss Dalton had once told me of an American coven whose leader was well known for his hatred towards werewolves and other creatures. If I went to him, he would surely help me get revenge. And surely enough, as soon as I proved myself to him, he promised me a spot in his ranks that would ensure it. He even gave me a name; Clayton Cross, the grey wolf.

Years went on, and I kept hunting Cross and his pack. Even killed a few of them, but never caught Cross himself. But in the meantime, a new family was forming around me. First the Monroes, who helped me find footing in America. Your mother, Bella, even finished my training. And then there was Elvira. I had never loved anyone as much as I loved her. When I looked at her, I forgot about wolves and blood and my dead brother. She was the only one that mattered.

I was so happy with her that I almost forgot about the prophecy I had heard when I was fifteen. But then you turned up in San Fransisco, small and depressed and grieving your mother. You reminded me of myself. Elvira shared her suspicions with me right away. She said there was magic in you, but not just your mother’s. I remembered the mission Ewart had sent me to do years prior. It had felt silly at the time, to hunt a black bird.

I realised you were the key to bringing Badru back. You were the son of the prophecy.

As the last living member of the coven, I was the only one in charge of the Nic Ciaraín spellbook. The Mother’s family, although completely gone by then, had been an old one. There were spells in the book that she had strictly forbidden us children from ever even glancing at. Rituals written down long before the Twelve Laws were set. But who was telling me no now?

Some spells that I discovered I will never speak of. Others, however, I found fascinating. Useful. One in particular could summon the aide of the dead.

The spell required a memorial — almost any statue in San Fransisco would do, but I settled on one in Dolores Park. The only place in the city where dark magic could go unnoticed. I placed my sacrifice and completed the ritual with ease. And you would not believe the feeling. Magic like that — powerful, ancient magic —, it makes you invincible. It makes you a god.

I couldn’t find Badru among the undead, although I could almost feel him at my fingertips. Most souls cowered, but one stepped forward. The ghost of a long lost sister. A witch who was betrayed by her community, someone who sought revenge just as hungrily as I did.

She told me her story, a story of betrayal and loss. How it was her own family who placed a horrible curse on her, made sure she could never come back to haunt them. The instructions to set her free were in that family’s spellbook — the spellbook of Caius Monroe, whom her sister Theodosia had married.

She knew I could bring her back. And Oscar, she promised my family would never have to suffer again.