Abby imagined Devin, her fiery hair, the wild look in her eyes.
“Do you think that Devin knew she was a witch?” Abby asked.
Elda thought for a long time, her eyes roaming across the distant water. Over the mass of cherry blossoms, Abby could see the upper half of the castle straining towards the clear blue sky.
“I believe that Devin was just discovering that she was a witch. I think she was undergoing changes, and it was these changes that motivated her to seek her true parentage. I doubt that she fully understood at her death what she was.” Elda looked sad at this.
“What about me?” Abby whispered, knowing how close her own fate had come to mirroring Devin’s.
“I want to give you an answer,” Elda said. “But I don’t have one. We will trace your bloodline, but sometimes it is a difficult process. I happened to get very lucky with Devin. But, as I said, so many covens have broken apart over the years, and when that happens the Book of Shadows is passed and the witches responsible for each bloodline scatter. Some travel to new covens, others choose not to. Certain witches are responsible for following bloodlines, some of them die and others just disappear…”
“Where do they go?”
“Some choose to live the human way, as if they are not witches. It is rare, but is does happen. Others will simply disappear, hide in remote locations.”
“When was the last time that a new witch was born from the names that you guys follow here?”
“Oliver,” Elda answered happily. “He came to us fifteen years ago. His great grandfather had been a witch. Oliver was part of a bloodline that Helena was following from her former coven, the Coven of Aepa.”
“So, if he came here fifteen years ago, that makes him how old?” To Abby, Oliver did not look much older than Sebastian or her.
Elda cocked her eyebrows and took a moment. “Well, he started exhibiting powers when he was seventeen and he entered the coven at eighteen, so he is thirty-three.”
Abby imagined Oliver, his firm, muscular shape, young laughing eyes. “He looks really good.”
“Yes, well, physically we are different, Abby. Most witches retain a youthful appearance for quite a long time. Not only do we have differing physiology than normal people, we also have elixirs that work miracles, so to speak.” Elda looked at the greenhouse as she said this.
Abby followed her gaze to a small white barked tree with funny cactus shaped leaves covered in little yellow spots.
“Do you mean like a fountain of youth sort of thing?” Abby asked in wonderment. Could it be true?
“Not exactly a fountain of youth, although in regular society some of our potions are construed as such. You see, some of the potions that we create are designed for witches and others for regular humans. A witch who takes steps to stay younger should not do so out of vanity, but in order to be more beneficial to the world in general. Whether that is by fitting in more appropriately or simply by living longer.”
“Living longer.” Abby shuddered, imagining her old body wrinkled and sagging, but the years continuing to idle by.
“Not all witches live past the typical life expectancy for humans. It is a choice…” Elda trailed off and Abby suspected that information was being left out.
“Where are witches from?” Abby asked, wanting desperately to fill the many voids drifting through her thoughts.
“We have always been,” Elda replied, her hands smoothing over the Book of Shadows. “There is no distinct creator or first witch that is recognized. Our very ancient ancestors were generally known as healers or sleuths. They understood, even then, what they were, but it was much harder to exist in secret. They often lived amongst the public, but then it became dangerous.”
“Witch burnings?” Abby asked, imagining the photo of Aubrey Blake’s fiery demise.
“Those were the least of our problems.” Elda told her gravely. “The Vepars began to hunt us, they had discovered how our power could help them, and they would stop at nothing to attain it.”
“Tell me about them. The Vepars, I mean.”
Elda scrunched her forehead, tiny lines furrowing her brow. She looked tired.
“I will,” she paused, “tell you some things, but this discussion is best saved for Dafne or Oliver. The Vepars are connected to a form of evil. Is it dark magic? Maybe. They have a link with demons or dark spirits. The act of becoming a Vepar is not completely clear, but there does appear to be lineage involved. Vepars descend from other Vepars. However, they are not born this way, but inducted into it. As non-Vepars or humans, they have little power over us. As Vepars, they are stronger, faster, and they can often smell witches. Their saliva contains a venom that is like a tranquilizer to a witch, and the potency varies across their people. They can damage humans.”
