by Jaci Miller
“I don’t really know. She said she’s in town looking for someone.” Gabby replied. “Why?”
“I was just wondering.”
Kai frowned. “Do you know her?”
Dane shook her head, the feeling of dread still lingering heavy on her skin. “No, I just thought I had seen her somewhere before. Who is she looking for?”
“She didn’t say, an old friend apparently. She came in here to buy mugwort, but as you know I don’t carry it, you are the only person that ever wants it.” Gabby replied, looking at Dane. “Don’t you make a special tea with it when you have headaches?”
She nodded.
Not exactly for headaches, she thought, thinking about the main ingredient in her family’s mystic tea recipe; a special brew used for altering the state of consciousness during astral projection or when opening the inner eye to another plane of existence—her families’ ancient art of scrying.
“Anyway,” Gabby continued. “I told her I only special order it, but if she wanted some I could have it in a couple of weeks.” Gabby looked back at Dane, a frown creasing her brow. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
She smiled, reassuring her friends she was fine.
Convinced, Gabby and Kai headed back over to Stevie, who had been walking around the store filling up her small shopping basket with incense, oils, a couple of books on dream interpretation, and a new censer for burning sage.
Dane watched her friends as she thought about the strange red-haired woman and the uncomfortable way she made her feel. Who was she and why was she in Brighton Hill? Who was this ‘old friend’ she was looking for and why did she want mugwort? If she was a witch, and by the way she made her feel possibly even a dark witch, why could she not see her aura?
She had never met a dark witch, as they were more relevant in the time prior to the witch hunts, but her mother had told her a few still existed today.
Dark witches were tainted by cursed magic and because of this they often made pure witches anxious, nauseated, or worse, when in their presence. They were also known to be barren, cold and unfeeling, void of any true emotion, which would explain why she could not sense any emotional energy from her. If she was a dark witch, she was cloaking her aura and if that was the case she was using very powerful magic indeed.
She recalled what her grandmother had told her about dark witches. They often practiced dark magic, ancient rituals, and sacrifices. Thinning the boundaries between life and death. They did not worship the gods and goddesses as pure witches did, instead, worshipping daemons; soulless entities existing in the dark space between planes, feeding off the pain of others. Apparently, some witches burned at the stake in Europe were dark witches who cared little about hiding their magic from mortals, instead, screaming out curses as the fires ignited their flesh.
If this woman was a dark witch, and that was a big if, there was a reason she was in Brighton Hill and it likely wasn’t good. It was important Dane find out more about her.
Chapter 4
Kai was standing outside the front door of Aether when Dane walked out, staring at the dark grey sky that threatened to erupt at any moment and send feet of snow cascading down upon them.
“Oh, my goodness!” she huffed. “More snow! Will winter ever end?”
Dane stifled a laugh knowing how much her friend hated the cold weather. Kai was at her happiest when the weather was warm, and her toes were in the water. Her father, Admiral Jason Parker, had been stationed in Hawaii at the U.S. naval base, Naval Station Pearl Harbor. It was there Kai was born and where she lived until she was sixteen when her father retired and moved his family back to his hometown of Brighton Hill, NY. Kai had been horrified at the prospect of living in a small town with a lake as their only form of water. Her bleak future was only slightly enhanced by the fact that her father had purchased a marina, so she would be living, like she did in Hawaii, on the water. Brighton Hill had eventually grown on her, the cold had not.
Agreeing to meet at Dane’s house in an hour, Kai had gone to buy wine and pick up a part her dad needed for a boat.
She decided to drive by the old flour mill on her way home and take some pictures at dusk, turning on to the old mill road, just as the sun began to sink in the late afternoon sky. She loved the unremarkable insignificance of this road and how quiet it was now. Since the town built the new highway, joining the downtown area with the outer subdivisions, like the one she lived in, hardly anyone drove this old county road anymore. Of course, the new highway didn’t have the simple tranquility or nostalgic appeal of the old mill road. It was one of the reasons she still chose to travel it instead of the highway, that and the compassion she held for the old flour mill sitting abandoned in a large field, forgotten.
She liked the stark loneliness of the old flour mill and understood its seclusion. She felt a kind of kinship with it because, like her, the old mill had a secret.
The area surrounding the mill which she had discovered when she was in college, was full of spectral energy. Her abilities as an empath were not limited only to the living, she was just as connected to the energy of the dead. An individual’s energy is unique, and each person leaves a specific marker in the physical world when they pass on. For those who become stuck their markers manifest into a dense spectral energy known as imprints, lost and confused energy trapped in a place known as the veil—a dark unforgiving space between life and the afterworld.
The veil surrounding the old mill contained a combination of spectral energies; individuals who knew they are dead, and those who didn’t. Those who know walked through the veil shrouded in a haunting sadness unable to move away from whatever was keeping them tethered to this world. For the others, they were caught in a loop, fated to repeat their final moments over and over unaware their life had ended.
