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  Branded

  A Novel by Neva Bell

  © 2019 Neva Bell

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  [email protected]

  This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses or companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Barbara Schwenzer.

  [email protected]; IG: @olibees

  For my bestie Jill

  She just wanted a short story

  about witches and werewolves

  Chapter One

  “For the love Chelsea! Could you drive any slower?!”

  My twin sister ignores me. A pleasant smile on her face as she gazes out the windshield of the used Jetta we share.

  “I know you can hear me.”

  She glances over at me, the sweet smile still on her face. “I’m not getting a speeding ticket because you’re in a rush to get to the meeting.”

  “A speeding ticket? Are you kidding me? You’re going forty in a fifty-five.”

  “Maybe you should have offered to drive.”

  I cross my arms and pout. “Maybe so.”

  Chelsea chuckles. “Chloe, calm down. Elliott isn’t going anywhere.”

  “This isn’t about Elliott.”

  She raises her eyebrow. “Oh no?”

  I smirk. My sister knows me too well. Lying to Chelsea is impossible.

  “If you get pulled over, just tell the cop you’re me,” I suggest.

  “You know that won’t work. Remember when you told the principal you were me so you wouldn’t get detention?”

  I groan. “How could I forget? Two extra detentions and I was grounded for three weeks when Mom and Dad found out.”

  I’m not sure how Chelsea and I haven’t been able to pull off the “parent trap.” We’re physically identical in every way. Ice blondes with equally cool blue eyes, we stand at 5’6” and weigh exactly the same. Our body frames are slightly different because of our physical activities. Chelsea loves ballet and yoga; I prefer rock climbing and cardio kickboxing.

  “Do you think Elliott is as hot as the older girls say he is?” I ask, cat fully out of the bag.

  “I don’t know if anyone is as hot as they say he is.”

  Chelsea has a point. The way the older girls talk, Elliott is an Adonis, a gorgeous specimen of a man. Their eyes get hazy when they talk about him. I can’t wait to see him for myself.

  Chelsea makes a right turn onto Maple.

  “Where are you going?”

  “We have to pick up Rory.”

  I sigh loudly, but say nothing.

  Chelsea met Rory Taylor on the first day of kindergarten and hasn’t looked at another boy since. Over the years, she and Rory have been married several times. I was Chelsea’s maid of honor in all of those backyard weddings. Most of the ceremonies were officiated by our next door neighbor Bruce, but our cat Tabby filled in every now and then. Snack cakes and lemonade were the standard menu.

  Five minutes later, my sister’s red-haired and freckle-faced boyfriend climbs in the backseat.

  “Evening ladies,” he says as he buckles his seatbelt.

  Chelsea looks at him in the rearview mirror. “Hey babe!”

  Rory pulls out a small box from his pocket and hands it to my sister. “Happy twentieth birthday!”

  Chelsea blushes. “Aw! You didn’t have to get me anything. And besides, my birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

  I try not to roll my eyes at Rory’s goofy grin.

  “Well, I may not see you tomorrow, with it being Branding Day and all.”

  Chelsea opens the box to find a beautiful pair of peridot earrings, our birthstone. “These are gorgeous Rory!” she gushes.

  She unfastens her seatbelt, squeezes through the center of the front seats and plants a kiss on his lips.

  I’m too preoccupied to poopoo their display of affection. Rory’s casual mention of “Branding Day” makes my stomach drop. I look over at Chelsea. Her eyes gleam, completely smitten with Rory and his gift. She has no reason to be nervous, her future is clear.

  Everyone knows Chelsea will have a beautiful white dove tattooed on her right shoulder tomorrow. I know exactly what this dove will look like because I’ve seen it on my mom’s right shoulder for as long as I can remember.

  The dove’s feathers will be outlined in silver and its blue eyes will shine brightly. Perched on a snow-covered branch, it will span from the top of Chelsea’s tanned shoulder to the bottom of her shoulder blade.

