by Jack Massa
All the while, I sense that Fiona is afraid. I recall my impression from the first Save Harmony Springs meeting, the thought that the ghost of Margaret Alden meant Fiona harm. I start to wonder if Fiona might be under psychic attack. Maybe she too was targeted by Shadow Man, to drown herself in Bliss Bayou.
Then I think back to the vision I saw in the attic, and another idea comes to me.
Molly thanks Fiona and promises to post the story for her to review in a few days. We say good-bye, and Molly leads me quickly outside to her bike. As we drive away she starts hitting me with questions.
“What happened in the attic? I could tell you were having a vision. What did you see?”
I describe it: similar to what I saw in the outdoor circle, except this time Shadow Man was there, and I could feel him absorbing their energy.
“Interesting,” Molly says. “Still, it doesn’t tell us what the ghost of Maisie wants, and if she’s a friend or foe of the shadow monster.”
“I know.” I hesitate. “There was one other thing. Just an impression.”
“Tell me. Everything should be logged.”
“Well, my vision showed people doing magic like a hundred years ago. But I have a feeling people have done magic in that attic recently. Like within the last month.”
Before going to sleep that night, I do my Ablution exercise. When I get to the Second Fountain, Margaret Alden is waiting for me—the middle-aged Margaret, in her black dress and high collar. She looks upset.
“You should not have disturbed my house. You are meddling recklessly. It will only make things worse.”
Her intensity is scary. But I get hold of my nerve, determined to get some answers. “I’m sorry. But that was you and Annie I saw, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes focus far away. “Annie raised the curse. Otis and I merely followed. We were swept up in the current of evil. But our intentions were always pure. We were innocent.” She sounds anxious to convince me—or perhaps to convince herself.
“The spirit I saw you with, that’s the same spirit that is haunting me now, isn’t it? The thing that smells like the swamp and looks like a shadow.”
She hesitates, then whispers, “Yes.”
“And he is the one causing all the trouble in town?”
Her face is frozen, but she gives a fraction of a nod.
“Someone is doing magic in that attic in the present time, aren’t they? Is it Fiona?”
That name seems to snap Margaret out of her trance. “Fiona is in danger. You must protect her.”
“How can I protect her?”
“If you can do protective magic, do it for her. And for yourself.” With that answer, she fades away.
My eyes blink open. I want to call her back, but I remember how Violet warned me against doing that. Conjuring spirits is way above my grade level.
So I’m left wondering how much of what Margaret told me was the truth—about Fiona, about herself. Was she as innocent as she claimed?
Or is she another deceiver?
15. He feeds on fear and rage. He is formed of human evil.
The following day, Granma drops me at Violet’s on our way into town. It’s been four days since the Profound Expulsion, and Violet is feeling well enough to see me. In fact, Kevin said she urgently wants me to visit.
After stopping in the driveway of the little cracker house, Granma puts a hand on my wrist. “Remember, sweetie, you don’t have to commit to anything you’re uncomfortable with. And if you want my advice about something, we can talk.”
“Sure, Granma. I’ll be fine. Really.”
She’s still wary about my plunging too deeply into magical studies, and after what I’ve put her through—my first few days in Harmony Springs, and again earlier this week—I can understand the concern.
Which is why I haven’t told her about all the stuff that happened yesterday.
Which is why I’m all the more anxious to talk with Violet.
When I knock on the screen door, Violet calls out from the kitchen for me to come in. The ceiling fan is going, but the house is stifling. The air smells humid and dusty, with a whiff of incense. Violet’s dressed in a wrinkled housecoat, her white and red–dyed hair hanging loose and wild. Her eyes are bleary, like she hasn’t been sleeping much.
She motions me to sit down at the table. She sets a glass of ice water in front of me, then sinks into a chair.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
“Oh, fine. Fine. Did you have time to read any of the documents I sent over?”
“I read them all. But before we talk about that, there’s something else.” I tell her about my ghost hunting adventure at the Alden house, the vision I saw in the attic, and my visit last night from Margaret’s ghost.
Violet listens, a finger on her lips. At times her eyes grow wide. When I’m finished, she blinks and clears her throat.
“Well, I’m not surprised that our black entity is linked to the founders’ families. He certainly feels like he’s been here a long time.”
“Feels? You mean, he’s still around?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Her mouth bends into a frown. “And you believe it wasn’t just a vision from the past, that magic has been done in that attic recently?”
“That’s just a feeling. Not based on anything I saw. Except…Fiona seemed very uncomfortable to find us in the attic. But that may have been nothing. I find it hard to believe Fiona is involved. If she was the one who raised Shadow Man, why have I sensed that she’s the one in danger? And why would Shadow Man be attacking people who are on Fiona’s side, against the development project?”
Violet shakes her head, looking as confused as I feel. “It’s all murky. Maybe you’ve been misled about Fiona. Maybe the ghost of Margaret is lying to you. Or maybe Fiona really is in danger, and some other group, working for the developers, raised the entity. Fiona could also be doing magic to protect herself from this other group.”
“Right…so lots of possibilities. Where do we go from here?”
