Spells Trouble

by Kristin Cast

  The girls used their hands to move the smoke over and around them. Their mother placed the still-smoking stick in the burner with the herbal incense.

  “And now we protect ourselves. I want you each to imagine a shield—a great, glowing shield. Close your eyes. Picture it.”

  Mercy closed her eyes and imagined a huge round shield with a strong apple tree, much like the one in front of her, carved in the middle of it.

  “Imagine it strapped to your back, so that nothing may harm you from behind.”

  Mercy imagined that it wasn’t a quilt covering her back, but her shining shield.

  “In your mind draw a circle around you, in which you are the center,” Abigail continued. “Repeat after me: This is my space.”

  “This is my space,” the girls repeated together.

  “I own this space,” Abigail intoned.

  “I own this space,” they said.

  “Good. Now we ready ourselves to be vessels through which the energy of the earth will flow and into the gatekeeper, strengthening our tree and keeping the gate to the Norse Underworld closed.

  “Breathe with me, deeply, in and out, on a four count.”

  Their mother led them in several deep, cleansing breaths.

  “Clear your mind of thoughts. Then acknowledge your feelings, and as you do don’t question why you’re feeling something. Simply breathe in with acceptance of the feeling and on your next breath out, release that feeling.”

  Mercy cleared her mind and then drew in a deep breath and immediately was filled with nervousness. She didn’t try to decipher her nerves. Instead she thought, hello nerves—I feel you—I acknowledge you—and now I release you! She let out a long breath and felt the tension between her shoulder blades relax.

  With her next breath in Mercy was filled with fear—fear of not being good enough, smart enough, brave enough—or worse, being too self-centered to truly walk Freya’s path. Again, she acknowledged—I get it. Fear is here. That’s fine and normal and natural. Fear can be healthy. It reminds me to be smart and brave and selfless instead of selfish. And now I release you, fear. As she breathed fear out Mercy felt the sick knot in her stomach unravel and calm.

  “And we begin. We are vessels, cleansed and protected, ready to be conduits for energy. Remember, we do not keep that energy. We only guide it. Visualize the gate before you, deep within the trunk of this ancient tree who has stood guardian for hundreds of years.”

  Mercy kept her eyes tightly closed. She knew that Hunter’s eyes were open because every Feast Day of their lives until that night they’d practiced the ritual together from outside the pentagram while they watched their magical mother harness the energy of the earth and direct it to close the gate. Hunter always kept her eyes open to stare at the tree, but Mercy preferred to imagine the gate in her mind’s eye.

  “When your image of the gate is set, reach through your bodies down into the earth—find the ley lines there—see them. What color is your ley line, Mercy?”

  “Green!” Mercy said, eyes still shut.

  “What color is your ley line, Hunter?”

  “Deep blue!” Hunter said.

  “And mine is silver gray, like the eyes of Athena. Draw your ley line up through your body and push it from the center of your forehead, like a beacon, to shine against the gate hidden within your tree. If the gate seems open at all, it will be closed. If the gate seems weary, it will be strengthened. If the gate seems small, it will grow and grow and grow until it is so powerful that nothing could possibly escape through it.”

  Mercy imagined that when she breathed in she drew the beam of radiant green light up and into her body—along her spine—to blaze out of her third eye in the center of her forehead.

  But nothing happened.

  Mercy felt the pulsing power of the ley line, just like she always could. She could even feel it lifting to her, but instead of it filling her body with luminous energy, it was like a garden hose with a kink in it, and only trickles of power sluggishly moved up to her spine and hovered there with a little warmth, like someone pressed their hand to the small of her back.

  She squeezed her eyelids more firmly together and focused, concentrating on the energy that was tantalizingly close. Drew a deep breath in as she called to her goddess. Freya, my goddess, help me. Strengthen me. Allow me to guide the energy of your earth.

  Mercy felt the warmth along her spine expand a little, but there was no infilling of energy—there was no inrush of power. The pulse of the ley line had been replaced with something cold and strange and wrong.

  Suddenly Xena hissed and began growling, a guttural, dangerous sound that wasn’t even recognizable as coming from the sweet, nosy feline Mercy had known her entire life.

