by Martha Woods
“Always. They want us, Sara. To the spirit, we represent the ultimate form because we are able to control both spiritual and physical power. I need you to promise not to see him anymore.”
“I promise.” There was no way she was giving him up.
Her grandmother raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. “That was too easy.”
“I'm not dumb like that. My mother spent my entire life protecting me from those things. I'm not going to let some adolescent seduction trick me into going for a psychopathic killer, especially now that I know what he is.”
“You've always had good sense.” She downed the rest of her schnapps and looked Sara. “Drink up.”
Sara did and shook her head back and forth from the shock of the burning sensation traveling down her body.
“Come on. I'll show you how to make a fire.”
Chapter 14
Sara was just placing the shelves back inside the refrigerator when her mother walked into the house. “Oh my God, Sara. It smells amazing in here.”
Sara turned around, beaming at the spread she'd laid out on the table. There was a vase of arranged flowers in every single color imaginable and a pure white tablecloth she'd pulled out from the cupboard above the refrigerator.
“Do you like it?” She ran up and gave her mother a hug, letting her nose take in every last drop of her perfume.
“I love it. What are you cooking?” She followed Sara into the kitchen. Where she looked over her daughter's shoulder while Sara stirred the pot.
“I thought we'd have boiled heart.” She pulled the beating muscle up with the spoon to show her mother and shrieked when she turned around to see her mother falling on the ground, clutching the gaping hole where her heart had been.
Sara shot up off the bed, shrieking and fell over onto the ground from thrashing around. She lay there staring up at the wooden ceiling beams with the corner from her bedside table sticking into the back of her head. She deserved that. Learning magic was like tearing her mother's heart out. She knew her mother well enough to know that she sacrificed everything to keep Sara from learning, but Sara wasn't going to live without knowing her true nature, or the power that came with it.
The magic was interesting. She got up and started getting dressed. It was all about learning how to capture the essence of something in your mind and bring it out. When she used to cook for her mother, Sara would think about the kind of mood she wanted to bring to the evening. On casual nights, she would choose pizza because it was casual. It had the same essence of casual. Then there were the toppings. For something simple, she'd want cheese. Cheese is white, plain and simple. When she wanted something more substantial, she'd pick pepperoni. If she wanted to shake things up a little bit, she'd add sausage.
She found the essence that she wanted and used ingredients that seemed to embody that spirit. Magic was similar. She felt the spirit of fire and brought it out. The same could be done with ice, air, and water. She just had to understand it first. Then, she could manipulate it. They spent most of the evening talking about magic, while her grandmother taught her simple spells. She showed Sara how to make it rain inside. Then she showed her how to make ice out of nothing. Sara was learning were the essential, preschool spells every witch masters before they begin to delve into real magic. She might have been able to do some pretty amazing things, but she was barely scratching the surface.
When Sara walked down into the kitchen and set her bag down on the table, her grandmother turned around and handed her a plate of eggs and toast. “Put that thing away. I'm not going to make you go anymore.”
“I can't stay locked up in here. They're going to come at me anyway.”
“No, they're not.” She summoned two cups of coffee and set them down on the table. “The house is protected. A witch's space is sacred. They can't come in so much time as the proper charms stay in place. You need to listen to me, Sara.”
“I want to finish school eventually. I can't stay cooped up here. If I'm going to survive, I need to know how to go out in public.”
“You need to be careful.”
“I will.” Sara got up, hugged her grandmother and dashed out the door to go to school.
As soon as she left the property, she heard a whistle coming from the bushes. “Hey.” He knelt up from his position behind the bushes near the mailbox.
Andrea motioned for him to go, and ran off the property to follow him. They met at the point where the hill curved down enough for them to be out of sight. Then she grabbed him and kissed him, teasing out the electric burst of adrenaline that she knew he could provide. Then she stood back and took him in.
He was every bit a joker, demented but beautiful. Even if she were afraid to die, she wouldn't want to lose him.
“Did Margaret teach you how to spell?” He asked.
She answers by jolting her finger upwards, shooting a bolt of lightning down from the sky. It cracked like a cannon blast and fell a few hundred yards away.
He stared at her smiling. “Amazing,” he shook his head. “Come here.” He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and ripped her forward until their chests were touching.
She looked up at him silently.
“Why aren't you running away? Didn't she tell you about how we wait for years seducing you until we find the perfect moment to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I don't care.” She pecked him on the lips and turned around to walk down the street.
He stormed after her, a dark tinge of energy trailing behind him. “What do you mean you don't care?”
“I mean I don't care.”
He grabbed her by the arm to stop her and pulled her towards him. “Why not?”
“Because I want to die.”
“It's not going to happen that way. If you think talking to me will get you killed you can turn around come back the way you came, because I will not, not for one-second watch you throw your life away because of some momentary grief.”
