by Ayse Hafiza
Sophie turned on the step and stopped, glancing over her shoulder, Frank could feel her eyes on him.
“Was she running an errand for Mrs. Boswell?” asked Sophie. They both knew she crossed a line to ask.
“Yes! Something like that,” Frank lied.
He turned too and went back to beating the curtain harder. Why was he lying to Sophie? She was the only one who he didn’t want to lie to. Why did he need to lie about Audrey? After all, who was this distant cousin to him? She was a woman he met years before and was meeting years later. He hadn’t called her the first time, she should have got the message, but this time he needed to set her straight.
Frank was getting annoyed with himself, he needed to make things clear. A little later he took a wander down the garden to look at the gnarled and twisted bark of the old fig tree, he looked up at the majesty of its widespread leaves, how they managed to form almost a perfect canopy against the rain. He closed his eyes and lay his hand against the bark.
The image of a woman filled him with fear. Her image was so strong it shocked him. Almost hard to see past her long black dress and the tip of her black shoe that threatened to touch his face. Her body swung from the hangman’s noose. It caused Frank to stumble on the roots of the tree. He lay on the floor terrified in his vision. Her eyes opened and met his willing him to see back into a million memories, he was in no doubt that her image was connected to an ancestor. She had a sick smile on her face as if she realized her death had not been the end, it was just the beginning of a limitless existence.
Frank trembled, inside his nostrils he could smell burning putrid flesh, he knew it was human, and he wanted to vomit. He wanted to run away for the second time that day, and again he felt envy that Stacey was able to leave. He heard words in his mind that he wished he could block out.
We are your ancestors, we grant you our powers, you have the ability to affect everything that flowers. You can call the dead, you can call the bewitched, you cannot be constrained. You will have no fame.
Frank lay on the floor, he was paralyzed with fear. Slowly as the vision faded and the chanting died away, he was able to move his hand back to his body. He curled himself into a ball. He didn’t need his spirit guides or anyone living to tell him that he had just been bestowed with another ‘gift,’ one that came from his ancestors. Those who had been persecuted by the Oban witches.
When Frank finally came to his senses, he was laying on the roots of the fig tree and could see the whitewashed walls of the back of the house. Shakily he got to his feet and he staggered toward the house. He could see faces in the windows, but these weren’t those of the commune dwellers, these were the faces of his ancestors from the times at which they lived in the house. Ghosts, echoes of the past. He knew their names, knew exactly who they were.
When he stepped into the kitchen, he saw a ghost girl run out and into the hallway, he wanted to scream, but he didn’t because Nevaeh was walking into the kitchen to put a plate next to the sink. The ghost girl ran through her body dissipating her energy. Frank raised his hand in the air to point. But she was gone, and Neveah just stood looking at him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Frank nodded and went to the sink, he poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter.
“You haven’t seen everything,” said Neveah.
He wondered if she could see the ghosts too. She took his hand and pulled him through the house showing him all the donations the local people made. He felt bile rise in his throat, he knew exactly why Stacey had run away. The locals had been more generous than any of them could fathom.
He rubbed his head and went to his bedroom which had dust free curtains hanging back at the windows. He knew Sophie would have done that, or at least asked one of the others to do it. The mirror on the wall was still covered by his jacket. But now as he stood there he could feel a strange presence within himself, something giving him the courage to fight. He took his shoes off then lay down on his new bed and looked at it. He could see the magical purplish glow that the covered mirror gave off.
What happened in the garden, why was this happening? Then the words of his mom reminded him. Today was his birthday and at forty he matured into his powers. He could see the mirror pulling his jacket inside. There was no doubt in his mind the mirror was calling him.
He jumped to his feet, Frank was unsure if he could handle anymore as he stood looking at the mirror. He had feared it for so long, but with the power of his ancestors coursing through his body, fear was becoming a secondary emotion. Removing the jacket and reaching out he touched the surface of the mirror, then under the pressure of his finger it became malleable, Frank managed to push his finger inside. The way the mirror bent around his fingers fascinated him. He knew he should be careful, but he wanted to see what it meant to have their powers.
“She’s pretty,” Sophie’s words broke his concentration as she stopped outside his bedroom.
He had forgotten his bedroom door was open. He quickly pulled his hand away and threw the jacket back over the mirror.
“Who?” he asked.
She laughed and leaned back against the wooden frame of the door, he could see the silhouette of her shape.
“Mrs. Boswell's daughter. . .Audrey?” he asked.
“If that’s her name,” said Sophie.
“Well it’s a small island so it’s good that you like her, maybe you two can be friends,” suggested Frank.
“I think the point is that you like her, and she might just want to be your friend,” said Sophie.
For the first time he recognized the emotion that flickered across Sophie's eyes, it wasn’t something he had seen before. . .competition.
She turned and started to walk away.
He felt the power of his ancestors pushing him forward.
“Sophie, Sophie,” he called out.
