I woke before the sun on the longest day. I dreamed a prophecy.

“That girl has my locket,” I complained. Dias gave it to her at Yule, and she wears it around her neck, being told not to remove it. She rarely follows instructions, which he must know by now. The locket is gold, hung on a chain as fine as cobwebs. It was one I wove with spider magic. Now she weaves a sheath of fine alpaca threads around the chain because it chafes, silly bitch.

“I am apt to get quite cross if she doesn’t stop. I’d complain to Dias, but he will only tell me not to be jealous. Human traits are unbecoming, I know, but Dias provokes me. He provokes her too.” I mumbled to myself. No one else will listen.

My name is Cobweb, and only I spin filaments around talisman. I do that with ethereal songs and fluid dances that pour me from floor to roof. I gather myself together and stream into the treetops and return to my bed when I am tired of fairy magic.

What’s that? I hear his voice in my mind’s ear. It resonates rich and warm and pulses with his heart. He wheedles as a child, saying the locket was his to give. It was. But I know he gave it to her as an irritant. She wanted a ring. She wants a husband. He gave her the locket I gave him. I want it back since he cannot be trusted.

Last Moon I appealed to Queen Ambrosia, She Who Looks Like a Cat. I sing her to sleep at night and tweak her awake when she least expects it. Tis our game, Ambrosia and me the Singer. I accompany myself on the strands of a web I made to play on.  Then Moth or Dragonfly joins me as we sing the Queen off to sleep again. Tis a dangerous game we play; in her half-waking state we might be mice or butterflies. Or winged bats. Her response is quick. With the locket I could wink across the worlds under the glowing stars. Without that in hand, well, I must jump to save my wings. So far so good.

“Daughter, you have been careless of your heart with that Locket. And ours. You are reckless to give her your portal. Be sure it is woven shut.” Ambrosia swept out of the boudoir with her careful attendants.

My heart was wrung with pity for myself. What can be done? The locket had a mirror in it. She could be watched by those who knew it. This breach is not my fault!

Then whose? I sat listening to the fountain fall in melodious dribbles, making a tune in my head, spinning words of my tale when I heard him singing it. “My love is sad, and I must go.” I whirled to my feet.

Dias!

His smile was warm and his eyes sparkling. I let him fold me in his arms and rock me back and forth. Almost I let go of my guard until I was reminded, Tis Dias. I jumped back. He held my hand and kissed the palm with a slight lick, a small nip. False innocence to pretend he did not.

“Why mourn the loss of what you handed off?” He whispered in my ear. His breath, hot and sweet.

“I gave a gift!”

He dared laugh at me. “Oh little one, is not a gift a gift? And cannot the one blessed with it share, or must we hide it in hand and selfishly not reveal our passion?”

“It held my love!”

“And I added mine. What could be better?”

“That you return it with our loves blended,” I demanded with all the command I held.

“That would make a child of it. Did you want a child of me? I did not think that true.”

“No! No child.  I want you!” I was giving away too much. Again.

“But you may not have me in a locket.”

“So you gave yourself to her! Locket and all.” He raised one lazy shoulder and leered. I did not dare confront him more.

“Cobweb, Cobweb. Come, let me take you on my lap. You’ll not regret it.” I slapped his hand away. I could smell her on the air that wafted by him.

“As you wish, for now. I am free fae and will come when I will. As will you.” He faded slowly enough for me to see him join her on the terrace in that unfriendly world. I huffed and puffed, trying to make sense of him. I made fists and waved them over my head, shouting in frustration. “I will pummel him.”

 When I opened my hands in the air, the locket fell to the ground. I looked at it, wary as if it were a snake. Its imprint was in my palm. It smelled like her. I smelled like her. Goddess, I smelled like her!

His laugh rang out between the worlds as she looked desperately around for the locket. She stood up and shook out her dress. Something else fell out of its folds. The Ring! She wanted the ring at Yule, and he gave her my locket!! Fury ran through my bones and power curled in my blood. What game is this? The Witch is ill-equipped to match me, as much as I am poorly matched against the Mage.

“Dias! Do you offer marriage?” She asked, half afraid of rejoicing. As well she might be.

“It means I love you. Of course we will marry. You’ve always known I love you.”

She shook her head in time with mine. She did not know, and I did not believe. Love cannot go to her. It cannot. She slid into his arms, and he closed his eyes, breaking my vision. I took the Locket and threw it halfway across the sky. They would wed.

His son would be born on a Tuesday. He would name him Martes. I knew that from somewhere. Martes Dias. Is that Market Day? Mars of the Gods? Who is Dias and why am I obsessed? I felt sick.

The Queen rose and tapped me soundly on my head.

“Stop dreaming, Carless Cobwebb. You failed to wake me. What will my price be? I’ve already sent off the man.” My heart clenched. This was her work!

“I thought he was fae?” I turned to her, downcast. Contrite.

“Silly Cobweb. Now sing merry songs for me of summertime. She settled on her garden throne wound round with roses and thorns and pulled me onto her lap with a tentative pinch that sizzled in my blood. Dragonfly and Moth took up the song, mocking me.

“Her love is glad, and so he left.” The Queen laughed. The thorns scratched my arm and blood rose out of the wounds. She bent over my arm and casually sucked to stop the blood, then ran her tongue around her lips. “Mmmm. You taste wonderful, my silly Cobweb

For more details: https://www.collectiveinkbooks.com/moon-books/authors/dorothy-abrams

Dorothy Abrams, known as Anemone Webweaver in the magickal community has practiced and taught Witchcraft, paganism, and core shamanism since 1984. Co-founder of the former Web PATH Center, a pagan church and teaching center in Clyde, New York USA, Dorothy served as priestess and teacher weaving the Web of community among local pagans as they celebrated the solar and lunar sabbats. Material for Identity and the Quartered Circle and her other non-fiction titles on pagan thought and practice are compiled from her original seminar materials in eclectic Wicca I-IV, healing, tarot and shamanic intensives. The Wiccan seminars guide students from the introductory level through initiations as healer, storyteller and sage. The shamanic intensives guide students through the practice of drum trance journeys all the way to soul retrievals. With her partner late Merlin and other members of the Web PATH she practiced Reiki and chakra healing. She taught an introductory course on A-mazing Tarot at the local community college When Merlin crossed to the Summerland in 2022, Webweaver moved to a small village in the Finger Lakes and gathered some friends together to celebrate the seasons. . They have called themselves the Brookside Witches.