by Leia Shaw
Something gleamed under his lip. She leaned in to take a closer look. His fangs were drawn. It seemed she’d rattled the ever-composed Professor James Elias.
She grinned and James gave her a murderous glare. But he didn’t beg and she respected him for it.
God help her if he did catch her. Unwilling to think of that scenario, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bye, James.”
She slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked out of the cave without a backward glance.
Chapter 13
James didn’t know it yet, but Sage had also stolen his car keys. If leaving him paralyzed in a cave for three days wasn’t enough to piss him off, the condition of his two year old prized Lexus after speeding down the rocky dirt road was sure to. But she wasn’t in the mood to hitchhike. With no plan for where to go, she pulled out a map and headed toward the only place she knew anybody. Albany.
Driving through Massachusetts was pleasant that time of year. The quaint towns were alluring despite her being a city girl to the core. It was a nice break from New York. Even though the two states bordered each other, they had a very different feel.
She’d spent years living in “The Student Ghetto” – a gritty, crime infested part of northern Albany. Massachusetts was no paradise but comparatively, it was like a breath of fresh air.
How long would it take to get to Albany? Maybe she’d see Erin that night. Lost in thoughts of a happy reunion, she meandered down Route 114.
Suddenly, an odd sensation overwhelmed her. She almost crashed the car into the nearest telephone pole. Her stomach clenched with nerves. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A prickling started in her fingers and toes. Something about where she was headed felt eerily familiar. But she’d never been that far south in Mass. What the hell was going on?
It was lonely on the long stretch of winding road bordered by thick forest. A town sign came into view.
Now entering Salem.
She rolled her eyes. Of course. Cause she was a witch, right? Maybe her ancestors were calling to her from their graves.
She let out an annoyed huff then sped until the speedometer was pushing sixty-five. She drove through Salem, shivering over and over as the prickly sensation grew stronger. But she was determined to get the hell out of there – do not stop at go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
She shuddered, picturing dead puritan witches rising from their graves and hobbling toward her.
No more horror movies for her.
Where she was supposed to make a left at an intersection leaving town, she felt an unyielding urge to go right. She fought as hard as she could against the magnetic pull, but the more she fought, the more it hurt – like her skin was being stretched painfully over her bones. With an angry curse, she finally gave in, hoping the side trip would be worth it.
“Maybe I’ll pick up a souvenir or two,” she grumbled.
Instinct led her through the downtown tourist spots, then back onto a winding forested road, finally turning her down a dead end.
Knowing her luck, it was probably the exact spot the witch trials had taken place. She shuddered again. The magnetism intensified when she spied a driveway attached to a small cottage.
With a sigh, she turned in then stopped halfway up. She stared at the house, hoping for a sign of familiarity. It wasn’t anything conscious, but something was pulling her there. Not able to leave without at least knocking on the door, she fought back any hesitation and jumped out of the car.
“Let’s get this over with.”
As soon as she stepped towards the house, it all became clear.
Witches. She could feel them. She could smell them. She could sense their power. Interesting. Her witchy senses were tingling.
The second thought came like a mental shove through a wall. Her mother. Unexplainably, she knew a blood relative resided here. Her blood was crying out for the connection. Her body did indeed know something her mind did not. This was where her family lived.
Guarded, but with newfound enthusiasm, she marched to the front door. Before she could knock, she fell through the ground then landed with a painful thud onto a concrete floor.
Trap door. How welcoming.
She jumped to her feet and assessed her surroundings, looking for a possible escape route although she didn’t feel threatened, despite the booby trap. The corridor where she’d landed was dark but there was light up ahead.
Staying close to the wall, she crept toward the lit room at the end of the tunnel. She was getting an underground dungeon feel from the whole experience. The trap door may have had something to do with that.
She reached the lighted room with no major surprises – though the room itself was a bit of a surprise. Novelty lights were strung up around the ceiling – flamingos, Corona bottles, and Christmas lights. The furniture was worn but cozy. Bookshelves lined the walls filled up with books, candles, and incense that made her sneeze. It looked just like a cozy den for witches.
“Who sent you, witch?” a whispered feminine voice asked from behind her.
Snuck up on by a girl? Where were her witchy senses then?
She spun toward the voice and was met by a pale-skinned girl with a head full of curly, orange hair. The gorgeous mystery girl stared at Sage with such intensity that she almost forgot the girl was waiting for an answer.
“Uhhh…” she answered poetically.
Another mysterious voice interrupted her, this time to her right.
“I bet it was the ghouls getting back at us for the exorcist we sent to their house.”
“Oooh! Maybe she's a singing telegram!” said another voice.
“Maybe she’s a stripping telegram!” a fourth chimed in.
“Maybe she’s a singing strip-o-gram!”
Her head spun. “Enough!” She’d been joined by four girls, all about her age, standing in a semi-circle around her. “I’m not any of those.”
“Aww…” three of them chimed in unison, as if disappointed there wouldn’t be a strip show.
“Then what do you want?” the fierce orange-haired girl snapped.
“I’m looking for someone.” Her muscles tensed with a feeling of being trapped.
