by Lia Davis
More tears rolled down her cheeks, wetting her pillowcase. She needed to get out of the house, catch her bearings before she lost her mind. Gramma didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that and Ophelia needed to get a grip on things before stress overtook her.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she’d go back in town tomorrow. Even going to the grocery store would help. However, she couldn’t leave Gramma for too long.
With a shaky breath, she willed herself to relax and sleep. Things would be better tomorrow.
6
My heart breaks for my witch. She is hurting and in danger. All I can do is hold her, although I don’t understand how it’s possible in my current form.
She seems to be the only thing I can touch.
I don’t understand.
She seems to sense my touch, but doubts what her body tells her is true. I’m here, love! My heart beats only for you and hopes that the day will come when I can hold you as a full man.
Right now, I have to focus on the danger that seeks her. Francois will take everything and lock her away in a cell she can’t escape.
Her life will be over. Like mine.
I have to find a way to warn her, make her believe what her grandmother says. That she has the magick and goodness inside her to defeat the evil that haunts her. Haunts us all.
I push away a few strands of my witch’s hair from her cheek and smile. She’s so lovely. Without a single thought, I lift the blanket and tug it over her shoulders.
Wait. I can pick up the blanket? How can this be? Why are things changing? Joy consumes me.
If I can move things. I can warn her.
Easing out of the bed, I shoot straight up, through the ceiling and into the attic. Something in her grandmother’s magical stuff will surely be the key. Some way I can warn Ophelia. Make her believe in me.
It’s a place to start, at least.
I snake through piles of old papers, half-burned candles and bottles of spices and other things. A witch’s things, not unlike what my own pantry looked like so long ago.
Drifting to the bookshelf closest to the podium, I stretch my fingers to touch the book Ophelia had held earlier that morning. I glance at the title.
A History of Duels in Savannah in the 1800s.
Glee floods me as I lift the book and hold it in my hands. Now I can show Ophelia who I am.
* * *
Ophelia shivered as she opened her eyes. Why was it so cold in the house? It was too early in the season to turn the heat on, but if the chilly weather continued, she would. Gramma would need the warmth. Ophelia made a mental note to ask Gramma if she had been cold at night.
She stretched as she sat up, then noticed a book open on her nightstand. How did it get there? Gramma couldn’t walk to her room, much less sneak in and place a book beside her bed, and the nurses’ aides never came in the room. In fact, they hadn’t even been working. So where did it come from?
When she picked the book up, the name, Anatoli La Croix, jumped out at her from the open page. The same name on the bottle. Her ghostly lover’s name.
Odd. And a bit unnerving. The bottle and the book seemed to be tied together and it made her uneasy. She pulled the blanket over her knees and held the book in her lap. It was the same book she’d spotted in the attic but hadn’t opened—no reason to suspect that it had information about Anatoli in its pages.
Running her fingers over the lettering, she sensed…magick? Oh great, was she starting to believe Gramma? But Ophelia couldn’t explain the hum of energy kissing her fingertips as she touched the page.
A mix of good and evil. She shivered, and not from the cold.
The title A History of Duels in Savannah in the 1800s was in gold letters across the front of the book. Yet some of the words inside were written in Latin. Although Ophelia could recognize the old language, she couldn’t read it. But Gramma could.
Time to figure out who put the book on her nightstand and why. Did Gramma know the book had information on Anatoli? Why hadn’t she mentioned it?
Ophelia gathered the book in her arms and rushed to her gramma’s room. When she entered, Gramma was sitting up in bed. Life lit up in her features a little more. It was almost as if the older woman knew what Ophelia was about to ask. But that would be impossible.
Wouldn’t it?
“Hi, Gramma. How’re you feeling?”
“I’m good. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. What’s going on that has you in such a tizzy?”
Ophelia pushed aside the doubt in her mind and tried to open to the possibility of witches, ghosts, and magick. After all, how did the book get on her nightstand? Was it the spirit in the attic? The one that touched her and held her last night while she cried. Something was going on that logic couldn’t explain. What was the harm in considering that mystickal things existed?
