Raising Hell

by L W Rogers

  “Hi mum.” She grabs me in an embrace, which I return. I can feel myself relax further; another perk of having a mother who is an empath. She is able to control emotions, to a degree, and she would often settle my mood swings with the smallest of gestures such as a hug.

  “Come in darling, I have some tea already made.” She keeps her arms around my shoulders as she ushers me into the house. We head into the conservatory out back, where she does indeed have tea laid out with some homemade, sweetie goodness. She gestures for me to take a seat. I lower myself into the chair alongside my hot cup of tea. I take a sip, as does she before another word is said.

  My family home isn’t what you would expect of someone who owns a multi-billion pound business. It’s modern, but not outrageously big or anything. It’s set in the country, away from the world, which is how a lot of witches prefer to live. It’s built in a contemporary style, even though it is a small farm. There are a few animals, none of which we slaughter for rituals. We aren’t that kind of witch. If we need anything of that variety we go to the herbalist who specialises in such things. We live on the earth around us, using the herbs from the garden and the milk from the animals. Yeah, I know it sounds corny and old-fashioned, but this is how witches have lived for centuries. Why change something that works, right? Anyway, I’m rambling on.

  “Did you find anything out from the coven on the athame that was stolen?” I ask, breaking the silence.

  My mother places her cup down onto her saucer, not saying a word. She swiftly gets up from her seat and grabs a book that’s on the sideboard. She hands it to me and takes a seat. I look from her to the book. It’s just your bog-standard encyclopaedia of relics, like the one I keep in work. I look at her, confused. There’s a bookmark placed in one of the pages, so I open it to the page. There facing me is the missing athame. I’m still sat here confused as I look at the information on the page. Nothing is screaming out at me that it was anything other than what it is...an athame.

  “I can see you’re confused Cadence. Let me explain. I know you recognise that book, as we have one in work just like it.” I nod in agreement but continue to listen. “This particular athame was not of much importance or power as far as we were aware. That was until I spoke to the elders of the High Council. I told them about what has happened and gave them the information on the athame. They did a locator spell and couldn’t find it.”

  “That’s impossible,” I interrupt.

  “Yes, I am well aware of that Cadence, which is why we are digging deeper into this. If someone has made this athame untraceable it can only be down to one of two things. One, the athame has been destroyed, or secondly the athame has been protected by a more powerful magic, hiding it in plain sight.”

  “How is that possible?” I interrupt again, “Our spells are the strongest in the coven. They have to be...” I stop myself, coming to the realisation of what has happened. “Dark Magic?”

  “Yes, and not just any dark magic. For someone to have the strength to do this they would have practised Dark Magic for many years and they’re likely to have other unsavoury characters to help. We need to visit the witch who bought this athame.”

  “I tried calling. I left a message. I could go see her tomorrow...”

  “No. We need to go now!”

  I barely get chance to finish my cup of tea before my mum ushers me to the car. It is now getting dark out and I am getting hungry. “Can we at least grab a bite to eat along the way?” I ask as I unlock the car. My mum looks at me, so serious and stern.

  “If we must, Cadence.” She slides into the passenger seat, placing her grimoire and bag of ‘goodies’ on her lap, strapping herself in. I look down at the items she begins to sift through in the bag, curious as to what she feels is necessary to bring.

  “Do you really think you’re going to need all of that, mum?

  “You can never be too prepared, Cadence. Besides, we aren’t all fortunate enough to have active powers like yours.”

  I start the car without saying another word. I’m annoyed. She always brings that up. Like she resents the fact I have active powers and she doesn’t. That’s not my fault. Believe me if I could get rid of some of them I would. They’re more of a hindrance than help at times.

  The journey is uncomfortable for some time, neither one of us wanting to break the awkward silence first. Finally, I open my mouth to speak, but I’m beaten to voicing my thoughts by my mother.

  “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Cadence. I feel responsible for this.”

  “How are you responsible?”