“She’s not here.”
“But you don’t even –”
A sword at her throat cut off her protest. The bitchy orange-haired witch held the hilt and stared down the length at her. “I said she’s not here.”
Without a second thought, Sage lit her own sword and swung it across the one at her neck. The tip fell onto the floor with a thud.
The witch hissed in a breath and narrowed her eyes but Sage could see a flicker of fear. She couldn’t hold back a small smirk.
“Whoa! She’s no ordinary witch,” one girl said.
“She’s a sorceress,” someone added. All four girls made a variety of sounds of disgust.
Sage scowled.
“Those uptight dickwads? No way!” a blonde girl said. “She’s too badass. She smells like vampire.” Her eyes lit up. “Bet she screwed one.” She bit her lip and raked her gaze over Sage’s body.
“Maybe she’s a vampire,” the brunette next to her said.
“I’m not,” Sage said. “I’m a sorceress, yes, but I’m also a witch. And I’m looking for my mother.”
“What’s her name?” one asked.
“I don’t know,” Sage admitted and extinguished her sword.
“How can you find her if you don’t know her name?” the same girl asked.
They stared at her curiously.
Good question. “I-I guess I was hoping you would know.”
“We don’t know any nameless witches,” the bitchy one snapped. Sage was beginning to dislike her.
“She’s not a witch,” the blonde remarked. “She’s a switch!”
“No. A witcheress!” another girl said, clapping her hands excitedly.
“Oh, good one!”
“What’s going on down here?” A new voice descended the stairs. “You’r
e not playing with the pizza delivery man again, are you?” A woman with long, silver hair pulled back in a low ponytail stepped into the semicircle and studied Sage’s face. “Who’s this?” she asked the girls.
The brunette answered, “She’s a witcheress who’s looking for her mother.”
“But she doesn’t know her name,” another added.
The older woman scrutinized Sage with narrowed eyes as she took a step closer. “What’s your name?”
Figuring there was no reason to lie, not if she really wanted to find her mother, she told the truth. “Eirian Nathara. But everyone calls me Sage.”
The woman’s eyes slowly widened as she stepped closer. She smelled vaguely familiar. Like patchouli and – she inhaled – cinnamon.
“Sage?” she said. “Is that really you?”
She blinked. “You know me? Then you know my mother?”
“Yes, of course.” She smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth in the front. But her smile was so warm and friendly, Sage was ready to hug her. “She was my cousin.” She reached out as if to touch her face then withdrew her hand at the last second. “You look just like her.”
“Where is she? Does she live here?”
The woman’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Come. We have much to talk about.” She grabbed her hand pulled her up the stairs while the girls followed behind.
“She looks like hell,” someone whispered. “Maybe we should make her shower first.”
A shower! Sage’s eyes welled up.
Chapter 14
Sage’s shower felt orgasmic after having lived in a cave, even just for a few days. And the fresh clothing she borrowed were equally welcome. The plain blue jeans fit perfectly though she was less pleased with the top. Black and fitted was good, but the writing was not.
I heart Edward Cullen.
She rolled her eyes. How freakin’ ironic. At least her vampire didn’t sparkle.
Her vampire? Where on Gaia’s fucked up earth did that come from?
She bounded down the stairs, feeling refreshed and ready for answers. The witch’s cottage was a cross between Sorority Ave and rustic homey, with a pinch of a gothic vibe.
A stone hearth smoldered, knit afghans covered old furniture, but when she looked closely, she could see the remnants of drinking games. Clothing and jewelry stuffed into corners reminded her of the group homes she’d lived in, only with a magical feel she couldn’t quite pinpoint. The freaky stone statues on the bookshelves cinched the gothic vibe. On the whole, the place was mysterious yet welcoming.
She settled onto a worn-out living room couch that looked like it had been time warped from the seventies. The older witch handed her a mug of hot tea and the girls sat on the edges of their seats all around her.
“I’m Rosemary,” one of the witches said. She didn’t smile or try to shake Sage’s hand. Dressed like an old-fashioned schoolgirl, she gave off a creepy vibe Sage was happy to steer clear of.
“And I’m Lavender,” said the girl next to her. The two looked like twins, although one’s hair was dyed a shade lighter and cut a few inches shorter. But they dressed similarly.
She remembered they were the ones who were eager for her to strip.
Sage, Lavender, Rosemary…She hoped she wasn’t related to them.
“Herbal names? Is that a witch thing?” Sage asked.
Lavender answered, nodding sadly, “Yes.”
“That and our parents are weird,” Rosemary added.
“I’m Athena,” another girl jumped in. She had chin-length blond hair and bright, cheerful eyes. Dressed in trendy clothing, she was simply adorable.
Sage grimaced. She hated adorable.
But Athena was the one who’d suggested the shower so she supposed being adorable was forgivable.
“She’s half demigod,” Lavender told her.
Athena rose majestically from the armchair, her arms spread out to the side. “Yes. I am the daughter of the almighty Zeus,” she said ceremoniously. The girls snickered then Athena plopped back down on the chair. “Not really. Phanes is my grandfather. He's kind of a loser as far as gods go. He’s the god of procreation, which totally bites for me. I can’t so much as look at a boy’s junk without getting pregnant.”
