Strange Brew

by Angela Colsin

  Distant thunder signaled a coming storm with a breeze whistling by the windows outside. Eventually, the sounds roused Troy just enough to realize he'd rolled away from Aislinn to lay at the edge of the bed.

  Turning back, he reached out to pull her in close, yet all his arms purchased were the pillows next to him, and the lack of a warm woman immediately drew him from slumber. Lifting his head, he saw an empty space where Aislinn once slept, though her scent was still strong.

  Thunder rumbled again, and the soft creak of a door opening followed, casting a dim light over the bed from the hall. Glancing in that direction, Troy saw his mate stepping out into the corridor in her nightgown.

  “Aislinn?” he asked, sitting up. “Where are you going?”

  Without any acknowledgment of his question, she merely stepped out of sight, and the simple action made his instincts flare with awareness. Perhaps she hadn't heard him, but something was wrong, and Troy quickly pushed the covers aside and got out of bed.

  “Aislinn!” he called, grabbing his jeans to tug on before moving to the door.

  By the time he reached the hallway, she was no where in sight. Only her scent remained, trailing down the stairs, and Troy followed it into the living room where he found the front doors wide open. The tarps hanging over the furniture were wavering in the breeze blowing inside from the coming storm, scattering Aislinn's scent as he stepped out onto the porch.

  It took a moment, but he finally caught it again on a sudden gust of air from his left side. Moving across the porch in that direction, he jumped over the railing and landed in the grass below, urgently searching for signs of his mate.

  Why hadn't Aislinn answered him before? Was that sigil to blame? Whatever the case, Troy needed to act fast before she was somehow hurt, and with the thought, he noticed his mate in the distance, swiftly heading across the field from the manor and toward the old, partially burned servant's quarters.

  “Aislinn!” he called, but again, she didn't respond, or even stop.

  Had she still been human, he would've more willingly believed the wind or thunder were drowning out his voice. But her hearing was much better now, meaning he was being ignored—or she couldn't respond.

  Troy increased his pace at the distressing thought, arriving at the side of the building just a moment after Aislinn had rounded the corner. There, he found her opening the cellar doors that led down beneath the building.

  “What are you doing?”

  He approached her swiftly, but stopped abruptly when she looked over at him and lifted a hand to press her index to her lips with a soft, “Shush … .”

  Troy tensed in response, and it wasn't her eerily issued request for silence that gave him pause.

  It was her eyes.

  Her amber brown eyes.

  He blinked, but the color didn't return to the crystal blue he loved so much with a second look. In fact, seeing her now was like looking at a complete stranger. She had Aislinn's face, but it wasn't his mate.

  A normal human wouldn't have noticed such a thing, but Troy's keen senses offered a clear answer that had his gut clenching with fear.

  Aislinn was possessed.

  It wasn't everyday that a spirit decided to take over a human's body, but it was even more uncommon to see such a thing in supernatural beings, particularly immortals—unless there was some kind of connection.

  Immediately, Troy thought of the sigil on Aislinn's back.

  It was the only tie he could think of that would allow such a turn of events, and the spirit possessing her now had to be the same one she and Annika mentioned earlier in the day. Troy almost reacted violently to the thought—but threatening this spirit, or damaging it, would only cause Aislinn harm.

  So short of trying to talk to her in the hopes of breaking through to his mate, there was nothing he could do.

  For this reason alone, he schooled his expression, striving for an even tone when he asked, “Who are you?”

  A slow smile spread over her lips, and though it was Aislinn's face, the expression belonged to someone else entirely. It was a firm reminder that he was communicating with a spirit, one who didn't seem intent to offer any answers as she wordlessly turned to walk down the steps behind the cellar doors.

  “Wait,” Troy started, reaching for her, “don't—shit!”

  The exclamation came in response to an unseen force that knocked his arm back before he could grab Aislinn's shoulder. It was strong enough to make him lurch backwards, and sent a shock of pain throughout his body.