  “I should have researched the athame more before selling it on; vetted the buyer more. I don’t know. I feel I should have done something!” I can hear the disappointment in her voice.

  “We don’t know that there is anything sinister to this yet. It’s all speculation. Once we visit the buyer, I’m sure this can all be sorted out.” I try to sound more confident and positive than I actually feel. I can see from my mum’s expression that she isn’t convinced. The downside and upside to having an empath as a mother is their gut instinct is usually the right one.

  We briefly stop off at a drive-through for food, eating along the way. It takes us just under two hours to arrive at our destination. By now, darkness has hit and all we can see from the car is the porch light flickering in the distance. We’re out in the ‘sticks’ as we call it. Yet another witch who seems to like the seclusion and peace of being in the middle of nowhere, it would appear. We park the car at the side of the house, as a tractor and what I can only assume is her car are taking up the driveway at the front.

  There are no other lights on other than the porch. I hope we won’t be disturbing her. I look at my watch. It is only 20:15; not very late at all, especially for a witch. I grab the flash light from the boot of my car before we make our way to the house. It’s eerily quiet, more so than I’d expect, even out here. I shudder, partly from the coolness of the night air, but also because I feel a little twitchy. It’s niggling like it’s trying to tell me something isn’t quite right. I look to my mother, who appears to feel the same. I can tell as it’s written all over her face. Concern.

  Neither one of us says a word as we approach the porch. As I move closer I can see that both the outer porch door and the inner one are ajar. Not overtly worrying out here in the country. Not everyone has the concerns of inner-city life. After all, crime rates are much lower in the ‘sticks.’ Still, I approach with caution, conjuring a small fire ball in case it is needed.

  “Hello,” I call out through the opening, “Hannah?” Silence. “Is anyone here? It’s Cadence. I called earlier today.” I slowly open the outer porch door, mother keeping it ajar as I push the inner door wider. It creaks in protest, in the way that old doors do. I open it further. The house is dead silent, cold. The heater clearly hasn’t been used in days.

  I pass mum the torch as I search for a switch. Upon locating one, I flick it and nothing happens. I try once more and then give up. I enhance the fire ball that is in my hand to lighten the room in front of us, releasing it from my hand. It floats just slightly ahead of us. Mum stands beside me as we both look into the room with caution. I’m sure she already has a spell at the ready just in case.

  We search the downstairs quietly and carefully. Nothing seems to be strange or out of place, other than it being cold. We make our ascent up to the bedrooms, calling Hannah’s name quietly as we go, not wanting to startle her. There are only two rooms plus the bedroom, so it doesn’t take long. We find nothing. It looks like she hasn’t been here for a few days, yet it appears that all her clothing is still in her wardrobes.

  “Safe to say she isn’t here.” I turn to mum. She looks worried, face white. “What’s wrong?”

  “Something doesn’t feel right. This isn’t right. We need to keep looking,” she tells me and then turns to head back down the stairs. We only have one place left to look -the basement. It is the most likely place for Hannah to practice her magic and store all the nec
essities of a witch without them being in clear view.

  I send the glowing fireball ahead of us, down the basement stairs. All electrics are out. An unfamiliar smell wafts our way which causes bile to build at the back of my throat. Whatever it is, it’s nasty. I feel my mum’s hand grab my arm, stopping me as I go to place my foot on the floor below. I look up at her. All colour is gone from her face, her pupils dilated with worry. “Cadence go back upstairs.”

  “Mum, I’m a big girl. I’ll deal with whatever this is.” She looks at me and seems to be silently questioning whether she can push me. She doesn’t.

  “Cadence, you need to prepare yourself for what’s to come.” I can feel my brow furrow in confusion. What can she sense that I can’t? Then the aroma hits me again and my brain catches up. I have not encountered this smell before, but it has a distinct odour that can only be caused by one thing. Death.

