“Only you can answer that, my little witch.”
“That’s the problem—I can’t.”
The young witches were all moved into the main house and getting ready for the winter solstice. They inhabited most of the second floor but spent the majority of their time in the new morning room, the old library, and their bedrooms. Since the dining room was still under construction, they took most of their meals in the morning room. This day they were enjoying their breakfast while sitting in one of the window seats, their tea and biscuits before them on a little round table.
Since the confrontation with their mother, the dead woods hadn’t been so dreary. Even with winter coming, the sky seemed less gray, and they sometimes even got sunlight in the morning room. They had a spectacular panoramic view of the dead woods, and they could see all the way to the thicket in every direction.
“I wonder when we will see the first snowfall,” said Gothel. “Hazel, do you smell snow?”
“Not yet, Gothel. But soon.”
They were preparing for the longest night. This year, Gothel had her own ideas of how to celebrate now that their mother wasn’t there to dictate how they spent their holidays. Usually it was a somber affair, everyone in black and the main house entirely dark and freezing cold. Their mother wouldn’t even allow fires in the hearths on the longest night. Manea welcomed the death of winter and celebrated the longest night with a day of fasting and the reciting of the names of all their ancestors while leaving them little gifts and offerings of their favorite foods on a communal alter. It was a somber version of Samhain, during which the lives of their ancestors were celebrated. Manea had little oval oil paintings of all their ancestors in wooden frames, which she set on the family altar, and she would tell the girls their stories in succession. After the stories, they would stand at the altar, looking at the portraits in silence, careful to stay perfectly still so as not to frighten away the ghosts of their ancestors should they decide to visit them on the longest night.
This year there will be a portrait of Mother among the others.
Her sisters didn’t seem to be excited about the solstice even though Gothel had gone out of her way to make sure they’d enjoy themselves. Never once in their entire upbringing had their mother allowed them to have a solstice tree or exchange gifts, and Gothel thought having the tree would lighten her sisters’ heavy hearts, but they still moped around the house, lackluster and peaky.
“We should decorate the solstice tree today, Primrose!” said Gothel as she smeared chocolate hazelnut spread on a biscuit, looking at the bare tree.
“If you wish, Gothel,” said Primrose, yawning.
“What’s wrong, Prim? Are you okay? Still not feeling well?”
“I’m just exhausted all the time. And honestly I’m not excited about the longest night.”
“That’s because I haven’t told you how we’re going to celebrate!”
“We’re going to do what we do every year,” said Hazel, picking at a biscuit.
Hazel had gotten frightfully thin the past few months, and her eyes looked weary. Both of Gothel’s sisters looked pallid, actually. Gothel looked at them, wondering what she could do to liven their spirits.
“We’re going to fill this entire house with light!”
“What?” asked Hazel and Primrose in unison.
“You heard me! Every single room will be filled with light! Look out the window! The wagons arrived this morning while you were sleeping!”
Primrose and Hazel went to windows that faced the courtyard. Sir Jacob was down there, directing their minions like a wizard performing magic on a windy hilltop, gesticulating and pointing in various directions with great fervor.
“Are those candles?”
“Yes! Wagons and wagons of them! We are going to infuse this house with light! I’ve been reading about how other witches celebrate the longest night, and there are some witches who feel it’s best to make it a celebration of light.”
“Where did you read that?” asked Hazel.
“In one of the books that came in one of Jacob’s many wagons.”
“You’ve grown rather dependent upon him. Do you think that’s wise?” asked Primrose.
“He’s happy to have the work. He likes to be busy. Mother always kept him tucked away in his crypt unless she needed him for battle or to handle the deliveries.”
“He never sleeps, Gothel! He’s always awake, doing things for us!” said Hazel, making Gothel laugh.
“You’re right, he never sleeps. And he’d rather have something to do than sit in his crypt, waiting to be called upon. I’ve talked to him about this already, Hazel. I promise this is what he’d prefer.”
“And what about the minions? Do you let them rest?” Hazel asked.
“Hazel, we’ve gone over this so many times. He works them in shifts, letting them sleep for days at a time before they have to work again. And before you ask again, the children are not awake in their graves, they’re sleeping.” Gothel stood up and walked over to her sister. “Hazel, I’m worried about you. You keep forgetting things.”