Sage stared, feeling like she’d entered a Twilight Zone episode.
“She’s not the real Athena either,” Rosemary said.
Athena nodded, her hair bobbing with her head. “My dad had a crush on Athena. Lame, right?”
“Mm, lame,” she replied hazily.
The last of the young witches introduced herself. “Sam,” the snippy orange-haired girl said, giving a curt nod.
Sage arched a brow. “No herbs for you?”
“No.” She shrugged one shoulder. Her delicate features seemed harmless without a sword in her hand. “My mother was human and didn’t like the supernatural world. Well, except for a weakness for a certain warlock. Then out popped me.”
“And I’m Selene,” the older witch told her as she sat on the couch next to Sage. “I’m their witch guide.”
“Witch guide?”
“Their mentor. All witches live with an older mentor after they finish their regular schooling. I help them with the study of witchcraft. Like young sorcerers do with their teachers.” She paused as Sage nodded that she understood. “You were raised among them then?”
“No, I was raised with regular people.” She almost laughed. Well, regular compared to the supernatural. Even that was debatable. “I only found out about my abilities recently. And I’ve been training with…” She trailed off, undecided about how much she should share about herself. “You said you knew my mother. What’s her name?”
Selene smiled, the lines around her mouth deepening. “Jasmine.”
More herbs?
“We grew up together. We were inseparable as children. She was truly my best friend.”
She didn’t miss the hint of sadness in her voice. “Can you tell me what happened to her? Please?”
Selene looked down at the mug between her hands.
Sage swallowed a lump in her throat, tempted to say “never mind” and get the hell out of there. But she forced herself to stay. Any information was better than no information, even if it was bad.
“Jasmine was very secretive about you. She wouldn’t tell a soul who your father was. I was surprised she wouldn’t tell me at least, but she took that secret to the grave.” Selene gave her a nervous smile.
So she was dead. Sage looked down at her hands, feeling guilty that she should feel sad, but didn’t.
“Or wherever she is,” Selene amended. “She was very young when she got pregnant with you. She was unmarried and going through a…crisis, of sorts. Anyway, after you were born, she insisted on keeping you from anything supernatural. I tried to convince her otherwise. Being a witch is a gift. We could no more ignore that part of us than we can our need to eat and drink. But I guess she didn’t see it that way.” She shrugged half-heartedly as she fumbled with the hem of her floral blouse.
It looked like she was holding something back.
“Anyway, she left you at the hospital, convinced a nice, normal family would adopt you.”
“And my name?” she asked. If Jasmine was a witch, why would she give her a Welsh name?
“She gave you a Welsh first name because she was in love with a sorcerer. But I don’t think it was your father,” she said in a rush. “He was her best friend and soul mate.” Selene smiled broadly and Sage got the impression this man had been loved by many.
“But he was forced to marry a sorceress for…political reasons. But your middle name, which I see is the one you go by, is a witch name of course.” Selene seemed so pleased that Sage used her witch name as her first that she didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d only recently changed it because she’d needed an alias to escape the law.
“After Jasmine gave birth and saw you to safety, she left. I think she wanted to start over and forget the pain of leaving you behind. But
ultimately, I think it was the pain that killed her. She said she was going to the live with a coven in Arizona, but when I called they said she never arrived. I can only assume that means she passed on.” Selene dropped her head and said softly, “I don’t feel her spirit.”
It was quiet for several moments. Sage stirred her tea. The clinking noise of the spoon against the mug was the only sound in the awkward silence. She had no idea what to say. This was the kind of situation that required a social finesse she didn’t possess.
“Oh!” Lavender’s voice was so sudden it made Sage jump. “I just learned a conjuring spell. I could conjure her spirit for you!”
Sage blinked. “What? No!” Was she insane? Though she was glad for the distraction.
“Good call,” Sam told her. “Last time, she managed to raise every spirit within a five mile radius. And we live next to a graveyard. It wasn't pretty.”
A couple of the girls giggled. Hadn’t James said the witches were dodgy?
Athena jumped from her seat and ran to the bay window, facing the driveway. “Umm…we’ve got company.”
An odd sense of dread crept up her spine.
The other girls ran to the window.
“Werewolves,” Rosemary whispered.
In seconds, weapons were pulled out of every nook and cranny in the living room. Selene remained beside Sage, but shuffled her into the hallway, away from windows and doors. And she had a crossbow in her hands.
James be damned. She did like her witch half.
Athena stood by the window with a set of throwing knives in her hand. Sam flattened herself against the wall behind the front door, a new sword at her side. Lavender and Rosemary flew around the house, checking other windows and entrances.
“The place is locked,” Rosemary said, panting.
“Magically and physically,” Lavender added. They each grabbed a pouch off one of the shelves.
Sage could only guess it had something to do with witch magic, though it wouldn’t surprise her if they were grenades either. They were putting her to shame. Just to feel more significant, she pulled up a lit sword in her hand.