Booke of the Hidden

by Jeri Westerson

  I looked around with her. Almost all the cubbies were full of herbs and marked accordingly. I had filled apothecary jars with tea, and they marched across the back of the buffet with its shelves now displaying teapots and mugs of various colors and designs. All were priced with stickers, and I had kept careful tabs of the entire inventory with the latest software.

  And it smelled heavenly, too. Like all the different wild, rich, and flowery forms of tea, and every woodsy, earthy herb. It smelled like where I was supposed to be.

  “Yes, it’s finally whipping into shape. Should be ready by the end of the week.” If I’m not attacked by a succubus, or a biker gang, or a stray demon before then. This was all more complicated than I had bargained for.

  “It’s just darling,” she said, removing her cape. I took it from her and hung it on the hall tree. “So cozy.” She headed toward the facing wingback chairs positioned in front of the fireplace. Her manicured fingers smoothed over the chintz upholstery of one chair. “You’ve done so much work.”

  “More to go, I’m afraid.”

  She faced me. She was wearing more practical clothes since the chamber get-together. Tight jeans and a sweater with a neckline that kept sliding off one shoulder. Sort of practical. “Put me to work.”

  I did. We had our tea in cups and saucers, which we moved with us as we worked. I had her pricing the little knick-knacks of cherry bark tea scoops, infusers, and agave sticks. She sat on the floor, shoes kicked off, with merchandise all around her. I thought she’d be chattier as she worked, but instead she proceeded silently, only occasionally making a comment. I still couldn’t make out how old she was. Wicca was good to her, I guessed.

  I told her about the vortex and the bikers and she only looked at me thoughtfully. “I already told Doc about all this,” I said when she continued on in her strange silence. “And also…that those bikers seemed to have the help of their own demon.”

  “Oh!” She put her fingers to her blood-red lips. “That’s…a complication.”

  “That’s what Erasmus said.”

  “But you’re safe here now.”

  I looked around. I did feel safe. Was that a false sense of security? The crossbow and the Booke were right there, but was all that enough?

  “How long have you lived here, Seraphina?”

  “Oh, for about ten years. I was born and raised in New Hampshire.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “That’s a good question. I…just had a feeling about it.”

  I didn’t roll my eyes. After all, I’d seen stranger things lately. “So, do you know any of the local history? You know the kind of stuff. About the founders?”

  “Can’t say I do. That’s never been my interest.”

  I decided not to mention the Howlands—if Seraphina didn’t know more details, there wasn’t much use discussing it.

  We continued to work quietly, our heads in their own places. Maybe it was when she saw me glance out the window for the umpteenth time that she finally asked, “Who are you looking for?”

  “Oh. No one. I mean…” I sighed. I cradled a rounded orange ceramic teapot in my hand. “I got so frustrated. With Erasmus Dark. I told him to leave.”

  She shook her head as she stuck out her tongue, writing a price and description on a tag with her tiny careful lettering. “He was here?”

  “Yes. Just breezes in whenever he feels like it. All these cryptic sentences that don’t actually answer any questions. He lies, you know. So I kicked him out.” I barked a harsh laugh. “Seems I’ve been doing that a lot with men lately. They all seem to lie.”

  She bent her head and continued to write on the tag. “Want to talk about it?”

  I must have said that with a little too much vehemence. “Well…” I set down the pot, picked up a rag, and began polishing the wood of the apothecary shelves. “I had a boyfriend back in California. Jeff. I was with him for two whole years and I still can’t believe it. He was sort of my first serious relationship. Maybe I didn’t know how they’re supposed to be. I don’t remember much of my father and my mother never re-married, never dated, so I just had the example of her being alone. I was alone pretty much all through college except for the occasional dalliance.”

  Seraphina grinned. “Ooh la la,” she purred.

  I smiled back and felt my cheeks heat with a blush. “Yes, well. So it wasn’t like I’d had no relationships, but nothing…you know…serious. Until Jeff.”

  “What attracted you to him?”

