James carefully touched it with one finger and then quickly drew it back as if burned. “You always wear this, don’t you?” he asked, eyes glued to the pendant.
“Always. Mom gave it to me when I was twelve. She said it was for my protection and to never be without it.”
“Protection from what?”
She shrugged. “Everything I guess. Especially my dad.”
“Take it off.” James tore his gaze from the amber to her face. “I believe I know why your mother gave you this.”
She undid the clasp and held the warm, glowing charm in her hands.
“Set it on the counter, away from you.”
She laid it carefully on the granite countertop and faced James.
He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before in his life.
“What is it?” she asked anxiously. “I don’t feel any different. Why are you—?”
“You really are immortal,” he said in wonder.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but—”
He lifted her in the air and spun her around. “I love you, Callie. I knew the minute we met you were special. I just didn’t know how special.”
“So you believe me now?” she asked when he set her down.
He nodded at the amber. “It works like an invisibility shield. While it’s on you, it dulls the senses of other immortals so they can’t detect your true nature.”
She picked the pendant up, and they both stared at it.
“If not for this shield, your life could have been in danger from other immortals besides Lucas. We’re a violent lot by nature.”
Mom always loved me, always looked after me as best she could.
“Did you hear me?” he asked. “You saw what I did to Connors. Did it repulse you. . . how I cut off his head?” His jaw tightened, and his face was stoic as if bracing for rejection.
“You did it to save me. I think you’re the bravest man in the world.” She kissed him again, putting everything into showing James how much she loved him. “You’re stuck with me forever,” she murmured against his lips.
“Forever,” he agreed.
18
The Unbinding
Two full moons after Mom’s death, Callie awoke from a fitful sleep with an overwhelming urge to go in her mother’s old bedroom.
Inside the room, rain-soaked curtains fluttered like ghosts in the August breeze. Beyond the curtain, the moonlight was strong, and dark clouds flitted across its light.
She picked up Mom’s brush on the dresser. A few silver-white blonde strands remained entangled in the bristles. The only other item on the dresser was Mom’s ever-present bottle of Shalimar perfume. She sprayed some on her wrists and inhaled the familiar aroma of bergamot, jasmine, may rose, and iris. During her most lonely times growing up in New Jersey, she used to spray a little Shalimar on her pillow each night.
She went to Mom’s altar and sat on the floor. Ginnie’s sacred space. Peace washed over and soothed her. She lit the two white candles on either side of the pentagram. Candlelight illuminated the altar. The elements of earth, air, water, and fire were represented on the pentagram’s points by river rocks, a feather, a chalice of water, and incense. She lifted the chalice; the water in it was fresh. She dipped her fingertips into the water and dabbed her forehead.
Without warning, Grendel jumped on top of the altar table, knocked over the chalice, and batted the feather around.
“You’re so naughty.” She picked him up for a tight squeeze. He protested with a loud yowl, and she let him go.
Her gaze drifted to a stack of black notebooks on the floor beside the altar. Her mother’s Books of Shadows. They held every spell and ritual of her life. She ran her fingers along the books and paused.
She had to read these, had been summoned here for that very purpose. Callie picked up the top book on the stack, guessing it was the most recent. On the cover was her mother’s cursive script: Ginnie’s Book of Shadows, February 4th - June 21st, 2010. Her gasp filled the quiet room.
Mom had written this the very day she died.
She flipped through the pages. From front to back, she read of protection spells and rituals undertaken for her safety. Every night, Mom had cast her magic circle and called upon spirits and elements to bless and protect her daughter. Even though Lucas had destroyed much of her magical abilities, Callie suspected those abilities began to renew before she died. But she would never know for sure.
She touched the warm amber, ever-present by her heart. “Thank you,” she whispered.
By candlelight, she read the entries in more detail. Her heart accelerated as she came closer to the last entry. On June 21st, Ginnie had written of a purification ritual.
Tonight I have bathed with water consecrated from my altar and added the mineral salts infused with myrrh. The candles I anointed and lit last night burned down entirely and I placed the melted wax under the foot of the willow tree in the backyard. My spell, written in red ink on linen parchment, offers my life in exchange for Callie should the need arise. I burned it in my cauldron and scattered its ashes to the east wind. It is done, so mote it be.
The blankness after that entry echoed like a scream in Callie’s mind. It was so unfair that just as they had found each other, her mom was gone.