“Damage how?” The excitement and astonishment had begun to fade. To learn of witches was one thing, but evil beings connected to demons?
“They are manipulative. By this I don’t mean just charming, although many are that way as well; they can enter some people’s brains, sort of confuse them and worse.” Elda whispered this last part.
Abby recalled her experience with Detective Alva and the splitting headache that followed.
“Why didn’t they just break down Sydney’s door and kill me?” Abby asked, thinking aloud.
“Well, that is one of our advantages. Vepars must perform the ritual sacrifice to absorb our blood as power.” Elda looked sourly across the lagoon. “They must use very specific tools to enchant the ritual and open the darkness in them to the light in us. It is an intricate process and one that you already have far too much experience with. Suffice to say that they cannot murder us easily if they want to gain anything from the death.”
Once more Abby began to feel overwhelmed by the overload of information – the covens, the powers, Vepars, she felt weary as if from a long walk.
“You are getting tired,” Elda told her gently. “And hungry, I’m sure. Let us return to the castle to rejuvenate ourselves.”
Abby yawned in agreement. She wanted to ask more questions, but hunger and exhaustion plagued her. And, quite frankly, talking of the Vepars terrified her. How could she choose to believe that witches existed and not their enemies?
Elda stood, her fingers lingering on the Book of Shadows a moment longer, before she pulled it to her breast and swept back into the greenhouse. When she returned, she beckoned for Abby to follow, and they began their journey back to the castle. The sun’s intense rays made Abby’s eyes ache, and she shielded them as she walked.
“Is Dafne unhappy that we’ve come here?”
Elda took her time answering. The shells crunched beneath their feet and Abby thought of bones.
“Dafne is very protective of our coven and she has experienced things that have frightened her so greatly that every thought is tainted by those memories. You see, Abby, some people are the history that haunts them, and Dafne has some especially difficult ghosts to rid herself of. She welcomes you, I am sure; it is your Sebastian that she fears.”
“But why should she fear Sebastian?” Abby asked angrily. “He’s wonderful, he led me here.” She had no intention of giving up her only friend and link to the other world, the one that still made sense.
“Well, that is part of her fear, Abby. He is a basic man and he led you here. His sister gave him very critical information about us, what we are, where we live. Dafne fears who he could lead here and how easily he could be manipulated by the other side.” Elda had slowed as she spoke and Abby slowed as well.
“You mean Tobias?” Abby was incredulous. “Sebastian would never help Tobias.”
“No, I agree with you, Abby, but, as I said before, Tobias and the other Vepars have powers said to seduce any regular man or woman, such that natural people do not stand a chance.”
“How is that possible?” Abby asked, wanting to believe that Sebastian could somehow deflect these powers, but remembering all too well Danny Kent, Devin’s brother, who supposedly c
onfessed to her murder.
“Abby, Vepars are like demons. Forget what you know about villains because you must always believe that you are underestimating them. Never think that you know their intentions or their abilities.”
“Demons,” she puffed the name out in fear. Tobias had looked like a demon in the end; he had looked as if he might drag her into hell. She shivered violently. “Sebastian knew what he was.”
“Oh, yes, Sebastian knows more than most other commoners that I have met. I apologize, I know that the word commoner is not pleasant, but I use it simply to distinguish between witches and non-witches.”
Abby did not like the sound of that. Could Sebastian be ripped away from her because he was a commoner?
“What other kinds of things can the Vepars do?” She had a few ideas, but had not exactly been lucid during much of her encounter with them.
“That is Dafne and Oliver’s area of expertise. They are much more capable of properly explaining Tobias and the others.”