  I gulp as the realisation of what I am about to encounter hits me. Something or someone is dead. I calm myself for what is to come before I take a further step into the unknown. Mum follows beside me. The basement covers the area occupied by the whole house from below. Mum casts a light spell and places a ball of light in each of the corners of the room to get a better picture. I, in-turn, put out my fireball. Don’t get me wrong, I can do light spells too. I just don’t see the point in using them when I have an active fire power.

  We don’t need to look far. Once the room is visible it doesn’t take long for our eyes to fixate on where the smell is coming from. A body, that I can only assume is Hannah, is laid out on the floor, blood seeping into the old, wooden floor boards. Flies circle the corpse, landing indiscriminately on their feast. As I take in the scene in front of me, I note details of what’s happened to this poor woman. From what can be seen of the floor boards beneath her there is what I can only assume is a pentagram. Her hands are bound on either side, the rope secured with a bolt to the floor. The same method is used on her legs. Her mouth is covered in a blood-stained rag, used to hinder her futile screams no doubt.

  At this point mum is still beside the body, looking for clues alongside paying her respects in the way only an empath can. I know this will come back to bite her on the ass later. She will be unwell for sometime after being around something like this. I could tell her to go back up stairs, but she won’t listen. I leave her to it whilst I investigate further.

  Without getting too up-close-and-personal with the deceased, I search for any clues as to what happened, other than the obvious torture. I look for any signs of satanic ritual. Usually there are other unsavoury objects needed for such a ritual. There’s nothing, just some candles at each point of the pentagram. From what I can gather there is a single stab wound to the abdomen, which must be the cause of death.

  “Mum, you okay?” I’m concerned that she’s been around death too long.

  “I’m fine, Cadence. I’m almost done.” I don’t disturb her any further. If she says she’s almost done, then she is. I’ll look around whilst I wait.

  On one of the walls is a large bookcase with a vast number of grimoires and other texts. Nothing that screams out that Hannah was into anything dark in nature. She has cabinets with herbs and other items that a witch might call upon. All are labelled and stored correctly. This was a witch who took pride in her craft. I delve deeper, trying to find any clues to Hannah’s life and how it came to end this way. There are none. Whoever did this knew how to cover their tracks.

  I can hear movement behind me and see mum getting to her feet. I go over to support her, knowing full well how this will make her feel. She takes my hand and I walk her to the stairs to sit and rest. I don’t say a word, waiting until she is ready.

  “Whoever this is, they knew how to hide from witches’ spells,” she begins to tell me, “but not from an empath.” She gazes up at me. “It’s another witch’s doing.” Shock hits me hard. The consequences that will be bestowed upon a fellow witch for such an action are harsh. This goes against everything the coven law upholds. Harm none; the cardinal rule of being a witch. Yes, there are occasions when the rule is bent, so to speak. If we are to come into harm’s way or danger we can use our powers to defend ourselves within reasonable means. Of course, any harm we cause gets pulled up against the council and evaluated to see if we acted within our bounds or went further than required. Some have taken things too far and have been banished from the coven, one of the worst punishments for a witch.

  This though? The taking of another witch’s life? There’s only one punishment I know of that would be true to the laws of karma, and that’s death…

  Chapter 4

  Blaine

  A single word and I find myself called to heel like a hell hound, and by an angel no less.

  Now I find myself in the final stages of my journey to a covert meeting. Only two of us know where I’m heading; me and a certain winged vixen.

  So, I’m on my way to Stonehenge to meet the lovely Lailah. I’ll be sure to ask her why it’s taken so long for her to return my ‘calls’ when I get there. For some reason her telepathic lines seem only to be sending rather than receiving. Either that or she’s genuinely had nothing to report until now. Or she’s been avoiding me. I wouldn’t put it past her. I think she finds me difficult company. What I won’t be telling her is about my embarrassing incident earlier. I wouldn’t put it past her to mock me in the only way a celestial being can. I’d rather not be subjected to the humiliation of anyone else knowing of my shame.