  By the time he'd recovered, she'd already walked halfway downstairs.

  Regardless, Troy moved in to make another attempt, and the same thing happened. Whoever was possessing her seemed to have a good grasp of the arcane, possibly meaning they'd been a witch in life, or even a mage. But whatever their identity, Aislinn continued moving freely, leaving footprints in the dirt floor at the landing of the old cellar in crossing to the far wall.

  There, she reached up, placing both hands against the wooden boards, testing it for weak spots.

  Troy approached her slowly, baffled by the curious behavior as Aislinn—or whoever she was—balled a fist, and suddenly sent it sailing into the wood. Once, twice. The paneling was so old that it only took a few blows before breaking, allowing her to grip one of the pieces and pull it away from the wall completely.

  Troy would've tried to demand information, but something caught his eye. The support of the building beneath the wood she'd removed from the wall was brick, and what looked like an old, metal door was coming into view. Panel by panel, he could see the outline forming—but that wasn't the most surprising part.

  Etched across the surface of the hidden portal was the exact same sigil on Aislinn's back.

  “What the fuck,” Troy muttered, stepping toward the door just as she freed the last panel.

  In contrast to his wary visage, Aislinn looked as ecstatic as a dehydrated man who'd discovered an oasis. The secret door must've had something very valuable contained within, and briefly, Troy wondered if his mate was being controlled by a previous resident of the estate—perhaps even Abraham Braddock himself.

  Either way, Aislinn stepped in front of the door and reached up, pressing her palm against the surface. Tense with worry, Troy wondered if he shouldn't try to stop her despite realizing she'd only repeat the process of knocking him back. Still, he didn't get the chance before the scent of magic rose up around them, and the sigil etched into the door began glowing in golden hues.

  With the vibrant color came a soft whir of energy, building until it hummed through the floors. Troy looked around, ready to pull Aislinn away regardless of the pain it would cause him. But just as the sound reached its peak, it slowly dissipated, the golden light fading from view with it, leaving the surface of the door bereft of any markings whatsoever.

  In the ensuing silence came a soft creak as if the once-hidden portal was now ajar, and the magic he'd scented then vanished.

  “Aislinn?”

  She stepped back, raising her hands to her head, and suddenly yelled, “Get away from me!”

  As if struggling to get her control back, she turned and nearly fell. Troy lurched forward quickly, catching her just before she hit the floor, exclaiming, “Aislinn! Are you okay?”

  Grabbing him tight, she took several deep breaths, then whispered, “I'm fine … I think. But I know the spirit's gone.”

  “Let me see your eyes,” he directed, taking her chin to tilt her face up, then sighed in relief. “They're blue again.”

  “What color were they?” she asked, bewildered.

  “Brown, and I knew you were possessed the moment I saw your face. It was like looking at a stranger.” The thought had him tightening his hold on her. “Do you remember anything?”

  “I remember everything,” she confirmed. “I woke with the strangest urge to go to the servant's quarter, and then I just couldn't stop myself. I got dressed and left, even heard you asking my name, but couldn't answer. I just ha
d this sense that someone else was … with me. It's hard to explain.”

  At that, she turned her gaze back to the door she'd exposed under the spirit's control, asking, “Wasn't the sigil on that door the same that's on my back?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking the spirit might be Abraham Braddock.”

  “No, it's a she, and I know she's the same one who attacked me the day Cindy and Lisa hexed me. But … ,” Aislinn frowned, “what's in that room?”

  “I've got no clue,” Troy replied, helping her stand on her own two feet again before he continued, “and I don't feel like going in would be a bad idea, but the circumstances aren't … ”

  “Suitable,” she provided, casting her gaze back in his direction. “Still, we probably should go inside to check things out.”

  He wished he could argue, but she was right. They needed to be aware of any risks, and in considering it, Troy also recalled an event that had taken place at this same building just over a week ago, relating, “Wait, this is the cellar Andi and Bryant found that reporter at.”

