If I Must Say Goodbye

 When Cesilia Belle woke in before dawn, it was always to weave magic. 

 She rose two hours before the sun, stretching her arms high towards the pillow clouds obscuring the luminescent stars, toes digging into the carpet, wiggling as if in wet earth. With a sigh, she'd tuck her husband back in, fingers pushing the sheets against his broad, brown back, dark brown lips pressing a kiss to his crown. 

Cesilia would creep past her children's rooms: tomboyish Seraphina on the right, and charmingly sweet Aden to the left, both right before the stairs twisted down to the first floor. She peeked in only for a moment, enough to see their chests rising and falling, steadily her breathing as she inhaled and exhaled with their slow, ebbing tempo. Yet she didn't linger long: the sun was rising and she needed the last remnants of the waning moon for her work. 

 It was no secret to the Belle children that their mother was a witch: they'd stumbled into her personal study, hiding behind walls of dried, sweet smelling herbs and tucking themselves beneath the mountain of fabric she weaved under the full moon. 

 Most would have scolded them, but Cesilia lauded them: their laughter and pure joy empowered each spell, weaving an undercurrent of good will into the healing tonics she made for the pregnant moms on the block or the kitchen witchery she used at the homeless shelter. Cesilia could see the tangible effects too: the entire neighborhood blossomed from the infectious energy, even in hard times. 

 Today, however, Cesilia bolted the door to her own private space, breathing in the charged air as she light a smudge stick of sage, letting the white, billowing smoke fill her lungs and the rooms. She let the smoke flow fro a moment, settling down at her table only once she felt in the moment. 

 The thick ringlets of Cesilia's black hair rose up, sparks tickling the nape of her neck as magic rushed through her. She giggled, wrinkling her nose: magic was a welcome friend here, amongst her plants and herbs, powders and fabric. The magic felt so close that she forwent the springy, sturdy willow wand she normally used to assist her, a gift from a willow tree at the end of its long life. 

 Gathering the materials took little time: a pouch of pink velvet for Aden and a pouch made of green houndstooth cotton for Seraphina. She grabbed two lengths of leather cord and a few beads, setting them down on the worn wooden table where the smudge stick, in a bowl, rested. 

 Seated, and an hour and a half from sunrise, Cesilia finally felt ready. She drew a deep breath, held it, then exhaled, settled. "This is a place of peace," Cesilia announced. She felt the magic reply moments later, a rush of static across her skin that didn't harm, but simply warmed her. She felt the pit of her belly fill up and nodded to herself, ready to weave. 

 Closing her hazel eyes, Cesilia opened her mind's eye. Magic ebbed in, a steadfast river flowing into her mind, forming a sphere that sat in the center of her head. She let it bloom and grow around her, until she felt it form around her, magic invisibly solid to the edges of the room. She then let a thin film form itself around the sphere, a hard shell to protect against all forces. She let it harden, flexible and pliable, but solid through. Cesilia focused on splitting the sphere into two wholes, two separate, solid circles the height of her children: a large, growing sphere for Aden and a thick, round one for Seraphina. It took minutes, but it was done, mirrored surfaces reflecting behind Cesilia's eyes.

 She chose to focus first Seraphina: a chubby girl with narrow, thinking black eyes, keen wit, and a generous heart. She let the image of her daughter flood her mind, memories eager to bubble up. 

 Seraphina had always been special and developed everything early: learned how to read, write, and speak clearly by four, could ride a bike without training wheels by five, and by ten, had already bloomed into adolescence, moving into womanhood. Cesilia still recalled the day that Seraphina had come crying to her, balloon decorated underwear bearing a bright red stain in the center of the crotch. She'd held Cesilia and explained what was happened, and on the full moon, they went out to the woods and had tea and cake late that night, celebrating the turn of time together. 

Yet now, Cesilia saw the hungry look in the eyes of men when they saw Seraphina's ample bust and curving hips, her long legs and full lips: she saw that they didn't see a smart young girl, but a sensual woman. It was the stuff of nightmares, keeping Cesilia up at night, and guarded during the day and it was what she focused on enclosing into the sphere to her right: a mother's dreams of her daughter -her black daughter, with skin the color of fresh cinnamon- growing up safely. 