She could always sense the energy of those who had died violently. It was an unstable erratic essence scarred by the dark act that snuffed out their lives. She felt these types of energies all over Brighton Hill because of its violent past, but for some reason, they were always the strongest at the old flour mill. The place seemed to draw these unstable energies toward it, consuming their sorrow and confusion in an attempt, to maintain its own stagnant existence. The abandoned mill seemed to have unwittingly created an unseen pocket in the veil, the energies falling prey to its depths unable to move away from its eerie emptiness, forever caught in the unforgiving space.
Over the years, she had connected with a few of the imprints caught here. Gaining insight into the reason for their inability to leave the veil and helping to release the emotional tether anchoring them to the physical plane. Unfortunately, most were unable to escape the perpetual void that was the veil. Doomed to exist in this space forever. Those were the ones she felt the most empathy toward—an eternity of emptiness and sorrow trapped in an aimless void, unable to escape their final reality.
Pulling up in front of the old mill, she got out of the car, drawing her coat tighter against the bitter wind. The temperature had dropped as the storm front neared the city.
She scanned the mill’s windows; the blackened arched frames staring out expressionless. The mill had always projected an unsettling image, like something sinister, was hiding behind its aging brick walls. With the dark clouds of the storm front overhead and the last of the setting sun igniting its shadows, the image was reinforced.
She lifted her camera and snapped a few photos, moving around the property to get interesting angles and capture the mill’s silent baleful presence, highlighted by the dimming landscape. She finished just as the last of the fading sun disappeared, a shiver creeping up her spine as she reached the Jeep.
There was a subtle difference in the air around the mill tonight, it seemed more chaotic than usual. She recognized the different spectral energy as they floated aimlessly around her, imprints of the past caught indefinitely in the fabric
of this world, but there was something else. Most of the energy she encountered here belonged to mortal innocents and sometimes those with a darker aura. Tonight, there seemed to be others—imprints manifesting traces of malice, an energy that didn’t belong and was somehow disrupting the veil.
Suddenly, her cell phone vibrated, causing her to jump slightly. She got in the Jeep and read the message from Kai notifying her she was already at her house. Quickly, she started the Jeep and drove away from the mill.
As she turned onto the old mill road, she caught a glimpse of the mill’s dark silhouette in her rearview mirror. A deafening silence seemed to saturate the night air with trepidation.
Kai was standing in the driveway looking miserable when she pulled up. The snow had started, and it was beginning to come down hard.
“You guys remember I despise snow, right?” She said, following Dane through the front door, wiping her jacket clear of snow. She was not thrilled that this year’s girl’s weekend revolved around winter activities. Ski weekends were one thing but hiking in the snow.
“I hate being cold, I look terrible in hats, and hypothermia is a real issue in these parts,” she grumbled.
Dane laughed rolling her eyes at her friend as she grabbed the bag she had packed this morning, her snowshoes, and some food for Tyson.
“You look cute in hats,” she joked. “Anyway, are you forgetting Stevie has an enormous back deck with a fire pit and hot tub? After a couple of bottles of wine, a few hot toddies, and an hour in warm soothing water, you won’t even know you are surrounded by snow and ice.”
Kai scrunched up her face and shook her head, “I doubt that, but it might make it a little more bearable.”
Laughing they headed back outside to load their snowshoes and bags into the Jeep. She whistled for Tyson who had vanished behind the house. He came bounding out of the dark, covered in snow, shaking excitedly as he reached them, covering Kai’s pant legs with the wet flakes.
“It’s going to be a long weekend,” Kai groaned, getting in the Jeep.
Ten minutes later they were driving up Stevie’s long tree-lined driveway that ended at her perfect little log cabin in the woods.
Stevie had bought the old cabin years ago, at an estate auction, spending the last few years renovating it. She had updated the plumbing and electricity, put in new windows and doors, a fireplace, and added an addition that housed a huge master suite and bathroom. She had knocked down a wall between the two existing bedrooms and created a new larger bedroom and walk-in closet, which was now Gabby’s room. The kitchen update was completed six months ago and boasted gourmet appliances, granite countertops, and a large island for additional counter space.
Stevie’s home was beautiful, cozy, inviting, and located in the most tranquil setting at the edge of Braemore Woods. Her breath always caught when she rounded the final corner of the drive and the honey-colored cabin came into view. Regardless of the season or the weather, the sight of the beautiful pine logs highlighted by a lush green backdrop or a pure white snowy landscape always mesmerized her. She also loved Stevie’s home because it was so different from her own modern suburban townhouse.
The Christmas lights framing the cabin’s roofline and covering the bushes twinkled brilliantly as the snow began to fall harder and the darkness closed in around the cabin. She pulled the Jeep in behind Stevie and Gabby’s vehicles and was quickly met by Stevie’s dog Diego, who could not contain his excitement. Tyson was equally ecstatic and greeted Diego enthusiastically, the two of them running and playing in the front yard, oblivious to the rest of the world.
“Best friends,” Stevie said, as she came out of her house and walked across the deck, motioning to the happy canines romping in the new-fallen snow. She carried two copper mugs in her hand containing a wonderful warm amber liquid that gave off a strong toffee and nutmeg aroma. Offering the concoctions to Kai and Dane she smiled and said, “Welcome to girl’s weekend. Come on in, Gabby’s in the kitchen.”