  “Normal” people will see it and ask Chelsea where she got such a detailed and life-like tattoo. They’ll marvel at how the dove’s beautiful eyes project love and peacefulness. She’ll make up a story about how she got it while we were traveling in Europe. Believable enough.

  “Chloe? You okay?” I hear Chelsea ask.

  I shake myself out of my thoughts. “Yeah, fine.” I perk up a bit. “Let’s go already!”

  As Chelsea pulls out of Rory’s driveway, she and Rory talk about the agenda for the coven meeting. I, of course, didn’t bother to read the agenda that was emailed to all of the witches in my coven. I have to sit through the meeting no matter what, so why not be surprised?

  I tune the two of them out as I think about tomorrow morning and the tattoo I’ll be getting. Twins, even identical ones, can never get the same brand. One will get a dove, and the other will get a hawk. No one knows why. The popular theory is the universe is balancing itself out. Whatever.

  The Vegas odds are on Chelsea being the dove. Which means an equally beautiful black hawk with piercing black eyes will be tattooed on my right shoulder. The hawk will be in full flight, ready to swoop in on its prey. Instead of love and peacefulness, my hawk’s eyes will project strength and fearlessness.

  Next to each other, the dove and hawk are each other’s opposite. Yet somehow, they belong together.

  There has been chatter about which brands we will get since Chelsea and I were babies. There wasn’t much debate. It was clear from a relatively young age that my angelic sister will be the dove. She has always been the peaceful, passive one. The one who was easier for my parents of the same temperament to handle.

  “Such a soft heart,” is how everyone describes Chelsea. I don’t want to know what they say about me.

  My mom discouraged conversations about Branding Day and any theories about our future tattoos. “Que sera, sera,” she would say. “For all we know, Chloe will be the dove and Chelsea will be the hawk.”

  My mom talks a big game, but there is something in her eyes leading me to believe she agrees with all of our relatives. I certainly do.

  “You excited to get your brand?” Rory asks from the backseat.

  I play it off like I wasn’t just worrying about it. “It will be what it will be,” I say, mimicking my mother’s words of wisdom.

  “She’s more excited about meeting Elliott,” Chelsea teases.

  “Ah,” Rory says. “The infamous Elliott. How cool would it be to ‘read’ someone’s skin? Do you think he’ll learn all of your secrets?”

  I snort. “God, I hope not.”

  Elliott is not only a hottie, he is a Reader - a warlock who can “read” a witch’s skin to determine which brand she should receive.

  “It’s so unfair. You ladies get to have all the fun,” Rory pouts.

  “If you want,” I tell him, “you can come over tomorrow and have Elliott give you a tattoo. Maybe you can get something manly like a dragon.”

  Before he can respond to my jab, Chelsea cuts
us off. “We’re here,” she announces. She pulls into the parking lot of an inconspicuous brick building in a run-of-the-mill upstate New York suburb.

  No one would guess two hundred witches and warlocks use this building to convene for their monthly meetings.

  ---

  Chelsea

  “I’m worried about Chloe,” I whisper to Rory after we take our seats in the meeting hall. The room is full tonight, Elliott is a big draw.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “She’s scared to death about tomorrow.”

  Rory crinkles his nose. “Chloe? Scared?”

  I nod. “She won’t admit it, but she doesn’t want a hawk brand.”

  Rory considers this a moment. “I wouldn’t want to be a hawk either.”

  Before I can respond, our coven leader Samantha steps up to the microphone at the front of the room. Samantha looks nothing like the witches in horror movies. She is a petite, strawberry blonde who prefers khakis and floral print to tight black dresses.

  When Samantha’s mother retired from the coven leader position eight years ago, Samantha was the unanimous pick to take her place. She is smart and incredibly talented. Samantha’s not nearly as powerful as the Verhena, the Supreme Leader of our kind, but she’s the most skilled witch I’ve ever met.