  “Oh he was the consummate beach boy. Blond, good-looking, everyone’s pal. Funny, great personality.”

  “So what went wrong?”

  “It was all a lie. Yes, he had the kind of personality that drew people to him, but it was only skin deep. I’m painting a pretty dark picture. It wasn’t all bad. And it wasn’t that he was that terrible a person, but he could be a prick on occasion, pardon the expression.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t mind me. I’ve met quite a few pricks in my day.”

  “Yeah, so.” I polished the wood with vigor; once one spot shined, I moved on to the next. “Jeff and I hit it off right away. Mutual interests. He had this small herb shop and after we became boyfriend and girlfriend we became business partners. I added the tea and a few knick-knacks and the place seemed to take off after that. What I didn’t know is that he was spending all the profits, getting us into debt. He handled the books, but when our venders began cutting us off I took a look and was, well, appalled. How had I let him do that? I trusted him. And then there were the women…”

  “Oh Kylie.”

  “It took me too long to realize what exactly was going on. By the time my mom got sick I had almost been wiped out. We broke up and got together a bunch of times. But when Mom died…”

  Seraphina made a small sound of empathy. I glanced at her soft expression. “She left me some money along with the life insurance and I made the decision to just leave. Pack up and go and end up at god-knows-where. Which turned out to be here.”

  “And aren’t we lucky it was.”

  I turned back to my polishing, scrubbing the beeswax deep into the old wood. “You may not think so after all this crazy stuff blows up in our faces.”

  “I suppose that all remains to be seen.” She unfolded her legs and stretched them out before picking up the next tiny tag and tying it around a package of sugar swizzle sticks. “This Mr. Dark,” she began. I set my rag down and looked up. “I don’t really think you can put him in the same class as the erstwhile and soon-to-be-forgotten Jeff. Maybe he was trying to help you…in his way.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But I think you’re right to be cautious. We don’t know his nature. He could be here to trick you.”

  “I think he chased Constance Howland to her death. You saw that engraving.”

  “Did you ask him about that?”

  “Of course! Still, no straight answer. I can’t trust him, Seraphina. What happens if he comes back?”

  “When the coven gets here tonight, we’ll work on some protection spells for you. I don’t think you should entirely trust him, but I don’t think you can afford to send him away permanently either. He has much to tell you.”

  “That’s what he said.” I set the rag aside and screwed the lid back on the wax. “I don’t know who to believe. And there is still something out there. And then there was this evil hole or vortex or something.” I suddenly felt weary. I slid into a chair, sitting across the wingback with my legs draped over the arm. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

  “He told you the book chose you, right?”

  “And can I believe that?”

  “What do you think? What do you feel?”

  She was big on feelings. Me, not so much. But I couldn’t help but glance over at the Booke. I did feel something. I knew in my heart of hearts that the Booke had chosen me. Okay, so he hadn’t lied about that. That look of injury in his eyes. Demon or not, I’d hurt his feelings, and now I felt guilty.
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  “It’s true,” I said softly. “Seraphina, there’s just so much we don’t know. There’s something out there and it’s killed twice. I can’t let it kill again, but I have no idea how to find it.”

  She reached over and patted my hand. “We’ll figure something out. Tonight, when the coven meets.”

  Chapter Eleven

  With Seraphina’s help, I got a lot done. I’d also put on a pot of chili, baked fresh corn bread, and waited for my guests to arrive. Doc arrived first and gushed about how the place looked. Then Nick arrived with Jolene. They all found places to settle and we ended up with our bowls in front of the fire, Doc and Jolene on the wingbacks, Seraphina on a ladder-back chair, and Nick and me on the floor rug.

  I filled them in on what had transpired today, scooping up spoonfuls of chili in between my sentences. “And then there was this biker gang in front of the museum. They took me on a little unscheduled ride to a bar. Wanted my crossbow but after I performed some acrobatic feat that I still don’t understand and got the drop on them, they let me go. They had some pentagram logo on their jackets with some goat guy. When I told that to Erasmus he kind of got all quiet.”