Dane stood quietly, looking out the large front window at the falling snow, absently playing with the new pendant hanging around her neck; a gift from her friends. As requested, the girls had kept her birthday celebration to a minimum. After Marlee and Elyse arrived, they had enjoyed an amazing creamy shrimp pesto pasta, birthday cake, and a lot of laughs.
The gift was a surprise, and not one she had expected. It was a beautiful silver handcrafted pendant; a long flat rectangle etched with a crescent moon, a small diamond embedded into one of its points. At the bottom, the numbers six and thirteen were engraved—a symbol of their friendship.
She looked back at her sleeping friends, who had succumbed early to the fatigue of the after-dinner snowball fight, the hot tub, and multiple glasses of wine. The house was quiet except for the crackling of the fire and she was glad for the alone time.
The clicking of the clock was a reminder today was not just another birthday. It was her thirty-first and for witches, it meant the possibility of a second awakening. Most witches never experience one, staying in their first awakening for their entire lives. But for the rare few that do, a second awakening usually means gaining additional powers and abilities and a significant shift in one’s destiny. The likelihood of this happening to her was almost nil for she only knew of one witch who had experienced a second awakening in the last century. A coven priestess from Italy, who ten years ago gained the power to give life to plants and crops. Apparently, she travels the world now, helping famine-relief victims.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, it was ten thirty-eight and the witching hour would soon begin. If she was to be gifted with a second awakening and gain any new powers or insight, it would happen before midnight.
She left the snow-encrusted window and tiptoed through her sleeping friends to the large armchair by the fireplace. Curling up in the chair and pulling a blanket over her legs she stared at the clock on the wall, waiting patiently for it to strike twelve.
Chapter 5
The fog enshrouding her was thick, stifling her breathing and coating her skin with a chilling dampness. It was late. The air was tinged with the unforgiving bitter sting that only existed in the wee hours of the morning.
She was surrounded by trees, their looming shadows evident in the fog. The ground was covered with leaves, brown, withered, and faded from time. They crunched under her feet, the sound rebounding off the dense fog.
She searched for something recognizable in the mist as she continued to walk carefully, her surroundings never seeming to change no matter how far or which direction she ventured. Her senses were useless. She felt lost and confused as the mist pressed in on her.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard a faint sound, an incessant rhythm echoing through the fog. She tried desperately to find the source of the noise, but the fog’s thickness masked its direction and she continued to stumble around aimlessly.
As quickly as it began, the sound ceased, and the fog began to dissipate. Warmth began to spread through her, pushing out the chill. She could feel a strange energy flit through the air as the fog slowly disappeared. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was standing in the middle of a clearing. In front of her stood a massive tree its bulk wrapped in the silvery light of the moon, a strange energy emanating from it. There was a familiarity with this tree, its strength, and power comforting. A memory flitted carelessly on the edge of her conscious as she stared at its rough bark, its twisted branches, and its full lush canopy. As she tried to grasp it and pull it forward, the memory disappeared into the recesses of her mind.
The wind picked up as the tree began to groan, its branches making the same sound she had heard earlier echoing in the fog. It was a soft whisper that encircled the entire tree and as she approached it intensified.
Instinctively reaching out, she placed her palm gently on the rough bark and closed her eyes, concentrating and letting the tree�
��s energy flow through her. Soon the incessant whispering calmed, revealing a word repeating over and over—awaken. She removed her hand and began backing away from the tree as the word reverberated in the surrounding air. Suddenly, a flash of green light exploded from the tree and she felt herself losing consciousness.
She awoke in a cold sweat and sat bolt upright; the heaviness of the fog still embedded in her skin. As her eyes adjusted to the dimming light cast by the fireplace, she looked at the clock as it ticked drowsily on the wall—midnight. She must have fallen asleep.
It was just a dream, she thought as the feeling of disorientation lingered and the erratic whispering echoed faintly in her ears.
She glanced around the room at the other five girls still sleeping soundly. The house was quiet and as her birthday ended, she felt an overwhelming sadness as she realized her secret desire to one day inherit the ancient mythical powers of her father’s ancestors was just a silly childhood fantasy. Any chance of myth becoming a reality had just passed with her thirty-first birthday. Feeling a small sense of disillusionment, she curled up in the chair, wrapping the blanket tightly around her.
Closing her eyes, she listened to the fading crackle of the fireplace. As her body slowly succumbed once again to her exhaustion, she felt a slight twinge in the deepest recesses of her mind.
Nine inches of snow had fallen overnight. It was still coming down hard as the girls emerged from the house for their hike. The old gnarled tree in the middle of Braemore Woods had become a special place for them during their thirteen-year friendship. They had hiked to it often and on occasion had spent the weekend camping in the clearing surrounding it. Stevie’s idea of hiking up to the tree as part of this year’s girls weekend was less about the adventure and exercise and more about Stevie feeling sentimental about the occasion.