Magic Burned by Eliza Grace

Author:Eliza Grace [Grace, Eliza]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: witch young adult, discovery of witches, witch book
Publisher: Eli Constant
Published: 2019-05-29T22:00:00+00:00

THE WORDS KEEP GOING, but I find I’ve only half-read them, because my mind is laser-focused on one name. Matthew Hopkins.

The Vision Painting

OUTSIDE, DAWN IS APPROACHING and the storm has cleared. I wonder if that will be the pattern from now on: sundown beckons the rain clouds and wind; sunup, they retreat—almost as if they only have the power to be a controlling force of nature when darkness rules the landscape.

I STAYED UP ALL NIGHT reading everything that I could find about the Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins and Elisabeth Clarke—the first woman that he accused of witchcraft and ultimately hanged.

My mother’s ancestor. I’m named after her... my middle name, Elisabeth. And... a Matthew Hopkins... that can’t just be a coincidence. My eyes, bleary behind the thin frames of my dark purple glasses, are desperate to focus on one more line of text. But, after trying to read the words several times with no success, I finally push the screen of my laptop downwards and lean back so that my body is slumped against the wheelchair.

“You’re either waking up really early again or you didn’t go to sleep.” Jen strolls into my room, a teacup in her hand. Steam makes a whirling pattern, arising from hot amber liquid.

“Please say that’s for me?” I reach out my hands, pleading with her to give it to me even if it is her own morning beverage and not intended for me.

“Yep. I’ve already had two cups. I woke up about an hour ago and had to start painting again. I don’t know what it is, maybe the storm, but this latest piece has come to life so quickly.”

“Is it finished? You usually take weeks on one canvas.” I inhale the scents of the black tea first; it’s strong, spiced with star anise and ginger. “This smells amazing!” I breathe out appreciatively before taking a long draught.

“I picked it up at the farmer’s market the other day. Isn’t it dreamy? The woman makes all her own blends and packages them by the quarter pound.” Jen plods over to my bed and sits on it cross-legged. I hope all the paint on her clothing is dry. I love my comforter. “And I know! Normally, it takes me eons to get what’s in my head onto the canvas, but this has been amazing! Easy as breathing.”

I take another drink of tea and I feel my entire body relaxing; simultaneously, my brain is becoming alert again. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was. I used to be able to stay up all night without a hitch—cramming for exams, traveling for cheer and dance competitions, but now I tired more easily. “So, it’s finished then?” I ask for the second time.

“Yes! I mean, I might want to do a few touch-ups and, honestly, I’m not sure it really fits with the other pieces for Saturday’s show, which I suppose doesn’t matter since I have plenty of pieces ready, but I love it. I really don’t think I’ve ever been so in love with a piece before.

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