An orange, furry source of destruction, better known as Grendel, leapt in her lap again, knocking the book to the floor. As Callie picked it up, she found the edge of a paper stuck out near the back and quickly pulled it out. A black and red braided cord with three knots fell in her lap, and she lifted it to the candlelight.
Grendel reached a claw out for the cord, drawn to the dangling string.
“Not this time.” Callie stuffed the cord in her robe pocket. Grendel glared with such reproach that Callie picked up the altar feather and blew it in the air. He was instantly on it. Now she could read in peace.
Dear Callie,
If you are reading this, then I am no longer with you. For me, death is not the end and my love for you never dies. Just as my love for your father never died. Yes, I loved him ‘til the end, even after all the terrible years and his turn to darkness. Your James may have told you that immortals believe a witch can magically bind them for their entire life. This is true. That’s why your father never remarried or had other children. It’s also why he didn’t physically harm me the night you played with the Ouija board. To hurt my body would be to hurt his body. In his own way, Lucas loved us both. He just loved power more. On the last page of this book, you’ll find a picture of the three of us taken when you were six months old. It’s my favorite, and the only one I’ve kept from that time in our lives.
She stopped reading and flipped to the last page. It was there. In the photo, her father held her, smiling like a typical proud papa while Mom beamed by his side. If only it could have lasted. But seeing that expression on her father’s face was the best gift Mom could have given her. She set the photo on the altar and read more.
I need you to do one last thing for me. This knotted cord was used when I bound your father to me so many years ago. It was wrong of me to do this, but I could feel him turning away and I was desperate to keep him a part of me any way I could. One knot represents Lucas, one knot represents me, and the last knot represents our union.
On the night of the next new moon, undo each of the knots, take this cord to the cemetery and burn it. When the ashes have cooled, sprinkle them over my grave and say the following words to reverse my spell:
For better or worse,
We are bound.
Both blessing and curse,
Round and round.
* * *
With three knots,
We are one.
Only in death
May this be undone.
* * *
This spell I bind
By power of three,
My love evermore
So mote it be.
* * *
And when I die,
At last
be free.
Each knot untie
By the old oak tree.
* * *
Set this cord afire
And scatter in the wind,
The spell now expires
And meets its end.
* * *
She held the cord in her hands. Her mind jumped back to the night of her visions, seeing herself standing by a grave and burning a piece of paper. The final piece of the puzzle fell in place. By burning this, she could honor her mother even after death.
She wondered if Lucas and Mom were together in Summerland. Her father had shown some affection for her in the end. Don’t hurt her, Lucas had said to Connors as he lay dying. Was it possible he was still in love with Mom, just as she had stayed in love with him? She would never know. Never join them in Summerland.
Unless another immortal chopped off her head. She shivered. I have James, and I’m safe and happy.
She became aware of another presence in the room. Grandma Jo stood in the doorway.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Callie asked.
“About the binding?” Grandma Jo’s demeanor held a sad acceptance. “I found out the night she died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I knew there was more to it than a heart attack.”
“There’s such a taboo among witches about binding spells. I didn’t want you or anyone else to think badly of Ginnie.”
“She had to make sure Lucas realized if he harmed me, she had the power to end his life by sacrificing her own.”
Grandma Jo nodded. “I figured that out later. At first, I thought Lucas did the binding, but I realized Ginnie was the one with the most to gain from it. You reading her Book of Shadows?” She nodded at the black binder in Callie’s lap.
She was glad it was dark so Grandma Jo couldn’t see her guilty flush. “I was led to it. Mom even left a letter for me in it.”
“I hope it helps put everything to rest for you.”
Whew, Grandma Jo understood.
“Speaking of spell books . . . you’re the one who put Dad’s Book of Shadows in my room when I first came home. Right?”
“Might as well come clean,” she said with a sigh. “Ginnie kept putting off telling you about Lucas, and I had to force the issue.” She ran a hand through her gray spikes. “How do you feel about Lucas now that it’s over?”
“I’m still working that one out. He made our lives miserable, but in the end, he tried to save me from Connors. That counts for something.”
“Mabel will be happy to hear that. You should tell her.”
“I will.”
Grandmother Jo nodded and said goodnight.
Callie looked at the cord in her hands. She would burn it along with her father’s Book of Shadows at the new moon. She understood why her family had never destroyed it years ago. It had been left for her, a final test. She had to choose between the light and dark, good and evil, mother and father. She had chosen the best path, the way of her ancestors.