Violet peers into my eyes, like she’s looking there for the answer. Then she nods, as though she’s found it. “I’ll do a reading. Maybe with what you’ve told me, I can get a clearer picture.”
She heads off to a bedroom and returns in a few moments with a pack of cards. When she unwraps the silk handkerchief, I see it’s a different deck than the one she used the first time she read for me. This is more like my own Tarot deck, with pictures on every card.
“You shuffle,” Violet says. “Ask the cards to reveal what the entity is and who summoned it.”
I touch the cards, and I swear I can feel their magical energy through my fingers. As I shuffle, I concentrate, asking about Shadow Man.
Violet cuts the deck three times, then lays out the cards. She uses a spread I’m not familiar with—five rows of five. I have no idea what the positions signify.
In the pictures, I see anger and confusion, crossed swords and wands, along with images of streams that remind me of the springs. At one end of the top row is the Magician—which, strangely enough, I feel represents me. In the center of the spread is the Devil, who strongly reminds me of Shadow Man.
Violet stares at the reading, her eyes vacant. Seconds tick by. I want to ask what she sees, but I’m afraid to break her concentration.
I gaze at the Empress card in the top row near the Magician. I saw her in the reading I did back in May, the one that told me to come to Harmony Springs. In that reading, I identified the Empress as Granma. Now I’m reminded that she represents a great goddess, seated beside the Stream of Life. But as to what she means in this reading, I have no clue.
Suddenly Violet stretches out her hand and touches the Devil card. Her whisper comes from someplace dim and far away. “Alden, Renshaw, Feaster…brought him here…unaware of what they did. Now—now his purpose is hidden.” She picks up the card, her arm trembling. I realize she’s gone into a trance. Her voic
e rises into an anguished, strangled groan. “He feeds on fear and rage. He is formed of human evil!”
She drops the card, and her wrist thumps down on the table. Her head slumps to her chest. For a moment I think she’s fainted. Then, for a crazy instant, I’m afraid she’s dead.
But next moment her head pops up, her eyes wild, and she shivers. “What happened? What did I say?”
I repeat her words as best as I can remember. Violet reaches for my ice water and takes a big gulp, which makes her cough. She sets down the glass and shivers again.
She stares at the reading for another minute, then says, “Pick up the cards, will you, dear? I don’t think they’ll tell us any more.”
As I scoop up the cards, I ask her, “Do you know who Feaster is?”
“Who?”
“You mentioned that the entity was summoned by Alden, Renshaw, and Feaster. That might be the young man I saw in my vision with Margaret Alden and Annie Renshaw.”
“No idea. It doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.” I fold the silk handkerchief over the deck. “You also said, ‘He feeds on fear and rage and is formed of human evil.’ Does that make any sense? What does it mean?”
Violet sighs. “Yes. It makes sense. You know from your studies that there are many kinds, or tribes, of spirits: Elementals, of course, and nature spirits. Every tree and flower, every stone has a consciousness that can be summoned and spoken to. But there are other entities who dwell in the spirit world—what we call the inner planes. These entities are remnants of thoughts and emotions. Every thought and dream and desire leaves a trace of energy, and those too are conscious. Sometimes these entities can…coalesce into long-lived beings. And if they come into contact with a magician who traffics with them, they can gain power in this world.”
A chill has crept into my belly. This does not sound good at all. But it does sound exactly like Shadow Man.
“So where does that leave us, Violet? What can we do?”
“We can prepare ourselves to oppose him. As true magicians, that is our duty.” She takes hold of my hand. “Like it or not, you’re a focal point for these events, Abby. Fiona might be one too, but you definitely are. We need to get you up to speed as soon as we can.”
I just stare at her, unsure what she means.
“I need to ground myself,” Violet says. “Something to eat. Then we’ll get to work.”
Violet fixes a pot of green tea and some toast, which she eats with blueberry jam. I pour my tea over ice and mix in a dab of honey. While I sip, I scan the Circle of Harmony papers, which I brought along in my backpack. I question Violet about some of the points I found confusing.
The Elementals, for instance, “our friends of the elements”—fire, water, air, and earth—are they really the primal forces of creation?
“Yes,” Violet says, “in an esoteric sense.”
I’m not sure what that means—or how it fits with what I know about physics. Then there’s the question of the magic tools. There is one for each of the first four Fountains—wand, dagger, cup, and seeing stone.
“What exactly is a seeing stone?”
“Don’t worry too much about the tools.” Violet waves a hand. “They are just symbols for the mental skills that you acquire. At the end of the day, all magic takes place in the mind.”
Magic. I want to ask her about actually doing magic. From the narratives I’ve read, it always seems to involve calling on spirits and then raising and releasing power. Before I can formulate my question, Violet goes on.
“At this point, you don’t need to make tools in the physical world. After you go through each advancement, you can visualize receiving the tool. This will actually create it on the astral plane, and that’s really good enough.”
“Hold on. You’re talking about me going through the advancement rites? How can I do that? Aren’t you supposed to wait several months between each one?”
“Yes, that’s the traditional way. But in this case, Abby, we just don’t have time. I need to prepare you as best I can to protect yourself.”