  Nick looked on, mouth agape, spoon frozen halfway to his lips.

  “They also had a motto of some kind. Ordo Dextra something or other.”

  “Ordo Dexterae Diaboli,” said Nick. “The ODD.”

  “They certainly were,” I said gesturing with my beer bottle. “Odd, I mean. Hey, wait a minute. I think Karl Waters said something about them—about the ODD.”

  Jolene squinted at me through her glasses. I could see her tablet peeking out from a canvas tote at her feet, a bag plastered with a pink Hello Kitty skull sporting a witch’s hat.

  Nick took a drag on his beer and set it down. His hands shook.

  “But that’s not all,” I said, scanning all of them. “The reason the biker guys were there in the first place was that they were told to be there.”

  “Told?” said Nick, looking paler than usual. “By who?”

  “Well, looks like by their own demon.” Everyone gasped. It was beginning to feel like old hat to me but not so much for the Wiccans. They’d had just as much time to get used to it, but I supposed they didn’t have a weird Booke whispering to their subconscious. “They said as much,” I clarified. “He sent them to get the crossbow. Doug, their leader, had an amulet just like this one.” I raised mine.

  “Then they’ll try again,” said Doc.

  I took a swig of beer. “I guess so.”

  Everyone drank or stirred their spoons in their bowls.

  Nick remained quiet as we all ate. But it wasn’t until we both met in the kitchen for second helpings that he touched my arm, checked that his companions were still in the main shop, and pulled me aside.

  “Kylie, that was a lot of crazy stuff today. But I gotta tell you. You don’t want to mess with those biker guys.”

  “Believe me, I had no intention.”

  “No, seriously. They are really bad news. Their logo isn’t just for show. They’re followers of Baphomet.”

  “Baphomet?”

  “The goat guy. They’re demon worshippers. They’re the anti-us.”

  I leaned back against the counter. “So you mean, they go for the dark stuff.”

  “Yeah. Really dark stuff. Black masses and all that. Ordo Dexterae Diaboli means the ‘Order of the Right Hand of the Devil.’”

  “Crap. I thought that was all made-up stuff, black masses.” I glanced back at my Wiccans in the next room. “Right. Don’t take anything for granted anymore. Plus they have their own demon in their pocket. Wait. You don’t suppose it’s Baphomet?”

  “No. Baphomet is like a god. Almost. No amulet is going to control him.”

  “And you know all this because…?”

  “I used to sort of hang with them. Well…not ‘hang.’ I was a wannabe. But then I found out the sort of stuff they really did. I mean, I was ready to be badass and all, roll with the bikers, but…” His black dyed hair and spike earrings did give him a Goth vibe, but I never got the feeling that he took it to the nth degree. More like Goth-Lite. He certainly didn’t seem the biker type.

  “I don’t see you hanging out with guys like that.”

  “Yeah, neither did they. They weren’t so keen on me being gay either. I got into a lot trouble from my folks when they found out I was ditching school and hanging around Mike’s Roadhouse. I wasn’t twenty-one yet and they blew their tops when they thought I might want to be with those guys, get tattooed and stuff. I was so grounded.”

  “They sound like good, responsible parents,” I said, reminding myself disturbingly of my mother.

  He smiled briefly and blushed. “Yeah, they’re okay. Anyway, I met Jolene at the Coffee Shack where I work. She’d come in all the time and be on her computer. She seemed pretty mature for a high school junior and we’d get to talk sometimes. She’s the one who told me about the Wiccans. After the Ordo, that sounded more like my speed. The Ordo used to talk about doing rituals. I didn’t want to go into that dark stuff after all, with animal sacrifices and whatever. They said the rituals had to be dangerous and kind of gross in order to yield power and money. But even though a lot of it seemed like talk—you know, trying to look more dangerous than you really are—they looked like they were getting deeper into it. They did get into some trouble—vandalism and a few fights at Mike’s. But they never, you know, killed anyone, or did anything really badass. It was just talk. But with all this Baphomet stuff and the rituals… It sounded like maybe they were going more hardcore. Maybe that was just more talk, but who knows?” He took another swallow of beer. “When I got in with the Wiccans, I learned all kinds of stuff about nature and nature spirits. Doc’s really good with that. And the occult is interesting. But it can be dangerous if you don’t do it right.”