They departed from the blossoms back onto the cobblestone pathway. The young girl, Lydie, was circling the lagoon in a rowboat. She didn’t touch the oars, but it continued to move gracefully through the shimmering water. Her curls blew in the wind, a crown of spirals billowing around her head. Abby wondered if she was lonely, she looked so young, so fragile.
Chapter 20
Nearly everyone that Abby had met the night before was seated at a long dining table that stretched down the center of a vast dining hall. Two glorious chandeliers, covered in hundreds of lit candles, flickered above the diners. Thick, embroidered, chocolate drapes blocked the early evening sun, and Abby noticed that only Oliver was absent.
Sebastian gave a small wave, and she hurried across the plum carpeting, her feet sinking in. She sat beside him and he squeezed her hand, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.
“You look great. Everything go okay?” His blue eyes glittered and she felt caught up in his excitement. He’d even donned a navy blue and white striped button down in lieu of the usual t-shirt. Abby was happy to see that he and Oliver had not killed each other.
A short, plump woman with frizzy red hair and glossy pink lips entered the room carrying a silver tray almost longer than her arms could stretch. Her long, knit sleeves nearly covered her hands and she shimmied, attempting to slip them further up her forearms. Her cow neck sweater dipped, revealing sparkly, bronzed cleavage, and a small turquoise stone dangled between her hefty bosoms. The tray was piled with food, and the aroma silenced the conversation.
“Sebastian, Abby, this is Bridget,” Elda told them, standing at the head of the long table and gesturing to the wide, smiling lady.
“Hi y'all,” Bridget chirped, somehow curtsying behind the massive tray. She slid the tray onto the table, pushing each platter down with the ease of a body builder. Abby realized that this miniature woman, with her southern drawl, was a witch.
Large, gleaming platters were passed down the table, Abby’s wide eyes taking in a feast that appeared far too enormous for the nine stomachs awaiting it.
“Want me to do this?” Sebastian asked her as he tonged hunks of gravy-covered turkey onto his plate. Apparently he’d noticed her glazed expression and didn’t trust her with large serving utensils.
“Yes, please.” She slid her plate down.
Sebastian sat to her right, and to her left was Helena, who talked animatedly with Abby between spoonfuls of mashed sweet potatoes and grilled asparagus. It seemed to be Helena’s personal goal to ensure that Abby and Sebastian felt welcome in the castle. When Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck absently, Helena leaned over and told them about a whole drawer full of tinctures that Bridget placed in every room for all kinds of ailments.
“From back pain to chicken pox,” Helena laughed conspiratorially. “I once took one labeled sweet dreams and spent the best six hours of my life riding flying ponies over a giant sea of Jell-O. Imagine that, Jell-O!”
Sebastian guffawed and winked at Abby.
The room, which should have been drafty, was strangely warm and snug. Abby ate slowly, savoring every bite and listening to Helena who spoke incessantly about food. She listed her favorite appetizers, entrees and finally desserts and then coaxed Abby and Sebastian to do the same.
Everyone else carried on separate conversations. They sounded curiously uninvolved, as if afraid to embark on their so-called normal topics in front of the strangers. Only Dafne remained silent, staring at her food, but barely touching it, her dark eyes occasionally shooting towards Sebastian and Abby. No one else appeared to notice, least of all Sebastian, who ate like a cat at a tuna buffet and somehow still managed to carry on with Helena as if they were old chums.
Abby studied the other witches. From outside appearances, Elda led the pack, but Abby wondered if Faustine was not their true leader. He often looked irritable, distracted and stared at his food, picking absently, while Lydie chattered in his ear. Abby could not hear her, but wondered if she was simply babbling a long string of clichés into some barely sensible conversation. Max, Elda and Bridget talked about the weather, the food and the gardens – never alighting on a single topic that piqued Abby’s interest.
As time ticked by, Abby desperately wanted to wrap up dinner and have time alone with Sebastian. She felt as if the threads between them were fraying or perhaps being burned by Dafne – the fire breathing dragon across the table. Would the conversation be different if Sebastian were not at the table? Were they simply harboring their secrets because there was a commoner in the room, a non-witch?