 Aden entered her thoughts soon after, a bitter tang of sadness settling onto her tongue. Aden was her pride and joy too, the spitting image of his father, especially when his growth spur came on his eleventh birthday. He grew a foot and a half, so quickly that for a month, Cesilia had to brew him a soothing tisane each morning to sooth his aching, stretching bones. His voice pitched deeper, childhood sweetness still residing around the edges, and hair scratched at the skin of his chin, dark and curling.

 All of that amounted to her Dede: and to a tall gangly, awkward boy, with big, wide, curious eyes that was turning into a young man. A young man that most saw was eighteen, not twelve. A tear rolled down her cheek at that, and she let it come, strengthening the solid magic of the spheres. Another fell for Seraphina, and she let it sizzle into the sphere, clearing her throat to cut off the ache. 

Moving her fingers quickly, Cecelia wound the magic she had been channeling both her children, trailing a path with her quick hands from heart to lips, imbuing the air with her Mother's Love again: a ward to keep men's wandering eyes from Seraphina's hips and chest, to guard her developing daughter from all too eager hands and a ward to keep Aden safe, to keep him young for as long as he could be. She whistled the spell into the air, spheres, magic, and breath shifting into small, velvet pouch until they expanded like a bellows, softly crinkling the fabric. 

An hour and a half later, Cesilia ended the spell, murmuring "Blessed be" as she smudged the stick of sage, snuffing out the last bits of smoke. The remnants settled in the room as she exhaled, opening her bright eyes.It took no time to wind the cord around the pouches, and to secure the beads to keep it sealed. She tied them off and felt the magic heavy within, adjusting to its new container, content to assist. "Thank you," she said to each pouch, cradling them gently. She felt them thrum against her palms. 

 She heard Aden and Seraphina upstairs, stomping around in the semi-dark. Chuckling, Cesilia opened the blinds, letting fresh sunlight in to cleanse the house, and set to breakfast and making lunches for the kids.  Two peanut butter and jelly with honey sandwiches later, Aden and Seraphina were seated at the table, smacking lips eating crunchy granola with fresh apple slices and pieces of wheat toast smeared with homemade butter and topped with honey and almonds. Cesilia slide their brown bag lunches into their backpacks, tucking the pouches into dark corners. "Protect them," she asked the charms. "Keep them safe." 

Soon, Seraphina and Aden were toeing on their tennis shoes, led lights flickering in the entryway. "Mom!" Seraphina called out. "Bus is coming!" 

 "Coming sweetie!" Cesilia called back, running her hand through her hair. 

 Seraphina stood on tip toe, waiting Cesilia's lips. Cesilia pressed a kiss against her brow and ruffled her hair. "A kiss for protection," she said, and Serpahina grinned, kissing her mother's cheek in return and repeating the words. "Go get your backpack, little bit." Seraphina dashed past her, feet pattering on the hardwood floors. 

Aden approached her right after, backpack already slung across his back, brown eyes bright and happy. He may have been twelve, but he still loved his mother's kisses, and the sensation of her magic tickling his temple. "A kiss for protection," Cesilia muttered into Aden's brow. He giggled and wrapped his arms around her, forehead resting against her collarbone. So tall already, Cesilia thought sadly. And not even thirteen. "Love you mom," Aden whispered, stepping back. She adjusted the collar of his shirt and chuckled, nodding. 

 "I love you too," she replied back, voice but a whisper. She cleared her throat and clapped her hands together. "Now you two get going," she said eyeing the bus from the corner of her eye. "Do good at school, you two." 

 "Of course momma!" Seraphina exclaimed dashing out. Aden smiled sheepishly and followed, locking the front door behind him with an all too loud click. 

 Ten minutes later, Reese came downstairs, running late as always. He kissed Cesilia and apologized, dashing out the door to the car. She heard it zip off, roaring down the suburban street on practically two wheels. She laughed softly, sighing as she turned off the kitchen lights.In the living room, Cesilia turned on the television, dropping the remote on the couch. Perhaps, she hoped as the news played out a story in another big city, today would bring nothing but the passage of time, and Mrs. Smith picking up her grandmother's tonic.