Copper Cauldron

“The battle against the devil, which is the principle task of St. Michael the archangel, is still being fought today because the devil is still alive and active in the world.”

--Pope John Paul II

Prologue

“Can you tell me a bedtime story, Great-Grandma?” Penelope asked.

The nine-year old girl looked at her great-grandmother whose eyes matched her own, one blue and one green. She lay in her pink bedroom on the second floor of the ancestral mansion located in the Garden District of New Orleans. Penelope, born in this house, represented the seventh generation of Manchester Witches to live here.

“Of course, my dear. Which story would you like to hear? Or do I even need to ask?” Violet said, smiling.

“You know the one, my favorite,” Penelope answered. She laid her small head down. Her long black hair spread across the pillow.

“I love this story too. Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Penelope. Her beautiful long black hair hung to her tiny waist. Her pale skin gave her a beautiful, youthful complexion. She possessed the most unique and treasured eyes, one blue and one green. One day, she will meet her one true love, her soul mate, her destiny. He is a warrior of God, with the face of an angel, the heart of a saint, and eyes which match her own,” Violet said.

“Thank you, Great-Grandma. When are Mommy and Daddy coming home?” Penelope asked.

“Your parents are busy fighting bad people. I hope they’ll be home very soon.”

“Why didn’t Grandma Beatrice go with them this time?” Penelope asked.

“Beatrice wanted to stay behind and keep an eye on us,” Violet replied.

“Why do we have to keep our powers a secret?” Penelope asked.

“Because it scares people,” Violet said.

“Am I really the youngest Manchester Witch to receive her powers?” Penelope asked.

“Yes, you are. You will be a very powerful and very good witch. It is part of your destiny. Your true love will be very powerful too. But your children will be even more powerful than you,” Violet explained.

“When can we go see another Church of St. Michael?” Penelope asked. She looked over at the wall behind her great-grandmother. She stared at the painting of St. Michael the Archangel, her family’s patron saint.

“We just went to the one in Charleston. How many St. Michael’s churches do you want to visit?” Violet asked.

“I want to go to all of them.”

“What is your infatuation with St. Michael the Archangel?” Violet asked.

“He’s the one I’m going to marry. He is my destiny,” Penelope said, smiling as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.