The Omen

“In this short Life 

That only lasts an hour 

How much – how little – is 

Within our power” 

~ Emily Dickinson ~ 

“The Fool.” Edith flipped over another card in her standard issue deck. “And the Lovers.” 

“They’re both inverted,” I said, “What does that mean?” 

“The hell if I know. I’m failing Divination – remember?” She tossed the cards aside with a laugh. 

“I wish I was good at it.” 

“There are worse things than a C minus, Libby.” 

“I know that.” 

We were sitting on the sun-warmed stone ledge of the old girls’ dorm tower, our black hooded cloaks shucked off, our corsets unlaced. The tower had been closed off for years, supposedly haunted by the ghost of a senior girl who had died the night before her graduation. It was “our place” now – high enough that no one could see or hear us when we escaped here. 

“Libby, are you listening?” 

“No.” That earned me an eye-roll. 

“Have you done the Ancient Runes homework?” 

I nodded. 

“Can I check mine against yours? I definitely did some of the questions wrong.” She held up a sheet of paper covered in her sprawling handwriting, and at least fifty percent crossed out.

“Sure.” With a flick of my wrist, my binder flew open and a few stapled, rune-covered pages floated towards Edith. She snatched the sheets out of the air. 

“What would I do without you?” 

“What indeed?” I waved a fountain pen in front of her face, too. 

“Thanks.” 

She scribbled away, sighing each time she found an error. I took a spellbook out of my satchel and flicked to the assigned chapter. 

“They’re never going to let me into the Flame Guild if I fail another class,” Edith lamented. 

“You’re not going to fail, Edith, I’m not going to let you.” 

“I’m a hopeless case!” She crossed out another line. 

“You’re not! And if you really want to join the Guild and go off and fight then we’ll study until you either pass or we die trying. At least you know what you want to do with your life.” 

“You’re smart, Libby, you could do anything.” 

“Smarts and talent are two different things.” 

“And you’ve got both. I think you’d be an excellent Spellwriter or Potionsmaster. You’re good at those things and you like them.” 

“I suppose.” 

The truth was, I had considered all kinds of careers and all sorts of possible futures. So many of them seemed appealing, but the exciting ones also felt so uncertain. 

A piercing shriek from somewhere out in the world startled the two of us. Edith almost fell from the balcony ledge, and I reached out a hand to steady her. 

“What the hell was that?” She gathered the papers she had scattered. 

I peered over the edge of the balcony. 

“First years on broomsticks,” I said, “ Well, one of them isn’t actually on the broomstick anymore.”

The girl was lying face down on the muddy lawn, a group of baby-faced peers in too-big cloaks huddled around her. I watched them help her up, wipe the grime off her face, and take up her broomstick. Two of them led her back into the great, grey castle – no doubt to find the nurse. I couldn’t help but think how much bigger the Academy felt six years ago, how much colder. How all I wished was to graduate, to be free in the world, and yet now that that possibility was so close within reach, I was afraid to leave the castle’s embrace. 

Beside me, Edith poked her head over the ledge. 

“Do you remember when that was us down there?” she asked. 

“Feels like a thousand years ago.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you remember the day you fell off?” 

“I don’t know how I thought trying that flip was a good idea,” she laughed, “You caught me, though.” 

“Yeah.” I laughed, too, at the memory. 

“You always do.” 

“I always will.” 

I turned to her and found tears glistening on her lashes. 

“Promise me that no matter what we do after graduation, we’re not going to lose this.” She held out her pinky finger and I hooked mine into hers. 

“I promise.” 

We stayed like that for a moment. 

“This doesn’t feel like enough,” I said. 

“Not really.” 

“I have a… questionable idea.” 

Edith’s face lit up. I took out one of my spellbooks and flipped to a dog-eared page. “A blood pact.” I showed her the spell. “A promise.” 

“What does it do?” 

“It supposedly connects two people’s souls. So you can feel each other's emotions and feel when one is near or far.” 

“I love it.” Her smile brightened and I couldn’t help but grin back at her eagerness.

“The catch is you have to write your own spell while following a specific rhyming scheme.” 

“Well, then this is your moment to see if you could have a career in spell-writing.” 

Ten minutes later, we were sitting cross legged, the book and a scrap of paper with our spell between us. 

“Ready?” 

“Ready.” 

I held out my hand, palm towards the sky, and Edith grasped my wrist. With a thin, golden dagger and one swift stroke, she sliced my palm. Blood bubbled and flowed. She offered her own hand and I took her wrist, leaving crimson streaks on her warm skin. With my unblemished hand, I took the dagger she offered, and made the same cut along her palm. 

Edith flipped her hand over, pressing our bloody palms together. I felt her squeeze and I squeezed back, a thrill of pain running up my arm. A trickle of blood slipped from within our clasped hands and Edith caught it on her finger before it could reach the book resting between our legs. She put her finger quickly into her mouth. 

“Here we go,” I said. 

I traced below the words of the spell, keeping us in time as we recited them together. 

There was a beat of silence when we had finished the incantation as the spell rippled through the air. 

“I think that’s it.” My voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“We’re bound forever now?” 

“Forever.” 

We unlocked our hands slowly, processing the weight of those words floating in the still-charged air. Bound forever. 

The bleeding had stopped but an open cut remained on each of our palms, wounds that would eventually leave a scar. I searched my satchel for something to wrap it with as the bell tower began to sing. 

“I love you, Libby,” Edith said, as we laced our corsets and gathered our things. 

“I love you too.” I was aware that somehow that was the first time we had ever explicitly said those three words. It seemed trivial, after all those years – we just knew. 

She took my hand once more and gave it a strong, swift squeeze. I squeezed back, and then we let go and parted ways.

… 

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. As though she and I were invincible… eternal. Less so now that she’s pointing her flaming sword at me, and my redwood wand – which she had helped me pick – is poised against her. I’m close enough to see the fading scar on her hand – a mark I left almost three years ago – and yet there’s an uncrossable distance stretching between us. I can’t reach her, though I still feel her. 

I’m wondering where those naive girls hiding on the balcony went, and I realise we never did figure out what those two cards meant.

 Written by Emily Elizabeth

An avid lover of fantasy and fairytales, Emily Elizabeth loves nothing more than to escape into a magical literary world. Writing has been a passion ever since her little fingers first gripped a pen, and she is now never without multiple creative projects in the works. She dreams of creating her own worlds and tales for readers to visit and explore.