  Hunter gasped and cried, “Oh! Tyr! No!”

  Mercy opened her eyes. Hunter sat beside her. They faced the tree, while their mother sat cross-legged in front of them with her back to the tree. Beside Abigail, Xena had turned to face the tree as well. The huge cat’s back was fully arched and her tufted ears flattened against her skull as she continued to growl menacingly.

  The thick trunk of the mighty tree dripped with something disgusting—black and foul and thick. The center of the trunk quivered, like a horse trying to shake off a swarm of biting flies, but this was no horse. A snout pushed through the darkness and took form, melted wax becoming solid as it entered this world. Red eyes broke through the shuddering bark. The thing was huge—all sinew, matted fur, and claws. Its breath came in rapid pants as it pulled its body through the corrupted center of the tree. The fetid stench of it reached Mercy—thick with sulfur and rot. Mercy tasted bile as she gagged in revulsion and fear.

  The creature looked directly at them and snarled, gnashing long, pointed teeth.

  Five

  Abigail surged to her feet. “Run!” she screamed and pushed her daughters back toward the darkness of the open field.

  Hunter’s feet cemented to the ground. Her mother’s shoves only jarred her enough to make her dizzy. This wasn’t real. None of it.

  Sealskin black liquid gushed from the tree, and spurted around the slick and matted fur of the giant wolf clawing its way into their world. It flashed in and out of focus, unstable as it tried to gain hold in this new realm. Its talons dug trenches in the grass and it bared its teeth and growled, wet nose sniffing the air. This was a nightmare, sixteen years of anxiety spilling out of Hunter’s subconscious and raining down on this made-up version of things to come.

  Hunter reached out for Mercy. In any nightmare, she could grab hold of her sister and will herself awake. Emptiness met her fingers. Nothing but spring air and the guttural moans of the fanged beast. Hunter whirled around. The breeze tugged at the skirt of Mercy’s ivory dress as she followed their mother’s instructions and ran. But Mercy wouldn’t leave her. That’s never how it happened. Not in Hunter’s dreams and especially not her nightmares.

  Mercy glanced backward and skidded to a halt. “Hunter!” she shrieked and focused her wide-eyed terror past her sister.

  This was all too real. Hunter felt the monster behind her. Felt the rank air tighten and heard the otherworldly liquid slosh as the creature spilled into their realm. She couldn’t turn around, couldn’t force herself to move. This was supposed to be peaceful, magical, the beginning of years and years of happiness and light. What had she done to deserve this?

  “Stay back, vile beast!” her mother roared over the steady crackle of the charged night air.

  Hunter heard the beast’s heavy footsteps crack rotting apples and beat against the earth. She whirled around as her pulse battered her eardrums.

  Abigail had gathered the white candle and held it in the air. “Athena, I call to you!” The wolf cowered and its ears pressed back against its wet coat. “Give me strength in battle!” Against the crackling wind Abigail scraped a match. It left behind a trail of sparking orange that ripped through the black sky like a tear in a page and doused the scene in orange light. Magic heard Abigail’s
cry, but Athena hadn’t shown.

  The beast’s image flickered as its gaze swung from the tree to the flaming arc and back to Abigail. It bared its wet teeth and stalked forward as the Goode witch pressed the flaming match against the candle’s wick. She gripped the wax pillar with both hands and held it in front of her. “Athena! I call to you, my goddess, my protector!” The flame shot skyward, illuminating their small space on earth.

  The wolf’s top lip rippled with a growl as it sprang toward Abigail. It flashed in and out of focus as its giant paw struck out and swatted her aside. She slammed into the ground and crumpled like a rag doll.

  Hunter reached out, her cries for her mother strangled by the cords of fear lining her neck. “Get away!” she finally managed as the creature prodded Abigail with his enormous muzzle.

  Its ears flicked in her direction. It raised his massive head and blew out a burst of mucus-specked air. Hunter’s mouth went dry, her tongue turning to paste behind her teeth. The wolf’s lip curled. The magical light painted its teeth a shiny orange as he stepped over Abigail and charged at Hunter.

