by J. S. Malcom
Where are we?
A beat, and then Julia says, “I think he lived here.”
The light outside the window darkens, then grows brighter, then darkens and brightens again. It happens over and over, as days and then years flicker past, during which the veil witch keeps getting younger and younger. Somehow within me, I know what I’m seeing, but I don’t want to face it. Not when I want to feel hate over sympathy. Still, I can’t help but think of that woman I never met. My great-grandmother, who was once locked away for being a veil witch.
It feels like we’re stuck.
“We are,” Julia says. “They kept him here for a long time.”
The sense of claustrophobia, the weight of the walls pressing in, becomes all but unbearable. I just can’t take any more.
Go forward again. Can we do that?
“Yes, I think so.”
Try. We need to know what the connection is.
Suddenly, the vision shifts around us again. We’re in Grimoire, where Maggie sits perched behind her counter as the front door opens. The veil witch enters and Maggie looks up, watching him with curious eyes. She's never seen him before, but she knows he's a witch. She can feel the aura of magic around him. We watch as the veil witch approaches her. He knows what to say and which questions to ask. Her reservations drop, her trust building as names are mentioned and connections established. Then they’re in back, the veil witch pretending to peruse and Maggie amiably explaining. But it’s the image of one book that burns in his mind, along with a name he’s just recently learned. As soon as Maggie leaves him to go back out front, he goes to where he’s been told he can find it. He removes the book from the shelf to open its pages, the connection becoming clear as Julia burrows deeper and deeper into his mind. Finally, I know who he is and just why he came here. His name is Silas, and the woman who wrote the book he now holds was his mother.
CHAPTER 19
Isabel answers the door wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, her strawberry-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Without makeup and simply dressed, she still looks beautiful. She’s just one of those rare women who can seem youthful at fifty. Still, the dark circles beneath her eyes, along with the deepened lines on her forehead, tell a story of worry and sleeplessness. I can only imagine that this must be the longest week of her life.
She opens the door wider to let us in, then gives both me and Autumn a hug. Without hesitation, she hugs Julia too. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she says. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Isabel knows my story of course. She’s one of the few people to know every detail. Still, it’s only now that I realize that these two people, who both mean so much to me, have never met.
“You too,” Julia says. “Cassie’s told me about all you’ve done for her.”
“As well as me,” Autumn says.
Isabel smiles, taking in the three of us. “Well, someone had to clue these two in. You’d think being able to perform magic would have done the trick... ”
She lets her words trail off, giving Julia a conspiratorial glance.
“Hey, we didn’t know it was magic,” I say.
Isabel pretends to frown. “And those orbs you kept lighting up were, what? Your own personal Aurora Borealis?”
I have to laugh, even as my cheeks grow warm. She really does have a point.
“Well, take those jackets off.” Isabel says, nodding toward the kitchen. “Come on and I’ll get you guys some coffee.”
As always, Isabel’s kitchen is clean and bright, sunlight gleaming on her hardwood floors. Without even thinking about it, Autumn and I go to the table, so Julia does the same. Isabel brings the coffee, pouring each of us a cup. “Don't be shy,” she tells Julia, gesturing to the plate of fruit and cheese she put out for our arrival, along with a loaf of freshly baked bread.
Autumn and I look up with guilty expressions, having already started digging in.
Isabel just laughs. “You better get some before these two eat it all.”
She waits until Julia puts a little on her plate, and takes a sip of her coffee. “So Julia,” she says, “I've heard about your abilities. What happened last night is extraordinary.”
Julia’s pale face turns red. “Oh, I don't know,” she says. “It's just something I can do.”
Isabel raises an eyebrow. “You and maybe two other psychics in the world.” She turns to me and adds, “Are you sure this one doesn't have witch blood?”
It’s actually a very good question. More and more lately, I’ve wondered the same. How is it that Julia can take us where we’ve gone? For that matter, how was she able to host me within her for all those years? My mind returns to last night, and that moment of Beatrice’s keen interest. That woman has seen a lot, but I got the feeling she was seeing something new.
