The First Circle

by Paul Perea

  Finally, Amadeo relented, writing the necessary letters and making the appropriate plans. He also did not object to her older brother, Joseph, accompanying her, as he was eager to be rid of him. He ordered furniture and other comforts be shipped to America, where she and her brother hoped to establish a new life. On the day she and her brother boarded the ship bound for North America, Mirabella clung to the two things that connected her to all she loved: her mother’s rosary and the book.

  Mirabella wiped the wetness from her eyes and pushed the sorrow from her mind, but her heart was another matter. She still missed her mother. She missed her brothers and cousins—even her father. She thought of Joseph and the beatings he took at the hands of their father. After all the years that had passed, scars from her father’s hurtful inflictions remained, yet she never returned to Spain for reconciliation and had no intention of ever going back. She was an American now, and Arroyo was her home. She had her own obligations and family to care for.

  Salome had never witnessed her mother so overcome, but did not interfere with the moment. She did not dare speak. Instead, she slowly reached out with her own fingertips. This was the first time she had ever seen the book, and judging by her mother’s reaction, Salome realized that what they were sharing was beyond special. For a moment, their fingers touched, their eyes met, and in the blink of an eye, the wealth of experience washed over Salome like a great tidal wave. They shared a smile, and then tears followed.

  “This was my mother’s book,” Mirabella said reverently, her voice breaking. “It contains spells that date back beyond her life. Incantations written in languages foreign to me, forgotten. I have found enchantments that can provide wondrous results and magic rooted in darkness, horrifying even to read.

  “There is one,” Mirabella said as she leafed through the tome. “It’s dangerous but it will work. We will reinforce his prison and render him powerless against us.”

  “It doesn’t seem so dangerous to me,” Salome commented as she read over Mirabella’s shoulder. “What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal,” Mirabella mocked as she turned and looked up at Salome, “is the fact that this spell is rooted in black magic. This enchantment can be used to capture the essence of a spirit or demon, and then use that power to enhance your own. The allure of such power can be enticing, but we will resist that temptation. We will bind him—nothing more.

  “But there is something else you and Grace need to understand. If Salazar somehow resists our spell, or if we falter as we bind him, he could easily turn the spell back on us. One misstep, one mistake, would bring disaster—and most certainly a painful death to all of us—and then Gabriella would be left unguarded and at Salazar’s mercy.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The spell was intricate and required a triad—three witches working in concert to achieve the results. Ideally, they would include two male witches to complete the five points of the pentacle, but Gabriel was too far away, and her brothers, with the exception of Joseph, were in Spain. And Joseph, although born of a witch, was he himself not a practicing witch. They would have to make do with three: Salome, Grace and herself.

  Mirabella went over the incantation with Grace and Salome, assigning tasks and testing their knowledge of all aspects of the work involved. They spent hours together going over everything again and again. Some days it resulted in either Grace in tears, or Salome being argumentative. Mirabella was a harsh taskmaster and had to remind them that they had only one chance at success or else all hell might break loose, literally. Their failure could result in repercussions beyond anything they could imagine.

  But the encounter with Salazar had given Mirabella an advantage. She knew he could feel pain—that he could be hurt. She also understood what Salazar was capable of, and suspected that he may spy on them to learn their plans. Their preparation and planning would have to be done in secret. They must be invisible. This would require Grace’s unique abilities.

  Grace was a master of illusion and was adept at cloaking their whereabouts. With simply a thought, she could send out waves of energy that would expose hidden dangers, and inversely turn the power back upon them, rendering her and her mother and sister transparent. Should Salazar attempt to locate them, his searching would pass through them and they would remain safe and unseen. It would be trying for Grace—her body and mind taxed—but the effort would be short-lived. They would soon be ready to put their plan into action.

  At last, the cycle of the full moon had begun and they would work their magic each night. On the night after the true full moon, the intensity of the spell would be executed. Then, the first night of the waning moon, as the spell dictated, would be perfect for banishing negative influences and removing evil.

  Every evening they gathered in Mirabella’s meadow, joined hands and called upon their gods and goddesses—Hecate, Diana, Selene, Kernunnos, and Pan—the five points of the star, upright, encircled, powerful and protective. They made offerings. They worshiped the forces of nature: air, earth, water and fire. They bowed to the four corners of the world. Each night, the spell grew stronger, and each night, the three felt their power rising up— The Witches Cone, an invisible triangular pyramid lifting their spirits and strengthening their resolve.

  On the eve of the fifth night of the moon cycle, their confidence mixed with anxiety. This was it—the night that they would conjure the prison that would hold Salazar for all time, and then they would seal the spell over the course of the remaining evenings. They must not waiver, no matter what they may encounter.

  Mirabella looked up at the glittering night sky and the waning moon, high and bright and set amongst the stars. She looked to the east, the mountain range barely discernable against the darkness. There was no wind, no sounds, as if all of nature held its tongue as she convened her coven. Mirabella glanced at her daughters and wondered if she had adequately prepared them. Had she done enough to make them understand the danger, and more importantly, to resist the temptation to seize the power coursing through Salazar?