That was so unlike him. He never justified himself, he always ran especially from anything that tried to catch his attention. She stood in the hallway with her head hanging down, he could see a ghost in the room behind her walking in a long dress along the hall looking into the rooms. Frank froze until the ghost walked straight through Sophie, he blinked a few times and it was gone.
“Audrey is really just a cousin,” he said.
“Well, this is a fresh start for all of us you know. A chance to make things how they should have been, and not the screw ups that our lives have become,” she took a deep breath. It was a comment made to lead him, it was a form of invitation for intimacy between them. He was sure of it.
Frank stepped closer, and she reached out and held his hand. It was a tender moment that he didn’t expect. She raised his hand to her face and kissed the back of it. Lifting her head, he could see tears in her green eyes.
He could feel the seduction working, it began to affect him, and he wasn’t sure if he should give in.
His rough hands cupped the gentle, soft skin of her face.
“Yes, it’s a chance to be happy,” he agreed.
“Honestly it is the best chance that we’ve ever had.”
Sophie was right. She moved closer to Frank, into his personal space and in his ear she whispered, “We live in a bartering system, so if there is anything that I can do for you while we are here, then just let me know.”
She dropped his hand and let it brush past the side of her breast before walking slowly back to her room, she stopped at the door frame glancing back to see if he was following.
“Sophie. . .I can’t.”
She turned to look at him, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Then if you won’t be with me, take my advice? Don’t with her, don’t trust Audrey.”
She stepped fully into her room and closed the door.
Frank stood in the hall, shocked at what had just happened. Had he just rejected Sophie, was he possibly that dumb. He wondered if it was the power of his ancestors that was making women act in ways they had never done around him. Ways the
y had not done for a very long time.
Returning to his bedroom he thought about Sophie, he wondered if he should go and knock on her bedroom door. He felt the blood of his ancestors; the red-blooded male gene push him to run into her arms.
Calming himself down he realized that she used the words ‘as long as we’re here,’ that meant she wasn’t planning on getting old on the island. At some point there would be an escape. He lent with his back against the closed wood door of his bedroom. He saw the ghost that had been laying on his bed stand up and walk to the fireplace. Then the ghost turned and walked toward him, Frank closed his eyes as the ghost walked through him and out of the closed door and his bedroom.
Somehow there had been a change in the balance of power and Frank knew that he was living between different realms.
8
Discovery
His eyes flicked open as sweat poured from his brow. It was the strangest dream he had seen for a long time. He felt the electricity in his blood flex. As if the power of the ancestors was a muscle that he was learning to tame and use.
Frank knew that his slumber had been robbed and he was awake, as his eyes adjusted, he could see the back of his jacket concave leaning into the magical mirror. The mirror was calling him, but he wasn’t ready yet, he needed to know as much as possible about its mysteries before he gave into it. He tried to ignore it, he turned on his side as the ghostly image of a maid disappeared, and he watched her fade away from his sights. An old house like this one would have a million mysteries, and if they showed themselves to him, he couldn’t jump and scream all the time. So far, the ghosts seemed harmless enough.
He thought about Audrey and wondered why Sophie had warned him away from her. What was it was that she saw about the other woman? Was it just because she was a contender for his affection? Did Sophie genuinely want his affection, or was she just trying to pay him back? He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. What the hell was happening? He rubbished Sophie's lack of trust in Audrey, there was some strange competitive female dynamic at play, and all the power of the ancestors couldn’t teach him how to understand women. He didn’t want any of these women, he only wanted Jane, the woman who he knew loved him. Again he glanced at the mirror, her prison. With the power of his ancestors he would try and overcome his fears and he would find her. His mind wandered once more to Stacey, he was jealous of her and her ability to escape the island and all that was going on there, but he hoped she was alright and that she would be able to find somewhere warm and safe.
He got out of bed and made his way down into the kitchen, Sophie was fixing breakfast for the girls.
“Would you like some breakfast too?” she asked as he stepped into the kitchen.
This time he leaned against the door frame and watched the young woman who had offered her body to him the night before, she moved gracefully around the kitchen.
A plate was placed on the table and a cup on the side.
“Mrs. Boswell will come today.” She was talking to the girls, but she was also saying it so he would know. “She will pop in to see you girls. Hopefully she’ll bring you some books.” Sophie was in full on Mom mode, all signs of a sultry temptress were gone.
Frank tried not to look at her and she tried not to catch his eye either.
They had just finished breakfast when there was a knock on the door. He really hoped that she had come alone, and that Audrey wouldn’t be with her. Frank wasn’t used to women competing for his attention, especially when neither of them was in with a chance against his Jane.
As Sophie headed to open it relief washed through him as he only heard Mrs. Boswell's voice, she followed Sophie into the kitchen.
“Oh, hello Frank pet,” said the wonderfully cheerful woman. Her eye took in the family scene, Sophie with her girls and Frank sitting at the edge of the breakfast table.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” said Frank.
