He turned back toward Andrea and stared at her. “What did you say?”
“I said kill her for Ethan!”
Then it came back, right there, alongside everything Samantha had done, was that photo of Andrea next to Ethan.
“You witch!” He moaned and reached out with his glowing hand, grabbing the chain about her neck. It melted at his touch, and both he and the amulet collapsed to the ground.
Recognizing the moment Moloch had prepared her for, Samantha cried from the ground, “Necare obinixe!” She twitched her nose, and the spell was cast.
Andrea’s eyes grew large and confused, but it was only for a second. She was dead on her feet and fell with a thump and crash to the floor, her head hitting hard against the first of the stairs.
Samantha had never killed anyone before. She stared at the dead girl, dumbstruck.
Unbelievably, her aunt floated down the stairs astride her cane and landed on the step just above Andrea’s head. In her hand was the Grimoire of Moloch. She looked as confused and horrified as Samantha felt. The old woman glanced down on the dead form at her feet and shook her head sadly. Her tired eyes met Samantha’s. “Dead?”
Samantha nodded as she stood on her feet. “Moloch gave me the spell.”
Clara didn’t appear surprised to find her niece had spoken recently with the ancient wizard. “I was afraid of that. Do you recognize her?”
Moving shakily as if it were freezing, she made her way over to her aunt’s side and looked down on the corpse. The beautiful young girl had aged considerably in death. In witch years, she was probably near three hundred years old, but to the human eye, she appeared an attractive thirty. Samantha shook her head.
“There are certain characteristics about her, even in her aged state, that make me wonder,” Clara muttered.
Mike and Serena appeared from around the corner looking like they’d barely survived an iron-man marathon. Wide-eyed, they stopped dragging their feet when they saw Samantha and her aunt—and the dead form of Andrea on the stair.
“She dropped to the floor, dead,” Mike said. “Lindsey’s dead.” His expression remained stuck in a pale sick position of one who had seen something too frightening to give words to.
Samantha had just been told this in her mind by her quivering familiar. They were both in the grip of Belly Fire when their tormentor was killed by the death of her witch.
They stood in silence, all of them stunned and weary, praying this horrible night was now over and they could catch their breath. Their reprieve, however, was cut short by a wailing that emanated from the stones all around them. It grew louder and hurt their ears. It was a pitiful noise, full of anguish and anger. It thundered down the hallways and shook the stone around them.
“YOU KILLED HER!” the voice bellowed from everywhere.
They looked about in fear and confusion, except for Clara.
“She had the Grimoire! You fiends!” The voice was wretched in its anguish.
“I’ll kill you, young one!” It promised. “I am not finished! My plans are deeper than you could ever imagine!” More wailing reverberated from the walls and continued for almost a minute. “Be prepared, Shalbriri! And fair warning. I will not be confined to the Appensus forever! I am coming soon with a sword in my hand!”
Once again, the pitiful wailing filled the underground chamber. “And you, Sahwin, you know not what you have done! The dead girl at your feet is your sister. Struck down by your hand!” The clamor of the disembodied voice continued. It echoed away down the corridors and up the staircase where it faded into the night.
Samantha looked up anxiously into the face of her aunt. “Is it true? Is she my sister?”
Clara looked at the dead girl and back at her niece. Gravely she nodded her head.
***
With Samantha and Serena’s help, Clara was able to fly everyone, including the invisible Jeep, back to their house in Hyde Park. The teenagers all collapsed on furniture around the house.
Samantha stretched out on the floor at the foot of the couch where Darren slept in something closer to a coma than slumber, physical exhaustion exacting its due from him. Samantha twitched about in her sleep, nightmares passing through it. A little black cat tried to help her sleep by rolling up beside her to give her comfort. If she moved, the cat snuggled in closer.
The tall boy, the Warder’s Guardian, had fallen asleep in a recliner. He looked as if someone had beaten him up with sharp stones. There was an extreme weariness about his sleeping form that Clara concluded meant he too had given all his physical strength to the events of that night.
Clara sat in an easy chair by the fireplace, the Grimoire open in her lap. She poured over its contents, trying to commit much of it to memory. At times, she would page ahead to see something. Other times, she paged back to review something else. She spent the time from 3:30 until 5:30 at this task. She took notes along the way, filling up several pages.
On a whim, she turned the pages of the Grimoire until she came to the end of the volume. The back cover was hard and decorated like much of the rest of the book. She ran her fingers along the intricate designs and realized part of the drawing was raised up from the cover. She pried at it until a piece of the book that had been cleverly inserted into the back cover broke free. Looking at it in awe, Clara suddenly realized what she was holding.
The hard long curved object was part of something larger. It was decorated to match the back cover, but she realized it was part of something else entirely. It was one of five sections of the Signum Infectus, the Token of Evil. She held one fifth of the cursed emblem Baal needed to enslave mankind. Along the arching portion of the token were written the words of one-fifth of the spell: Tragu Naleum Narcu Sespis—words from the first language given to man by God and deformed by Baal.