“Do you really think that's the only reason I talk to you? I just ran up and kissed you. What about the fact that you won't let me die? There's more to this, Caleb. I'm not giving you up even if you were a killer. I'd rather live a decade or two longer and spend it with an extraordinary creature like you than spend my life alone like a goddess among mortals.”
He didn't say anything.
“If that's what you want then, by all means, Caleb, come around, spend as much time with me as you want. You can kill me or keep me alive, I don't care, but you're the only person I feel like I can actually talk to right now and I want you nearby.”
“I don't like your suicidal tendencies.”
“They're not going anywhere, and you have free will in this matter. You can stay or go.”
“I would never go.” He snapped. “I want to be with you, but you have to start caring about your life.”
“I don't have a reason.”
“Can I take you home?”
“You have a house?”
“Of course. Where'd you think I live? In a graveyard?”
She thought about it. “I don't know. I'd love to see it.”
“Come.” He snatched her up off the ground and held her close to his chest. He kept her in place while his feet started moving so fast she couldn't even feel them on her. The wind was so bad that she had to face his chest just so it didn't hit her in the face. She couldn't see anything, but she did feel the lay of the land moving below her. They ran downhill and over a level plane then up and down, probably through the hills until the ground sloped upwards for what seemed like a quarter of a mile.
Then she jerked forward, and they stopped. He put her down effortlessly while she took in her surroundings. They were standing at the top of a forested hill on which an English country home had been built. There were rows of windows in every room and chimneys creeping up out of the ceiling. It was massive and could've easily fit five or six homes the size of Sara's.
&nbs
p; There were rows of perfectly manicured hedges, some encircling Greek statues sitting in the center of dry fountains, and rose bushes of every color surrounding the house. Sara could see herself sitting and reading out on the veranda under an umbrella table with a pitcher of tea. She'd have her own room with a four-poster bed and a closet stuffed with designer labels and fabrics from foreign countries. She didn't just want to see inside. She wanted to see what it would be like to wake up there every morning and come down the stairs.
“It looks like a lot, but it has its issues.”
“What do you mean?”
“The house was built in the mid-17th century. I bought it when it was nearly a hundred years old and still have yet to do any of the repairs. It's completely off the grid. There is no power, no running water or indoor plumbing, but I do have a well that's particularly sweet.”
“So it's pure in its authenticity.” She added a refined air to her voice while she walked up the porch steps, noting the rotting rocking chair a few feet away.
“It is.” The porch was dusty, and the floorboards had collapsed in some places. The whitewash on the door had been almost entirely worn away, and there was a cobweb veiling many dangers up in the corner. “Watch your step.”
He opened the door without unlocking it and walked inside. She understood why he wanted her to be careful. Many of the floorboards had long since decayed. There were holes in the floor where they had collapsed, and it looks like some were starting to fall in. Sara didn't focus on that very long. The inside of the house was a treasure trove of early American and ancient European artifacts. There were paintings, mostly portraits, and landscapes covering every square inch of the walls. Below they were console tables holding strange oddities like old metallic devices, music boxes and figurines. It was tasteful, but not in the refined way that that Sara would've expected from somebody in that time.
The foyer gave way to a marble staircase lined with a crumbling banister that branched off in both directions halfway up. Sitting on the center wall above the landing was a single picture of a blonde woman wearing a green dress with an emerald necklace. She reminded Sara of a supermodel, because she was tall with a straight neck.
She must've been somebody important, Sarah thought because there weren't any other portraits surrounding it. “Who's that?” She pointed at the painting.
“That's an old friend of my brother's.”
“She seems to have had a central place in your life as well if you're looking at her every time you walk in the door.”
“She did, but things changed over time. She was a witch.” He took her hand to lead her up the stairs. “I loved her dearly, but she betrayed me for my brother. She hated herself for doing it, but I couldn't take her back for that, not after what she'd done so she was forced to stay with him.”
“Is she alive still? I mean, can witches...”
“There're rumors of witches living beyond their natural years, but I've never seen it and I'm not sure I believe in it.” He turned to Sara. “We want to die at some point. We get tired. After centuries of living, your life and your ambitions begin to decay, and you forget about the future. After that, vampires long for death like an addict needs their fix. It's all they think of.”
“Witches can provide that.”
“They don't like to.” They reached the second floor. “It's a dangerous energy.”
The second floor was slippery. As they moved past the landing and into the hall, Sarah had to keep a close watch. There were holes in the floor everywhere. She stopped halfway down the corridor, and stared down a hole three times as large as she was. “This is terrible.”
“Here.” Caleb hopped over the hole and picked her up so he could carry her the rest of the way through decaying double doors that had fallen off their rusted hinges.
“Oh, wow.”
He set her down in the middle of a traditional English library, like the kind she'd see in Sherlock Holmes renditions where the walls were made of bookshelves that reached the bottom of the domed ceiling. In the center of the room was a circular object sitting on a golden pedestal that had been covered with an old gray cloth.