Mrs. Boswell took out school books for the girls and put them on the breakfast table.
“Well before you go, I have a book for you too, it’s in my house so pop in and see me later,” she winked.
Frank smiled and walked away.
He left the house planning to walk all the way around the island, he wanted to see it for himself, the place his ancestors lived and fought for. He thought about what he knew of the effects of magic, how it was more potent when water was present, and how apt that a coven had made an island their home. Frank didn’t realize it, but it was the call of his ancestors that made him want to see the island after all the entire island was his inheritance. He looked forward to seeing it, including the lighthouse that sat on its southern tip. As he took steps along dirt roads where cars traveled he thought about the words he heard under the fig tree.
. .We are your ancestors, we grant you our powers.
Frank mentally ticked a box knowing that the surge in energy he had felt was because of their powers and it was because of those powers he was now able to see the ghosts in the corners of the house living alongside him and his friends.
You have the ability to affect everything that flowers.
He was curious what that meant. So he stopped at the side of the road and touched a growing weed which had sprouted from a stacked stone wall. It had a pretty purple flower that shivered in the wind. Frank wanted to see if he could affect it, he closed his eyes and focused his energy. When he opened them again, there were another five blooms open on different stems of the weed. He wondered if he had not noticed them before, but he knew he was the reason for them to sprout.
Then his train of thought shifted, were Sophie and Audrey trying to seduce him because they were flowering? Were they were under the same spell? He mentally ticked that box, he now had definite proof of that power.
You can call the dead.
But was that because he was a Shaman. He didn’t feel the needed to test this skill, at the base of the old fig tree had been a transference of power. This skill was a moot point because Jane wasn’t dead she still existed just in another dimension.
You can call the bewitched.
He wondered about this. No one used those terms anymore, who could be a bewitched person? He wondered how he could test this skill, and he put it on a list of things he needed to find out more about.
You cannot be constrained.
He didn’t want to test this skill. Fear had dictated so much of his life, at its worst paralyzing him until he witnessed everything slip away. He was beginning to believe in himself, but he wasn’t there yet. He knew the grand title they had bestowed upon him, but he needed more time before he felt he could live up to it.
You will have no fame.
He knew this was something he just needed to accept, and if it was true, he would be glad. Frank didn’t like being the center of attention. So far in his estimation being someone who possessed the power of the ancestors wasn’t a bad thing.
He walked along lost in his thoughts as he viewed the beauty of the island. If he had a bicycle it would serve him well, but he liked the sound of his footsteps against the dirt, and as he walked he filled his lungs with clean air. He looked out over the Irish sea, as the waves lapped against the cliffs and his mind brought him back to Audrey’s words, ‘they were Wicca until a dark element had been introduced.’
Why couldn’t we all have just remained Wicca he thought to himself, then he caught his thoughts. Frank for the first time realized he was referring to himself as a witch before Shaman, that was new. He shook his head, he still wasn’t sure he was ready to accept their terminology.
It was a while before he walked all the way around the island and saw Mrs. Boswell’s cottage. He hung back and waited, he wasn’t going to knock on Mrs. Boswell’s door if her car wasn’t in the drive. If her Ma wasn’t home, he knew he would have a tough time fighting Audrey off. Frank laughed at himself, not that he had ever fought her off. When he thought of the young woman he wanted her, and with the power of his ancestors his desire to mate with her was almost un
controllable, but it wasn’t Audrey that he really wanted, it was Jane. Audrey was a willing carnal desire, he understood that much.
He was still internalizing as the red jeep came into view, and when Frank was sure Mrs. Boswell was going to be home, he started along the road once more.
“Well that’s quite some walk you took,” said Mrs. Boswell, noting the direction he came from.
“I’m used to walking.”
He had walked the streets of London looking for change on the ground and food in dumpsters. Long walks were not new to him.
“Come inside pet I’ll put the kettle on.”
He took an offered seat in the living room. He wanted to ask where Audrey was, but he didn’t dare show any extra interest in the woman.
The living room had something large on the coffee table wrapped in purple satin fabric. Frank looked at it, he sensed a familiarity with whatever was hidden in the cloth. He knew it was a memory from his ancestors penetrating his consciousness.
“It’s the book of our family,” said Mrs. Boswell with pride.
Frank looked up at her, and she nodded at him. He took the purple wrap off and felt the leather exterior, he couldn’t resist bending to smell it. The feel of it in his hands sent small electrical charges along his fingers. Enthralled with it he kissed the cover, and after doing so, he wondered what desire had driven him to adopt it so easily. It had been an automatic reaction.
“See, you are the chosen one of the coven,” said Mrs. Boswell as he began to flick through the pages. He studied the writing and surprised himself by being able to read it, the handwriting was old but majestic, and with a little effort, he was able to make sense of it.
“It belongs to you,” said Mrs. Boswell. “It’s our spell book and it has chosen you.”