  Mercy’s bare feet slapped the earth behind Hunter as she scrambled away. Hunter stumbled over fallen apples. Her arms flailed as her feet slid out from under her and she crashed onto the ground. As the beast lunged forward, Mercy wrapped her arm around Hunter’s chest and tucked herself behind her sister. Hunter squeezed her eyelids shut and held up her arms. This was the end for them both. A sob tore from her throat as hot, foul breath blew back the hair that had fallen against her cheeks.

  Fangs pierced Hunter’s forearm. A deep, searing ache twisted around her lungs and squeezed. Blood oozed hot and wet around sharp teeth as they sunk into her flesh. Mercy’s chest shook against Hunter’s back as she shouted words Hunter’s pulse drowned into a whisper.

  Xena was there in an instant. A streak of yowling fur, the cat hurled herself at the beast. Her howls pierced the night as she wrapped herself around the wolf’s snout and dug her claws into its leathery muzzle. With a roar that rattled Hunter’s bones, the creature released her arm and clamored back. It whipped its head from side to side. With a shriek, Xena flew off its face. She tumbled through the air and struck a tree limb, landing in the grass with a sickly thud.

  The wolf stalked back toward Hunter and her sister. Back to finish the job and end the Goode line before the new generation could step into their power.

  A screech tore through the night. The wolf cocked his head and turned toward the magical rip burning against the black sky. Hunter squeezed Mercy’s hand as the cool spring air turned hot and thick. Another piercing shriek rang out as the gash opened wide. An owl burst through the tear, its feathers the same jack-o’-lantern orange as the otherworldly rip in space. Massive wings beat the air as it dove at the wolf. Blood spurted from the beast’s back as the owl’s talons ripped its flesh.

  The owl circled Hunter and Mercy and let out another scream before landing on the ground beside their mother.

  Blood oozed down the wolf’s back as it spun to pursue the bird. The owl hopped closer to Abigail, tipped its beak to the sky, and shrieked. A fiery bolt flashed from the tear in the night and struck Abigail’s chest. In an instant, her body was aglow in orange flames. The wolf stilled as Abigail rose to her feet and the owl took perch on her shoulder. “Fenrir!” Another voice coated Abigail’s and a glowing spear flickered to life by her side. “This realm is not your own!”

  With a growl, Fenrir shook the blood from his coat and stalked toward Abigail, ignoring the twins. Abigail, alight with the fiery and otherworldly powers of her goddess, pressed forward toward the ancient apple tree that grew from the magic of the Norse Underworld.

  Mercy pulled Hunter to her feet and clenched Hunter’s hand in her own as they crept toward Xena. The cat wound around their ankles, herding them away from their mother and the wolf who’d spilled out of its realm and flickered, unstable, into their own.

  Mercy dropped Hunter’s hand, scooped up Xena, and ran. This time, Hunter matched her sister’s stride. Her lungs burned as she sucked in gulps of magic-charged air.

  “I banish you back to your Underworld!” Abigail’s voice was thunder. It clapped against Hunter’s back and she whirled around in time to see her mother hurl the spear. It caught the wolf’s shoulder and knocked it back into the tree. Fenrir’s image flickered as it fought to break free. It howled and bucked and clawed the air, but the point of the spear had pierced through the wolf, into the tree’s trunk.

  Foreboding gnawed at Hunter’s stomach. She left Mercy and Xena and charged back to the tree. Air fled her lungs as she slowed to a stop near her mother. She could see it now. The gash in Abigail’s temple. The skin hung like wet clothes pinned to a line. Athena fueled her, kept her on her feet, but Hunter’s mother was not long for this world.

  “Hunter!” Athena’s voice shadowed Abigail’s, making goose bumps flash across the back of Hunter’s neck. “Something’s wrong with the gates! Don’t wait until Solstice to fix them. Promise me!”

  Hunter blinked through a flood of tears. “I promise!”

  Abigail looked at the wolf pinned to the apple tree, its form flickering under the promise of death. Then she turned and looked past Hunter to Mercy, who tripped over Xena as the cat struggled to keep the girl at a safe distance. “Take care of your sister,” Abigail said. “You’ll need each other now, more than ever.”

  Hunter wailed as Fenrir caught the billowing skirt of Abigail’s dress and pulled her to him. The beast tore through Abigail’s clothes. Its teeth shredded her back and stained the fabric scarlet.