  “Except I guess we’re getting into some dangerous stuff.”

  “Yeah, but this is the Light!” He smiled, but it took no time for his mood to darken again. “The fact that the Ordo were outside the vortex and they wanted your crossbow…that is not a good combination.”

  “Are you saying you think they conjured that vortex? I thought it was part of the Booke.”

  He shrugged, picked at the corn bread he nabbed from the dish, and nibbled on it. “I don’t know. I don’t know the extent of their power.”

  “Have you told this to Doc? About the Ordo?”

  “I’ve told him before, but he didn’t believe they were a threat.”

  “Well I think this changes things, don’t you?”

  I marched back into the shop and Nick followed close behind. “Nick has something to tell you,” I announced, and all eyes turned toward us.

  Nick stumbled through his explanation. After he’d stopped talking and sipped at his chilled beer, Doc looked thoughtfully at each of us.

  “And Karl Waters said something about the Ordo, too,” I said. “But it was just in passing, and I didn’t understand it at the time.”

  Doc nodded. “Gifford Corner is just a hop and a skip from Hansen Mills. But this news of another demon in town. That concerns me.”

  “What’s a mage?” I asked suddenly. Jolene was startled and tried to hide it by fixing her glasses. “Or a practitioner. The Ordo said something about that. They asked if I was a mage or practitioner. Erasmus mentioned mages, too.”

  Doc set his bowl down on the coffee table. “A mage is a powerful witch or warlock capable of doing some off-the-cuff magic. That is, they don’t require preparation or ritual to perform Craft. A practitioner is someone who can do the same to a lesser extent. The apprentice of a mage, if you will.”

  “Why did they think I was one of those?”

  “Could be their demon thought so. Maybe it sensed something powerful in the neighborhood.”

  “Do you think it knows about the Booke?”

  “Hard to say. But it knows about the crossbow at any rate. I suppose it would have thought only a powerful mage could obt
ain it.”

  Seraphina nodded sagely. “I told you I sensed something about Kylie. That she was sensitive.”

  “I’m not sensitive!”

  “Or,” said Doc thoughtfully. He stroked his chin and stared into the middle distance. “Now that I think about it, it could be that there’s power in the book that extends to you in a sort of surrounding aura.”

  “That reminds me!” piped up Jolene. She rummaged in her bag and drew out a long clear crystal tied to a stick.

  “What’s that?”

  The crystal was carefully wrapped to the stick with a leather thong, wrapped many times and knotted intricately, even beautifully, with two dangling leather pieces with a feather tied to the end of one, and a polished pebble to the other. “It’s a scrying stick. I worked on this for two whole days. I’m hoping it works.”

  Everyone nodded, and there I was again, the outsider. “I don’t know what a scrying stick is.”

  “That’s okay,” she said brightly. “I didn’t expect you to. It’s a way to be able to find the paranormal. Like a metal detector. Only I’m not looking for metal, but for…you know, magic stuff.”

  “Oh.” Sounded reasonable. As reasonable as any of it did.

  “So…you don’t mind, do you?”

  It took me a moment to understand that she wanted to wave her stick at me. I blew out a breath. “No, go right ahead. It won’t hurt, will it?”

  “Oh no. At least…I don’t think so.” She held the stick in both her hands and seemed to center herself. She aimed the crystal at me and slowly waved it in a figure eight pattern, over and over again.

  I felt a bit foolish. And a little embarrassed for her. I peeked at the others but they were solemnly watching her stick.

  A spark.

  I snapped my head, staring at the crystal. It sparked again and then suddenly the thing started to glow. No way!