  I’m not going to lie, when I came round on the floor in the torture chamber I was pretty embarrassed to say the least. Darius sniggered, whilst Sadie crouched beside me mopping my brow with a cool cloth. I won’t go into too much detail, but after asking me if I was okay, she then proceeded to punch me in the chest, telling me to ‘suck it up’, before, rather impolitely, asking me to leave. I won’t repeat what she said. If her language was on the colour spectrum it was a glorious vivid blue.

  To be fair, her crappy attitude worked out in my favour. Unwittingly, I had bought myself out of an afternoon of torturing the decrepit soul she had hanging from the ceiling. It also meant that I could hurry away to embark on my present quest. Well, calling it a quest may be pushing it a bit, but for want of a better word it will have to do.

  Following my mental diversion, I find that I have reached Salisbury Plain in record time. It’s not all that surprising really, as we daemons have a way of just popping up wherever we feel like. It’s a handy power to have at our disposal, except for right now, because as I approach the circle, Lailah is nowhere to be found.

  Now, to me, using a word that is reserved for emergencies means that the situation must be important. So why isn’t she here? Maybe she has been and gone already? Fuck only knows how long I was out for, so it could be my own fault that I find myself in this situation. I couldn’t have been out for that long, surely?

  I need to stop thinking so negatively. She’ll be along, I’m sure. Maybe she just got held up? I cling onto that latter thought to ease my nagging brain.

  Relaxing against the inside of the monument, I pause to take in my surroundings. The sky is daubed red, black and gold. It reminds me of home, but without all the torture, chaos and carnage, obviously. Well, in this place and in this moment it is. The human race has its own issues going on up here. The plus side for us in Hell is that we gain new souls. I’m sure Sadie and Darius will be rubbing their hands in glee at the prospect of all the fresh blood making its way to them.

  “Blaine.”

  I hear the soft spoken voice, before I see her. I catch a glimpse of something moving in the corner of my eye. Turning to Lailah, I smirk. She grins back, and all thoughts of lateness and ignorance are thrown away. What can I say? Even a daemon can’t resist an angel’s smile.

  “Lailah! May I say you’re looking as fetching as ever?” That would be an understatement. She actually looks hot as hell in some opalescent business get up, her platinum and pink hair worn in a loose bun at the base of her neck. Usua
lly she’s dressed down in what I like to refer to as Celestial-Goth fashion. Fishnet flourishes, ripped denim, the odd touch of velvet or leather, all in pastel shades rather than the usual darker fare.

  Lailah chuckles. “You may, you old perv.”

  “Hey, I’m not that old. Only...” I trail off at this point as I’ve lost track of how old I am, and now she is laughing harder at me. It’s enough to give me a complex. Well it would be if I cared.

  I take to circling her and trying to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible. “Why are you all spruced up, anyway? I would have thought a suit was way out of your comfort zone. Nice to see you make an effort.”

  “Oh Blaine, Blaine, Blaine...You think the effort is for you? Bless your little heart - if you had one. I have somewhere to be when we are done here.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “Somewhere in this realm. It is the reason why I called you here.”

  “Okay, spill.”

  “Stay still for one minute and I will.”

  I stop circling her and rest against the stones again. “Better?”

  “Much, thank you. Okay. I believe I have found a suitable contact for you, but I have to go and speak to them first to gain their consent. The only problem is that the woman is not a fan of men, and even less so of daemons. She is going to be an extremely hard sell.”

  I snort my disgust at the latter part of her speech. “A hard sell? I’ll come with you and she’ll be agreeing in no time.”

  Lailah raises an eyebrow at me, and snorts right back. “Is your hearing going, old man? What part of ‘...not a fan of men, and even less so daemon’s...’ are you having difficulty with? Taking you would only make things a hundred times more difficult. My suggestion is you sit this one out. The last one you tried to help with you quite literally charmed the pants off, then scarpered. I can’t afford to have you mess this up, Blaine. As much as I enjoy your company, it’s a solid no from me.”