Trembling, she replaced the evil emblem in its slot in the back cover. She closed the book and shook, staring off into the darkened room. The object had filled her with terror, but some of the fear she recognized came from words a prophet had told her back when she went by the name Shalbriri. “When you hold the Dark One’s token, the final confrontation will be at the doors.”
How had time warped around her in this fashion? Suddenly there was too much to do, yet she didn’t know where to begin. She knew she should sleep, but it wouldn’t come. Her mind continued to flow from one thought to another, projected like the modern films of mankind. It was a movie behind her eyes she couldn’t shut down.
After some time, she thought again of the little girl, the mentally challenged child she’d been watching earlier in the evening. They had been playing cards when the little girl laid her hand down on the table and placed her small hand on her ancient one. Speaking softly she said, “You must go to the temple at the high school. Your niece needs your help. Your other niece is dead.”
Clara had been befuddled by this announcement. She stared dumbfounded at the little girl who then said, “My parents will return soon, you may leave me. You must hurry now.”
She jumped up from her seat and hurried to the door where the child stopped her and said, “Will you play with me again sometime?”
Flustered, Clara nodded then dashed out the door.
These thoughts were interrupted, and she was brought back to the moment by Samantha who padded over to her chair. “How is it?”
Clara looked up curiously at her niece.
“The book, I mean.” Samantha smiled.
Fatigue hung on her niece like a baggy sweatshirt. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t sleep.” Samantha shook her head. “But I’m exhausted.”
“Perhaps you should go to your room, lie down in your bed, my pet. That would help.”
“I will in a minute.” She sat on the arm of her aunt’s chair. “A sister.”
“Hmm.” Clara nodded. “A sister.”
“I wish—”
“Yes,” Clara said. “I understand wishes like those.” She patted Samantha’s hand.
Sa
mantha smiled wanly at her Dear One.
“Would you like to see something?” Clara perked up suddenly. “I need to keep this volume somewhere safe, and I found the perfect place. You’re the only one I’ll show this to.” She looked down at her notebook and reviewed several words she’d scratched on the paper.
Holding her quivering hands out in front of her she said, “Vacu capa cita merqui de sa.” She pinched at the air in front of her and tugged at something that appeared to be space itself. She opened up a rectangular hole in the air and pulled it down—as it were—like a flap. Inside it was pitch black.
Clara lifted the Grimoire and placed it inside the hole in the air. From the side, Samantha watched the book simply disappear as if as her aunt had pushed it into nothing. The old woman reached down and closed the flap back into place. It looked like there was nothing there at all.
“So, will it always be right here?” Samantha reached out in front of her but felt nothing.
“It will follow me where ever I go. I can open up the null space anytime I’d like and retrieve the volume.”
Samantha nodded and grinned a bit at the cleverness of the spell.
“Oh, in case you are wondering, my pet, I’ll tell you this secret. When I die, whenever that should happen, the Grimoire will reappear on its own. I’d like you to be there for that.”
Samantha wondered about her aunt. Her ways were peculiar, but she loved the old woman so deeply she couldn’t imagine her any different than she was.
“I think I will go off to bed, Dear One. Let the others know where I am, should they wake before I do.”
Clara nodded, and Samantha touched her hand tenderly. Clara watched her niece shuffle off toward her bedroom. Such a wonderful child. She could have asked for no more miraculous a gift using all the powers of the Grimoire. That child brought her so much joy and comfort. She had never given birth to a child of her own, but realized she had a daughter nevertheless. She also realized if she were to ever lose the child, the pain and loss would be too great to bear.
She glanced at her niece’s friends sleeping on the recliner and sofa. The Warder caught her attention, and she thought about him for a long while. There was something about him and his family. Extraordinary. After mulling it over for a few moments, she glanced back down at her notebook and rifled through the pages. Coming to a stop, she looked over the words of a spell written there.
She toddled over to the kitchen and opened a door that now housed the brewing cauldron. Inside beyond the boiling cauldron—masking their house as an old dilapidated shack—were shelves cluttered with containers full of odd liquids, powders, animal remains, and strange weeds she’d managed to collect since she and her niece had escaped the Appensus. Among them were the necessary ingredients to start a potion that was completely new to her. Taking down an old iron tripod and a second cauldron, she hung them up and began the flames of a second witches’ fire. She had much to accomplish before morning broke.
Dawn swiftly approached before she finished adding the last ingredients for what she had in mind. The potion was simmering and was at the right temperature. She pulled from her voluminous gown a small glass vial, which she dipped into the brackish fluid and then stopped with a cork.
Clara tottered out of the pantry and looked about the room, which was painted a gray color by the pre-morning light. Her young guests continued to breathe quietly in their exhausted sleep. Morning was only a few short minutes away, and she was determined to complete her task before it arrived.
“Locu Sah Brum Tangic Amo Logan Regional,” she said and stepped out of her kitchen and into a hospital room. In the center of the room in a large bed connected to tubes and other manmade devices lay the sick and dying old Warder. The machinery that sustained his life would fail to do so very soon. Her heart went out to the man.
She’d been able to retard the effects of the Near-Death powder after she’d rendered him unconscious earlier. It was the only reason the old man hadn’t died hours ago. But the extent of the spell was near at hand. It would no longer prevent the inevitable.