Yes, she felt it. Even though her mind wanted to reject knowing about anything supernatural, something inside her knew it was true.
“I have a question about this book.” Handing the book to Gramma, opened to the page that had Anatoli’s name on it. “What does this say?”
Gramma took the book from her and patted the bed beside her. “Sit. It’s a long story.”
Ophelia climbed beside Gramma. “What is it? What happened, and why does it mention Anatoli?”
“This book tells of a magickal duel between a witch, Anatoli—your spirit from the bottle—and Francois, the evil warlock whose house we burned down.”
“You’re kidding.”
Gramma shrugged. “I’m not kidding. This is very serious. Where did you get the book? Did you take it from the attic shelves?”
“No, it was on my bedside table when I woke up.” Ophelia shook her head. “Open to that page. I thought you might have had an aide bring it to me.”
“No. No one’s been here but me, and you know I couldn’t climb to the attic to get the book then put it on your bedside table. I barely have the strength to move into my wheelchair anymore.”
Ophelia chewed her bottom lip. It was true. No way Gramma could’ve done it. Someone else was in the house.
“Someone put it there. Opened to that page. I can read the heading: Francois Beaumont and Anatoli La Croix: The Mystery of a Magical Duel. June 21, 1856. After that, the words are in Latin. Why?”
“Only some people need to read the story.” Gramma sighed. “Latin protects it from casual readers, but it’s time you knew what happened. Let me tell you the story.” She closed the book. “I know it by heart. I don’t need to read it.”
Ophelia pulled a pillow into her lap and waited. A presence joined her, sitting beside her, and she felt a hand rub her arm, as if to reassure her. She sighed a deep sigh, ready to hear more about the ghost in the bottle.
Gramma’s voice grew distant and carried a strength Ophelia hadn’t heard in many years. She spoke as if she were at the duel herself.
“The date of June 21, 1856 began as most mornings on the Hemlock Grove plantation. A stringy mist hovered over the river and the large magnolia trees shone deep green with dew. The warlocks had agreed to meet at the break of dawn when the long fingers of pink and orange sunshine drew shadows across the fields.
“Midsummer. Solstice. A day chosen for its extra magic. As the story goes, Francois had lured Anatoli into a friendship, the younger man being enamored by the attention of such a powerful warlock. Then, it appears Francois set up a public embarrassment of Anatoli, leaving the young witch with no choice but to challenge his mentor to a duel.
“Though illegal, duels were often used to settle disputes among gentlemen and the protocol was that the person challenged got to choose the weapons. Francois chose to use his family’s dueling pistols, reportedly having been last used in 1795 when an uncle had said unfair things about a stage actor. The guns had served the Beaumont family well—they’d never lost a duel using them.”
Ophelia leaned closer as Gramma’s voice grew quiet.
“We don’t know everyone who was t
here that day, other than Francois and Anatoli. According to the rules of duels, they would have had seconds there with them, to stand in on their behalf if necessary. And possibly, there would have been witnesses, but again, the record is scarce on that information. It may have been that Francois wanted few people there since he was about to cheat and use magick, taking from Anatoli the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.”
“What’s that?” A hand squeezed Ophelia’s shoulder and she gasped, then turned to see no one was there. Again. There was a presence beside her and it gave her comfort.
“His eternal soul.” Gramma hissed the words and a chill shot through the room.
“How could Francois take Anatoli’s soul? How is that even possible, Gramma?”
Gramma stared blankly off to the corner of the room for a moment then met Ophelia’s gaze. “Magick, of course. What no one knew at the time was that Francois was collecting souls to prolong his life, as I told you. The guns were no ordinary weapons. His were magickal and able to capture the soul of the person he fired at. Anatoli had no idea the duel was a setup, and by midmorning, he was gone. The written record of the duel says that Francois shot him and he died, but no body was ever recovered.”