  The thought of controlling Salazar would appeal to each of her daughters, of that there was not doubt. There was no question that Salome, with her penchant for rebelliousness, might want to experiment with the ability to draw upon Salazar’s power, to fold them into her own, and wield them as she wished. As for Grace, she might see this as an opportunity to accomplish the two things she desired most in life: the ability to completely control her unwieldy gifts, and to perform a forbidden act. With Salazar’s abilities, Grace could possibly enchant her own body, becoming fertile, allowing she and Sam to finally conceive the child for which they longed.

  A shiver ran down Mirabella’s spine as they entered the circle, joined hands and started the chant. Her thoughts mingled with those of Grace and Salome, and she released control of her spirit, now one with the others, a single entity united in bliss and determination. The stars, the sky, the scent of the field—they were all gone now. The only thing that existed was light.

  “The Witch is the magic,” they chanted. “The Witch is the transformation. The Witch is the magic. The Witch is the transformation.”

  Transcendence into light—transformation—three souls joined and as close to spirit as one could possibly be—preternaturally one with the living earth. The clarity of purpose and power was intoxicating. The chant was no longer there—just a whir, an ohm. If anyone would have chanced upon them, they would have simply observed three women, eyes shut, swaying hand in hand—an odd sight to a passerby. To another witch or to anyone who was open to it, the sight would have been quite different. A sphere of light and sound, beautiful, soothing and comforting.

  It was then that Mirabella felt them approaching.

  They moved toward the trio from all sides, a ghastly army walking through the sage brush, tentatively, but with purpose. They stepped onto the hard-packed earth and stopped near the edge. Mirabella, still chanting but alert, dare not open her e
yes. She would not break the spell. But in her mind’s eye she saw them, and their appearance made her heart quicken.

  She had encountered these creatures before. These were the wraiths that had come to Salazar’s defense when she had engaged him in battle. Mirabella could see their custard eyes darting about as they studied Grace and Salome. Mirabella watched as they moved closer, standing inches away as they formed a circle around her and her daughters, readying for attack. But these beings of the pit would soon find their prey untouchable.

  Mirabella exhaled, blowing a kiss to the wind, and in so doing, ignited their protective sphere. Tendrils of light emanated from the circle and dispensed with the creatures, shattering them into embers and sending them through the air like sparks up a chimney flue. Having dispatched the intruders, the tendrils moved in one direction—toward the river. They quickly found their target. Prying open the portal, they caught Salazar unaware and began to weave a cocoon around him.

  Salazar attempted to transport himself through the portal but was immobile. He called out for his wraiths but they could not heed his call. Unable to fend off the magic with any skills at his disposal, Salazar raged and cursed Mirabella. Encased in the shimmering cage, he found himself trapped in the realm of shadows.

  Not to worry, he thought. Gabriella will come to me. I will be patient, and when I am free, I will not hesitate. I will kill Mirabella. I will kill her daughters. And then, Gabriella will be mine.

  CHAPTER 16

  Salome swiped at her face in an attempt to satisfy the tickle caused by an ant crossing her cheek. She felt the warmth of the sun on her skin and slowly opened her eyes, and was momentarily blinded by the bright blue sky above her. She turned her head to one side and remembered where she was—the meadow. She turned to see Grace stirring and her mother still fast asleep on the cool hard ground.

  “What the heck is going on here?”

  Still groggy, Salome watched as Sam bent down and helped Grace to her feet. “Hey, Sam. Good morning.”

  “Good morning? Good morning? That’s all you have to say? My wife doesn’t come home last night and then I find her in a field and all you can say is ‘good morning’? My God, Sal, did you all get drunk last night and pass out here?”

  “Calm down, Sam. It’s nothing like that! Really, you’re going to wake the dead,” Salome said as she crawled on her hands and knees toward Mirabella.

  “Look here, don’t tell me to calm down, I was—”

  “Sam! Quick! I can’t wake her up!” Salome cried, interrupting Sam. She knelt behind Mirabella and tried to lift her but was met with dead weight.

  “Here, let me help,” Sam said as he rushed to Salome’s side and lightly tapped Mirabella’s face. “Mari, Mari, wake up. Come on, mom, wake up.”

  Mirabella was unresponsive and Salome began to panic. Tears welled in her eyes as she pressed her head against Mirabella’s chest to listen for a heartbeat. Relieved, she jumped to her feet.

  “Godammit! What the hell were the three of you doing out here last night?”

  “Not now, Sam! I’m gonna run back to the house to get some water!” Salome cried and sprinted across the meadow toward the house before he could argue.

  Sam looked up at Grace, who was standing and staring at Mirabella. “Gracie? Anything you want to tell me?”

  Grace did not answer. Instead, she concentrated, feeling her mother’s strength returning, and in an effort to assist, sent her thoughts to her, helping and guiding Mirabella back to consciousness. The embrace was there and Grace smiled at the happy reunion. They were all safe. They had survived and their spell had been successful.

  “Dammit Grace, are you listening to me?” Sam yelled.