I’m only getting more confused. “So…”
“So, in the history of the Circle, some magicians have been self-advanced. By reading the ceremonies and visualizing them, you can gain a form of advancement. Sometimes guides appear to add their energy and help the candidate realize the full power of the Spring. Hopefully that will happen for you.”
This sounds overwhelming. Or maybe it’s the grim urgency coming from Violet that’s making me so anxious.
“I’d like you to do the First Advancement as soon as possible,” she tells me. “This evening, if you’re up to it. Then call me tomorrow and let me know how it went.”
She’s gazing at me with such force that I lower my eyes. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“Good.” She relaxes a little. “Let’s walk through it now, so you can practice.”
At nine that night I go up to my room and close the door. I take out the script for the First Advancement and place it in the middle of the rug. Next to it, I light a candle and burn a cone of incense in a brass bowl.
I walk slowly around the room, tracing a circle of imaginary blue fire. I do the same banishing ritual Granma used the first time she chased Shadow Man away. Lacking a wand, I use my hand, keeping the middle and index fingers pointed as Violet showed me.
I sit down in front of the candle. I close my eyes and do the Daily Ablution. When that’s finished, and I’m feeling calm and strong, I pick up the pages and begin.
The Advancement to the Eternal Spring of the Love of Truth.
Each Spring is a Fountain, and each Fountain a waymarker on the Path of True Magic. These things are secret and must not be taken lightly.
I read the ritual all the way through. Then I set down the papers and stare at the candle. I visualize myself standing at the edge of a circle surrounded by forest. It is night, and the clearing shines with lanterns. People in white robes stand within the circle. I imagine one of them walking toward me—my guide.
Then the vision goes dark, and I’m staring into inky blackness.
I blink and focus my eyes. I’m back in my room, the candlelight fluttering.
I look down at the page and try again.
This time the visualization is sharper—lanterns winking, white robes bright. When my guide approaches, I can see that it’s a young woman.
Then it all goes black again.
When I open my eyes, I see only blackness. I blink furiously, shake my head.
I’m blind.
I press down the feeling of panic, reminding myself that I’m safe in my room. I force myself to breathe slowly. I stretch out my hand to the papers, the candle.
My fingers touch nothing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then try looking again.
Blackness.
Breathe, Abby. Get hold of yourself.
For a long time I sit blind and alone in the Universe, straining to hold on to my nerve. Eventually I remember the Daily Ablution. I work hard to focus on the first Spring. Although I see nothing, I imagine I can see it. My mind settles into the familiar pattern. I draw the waters up from center to center along my spine. At last I feel the waters of Bliss flowing out the top of my head.
I open my eyes and see my room. The candle has nearly burned out.
So much for my first self-advancement.
16. Blood on the ground, and watermelon
On Saturdays there’s a farmer’s market on Palmetto Lane, just off Main Street. Along with booths selling food and local produce, there are tables with crafts and flea market stuff. Save Harmony Springs has a table under an old live oak, between the Friends of the Library and a stand selling watermelons. This morning, I’ve volunteered to mind the table.
It’s sweltering hot, and the crowds are pretty slim. Only a few people stop by the booth, mostly asking if there are any updates. When there’s a lull, I take the
opportunity to phone Violet and fill her in on what happened when I tried the First Advancement.
I sense from Violet’s tone that she’s a little baffled, but she tries not to show it. “You did very well, Abby. Always remember: return to the Springs. Nothing can harm you there.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I did remember that. So what do you advise now?”
“Hmm. I think you should give it a day or two, then try again. I know it’s difficult, but you need to work it through. This is important.”
I really don’t relish the idea of going back to that terrifying blindness. But there’s a stubbornness in me that says Violet is right. Maybe it’s courage. Maybe it’s dumb foolishness. I hear myself telling her, “Okay.”
My fellow volunteer at the table is Jonas Carter, one of the leaders of the Save Harmony Springs committee. He’s a quiet, low-key guy in his sixties, but this morning he’s agitated. Rocks were thrown at his house last night, the third time he’s been targeted. This time two back windows were broken. It was well after dark, but he’s had floodlights installed in the backyard, and he got them turned them on in time to see a guy dressed in black running toward the river. He’s got a pretty good idea of who it was.
I ask if he reported it to the police, and to my surprise he says no. He has no proof, so what good would it do? This makes me wonder how many other acts of ugliness might have been committed and not even reported.
The morning wears on, and the traffic stays light. I hand out a few leaflets and explain the current status of things—the committee’s plan to propose a town referendum on setting up easements. I spend most of the time on my phone, researching what different occult sources have to say about entities like Shadow Man—beings that are formed out of human thoughts and feelings but that take on a life of their own. It’s pretty mind-boggling.
I’m startled out of my reading when Jonas suddenly jumps up and yells into the crowd. “I see you smirking over there, Casper Wainwright! I know it’s you and your boys who threw rocks at my house.”
Everyone stops dead still. Then one figure moves. A scrawny old man walks toward us from across the street. He’s dressed in shorts and a dirty tank top. His skin is like wrinkled brown leather, and his long hair and beard are white. He stares at Jonas with a face full of hate.