In a small, nondescript church, on a small, nondescript street, somewhere out in Midlothian, Illinois, Endora was teasing her son-in-law.
“Darrin,” she grinned, “this is so unlike you! Such a small venue. Couldn’t you afford something bigger?”
Richard rolled his eyes. “You know why we’re here, Endora.” He breathed out through his nose. “You’re the reason we’re here.”
“I’m the one who figured out we need to be here,” she shot back, “but I’m not the reason.” With a catlike roll of her head, Endora turned her attention to the young man standing before the altar. “Is that one of your suits that he’s wearing?”
“Of course it is,” Richard scoffed. “Today is the day he officially becomes family. It only makes sense that he borrow my clothes.”
“You know,” Susan McMillan leaned in to address her husband and mother, “you two can pretend to hate each other all you want, but you know you’d go crazy without one another.”
The mother-in-law and son-in-law exchanged a look, as if to say “I won’t admit it if you won’t admit it.”
On the other side of the aisle sat Jon’s parents and siblings. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were just any old normal family, dressed up for a wedding. But anyone who knew the Gibsons would have spotted something peculiar about one member in particular.
Zoe Gibson was wearing a dress. A nice dress. A soft dress with an empire waist and spaghetti straps, in a peach color that complemented her skin tone. And she was smiling.
It took the full six months and a slow build-up for Sarah to convince her future sister-in-law that she could be genuinely pretty, with just a little bit of guidance. She never forced anything. She’d just offer an accessory here, an item of clothing there. And by the first week of summer break, it was Zoe coming to Sarah asking to go on shopping trips, or for help with her makeup.
Zoe hadn’t abandoned being a goth. But she realized that she didn’t have to be goth all the time. And she liked having the option of looking dark or looking soft, depending on where her mood took her for the day.
“How did Endora manage to get the president of the High Council to officiate Jon’s wedding?” Linda Gibson asked her husband, David.
“You know Endora is a former president of the High Council, herself, right?” came the reply. “She took up the seat that Dad vacated when he married Mom and lost his magic. And ten years later, she was president. She was still president when we got married. You don’t remember?”
Indeed, the grandson of a former High Council president marrying the granddaughter of a former High Council president was a rare event. The current president, Edgar Barleytunnel, almost insisted he officiate when he’d heard.
Karyn sat by herself, one row behind the Gibsons. She was the only guest. Everyone else was family. She wasn’t a witch, or a former-witch, or of the bloodline of a witch. But she was a special case, and she was giddy with excitement just being there, her attention focused on the yong man in the expensive suit, standing by himself before the altar where the officiant stood.
“Endora,” David called across the aisle, “are you doing alright?”
She gave him a quizzical look. “Why shouldn’t I be doing alright?”
David’s look became even more quizzical. “When the ceremony ends, you’ll be cut off from magic.”
“Oh that,” Endora waved her hand dismissively. “You win some, you lose some.” But she had just the slightest hint of a knowing grin as she returned her attention forward.
A great puff of white smoke appeared suddenly and quickly alongside Jon, taking those less experienced with magic by surprise. When it dissipated, however, it revealed the form of Sarah McMillan, wearing the brightest, prettiest, most Sarah McMillan wedding dress that anyone could have possibly imagined. People often tell a bride that she is the most beautiful woman in the world, and it’s generally well-intentioned hyperbole. But in that moment Sarah could have made a legitimate claim on the title.
And she looked happy. Unabashedly happy. Not remotely like a person who discovered that she could use magic only six months ago, and was now making a conscious bargain that would seal it all away from her forever, in exchange for a life dedicated to her soulmate.
She and Jon turned to one another, and held each other’s hands. Edgar the officiant began.
“A witch’s wedding is different from any other kind of wedding. In most cultures, a wedding is a grand, lavish affair, or at least it aspires to be. But we witches value our secrecy. Our most sacred magics must only be seen by the few. So the more important the wedding, the simpler the ceremony.” He paused and mimed a quick head count. “Eight guests. That seems pretty simple to me. Among the simplest I’ve ever seen. This must be a very important wedding. There must be some very sacred magics at play.” Edgar paused, looked between the two teenagers before him. “There won’t be any vows, no rites to read. That’s not how witches do things. We simply create a moment of power, a single point in time and space where reality can re-write itself. And we use that point to re-write reality so that our pair are bonded.”
Jon and Sarah remained stock still, solemnly holing one another’s hands, looking up at Edgar Barleytunnel. Their families and Karyn sat in rapt attention.
“The moment of power that I am about to open,” Edgar continued, “is not of my creation. It is entirely made from the love you two hold for one another. I’m just helping you to access it. It is yours to do with what you wish.”
Edgar took a single finger and touched the top of Jon and Sarah’s hands, where their fingers overlapped. And a small void appeared in the air between them. They smiled. Jon reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small item. A small, red, stone-shaped item. And four hands, plus a magical wishing stone, entered the void that was floating between Jon and Sarah.
For a moment, the entire church was filled with a flash of light so bright that none of the occupants could see. But when their vision returned, there were four people at the altar: Jon Gibson, the newly-reconsecrated Sarah Gibson, Edgar Barleytunnel, and…
“Grandpa?” Jon breathed.
Malachi Gibson blinked a moment, then looked at the man beside him. “Edgar? Oh, of course it’s you, Edgar. I knew you’d be the one to figure it out. You were just a page when I stepped down from the High Council, but I was incredibly impressed with your work, even then.”
“A page?” Edgar feigned insult. “Please,” he snapped his fingers, “I was a whole book. But I’m not the one who figured it out. I’m just here to assist.” Then he gestured towards one of the pews.
“Endora?” Malachi gasped. “Was it you?”
“It’s nice to finally meet in person, Malachi Gibson,” Endora stood up. “But after spending the last six months burying myself in your old research, I feel as though we’ve known one another our whole lives. It wasn’t easy to follow your notes. But if anyone knew how to cheat death, to cheat the very laws of magic, of course it would be you.”
“Can you do magic now, Grandpa?” Jon asked.
The old man turned to his grandson. “Here’s a better question: can you do magic? Come, come, start with something simple. Speak telepathically into my mind.”
Jon squinted in concentration, then looked to his newly-revived grandfather. <Like this?> Jon thought at the man before him.
<Like that,> came the warm reply.
And far from Sarah and Endora losing their magic, David Gibson and Susan McMillan quickly found that they had regained their own magic, as well. The spell contained within Malachi’s stone, which was deciphered and activated by Endora’s magic, and fueled by Jon and Sarah’s love, had re-kindled both bloodlines’ connections to magic. Everything was restored. Their lives would all be a lot more interesting from then on.