“But you know what happened?” Ophelia’s mouth was dry and her heart thudded. Francois was not someone she wanted to mess with, though he should be dead.
“We assume he captured Anatoli’s soul in the gun and then put it into the bottle. The one you found at Ben’s antique shop. The same one that went through the fire.”
“I don’t know what to say, Gramma. It’s all so far-fetched.”
“And yet things keep happening that should show you the truth, if you’ll simply open your eyes and your heart.” Gramma held the book out. “I didn’t put this by your bed. What’s your explanation of who did?”
“I—I don’t know.” And she didn’t. Part of her wanted to believe in magick and ghosts and warlocks, but her rational self still rebelled at the idea. Also, rational thought couldn’t explain the presence that had touched her several times, and hugged her when she needed it. Had she imagined all of it?
After a moment, Ophelia asked, “Earlier you whispered Anatoli’s name as if you saw him. How do know what he looks like?”
“I saw him in a vision.” Not giving Ophelia a chance to respond, she leaned closer and added, “There’s one more thing I need to tell you. It’s very important.”
“What is it?”
“Francois is nearby. I feel him. Feel his evil presence. He isn’t dead like we thought. He will come for you. Your spirit would be worth a lot to him and he won’t miss the chance to get Anatoli back, plus you. You need to prepare yourself. Get some protection charms made. Have a plan for what to do if he shows up here tomorrow night.”
“Why would he come here?”
“Halloween. The anniversary of us burning his house down. He wants revenge. Revenge on me and on the other witches in Savannah who tried to rid this city of him.”
Ophelia shivered as a shock of electricity shot through her.
Gramma gasped, and her breathing became strangled. She coughed and held her throat as she tried to breathe.
Ophelia jumped to her feet, fear burning in her veins like lava. A black, eerie mist surrounded Gramma like a swarm of bees or a summer thundercloud. Ophelia reach out to take her gramma’s hand but the mist blocked her attempts. She couldn’t reach her.
Her heart strained. What was she to do? Something was in the room. Something evil. Something that would kill her gramma if Ophelia let it.
A whispered voice spoked next to her, the same voice from the attic. “Speak the words, be gone, and thrust your hands into the mist.”
What?
Cool hands settled on her shoulders. A mixture of strength and fear swirled from deep within. “You must believe.”
The presence disappeared. Ophelia whirled around to find no one else in the room.
Gramma reached a hand out, getting Ophelia’s attention. Her green eyes were pleading.
Well, here goes nothing.
Ophelia lunged forward, threw her hands out to the mist, and yelled, “Be gone!”
A piercing screech echoed through the room as the mist disappeared. The room warmed instantly. Gramma coughed and gasped for breath and Ophelia rushed to her side, rubbing circles on her back. “Are you okay, Gramma?”
Nodding, Gramma gave a few more coughs and leaned into her. “How…Did you know?”
Ophelia paused, unsure how to answer. She hadn’t known. Not until the ghost or presence or whatever it was told her what to do. Did it mean she had latent magickal powers, as her gramma had told her so many times? Confusion swarmed her thoughts. Two weeks ago, she would have said magic wasn’t real, but things were happening with no explanation…other than magick. Was it possible her gramma had been right all along?
“I’m not sure exactly how I knew. It sounds crazy, but I think Anatoli is here with me, whispering in my ear, and helping me. Telling me what to do to make the darkness go away. Am I crazy for thinking so?”
Gramma cupped her cheek. “No, dear. He is here. He’s been near you since the bottle opened.”
Dawning awakened Ophelia’s awareness. Gramma spoke Anatoli’s name the day before while looking at the door. “You can see him?”
“Yes, of course, I can. You will too when you open your mind and accept your magick.”
Ophelia shook her head. “I don’t know how.”