  “What reporter?”

  He'd paid so little attention to the incident that it took him a moment to recall her name. “Sally Gordon. She came to the manor last week claiming to be doing a story about haunted places for the Arkin Tribune. The next day, we learned she'd been snooping around this cellar, but as far as we know, she hasn't come back.”

  “Sounds too convenient to be a coincidence,” Aislinn qualified. “So how much would you bet she's a member of The Trine, and that they're tied into this after all?”

  “Everything I have,” Troy muttered. But for as troubling as the thought was, his attention was on another matter entirely. Facing Aislinn, he directed, “Lift up your gown, I wanna see if that mark's still on your back.”

  She blinked as if the thought had only just occurred to her, turning without hesitation to tug the garment up. As soon as her back was exposed, he brushed his hand over the spot where the sigil had been.

  “Is it still there?”

  “No, it's blank.”

  Despite the good news, Aislinn was scowling. “Then the spirit needed it to possess me and open this seal, and I wouldn't be one bit surprised if we get a visit from someone looking to grab whatever's inside that room soon now.”

  He didn't have to ask to know she meant Cindy and Lisa, pointing out, “You sound hopeful.”

  “I … I am,” she admitted as if relating a terrible secret. “I hope they come back, and that it ends bloody. Does that make me a horrible person?”

  Aislinn looked legitimately concerned over the matter, and he knew why—ferine or not, she wasn't a killer. But when Troy thought of the state he'd found her in the day she was hexed, he couldn't imagine a confrontation with the witches ending any other way, making his answer easy to offer.

  “After what they did to you? No. They've made their bed, and Aislinn,” he stepped in closer, pressing a palm to her cheek, “when we do see them, I'll make it end as bloody as you want.”

  Aislinn leaned into his palm, casting her gaze up with a single response.

  “Good.”

  Chapter 32

  A stale odor permeated the chamber hidden beyond the door, but despite signs of long term neglect, it was plain to see that someone had gotten plenty of use out of the room in the past.

  Shelves were built into the walls where dusty vials and beakers sat, a few of which were broken. Additionally, old parchments lay scattered about a work bench on the far wall, so worn from age that the writing on them had faded away.

  Aislinn took it all in, glancing toward the center of the chamber where a desk stood with a black, marble chest on top. It was just as covered in dust as every other object around, but it stood out in specific.

  “This looks like an alchemy lab,” Troy suggested, coming to stand on the far side of the table next to Aislinn.

  “It does,” she agreed, much more intrigued by this discovery than he was, and for one simple reason, which she explained, “but more importantly, it's definitely the source of the energy I sensed when I was fifteen, specifically this chest. It's giving off a vibe.”

  Just as she'd detected it ten years prior, energy was radiating from the object. This was simply the first time she'd sensed it since her return to the manor when her intuition had been so out of tune with her transition. Still, Aislinn was extremely curious about what the chest contained, and reached to push the lid up.

  Waving her hand as dust flew about, she looked inside to spy an item wrapped in a protective cloth, the shape of which resembled a book, and it was moderately heavy to lift as she pulled it free.

  “Could you move the chest, Troy?”

  He nodded, taking the container to place on the floor, then watched without interfering as Aislinn settled the object down and untied the strings holding the cloth around it. Pulling the material away uncovered a fairly thick book with a cover made of black leather. Golden sigils of differing shapes and sizes were etched into the surface—including the one previously found on her back, which was located at the very center.

  However, the most notable aspect was the book's condition. Everything in the chamber had to be over a century old, some of it aged to the point of crumbling with a single touch. Yet the book looked as if it'd been made only yesterday. The pages were off-white instead of yellowed with time, the golden latch polished and functional, and when Aislinn opened the cover, the writing was in perfect shape.

  Sadly, they couldn't decipher the language.