  Jolted, Grace explained. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was just a bit dazed. I’ll tell you what happened but you’re not going to like it.”

  By the time Salome returned, Mirabella was regaining consciousness and Salome heard the tail end of Grace’s explanation to Sam.

  “—and we didn’t know how strong it was so obviously we ended up here, passed out!”

  “Grace, what the hell are you telling him?” Salome asked, not looking away from her mother’s face as she helped her up to drink.

  “I was simply telling Sam about the tea that mom brought back from her last visit to the pueblo. I told him how mom had brewed some and that we didn’t know that it contained something that made us all pass out.”

  Grace turned and addressed Sam. “Honey, all we were doing was enjoying some tea and cakes after our dinner. The evening was so nice we decided to have our dessert in the meadow. We didn’t know the stuff was going to knock us out cold!”

  Salome sent her thoughts to Grace. “What a smooth liar you are, Gracie-girl! Who would have thought you had it in you?”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be taking any chances with that stuff the Indians give you. Who knows what’s in it!” Sam said authoritatively.

  “Look, these teas can be used for medicinal purposes—they have healing qualities. We use them for all kinds of things, but this one was new and now we know better. Please, Sam, can we talk about this later? I’d really like to help my mother!” Grace pleaded.

  “All right, I’m sorry. But you can’t blame for me for being worried!”

  “What’s with all this nonsense?” Mirabella asked as she yawned and stretched to wake her body, then asked sarcastically, “Did someone die?”

  Salome looked at Grace and then at Sam, and then started to laugh hysterically. Her reaction was contagious. Grace and Sam, unable to contain themselves, starting laughing, too.

  “When you hyenas are done laughing, would you mind helping me back to the house? My back is killing me,” Mirabella scolded as she stood and stretched and winced at the pain.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” Mirabella said to Salome as they lunched alone together. The spell, along with a night spent outdoors, had left Mirabella tired and stiff. Even with Sam’s assistance, she barely had the strength to walk back to the house.

  “If you’re planning on retiring, mother, you’ll have to wait two more nights. Once the spell is complete, then you can do whatever you want to do,” Salome answered through a mouthful of food.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor eating her bread and cold roast pork, ravenous, but with a nervous eye trained on Mirabella. As far as she knew, none of them had ever been pushed as they had the previous night, their powers mingled in such a destructive, dark force. The result had left Salome worried. Her mother had always been so strong and independent, and seeing her need assistance made Salome all too aware of her mother’s mortality. To Salome, her mother was not old, but she had to acknowledge that Mirabella was indeed getting older, and that frightened her.

  Mirabella managed a smile and softly caressed the top of Salome’s head. “You need a bath, you wild woman. You look like you’ve been rolling around in the sage brush!”

  They shared a laugh and moved naturally into conversation as they continued to lunch. Both, whether consciously or subconsciously, avoided any topic regarding Salazar or spells, and it didn’t take long for Mirabella wax nostalgic.

  “As you know, my mama, your grandmother, was a patroness of the arts and Sevilla was, and still is, the art capitol of España. She had many artistic friends and would invite them to stay in our home—painters, sculptors, even musicians. I think she herself was a frustrated artist so she lived vicariously through these people. You saw her drawings in the book. Her talent was decent, but she felt she would never be a great artist. She had wonderful ideas and visions so she sought out people who were creative.

  “If mama became enamored of someone’s artistic talent, she would subsidize their work. She would feed them—sometimes even clothe them—then throw lavish parties to show off their paintings or sculptures, and send them off to what would hopefully be a successful career. Ah, how she loved being surrounded by th
ese people.

  “Our house was so large with many unused rooms so it wasn’t unusual to have an artist or two in residence, living and working in our home. She would have materials delivered— canvases, paints, easels, clay—whatever the artist desired. She would treat them as if they were family. Their bedrooms would be furnished with beautiful linens, fine majolica pitchers and washtubs, and of course, fresh flowers.

  “My mother and I would walk to the market where the gypsies sold fruit and sprigs of rosemary. Funny, even now I can smell the oranges and rosemary in the air. I would run through the narrow cobblestone streets and alleys. It never ceased to surprise and thrill me, the beautiful homes and hidden gardens. I could always discover something new and I never worried about getting lost. You see, all I had to do was look up. On almost every corner, imbedded in the stucco of a building or house, was a saint to guide you. I learned about them, and in doing so, could navigate the maze that is Sevilla.

  “My mother would scold me for running away, playfully of course, and then we would walk across the Plaza del Triunfo to the cathedral. We always stopped to light a candle and say some prayers before making our way home. And if I had been a good girl, we would climb the steps of La Giralda, the bell tower, running past out-of-breath pilgrims in order to reach the top and look out over our beloved city.”

  “I would love to go there someday to see it for myself,” Salome commented wistfully. “After all, I’ve never even met my grandfather. Tell me, did he love the artists as much as grandmother?”

  “Hmm, not really. My father hated having strangers in the house and he was not one for big parties. However, his charm would get the better of him and soon he would be enjoying the party more than anyone else. Still, he complained, as he felt they took advantage of his wife’s hospitality—and his money.