“What is that?”
He removed the cloth revealing a disk, nearly three feet in diameter, that was so black it looked like a hole had been cut in space. “During the spiritualist movement, a medium named Francesca Langdon had this black mirror carved and polished from a black obsidian stone. She was a con artist.” Caleb laughed to himself, “The worst I had ever seen. She was one of my last victims.”
“What's it for?”
“Divination.” He said while he went to grab an armchair next to one of the shelves.
“What's that?”
“It's like fortune telling only not a gypsy trying to con you out of your money. Black mirrors are meant to fill your vision with darkness so you can tap into your natural psychic abilities and see images in the mirror. It's like you're standing right there, or so I've been told. Vampires can't do it. Some humans and all witches can.”
“Really?” Sara sat down in front of it, admiring the eerie red reflections on its surface. “So how does it work?”
“The darkness is a reminder of the energy you need to grasp. Your impression of it is the right thought form for you to hold onto. You do it just like magic, focusing on what you need to know.”
“This is so cool!” She hugged him around the waist. Then she turned back to the mirror. Lines of red light curved along the right side of the mirror where Caleb was standing. Lily looked back, and he moved aside so she could stare at the perfectly black surface.
The mirror represented the emptiness beyond the veil between the worlds. It was more than just a divination tool. This was a powerful object that could be used to summon the spiritual energy. She would have to be extremely careful what she thought about. The blue fire could easily manifest itself and burn her to death.
“Anything?”
“Not yet,” Sara said. She turned back to him. He was sweating, staring down at the ground and tapping one foot. “You have a question?”
“Yes.”
“Well go ahead. I can use it.”
“Why is he hunting you?”
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“OK. Go away. Let me do it.” He was too much of a distraction.
“Alright.” He turned around and left the room.
Sara closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift down through the floor, into the ground where they could be laid to rest. When she opened her eyes and stared into the black mirror, all that was left was her question.
Why is Caleb's brother trying to kill me?
Sara repeated the question over and over again in her head, each time giving it a jolt of personal energy. She clenched her body muscles then let the question pour out of her mouth. It came out in a hiss at first. Then it started getting louder and louder as the silhouette got clearer.
It formed in tiny wisps of light over the mirror, like cobwebs growing thicker. They moved around in inexplicable waves. Then space in between them started to fill, and the images began to form, and the rest of the room began to fade away. One more burst of energy and Sara felt like she was jumping into the mirror.
She was standing in a room built entirely out of bare wood planks. A thick mat made of thick canvas had been set atop wooden crates to form a bed where the woman from Caleb's painting was sitting holding an old glass hypodermic needle with a belt around her arm.
She filled it with thick amber colored liquid, shoved the tip into her arm and pressed the plunger. Sara recognized immediately the warm, opiate glow that fell over her face when she laid back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Then she pulled out her hand, looked back at the open window and shut the shutters with a flip so her wrist.
She was an opium addict.
She drifted off for a while and curled up under the blue and white checkered quilt. She didn't seem to notice when the door opened, and a young slave girl walked
in holding a candle stand. The shutters flew open, and Sara started to panic. She had never felt so cold in her entire life.
The girl started whispering, sending black dots over Sara's eyes. The world rippled like Sara was swimming under water, and with every pulsating movement the room grew colder. The girl's whispering grew faster, her shadow grew behind her, taking up more and more space on the wall until it stretched into a scythe, rearing up to decapitate the witch nodding out on the bed.
The slave girl looked directly at Sara and said, “Watch that you don't get caught in it.” She motioned for Sara to move behind her.
“Show me how,” Sara whispered to her.
“It's frighteningly cold, so cold it's killing you and it's quick. Malleus, Malleus, Malleus.” Her voice grew deeper and softer.
Sara watched the girl shivering underneath the covers while the Scythe of Hades began to take shape over the ceiling above. Then the tip, a single shadow took shape on the back wall. The slave girl's voice started to move faster and softer. Then the power burst out, drove itself back so that it covered the bed. Death's shadow descended down upon the girl who grew pale and cold.
Sara screamed bloody murder and space started fading. The last thing she saw were the fresh, bloody whip marks on the slave's back.
Chapter 15
Sara knew that she was screaming and that her echoes were resounding through the room, but she didn't know where she was. Just that Caleb was pulling her up while she sobbed frantically.
“It's the scythe. They scythe. I came so close. I—I saw...”
“Shh.” Caleb sat her down on the porch in the rocking chair.
“How can I be quiet? I saw death, real death. The slave girl told me to move. She said it would...”
“OK.” Caleb paced around while running his hand through the hair on the back of his head. “It was Emily.”
“Emily? That's her name? She was shooting up.”
“She was?” He sounded petrified.
“Yes and then one of her slaves came in and summoned the Scythe of Hades.”