  “It looks like a spell book,” Troy suggested, “and it has to be what The Trine's after. The only question is why.”

  “Maybe there's something written down in English or Latin that might give us a clue.”

  Aislinn looked to see Troy nodding at length, only able imagine his instincts were warning him to be cautious because, despite her enthusiasm, she had the strange feeling that time was of the essence. So she carefully began turning the pages, still surprised that extra light wasn't needed to see the words in the darkened room—though her heightened vision did nothing to translate their meaning.

  Still, they could always be decoded by someone fluent in the language, prompting her to ask, “What kind of writing is this anyway?”

  “If this was an alchemist's lab,” Troy started, “it's probably the language of mages.”

  Incredulously, Aislinn turned her gaze up to him. “You mean … Mystikkar?”

  “That's what I mean.”

  She stared in surprise. Mystikkar, also called the City of Magic, was where mages studied the arcane. Unlike witches, who drew energy from the world around them to cast spells, mages seemed to have a built-in battery for it. But she knew very little else about them, and even less of their language.

  Still, excitement overwhelmed her at the prospect that this book was from that mystical city. Could it also mean that Abraham Braddock was a mage? If so, perhaps the reason he'd disappeared was that he'd taken up an apprenticeship and moved to another realm.

  With the questions in mind, Aislinn flipped through the book further, hoping to find even a small tidbit in a language she understood that might prove her theory.

  “Wait a second, look,” Troy remarked, taking Aislinn's hand to stop her, and flipped back to a place with an envelope hidden between the pages.

  “Huh,” she drew out, lifting it to see that, on the front of the note, written in plain English, were the words a warning to whomsoever finds this tome.

  She exchanged a look with Troy, who seemed warily intrigued, and motioned for her to open it, reasoning, “If someone took the time to offer a warning, we need to know about it.”

  Aislinn agreed, pulling the flap open to remove the parchment inside, which was still in good shape for its probable age. Unfolding it, she cleared her throat and read the contents aloud.

  As I have sworn to never again take an apprentice, I assume this letter's reader is not a mage, yet somehow bears my sigil. But no matter your identity, you have my sincerest apology.
The tome you've discovered in this lab contains a vast number of my rituals and alchemical formulas, the power of which has become an object of desire to many unscrupulous people.

  Because I refuse to suffer the consequence of their greed, I've sealed it away, and the only person able to open the door is one imbued with my sigil.

  As my sole apprentice is long dead, it should remain safe, but I've left this letter in the instance that it's recovered to pass on a warning; In my arrogance, I made the tome to be indestructible, and cursed myself doing so. Those who seek it's power would not let me rest, inevitably forcing me to assume a mortal identity and seek shelter in the realm of Earth.

  So beware—any who attempt to possess this tome for themselves shall suffer the same fate.

  -Heliger

  “I'll be damned.”

  Troy's exclamation got Aislinn's full attention. “What?”

  “That name, Heliger,” he explained. “This is a magician's tome.”

  “Do you know him?”

  He shook his head, “Not personally, but Heliger helped our kind defeat a faction of vampires before I was born, and according to the stories, he was pretty damned powerful.”

  Aislinn took that in, glancing down at the tome before asking, “But why is this here?”

  “Maybe Heliger is Abraham Braddock. He said he was forced to hide as a mortal.”

  “Oh my goddess,” she drew out. “Then he probably disappeared because he went back to Mystikkar.”

  “Could be,” Troy agreed, but his tone was solemn.

  “What's wrong?”

  Focusing his gaze on Aislinn, he explained, “I think I know what spirit marked and possessed you.”

  “Who?” she asked urgently.

  “I don't know much about mages, but I do know they brand their apprentices, and Heliger's letter said he only had one, so the tome should've been safe because he sealed this room with that mark. This means someone who possessed the sigil passed it on to you, and we know it wasn't the ghost of Heliger because you said the spirit is female. So it had to be his apprentice.”