“It’s already starting. You are believing, or you wouldn’t hear or feel him. We need to hurry though. We have much to do. You have to perform the ritual to trap the demon, Francois. He won’t stop until he’s either captured you and Anatoli or he is dead. I prefer the latter.” Gramma grabbed Ophelia’s hand and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“Wait. You said he was a warlock. There was no mention of a demon.” Ophelia lifted her gramma under the arm and guided her to the wheelchair. “I’m scared! How could I ever face a demon?”
Gramma patted her arm. “When a witch or warlock turns to dark magick, they become demons. We witches are, unfortunately, cousins to demons.” She coughed but it wasn’t as bad as earlier. “I’ll make a list of things we’ll need from the attic. That black mist was a fraction of Francois’s abilities. My guess is the only reason you were able to send it away was because you caught him off guard with your power. Now, he knows and will come back for you. He has to be stopped. And we need Anatoli’s help.”
Ugh. Ophelia didn’t want to go back in the attic. There was too much creepy stuff up there and then the ghost that had hugged her. If she knew for sure it was Anatoli, it wouldn’t be so bad. Still, it looked like she had no choice. She’d go back into the attic.
Plus, she was curious how one would trap a demon.
7
I wish I could help my witch trap Francois. He’s evil and I worry his powers are too great for her. He tricked me and I was powerful even though I was young. And now, I’m only half a man.
There has to be something I can do to help her, but what? I can’t do magick in this state. It sounds like she’s never even cast a spell.
How will she possibly fight him, much less defeat him? I must think. She needs my help.
Ah! The pistols we used in the duel hold magic far beyond what she has right now. They can be turned against Francois. Ophelia’s gramma hid them in the attic.
Through the ceiling to the attic, I emerge with a purpose. Find the pistols.
The attic is dark but I sweep through, searching. Where are they?
Like a beacon calling to me, the pistols glow on the top shelf behind the podium. They are in a dueling pistol box, the wood intricately carved with ancient symbols. I float to them and to my disbelief they are surrounded in a cloud of dark magick.
How did I not see this during the duel? Francois tricked me, and now I see how.
He will not fool anyone again.
* * *
“Okay, if there truly is a spirit h
ere, give me a sign or something?” Ophelia felt ridiculous talking to the room. Was there even a correct way to communicate with ghosts? A special ghost language or something? Or was it like on TV where you just called out to them and they appeared or slammed doors or moved stuff? “Anyone there?”
No sound, no movement, and no ghostly “boo” rang out. Ophelia sighed. What had she expected?
Giving up for now, she headed to the bookshelves to search for the books Gramma wanted. She found them easily enough and hugged them to her as a familiar sensation passed by her. She stilled. “Anatoli?”
Please be him.
A moment later, a man with brown hair pulled back at the base of his neck and striking blue eyes flashed in front of her. Ophelia sucked in a breath and reached to touch his cheek, but as soon as her hand neared, he disappeared. He didn’t leave her side; his energy hovered close by, oddly comforting.
It was him. Her heart thundered and a sense of calm washed over her. Anatoli. With a smile and a little hope, she turned to the stairs. “Come on. You can watch me pretend to know what I’m doing.”
She swore she heard a male chuckle. The corner of her lips tugged into a smile as she made her way back to the living room.
Gramma glanced at her and then to the space beside her. “Anatoli is getting stronger.”
“Yes, I feel it. Feel him. At least, I think I do.” Ophelia sighed. “I’m still not sure I believe any of this. However, there is something…not normal going on. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“You are starting to feel your magick stir inside you.” Gramma coughed, her earlier energy fading slightly. “Let it come out, Ophelia. You are meant to be a powerful witch. It’s one of the most valuable things you inherited from me. I hope you will embrace it.” Gramma coughed again, holding her chest and paling.
Concern gripped Ophelia. “You should be in bed. This is too much for you.”
Gramma waved her hand in the air and shook her head. “No. I’m fine. You need help defeating Francois and I’m not going to lie in bed and do nothing when I know the power he has. We must put a call out to the coven to aid you—it’s the only way we can get rid of him for good. I’m not leaving this earthly plane until I know you’re okay and Francois is gone.”