Julia’s blush deepens at being the center of attention. She tries to laugh it off. “Cassie and I joke about me being a mutant.”
Isabel smiles to make her feel comfortable. “But in a way that’s what we are. Witches are just humans, but with something extra. Namely, magic. Some speculate that we’re an evolutionary offshoot, those whose genes adapted differently. Isn’t that what a mutant is?” She gestures to the fruit plate. “Try one of those pears. You’ll like those.”
She says it as if, before that, she hadn’t said anything unusual. But then, I guess she really didn’t. She’s just talking about witchcraft with other witches. For us, I guess that’s normal.
“Where’s Phoenix?”
For once, it’s Autumn who asks the question, although I was wondering the same thing. Just not for the usual reasons. This time, we came to see Phoenix as a necromancer. We’re running out of time and maybe, just maybe, he can help us find the answers we need.
“He should be here soon,” Isabel says. “I would imagine any minute.”
“He isn't staying here anymore?” I try not to sound overly curious.
Isabel shakes her head. “I made him go home. He has his own life, his animals, his job, and other things to look after. It's not doing him any good thinking he has to keep looking after me.”
She tries to sound casual, but I can tell she’s hurting. She glances away, and I wonder if, within her mind, she sees that mirror we brought here. Does she check it each night, and every morning, to see if Bethany’s image has started to fade? I’m sure she must, at least that often, if not every hour.
I also think of Phoenix, and what Isabel just said. He has his own life. It’s funny how I think he’ll just be here waiting for me, but that’s not the way it works. I’d be a fool to think otherwise.
The sound of a truck comes from outside, and Isabel rises from the table. “That must be him now,” she says, going to the door.
Phoenix enters the kitchen and gives his mother a hug, focusing only on her as he squeezes her tight. He speaks softly. “Everything okay?”
Isabel nods, for the moment holding onto him. “Yes,” she says. “Everything’s fine.”
It’s not, of course, but Isabel is a strong woman—a strong witch. She must cry when she’s alone, thinking about her daughter, but she’s trying not to burden her son any more than she has to.
Isabel steps back from Phoenix, who turns his attention our way. Like both Isabel and Bethany, he has thick, golden hair, although his eyes are hazel to their green. He smiles at seeing us, but he looks tired, the pain showing in his eyes too. He hangs his jacket on a hook and comes to the table.
“You must be Julia,” he says.
“Sorry,” I say. “Julia, Phoenix. Phoenix, Julia. Just don’t make her blush any more than your mother did.”
“I heard that!” Isabel says, from where she’s fiddling at the sink. She turns to give me stink-eye.
I have to laugh. “Just saying. We’re a socially phobic kind of crowd.”
“Kind of true,” Autumn says.
“Totally true,” Julia says, and then she turns back to Phoenix. “But, hey, I hear you can talk to the dead.”
Pho
enix shrugs. “On occasion. I hear you can burrow through psychic wormholes.”
Sure enough, Julia starts blushing again. “Only in the name of science, and occasionally witchcraft.”
Phoenix chuckles and I catch his eye, then nod toward the coffee. “You might want to grab a cup. We have work to do.” A little bit bossy. But hey, it’s true.
“Yeah, good idea,” Phoenix says. “I ran out at my place.”
“Wash your hands first,” Isabel says. “Especially if you’ve been touching those dogs of yours.”
Her words remind me that some things never change. The entire universe can be about to shatter, but a mother is still a mother.
~~~
Before long, we’re getting ready to attempt what we came here to do. It's just Phoenix, Julia and me now, in a room I've never entered before. This room, once intended as a downstairs bedroom, became dedicated years ago as a place for Phoenix to practice necromancy. Needless to say, he too had an unusual childhood.