She padded to the head of the bed and gazed down on Atavus’s face. He had been through a lot and had lived a long and eventful life. It would be a kindness to let him slip away before morning and give him eternal peace. But she thought back on her niece and on the young boy who slept on her sofa and decided to follow through with her original plan.
She examined the tubes connected to the man in the bed and quickly perceived their functions. She reached for tubing through which clear liquid was flowing into the man’s veins and realized how simply she could administer the potion. Hanging below the bag of manmade potion was a branching off the different lines. One was blocked off but could be accessed if the doctors needed to insert a different medication into Atavus’s system. Clara turned a small dial that opened the now empty line. She removed the stopper on the free line and drained the contents of her vial into it. It was quickly sucked into the tubing and joined the clear liquid entering Atavus’s veins.
Clara set the vial and tubing aside once it had emptied into the man, then turned to the head of the bed and looked down on him. She put her right forefinger to her eye, looked up, and rubbed the sclera. She pulled her slightly moistened finger away and touched the old man’s forehead with it.
She pulled from her gown the notebook upon which she had written the spell and spoke the words, “Restitu eris perfici vale truquorum seit deu sangum.” She repeated the words of the spell three more times. She had learned from the book that a coven of witches was necessary in order to heal someone this close to death, unless a single witch was particularly strong.
At the conclusion of the fourth recitation of the spell, Atavus’s eyes flashed open as if a burst of adrenaline had flooded his system. At first, there was fear as he gaped into the eyes of the old witch, but it softened to understanding the longer she returned his gaze.
***
Darren gasped as he sat up on the couch staring blindly into the dark room. He panted and struggled to calm himself down from the horrible dream that frightened him into consciousness. It took him several seconds before he put together where he was and why he was on Samantha’s couch. Everything must have worked out.
He remembered passing out. After making the connection with the picture of Andrea, he’d figured out that she was the witch who had bewitched him. That knowledge instantly freed him from her memory charm, and he’d ripped the amulet from her neck. He didn’t know what happened after that, but they must have been triumphant as he was now back at Samantha’s house, sleeping on her couch. The pleasant tug of exhaustion began to wash over him again like a gentle incoming wave.
The image in that horrible dream kept him from drifting off as quickly as he wanted. Darren had seen that gruesome warlock from the vision above the island in Samantha’s kitchen. He wore the same black cassock with a deep cowl, and set in the darkness of that shroud, Darren could see his one good eye burning red. The rest of his face had been burned away, and the maimed area looked fresh and raw. But the worst part was the twisted smile on the ghoul. He seemed fiendishly delighted as he rasped, “I will find you!” jerking Darren awake.
He settled back down on the couch, praying it had just been a dream, when at the far end of the room, Samantha’s aunt Clara walked through the wall. He wanted to say it surprised him, but it hadn’t. It made him wonder if it too had been a dream, just like the maimed warlock, but he didn’t think so. He’d actually seen her return from somewhere by walking into the house through the wall, like it was a normal way of getting in when you had forgotten your keys.
The old woman looked back into the room where she believed Darren and Mike to be asleep. She crossed the kitchen and gazed out the window over the sink. Darren noticed for the first time the gray light of morning lazily stretching across the room. The old woman looked out on the new day for some time. Darren wondered what she was thinking, and where she had just been. She was mysterious, but he knew Samantha love
d her more than life itself.
He was a bit startled when she began dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. She backed away from the window and gave a great sigh. She mumbled to herself, but he thought he’d heard her utter the name, Samuel. Then, with a look of one stricken with great anxiety she looked up and said softly, but loud enough for Darren to hear, “We don’t have much time.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As soon as I saw the name Inkspell, I knew I wanted them to publish this book. When I received an email response from them, I instinctively thought it was a rejection. I had to read the words a second time to be sure they were offering to publish Bewitched. For that, I really must thank Shilpa Mudiganti Mirza for finding Bewitched worth her time and effort. Thanks, Shilpa! Others at Inkspell also scrubbed and polished this thing to make it readable. I have to thank my editor Kelly Hashway who cleaned up my grammar and tightened my prose. There were so many necessary changes I found it quite humbling, but there’s no denying it, she made the book shine! She also pushed me in the right direction on how to end the story. Thanks, Kelly. I needed that! Also doing brilliant work on my behalf at Inkspell is Deborah Anderson who did the final proofread to make sure there were no lingering errors for readers to stumble across; and Najla Qamber my cover designer who allowed me to make suggestions and rendered a final eye-catching cover that readers would be drawn to. Thanks to both of you!
I have to thank the people at Sky View High School who showed me around and let me get a feel for the place. There are also the neighborhood young adults who willingly read through various versions of the manuscript and told me they liked it. Their comments had a great impact on me. Thanks. Special thanks to the Popas, Sean, Julie, and Shanae who encouraged me and expressed their enjoyment at reading the book. Another special thanks to Linda Jensen Hardy, a great friend since grade school that I hit up out of nowhere and pestered to read and edit some earlier drafts. I really do appreciate what you did for me and the encouragement and kind words you shared.
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