  Samantha clears her throat and the room calms. “Good evening everyone. Thank you for coming tonight. As your agenda noted, we have two witches turning twenty tomorrow. Chloe, Chelsea, will you stand please?”

  I feel my face redden. Chloe, who’s sitting a few rows up with our parents, shoots up immediately. She grins and waves at everyone. I, on the other hand, barely manage to stand and give a small head nod before sitting right back down.

  Samantha smiles and continues as Chloe takes her seat. “Our youngest coven members asked me a few questions during our youth session. I thought it would be cute to let everyone hear what they are curious about.”

  We all say “aww” as three little ones walk toward the microphone, two girls and a boy. None of them can be older than five.

  One of the little girls, a cutie with brown hair and big brown eyes goes first. “Do good witches get a dove and bad witches get a hawk?”

  Her question hits me in the gut. I know this is Chloe’s biggest fear about being a hawk.

  Samantha smiles. “No Lily, that’s not what the brands mean. The brands help you decide which kind of magic is best for you. Have you used magic yet?”

  Lily nods her head. “I use it when I play Barbies.”

  The crowd laughs. Chloe and I did the same thing when we were young. We made Barbie walk around, get dressed and get in the Barbie Corvette without laying hands on her. Although we weren’t supposed to, we also used our powers to do chores when Mom and Dad weren’t home.

  “I see,” Samantha continues. “When you turn twenty, you will get your brand. Witches branded with a dove use their magic for things like healing, protection, and preservation of nature. Hawks use their magic to defeat other beings - both natural and supernatural. They are on the front lines of any good versus evil war. They are our gladiators.”

  A man in the crowd raises his hand.

  Samantha points to him. “Yes, Burt?”

  “Why do you think there has been a recent increase in the number of hawk brands given?”

  This is a question we’ve asked in my own household.

  Samantha sighs. “Well Burt, it’s hard to say. For decades we saw a decrease in the hawk brands, likely because of our peace treaty with the werewolves. My guess is the untimely passing of Barbara Sheep caused the uptick in hawk brands.”

  Rory leans into my ear. “Untimely passing? That’s an interesting way to describe murder.”

  The thought of werewolves sends shivers down my spine. The older members of our coven talk about the risk the werewolves in the west serve, but our people have been separated for generations. The wolves stay west of St. Louis, and witches stay east of St. Louis. Anyone who passes the boundary line takes their lives into their own hands. This simple truce has stood the test of time.

  Well, until a year ago. Our coven doesn’t talk much about Barbara Sheep anymore. When she was murdered last year, the leader of the werewolves insisted it was not an act authorized by him. He claimed a pack of rogue werewolves was responsible. Our leader, the Verhena, chose to believe him.

  The little boy steps up next to ask his question. “Why don’t boys get brands? Doesn’t seem fair.”

  This makes the crowd chuckle again.

  “You paid him to ask that question, didn’t you?” I tease Rory, remembering his sulking in the car.

  He smirks. “Maybe…”

  Samantha takes a few minutes to explain that witches are a matriarchal society and women are our leaders. “The nice thing about not getting a brand Jacob, is you get to choose what kind of magic you want to learn when you go off to Leviston. Won’t that be fun?”

  Jacob brightens. “I get to pick?”

  Samantha nods. “Yes. When a female witch goes to Leviston, her classes are determined by her brand. But when you go to Leviston, you tell them what you want to do.”

  I think back to my campus tour of Leviston a couple months ago. The campus is gorgeous. Tucked away in the dense woods of northern Vermont, where it gets unbearably cold for many, the small college campus looks like any other small college from the outside.

  “My mom is a dove, but my dad went to hawk classes. So I’m not sure which to pick,” Jacob says with a frown.

  Samantha tussles his hair. “You have plenty of time to decide.”

  Rory and I haven’t talked about the type of magic he will practice once we get to Leviston. I’m hoping he’ll follow me on whichever path I must take, but I don’t want to pressure him.