  The owl shrieked as Abigail faced Fenrir and pressed her palms against the beast’s matted coat. It lit like dry kindling.

  Athena’s war cry muted Abigail’s screams as flames consumed Hunter’s mother and the beast.

  Hunter’s knees slammed into the earth as the blaze flashed out and the rip in the sky vanished as quickly as it’d come. Tears burned down Hunter’s cheeks and blood seeped from her torn forearm. She had been tapped, and now she would simply pour into the earth until her time in this realm was over.

  Hunter couldn’t make a sound as Xena mewled and circled the charred remains of the woman who’d once brought so much light into the world. Of Fenrir, never fully in this realm, there was not a trace. Mercy threw herself against the tree, which now showed no evidence of their loss. Hunter’s chin quivered as she watched her sister slide down the trunk into the grass next to their mother’s body.

  Maybe they’d all stay in the field at the foot of the apple tree and let the gentle Illinois breeze sweep them away.

  Six

  Sheriff Dearborn lifted his Chicago Bears travel mug to his lips and blew into the round O cut into the burnt orange lid before he took a drink. Hazelnut. Dearborn’s favorite. He smacked his lips, puffed a cooling breath into the navy blue tumbler, and took another sip. Trish had added an extra sugar packet even though she knew he was trying to cut out the sweet stuff.

  He set his coffee mug down as he approached Goodeville’s last traffic signal. The red light painted the hood of his white-and-gold cruiser a pale Christmas crimson. His thick, calloused fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he waited for the light to turn green. Dearborn had only seen a few cars on his final patrol of the night. The passenger and rear seats had all been full of teenagers who’d rolled down their windows and given the sheriff big, goofy, and if he was being honest, fairly tipsy grins and waves as they passed by. The designated drivers had remained focused on the road, and that’s really all he needed to see. The sheriff wasn’t in the habit of busting kids for being kids. He’d leave that to their parents.

  The light turned green and Dearborn left the vibrant Main Street in his rearview and slipped under the blanket of darkness that covered cornfields and country houses. He took another sip of coffee and craned his neck to peer up at the sky. Clouds had rolled in while he’d been in his office completing the day’s paperwork. Another sip. That’s when Trish had made his cof
fee. Sweet, sweet coffee. Sweet, sweet Trish. He reached up to the transceiver attached to the shoulder of his uniform and squeezed the talk button. “Two sugars?”

  Trish answered immediately. “I figured it wasn’t really cheating if you didn’t add the sugar in yourself.” The dispatcher’s voice rang back clear and smooth as if the new Alexa his nephew had set up for him at home had followed him into his car.

  Dearborn fumbled with the buttons on his walkie-talkie. The darned device had always been too small for his hands. “You’re too good to me, Trish.”

  “Don’t count your chickens just yet, Sheriff. I just got off the horn with old Earl Thompson. He’s been snooping around the field out by Quaker Road. Said he’ll meet you out there. He also said—oh dagnabit, I had it right here…” Papers rustled as Trish dug through her notes.

  Trish’s dispatch station was a mess of Post-its, origami farm animals, and photos of her Yorkie, Pepper. Over the years, Dearborn had learned that a good leader doesn’t force his team to fit into a certain mold. He allows them to be themselves. He rubbed the burnt orange and navy BE YOU sticker stuck to the center of his steering wheel. He and Matt Nagy couldn’t both be wrong.

  “If it was a snake, it would’ve bitten me.” Trish’s laughter tinkled through the cruiser like wind chimes. “Old Earl said that ‘there’s a ruckus out there at that old olive tree.’” She’d lowered her voice and made it tremble with age. “‘Not that I’m surprised. Who plants one olive tree? A twisted, mangled one, no less. Been giving me the heebie-jeebies my whole life.’ All one million years of it.” She paused. “I added that last part myself.”

  Dearborn’s barrel chest shook with a chuckle. Trish always made him laugh. “I was hoping to end my shift on time tonight, er”—he glanced down at his watch: 02:36—“this morning, but I’m only a couple minutes away. I’ll head over and check out the ruckus.”

  The sheriff flipped on his high beams as he drove deeper into the dark.