Who: Elia What: Rituals. When: May 26th, the wee hours of the morning. Where: Her trailer, the woods nearby. Rating: PG.
Instead of going to Virtue and Vice when the circus gates opened, Elia retreated to her trailer. Her shift was covered, she had made sure that other girls were willing to step in. Not that they were all that comfortable with her presence there, at the moment. The fear that the afflicted employees were feeling was spreading; people were starting to talk, to whisper about the Coven.
That was fine, though. She had research to do, things to read up on. Once this was all fixed she could worry about assuring everyone that she wasn't that kind of wicked witch... just the one they already knew and loved. Or... you know, were stuck with.
Alex had come in at some point, distracting her long enough for some snuggling and wine, and for her to deliver on her promise of a back-rub. She could hear him breathing steadily now, deeply as he slept. Issac, too, although he never slept as deeply or well. Still, his mind seemed relatively quiet at the moment. That might have had something to do with her reading, which had become sort of a historical drone in her own head. There was so much to read regarding the Witch Trials, and so little of it was actually useful to her in this situations.
The symptoms were all there, everything fit. The place, even the convergence of time: the 325th anniversary of the hangings would be a little later in the summer. But nothing offered her anything on how to make what was happening to them stop. There had been similar bouts of hysteria at times, but never again in Salem or Danvers, and none of them seemed like enough to what they were experiencing to be related.
Finally, Elia closed the journal on her lap and stood, stretching in the dim light. It was late, but there was still time before dawn. She had waited until the last minute, so to speak; tomorrow would be too late. But there was still time. When she slipped out of her trailer, it was with shadows drawn around her, flowing against her skin like a cloak, hiding her from anyone's prying eyes. Away from the Village, the sounds of the circus were familiar, almost comforting. But they weren't what she needed.
She found the silence that she was looking for in the trees, the darkness of the wood that they had settled down close to. A decent walk from the Cirque all that could be heard were the night-noises of animals and the sounds that she made as she passed, the whisper of her bare feet moving on the forest floor. The witch settled down in a small, grassy clearing, one where she could raise her eyes to the pitch-black sky. The moon was hidden, completely in shadow tonight. Tomorrow a sliver would show as it began to wax again, growing larger every night until the full moon. But tonight was dark; the Goddess had hidden her face to work her own magic.
It didn't take long for her to summon her darklings. A few, at first, forming from wisps of shadow and will. And then a few more, and more than that, until they sat around their mistress in the clearing in a horde, waiting patiently. By the time she was finished, she had just begun to feel the strain on her magic, the pull of creating so many, of holding them together with her will. "Go," she whispered, and the darklings flickered away. Not back into the shadows, not entirely, but through them, moving through the dark forest at speeds that a shifter would have been envious of. "Go, and be my eyes in the dark, my little loves."
She expected to be there for some time, perhaps until the hour before dawn, absorbing and translating the reports from her minions as they spoke to her. They were like whispers, barely audible, coming back through the shadows as they ventured further and further away. Nothing. Nothing. Only trees. Only town. Nothing bad, nothing powerful, noth—
The blast of magic hit her hard enough to leave her winded. For a moment, there was nothing in the forest – no sound, no stirring. With her concentration broken, her darklings became nothing but shadows again; their reports had stopped the moment that whatever had hit back at her had noticed them. Elia waited, expecting more, but nothing came. When the sounds of the wood came alive again, she slid to her feet. She was tired, reeling from the blow that she counter-spell had dealt her. She needed to rest. And then she needed to find Kennet and shake him until he listened to her.