  In a way, I’m glad fate will decide which path is right for me. It would be a huge decision otherwise. The only bad thing is Chloe and I will be on different paths no matter which brand I get.

  When I was younger, I worried about Chloe and I being separated once we get to Leviston. I hate when she and I are apart for more than a day or two. Our cribs were side by side as babies. Even now, we can have our own bedrooms, but we insist on sharing.

  Luckily, hawks and doves have a lot of interaction at Leviston. They attend the same basic magic courses, but are separated for advanced classes. Doves will never use the combat spells taught to hawks, just like hawks won’t need the advanced nature spells doves utilize in their practice.

  The final question from the young coven members is a cute one too. The second little girl, her brown hair in pigtails, asks if getting your brand hurts.

  “Mine didn’t hurt at all,” Samantha answers. “I wish Elliott could have made it tonight, because he would have told you all about the process.”

  There is a soft murmur from the crowd.

  Samantha puts her hand up. “Sorry everyone, but Elliott couldn’t make it tonight.” Samantha makes eye contact with me, then Chloe. “He wants me to assure Chloe and Chelsea that he is on his way. He will be at your home tomorrow morning for your brands.”

  “Chloe is not going to be happy about this,” I murmur to Rory.

  Sure enough, a few hours later, Chloe is complaining about Elliott’s absence.

  “I can’t believe he didn’t show up! The coven meeting dragged on and on. Had I known Elliott wasn’t going to be there, I would have skipped it.”

  We’re both laying in our beds with the lights off.

  I yawn. Chloe is right, the meeting lasted forever and I’m tired. “He probably had something important going on. Besides, you’ll see him in the morning.”

  Chloe doesn’t respond. I’m about to fall asleep when she whispers, “I’d love to see a dove on my shoulder tomorrow, so I can be like you and Mom.”

  Her confession is not a total surprise, but I’m dismayed all the same. I hate to see my sister hurting. In her mind, the hawk brand will cement her feelings about being an outsider in our family. The only hawk in a house
full of doves.

  “You never know. You could be the dove and I’ll be the hawk. Or maybe we’ll be the first twins ever to have the same brand.”

  Chloe chortles. “Yeah right Chelse. We both know what’s going to happen tomorrow.” She pauses for a second, then moans, “I don’t want to be like Aunt June!”

  I can’t help but laugh. Aunt June is our only relative who is a hawk. She’s my dad’s oldest sister and a little off her rocker.

  “Oh Chloe! Aunt June isn’t the way she is because she’s a hawk! She’s just weird!”

  I try to come up with the most awesome hawk I can think of. It takes me a minute because there aren’t nearly as many hawks as there are doves. Our elders say it used to be a fifty/fifty mix, but like Samantha was saying tonight, the number of hawks has decreased over time.

  I finally think of the perfect thing to say. “What about Helen Borren? She’s a hawk.”

  “Oh… Do you think if I’m a hawk I’ll get the chance to meet her?” Chloe asks, a twinge of excitement in her voice.

  My sister has been in awe of Helen Borren our entire lives. She frequently pretended to be Helen when we played outside as kids.

  I smile in the darkness, proud of myself for giving Chloe a reason to feel good about her fate. “I’m sure you will.”

  I expect Chloe to go on and on about Helen Borren. Telling me for the hundredth time how Helen Borren single-handedly fought off three werewolves who crossed over into our territory. How Helen is the most powerful witch of her generation.

  Instead, she lays quietly in her bed. I’m not sure if she is lost in thought or sleeping. I don’t disturb either. I consider my own brand. Rory and I are both pretty sure I’m the dove, and I hope to goodness we’re right. The thought of being a hawk terrifies me. I don’t think I’m cut out for the kind of training and strength necessary for hawks.

  But Chloe is. She’s always been the strong one, both mentally and physically. She may look as fragile as I do, but the truth is she fears nothing.

  I stay awake as long as I can in case Chloe wants to talk more. Eventually though, my eyelids are heavy and I give in to sleep.

  ---