Abby felt the dormant flower, the angry bloom, ignite in her chest, a brief eruption of fury at the unfairness of it all. As the flower unfurled and her chest tightened, every water glass at the table exploded. Shards of glass blew outward, but before any piece could strike, Faustine stood, shouted an incantation and a rush of air swept the microscopic shards into a miniature tornado of glass, which flew out of the room like a swarm of mosquitoes.
Abby gasped and Sebastian knocked over his wine. The others, except Dafne, quickly sopped the spilled water.
“Not a worry, doll, happens to the best of us,” Bridget sang down the table from her place at Elda’s elbow.
Everyone was looking at Abby, they all knew that she had created the explosion, everyone except her, that was.
Strangely, no one except Sebastian looked shocked and they surely did not look afraid, despite their near impalement by water goblet. Lydie smiled and gave Abby a thumbs-up.
Sebastian rotated slowly in his chair and stared at her, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Hey, no biggie,” he whispered and clutched her trembling hand.
She forced her mouth closed and smiled tightly, staring at Faustine. He had returned to his dinner, not looking at her. How had he reacted so quickly? Almost as if he sensed it before it occurred.
The table talk resumed, other than a few reassuring smiles aimed her way. Bridget disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with a tray covered in miniature chocolate lava cakes. Abby’s usual inclination towards chocolate was squashed by her outburst, but she forced her dessert down anyways. Embarrassment was not the right word, more like shame.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” Lydie leaned across Helena to tell her loudly before moving back and diving into her cake.
Elda finished her dessert and then stood at the end of the table, clinking her fork against a fresh water glass until the room silenced.
“Just a few things before we part for the evening. First, thank you again, Bridget, for a truly magical meal.” She winked at Bridget. “Thank you also Abby and Sebastian for gracing us with your presence, it is a great pleasure to have you in our home. Finally, Abby and Sebastian, if you could remain after for a few minutes so that we could chat?”
“Of course,” Sebastian said quickly, checking for Abby’s nod of approval.
“Should we help?” Abby whispered to Helena, gesturing to the dishes.
“Oh, no, Bridget has h
er own way of taking care of things,” Helena replied, smiling cleverly.
Everyone began to shuffle from their seats, Abby taking pains to ignore Dafne’s glowering looks. Lydie hummed obnoxiously, skipping around the room to swipe the lingering bites of chocolate cake from each plate. She had to hurry because the dessert plates were sliding slowly down the table. Abby spied Bridget at the end, her hands waving in large sloppy circles, beckoning the dishes to her.
“A candle has burned out,” Sebastian said nonchalantly, pointing to the chandelier directly above their table.
His were five words that changed everything. Dafne flew out of her seat, knocking the chair clear back to the wall. Lydie gasped loudly. Abby followed the horrified expression of every witch to the small, black wick – flameless – above.
Chapter 21
“Oh, dear,” Bridget murmured, looking immediately to Elda for guidance, whose eyes were locked with Faustine’s.
“Oliver?” Lydie’s voice, meek and tearful, seemed to state what everyone else in the room was thinking.
Abby stood dumbfounded; it was just a candle after all. She looked to Sebastian, but he appeared equally confused.
“I apologize.” Elda looked at Abby and Sebastian. “The snuffing out of a candle is a very bad omen for us. We will have to postpone our meeting until tomorrow.”
Elda, Faustine and Dafne withdrew through a door at the back of the dining area.
The remaining group stood for another moment before Bridget piped up and began to hustle them all out. Her face looked falsely chipper and a significant glance passed between her and Max as he followed Lydie from the room. He placed a hand on Lydie’s back, guiding her down the hallway.
“Lessons,” Helena told them, nodding towards Max and Lydie and smiling over the anxiety that had lined her face moments earlier.
Ula (Born of Shadows Book 1) Page 19