It's dark inside the room, the curtains drawn closed to the day outside. There's no furniture to speak of, just the rug we sit on and a couple of low tables. One holds rows of gently burning candles, the other a collection of small round vials. On the rug before Phoenix rests a shallow metal basin. It’s wide in circumference, at least two feet across, but no more than a few inches deep at its center. I have no idea what it’s for, but this kind of magic is as new to me as it is to Julia.
As we sit cross-legged on the floor, I suppose someone seeing us might think we've gathered to meditate. In reality, we're hoping to summon the dead. Well, at least that's what Phoenix will be doing. That ability is the key difference between being a veil witch and a necromancer. While my sister and I often interact with the nonliving, that contact is limited to those who remain in this plane. We're the realm watchers, guardians who can eject those who supernaturally trespass, as well as guides who can free those held trapped here. In a word, psychopomps. Phoenix, on the other hand, can communicate with those holding the keys to the other side, ancient spirits who never took physical form. They live in Death, as the consciousness of that dimension between dimensions.
The reason for Autumn and Isabel not being included is to preserve what Phoenix called the “contact integrity.” When communicating with his guides in the realm of spirit, he explained, the memories, thoughts and emotions of those present can affect the outcome. Only Julia and I shared last night's experience, just as it was only us who psychically linked with Lauren Flannery before to break the spell Grayson had cast upon her. For that reason, Phoenix felt that limiting those present would increase our chances for success.
Now, he looks to us, where we sit across from him. “This isn't an experience I often share,” he says. “It can be, well, a little weird sometimes.”
“Not to mention creepy?” I say.
Phoenix cracks a grin, his eyes cutting to Julia and then back to me. “Basically, yeah. At least until you get used to it. Anyway, let's give it a try and see what happens. Just to warn you, I'm never entirely sure which way it will go.”
I think I know what he means. There’s no way to be sure if we’ll be able to even locate Lauren Flannery’s spirit, never mind establish contact. There are just too many variables.
Phoenix takes a deep silent breath, closing his eyes as he centers himself for what’s to come. When he feels ready, he opens his eyes again. He reaches for two of the vials. They each hold liquid, what I presume to be potions, one neon blue and the other the color of mercury. Phoenix uncorks them, tipping their contents into opposite sides of the basin. Slowly, they run down toward the center and start to swirl in a spiral, somehow not mixing. A light vapor starts to rise, smoky tendrils twisting into the air.
Phoenix seems not to notice as he once again closes his eyes. He begins to recite an incantation, his voice barely audible as he speaks in what sounds like Latin or some other dead language. A sudden chill of recognition ripples through me. From where or when, I’m not sure, but I get the feeling I once spoke this language too. Along with that feeling come images. I see a village with stone cottages and ox-drawn carts traveling on paths of dirt. What am I seeing?
The vision dissipates as, beside me, Julia takes a quick and sudden breath. I look to see her widened eyes, and then track her gaze to Phoenix’s hands, which have begun to glow. I double-check to be sure, but there’s no doubt that Julia sees what’s happening. Which makes me wonder once more. While non-magical humans can feel the effects of witch magic, I’ve never known one to see its source. Until now, I’ve always assumed it was that way for Julia.
The basin flares with a sudden whoosh, drawing my attention back again. The vapors, gently rising as tendrils before, now thicken into a twisting column, one that soon takes on spectral form. It’s tall, shaped like a person and nearly reaching the ceiling. It has a head but no face, and limbs but no hands. Instinctively, I know it needs neither eyes to see, a mouth to speak, nor hands to feel. What I’m seeing is pure spirit. An energy without any ties to physicality.
I cut a quick glance over at Julia to confirm that she sees it too. Her eyes are even wider now, her mouth having dropped open as she stares. My gaze goes back to the figure, which turns slowly, as if looking around the room. My entire body thrums with the magic surging around me, as if every nerve ending has lit up from the sudden shift in energy.
Phoenix slowly raises his face. In a quiet voice, he addresses the being he summoned. “The one in her last life called Lauren Flannery. Do you feel her connected to us?”