“I love you. Thanks for the letter, Mom,” she whispered in the ghostly silence. Callie blew out the candles.
The wind died, and the curtains settled down like a benediction.
Epilogue
New Moon August
* * *
The night of the new moon in August was hot but not unbearable. The betrothal was to be held at dusk by the oak tree in the clearing.
“You look like a beautiful woodland fairy,” Grandma Jo said.
Together they stared at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Callie wore a lavender sundress. Her hair was loose and flowed down in soft curls, just as James liked it. On her head was a garland of roses, lavender, and baby’s breath. The amber pendant glowed on her chest. A gold chain had replaced the leather cord, a recent present from James. She pinned on the pearl and opal brooch that once belonged to his mother, Elizabeth. James spoiled her shamelessly, and she loved it.
The day she’d first met him, she’d stood in front of this very mirror and received a vision of his mother’s gravesite. So much had passed since she’d returned to Piedmont, angry and confused and searching for answers about her exiled past.
“She’s right, Callie. I see why James is so enchanted with you.” Mabel gave her a quick hug.
She laughed. “He must be to go through with this coven betrothal ceremony. He didn’t have to do it. We could have just put an ad in the Piedmont Times and announced we were engaged.”
“I imagine you could talk him into anything you wanted,” Grandma Jo said.
Her grandmothers exchanged knowing smiles.
Aunt Mallory entered with a simple arrangement of roses and baby’s breath. “I even tucked in the dried violets you gave me.”
Callie took one of the violets and crushed it to her nose. The faint, sweet smell reminded her of the day she made James pull over in the middle of nowhere so she could pick the blooms. She’d prayed for her deepest wish to come true.
It had.
“Let’s go put the guys out of their misery,” she said. “I’m sure the few males here tonight, especially Tanner, are ready to get this over with.”
* * *
James shifted uncomfortably. Even at dusk, it was too hot for formal attire. Beside him, his dad sighed and pulled at the neckband of his shirt.
“Sorry, Carter.” He kept his voice low. “Given your history with Angelique, I realize standing in front of a witch coven is the last place on earth you want to be.”
“Appears I better get used to it. I consider this mental preparation for the real wedding. Maybe next time it won’t feel like torture every second.”
James laughed but stopped abruptly when Callie walked toward him, a grandmother on either side. He couldn’t believe his luck. He had searched lifetimes for someone like her and now had forever to love Callie. She healed the empty void that had been deep inside him.
He glanced at the oak, remembering how close he’d come to losing her when Connors had attacked at the solstice.
When Callie reached his side, he took her hand and whispered in her ear. “I promise I’ll always protect you.” He straightened, then bent back down to add, “Oh yeah, and I’ll love you forever, too.”
She grinned. “I sure hope so. We’re going to be together for a long, long time.”
* * *
The End
Continue the Appalachian Magic Series in book two, Changeling.
My Book
http://www.debbieherbert.com/
About the Author
Debbie Herbert writes paranormal romance novels reflecting her belief that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. She is traditionally published through Harlequin, as well as Indie published. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team (Roll Tide!). Debbie enjoys recumbent bicycling with her husband. She has two grown sons and the oldest has autism. Characters with autism frequently land in her works, even when she doesn't plan on it!
* * *
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Theta Waves
Thea Atkinson
Theta Waves © copyright 2014 Thea Atkinson
* * *
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain
, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Created with Vellum
THETA WAVES
She has the power to save the world; it’s up to him to stop her.
* * *
Theda is a homeless drug addict who cares about two things: eating and fixing - not necessarily in that order. If new Earth needs saving from the tyrannical clutches of the Beast, it will have to wait until she's sober.
* * *
Now if she can just trick out her gift to pay for that fix without getting killed, she'll have the apocalypse nailed. Too bad for her that religion of any kind is outlawed and punishable by death, and too bad she's been targeted by a bounty hunter for selling visions.
* * *
Because now the Beast knows she's out there and that means her next fix just might be her last.
Phoenix: Act 1
Theda noticed him again, watching her from across the rubble of the street, leaning against the graffiti of a building untouched by the warfare that had left almost everything around her in ruins. No young teen, this one. Older than she was, probably late-twenties. Longish hair the color of charcoal. He was tall although he seemed to be doing his best to disguise the fact, all slouched into himself, one boot sole--cowboy boots, no less--braced against the wall as though he belonged there when Theda knew damn well he didn't. He was too groomed, too... well, too damned clean to belong hereabouts.
Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Page 76