The column of vapor twists, the human shape all but disappearing before taking form again. It tilts its head down, first at Julia and then at me. Then the spirit twists around to face Phoenix again.
I hear nothing, but apparently it’s not the same for Phoenix. “Yes, both of them,” he says. “Together both times.”
Again, he hears words that I can’t as the spirit speaks to him.
“That’s right, she came to the one called Cassie first. She needed help.”
Moments pass, Phoenix appearing to listen, this time as the spirit bends in low over him. I almost jump up, but then restrain myself, as it lowers vaporous limbs to plant them on either side of Phoenix’s head.
Phoenix speaks softly. “You have my permission.”
Despite all the magic I’ve seen, I’m not quite ready for what happens next. The spirit turns within the basin, bending now to look down just at me. At the same time, Phoenix’s eyes roll up into his head. His mouth opens, and one word comes out in a voice that’s low and hoarse. “Ask.”
That’s it and no more as the spirit waits for a response. Apparently, the floor is mine.
“We’d like to speak to Lauren Flannery,” I say. “I don’t exactly know her, but she came to me. First, as a ghost, but then through her Book of Shadows.”
The blue smoke of the spirit’s body twists and swirls. I wait for an answer, but one doesn’t come. Then I realize why. Because I was rambling. I didn’t ask a question.
I try again. “Can we speak to her?”
Again, I get nothing. Right, literal, I think. It’s not talking to us, it’s talking to me.
“Can I speak to her?”
The vaporous column slowly shakes its head. “No.”
Okay, I think I’ve got this. No nuance. Just direct questions. “Why?”
“She is in the healing realm. She cannot be summoned here.”
Damn. The length of that response leaves me stunned. That was downright chatty for… What is this thing, exactly? I guess Phoenix would call it a guide, although I always pictured something different. But this isn't good. The entire point was making contact with Lauren Flannery, in the hope that we might learn more about Silas.
I snap out of it when the strange voice comes through Phoenix again. “Do you have more questions?”
I get the feeling it’s losing patience. I look to Phoenix for advice, which makes no sense. He remains, well, possessed. I’m not sure what else to call it
.
Then I have an idea. If the spirit can speak through Phoenix…
I shift my attention back to the guide. “Can she speak to me through you?” Then, to be sure I'm covering all the angles I add, “Or can you ask her questions?”
My heartbeat kicks up a notch when the guide says, “I can ask her questions.”
Just to be absolutely sure, I say, “Can you tell me what she says?”
“Yes.”
Well, why didn't you just say so before, you big chimney? Because, I didn't ask, of course.
Come on, Cassie. Think! Get to what you need to know.
“Did she have a son?” Technically, I already know this, but I’m not sure how best to proceed.
A few moments pass. “Yes.”
“Did she raise him?”
It’s just a gut feeling, but we saw only places. We never saw any connection between Silas and other people.
“She did not,” the guide says.
It’s like pulling teeth, but we’ve gotten this far. I’m not giving up now. “Why not?”
Another pause, and then the spirit says, “She put the child up for adoption.”
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. “How old was she when she had him?”
“Seventeen.” That time there was almost no pause, making me wonder if the connection to Lauren is getting stronger. Or if there’s some sense of urgency on her part to convey the information.
“Who knew about the child?”
“There were two, those who were her parents at the time.”
Shit. So, I guess that’s it. Lauren didn’t raise Silas, and only her parents knew about his birth. Apparently, I’ve been barking up the wrong tree, which means we’ve just wasted our time.
Then the guide says, “There was one other.”
A chill ripples down my spine. If it was anyone but Lauren Flannery, I’d tell myself that it can’t be who I think. I’d tell myself I’m just paranoid, that I have to stop trying to connect him to what’s been happening. As I bring my attention back to the guide, I feel like a tunnel is closing in around me. Still, I have to ask. “Who was that person?”