Chapter 18
“His name is Damien Cummings,” he whispered softly into my mind, and I knew exactly whom he was talking about.
“How come his name is different than yours?” I asked aloud.
“My mom changed ours so it would be harder for him to find us.”
I sat still, pondering this thought for a moment. It had never occurred to me he might be living under an alias. He was my Vance.
“Vance is my real name,” he whispered as he decoded my thoughts. “And I’ll always be a Mangum. I’ll never take my old name back again.”
“Where’d your mom get the name?”
His face grew reflective for a moment, as if he were remembering a different time and place.
“We passed through a small town in Oklahoma once, called Mangum. We were only there for a couple of days, but Mom was charmed by it. The people were so down to earth and very kind to us. Someday she hoped we could live somewhere just like that. I think changing our name to Mangum was a way of reminding herself that places full of good people still exist.”
“What a beautiful memory,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“You must really miss her.”
“I do, but I understand why she did what she did. I owe her my life. If she hadn’t run with me, who knows what kind of disgusting creature I’d be now.”
“She’d be so proud of you if she could see you now. You’re such a good, determined man.”
He sighed heavily, and I could see the subject was beginning to wear on him.
“Let’s get some sleep,” he said. “You need your rest.”
“I’m not going to break, you know. You don’t need to baby me,” I replied with a small smile.
“Well, get used to it, because I’m not going to stop anytime soon,” he mumbled into my hair.
It was the last thing I remembered before I closed my eyes.
The next morning when I awoke, Vance was already gone. I had no idea what time it was since there were no windows in the basement and no clock nearby. I lay in the comfortable bed for several moments taking in the things that happened last night. Finally, I threw the covers back and placed my feet on the floor.
As soon as I stood, the bed shrank back to its original form and folded itself against the wall.
“I guess that’s one way to get rid of company,” I muttered to myself, staring in awe.
Walking in a circle, I gathered the glowing crystals and carried them to the shelf, replacing them in their proper spots.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Vance’s voice chuckled in my head. “Or should I say afternoon?”
“Afternoon? What time is it?”
“It’s noon.” He laughed. “I’m upstairs. Milly’s feeding me lunch.”
I hurried to meet them, combing my fingers through my hair and rubbing at any dark circles that might be under my eyes.
“Well, someone was tired!” Grandma laughed as I entered the kitchen.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I think it was that dark basement. I had no idea what time it was.”
“That’s just fine,” she replied. “Vance said to let you rest because you tossed and turned all night.”
“I did?” I asked, not remembering any such thing.
“You had your dream again,” he said, in between bites of his sandwich.
“Really? I don’t remember,” I replied, surprised.
“It was a little different this time, though.”
“How so?”
“You were running toward something in the fog, not away from it.”
“Hmm. That’s interesting. Was I calling for you?”
He nodded.
“Well, thanks for helping me out again,” I said.
“It’s always my pleasure,” he said, coming to give me a hug.
Grandma placed another sandwich on the table. “Come and eat, Lollipop.”
“Thanks, Grandma. I’m sorry I wasted half of the day away. I know you have things you wanted me to help you with.”
“Don’t worry about it. I worked on my project up here this morning and actually got everything done already.”
“I’ve got to go, baby,” Vance broke in from behind me, leaning to place a kiss on my cheek.
“Already?”
“Half a day, and then I’m all yours.” He smiled reassuringly. “And you get to come back to school tomorrow.”
“Who’d have ever thought I’d be excited about that?” I laughed, following him to the door.
He hugged me again before he left, placing a light kiss on my cheek, and I watched until he was out of sight.
“Finish your sandwich, and then you and I’ll have a history lesson together,” Grandma said.
“History?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s time I introduce you to the world of the dark arts.”
“Excuse me?” I choked.
“This isn’t something I like to do, but knowledge is power. With all the crazy stuff that’s been happening, I figure you need to be aware.”
“All right,” I agreed and hurried to finish my food.
After we went back into the basement, Grandma pulled a very large, ancient-looking book from the storeroom and set it on the table in front of me. I reached for the book, but she stopped me. It was then I noticed a large leather strap surrounding it, and the clasp was secured with a giant lock.
“Do I need a key?” I asked.
“There is no key. It was destroyed. You’re never to open the lock and read the book,” she began.
I gave her a quizzical look.
“Okay. But I thought you wanted me to read it.”
She shook her head. “You’ll touch the center of the cover, and its contents will be revealed to you. Never, ever, read directly from the text. This can initiate hidden spells and dark magic you’re not aware of. Many a witch and warlock have been drawn into the dark arts by doing such a thing.”
I nodded, understanding her warning. This was obviously a very bad book.
“Whenever you’re ready, simply place your hand in the center of the cover,” she said, sliding the volume toward me.
I took a deep breath and hesitated for a moment, then placed my hand on it. As soon as my fingertips grazed the book, I felt a hard pull, as if I’d stuck my hand into a massive vacuum cleaner. My body went rigid as images overwhelmed me. Everything was moving so fast, zipping by at tremendously high speeds, I felt like I was on a roller coaster. In spite of all that, my brain was able to comprehend it all.
The history of black magic was revealed and filled my mind with images from the early days of man—pictures of people chanting, casting spells, and sacrificing. Bits and pieces of text, spells, warnings, condemnations, and prophecies went unheeded. The people of the era thirsted for more power.
I followed the black magic from its origins, throughout its journey, passing through the Christian era, Medieval, Renaissance, Victorian, through time as it evolved and passed down from one hand to another. Horrifying images of curses, mutilations, and death leapt through my mind, sickening me with the depravity of it all.
I watched as witches and warlocks evolved with the dark magic too. As their power became stronger, they transformed before my eyes, sprouting furrowed brows with small horn-like bumps, teeth that resembled fangs, nails that took on a claw-like appearance, and haunting, blood-red eyes. They moved back and forth between features, their appearance looking completely normal at times, but changing the most when they were thirsty. It was then they would morph into their demon characteristics. I was surprised to see some of them physically preferred their demon looks to their human ones.
They were drinking blood—lots of it, feasting on the life source of other witches and warlocks, taking their magic to make themselves stronger. The blood exchanges turned their victims into the same creatures they were themselves. Once their captive made the conversion, they found their demon blood polluted, so they moved on looking for someone new to feed upon. They grew stronger with each f
eeding, and some of the more powerful ones could actually shape-shift into animals, or even other people.
They lived long lives, often training a protégé to inherit their magic when they were old. The larger their magical community, the stronger their powers were. They were recruiting, always recruiting. It was necessary for their survival.
The demonic societies searched for and preyed upon the especially gifted, since these individuals supplied more power in their blood. There would be a feeding frenzy on these people, often taking them to the brink of death before bringing them back again to build a new, fresh blood supply.
On and on it continued, marching through the pages of time—every generation stronger and worse than the previous. I saw whole covens of good witches and warlocks slaughtered as they tried to fight for their lives, but the demons always overtook them, allowing nothing to stand in the way of their thirst. And even though the demons always grew stronger, it was never enough. The thirst always deepened; they constantly craved more.
Something changed in me, shifting while I viewed them. Feeling their desires, a craving for a taste of the blood flowed through me, an unquenchable thirst and longing. Throwing my head back, a moan escaped my lips. I needed a drink now.
An image of Vance danced into my head, and all I could see was his blood pulsating through his veins, beating a song so sweet I couldn’t deny it. It was so powerful. I wanted to grab him and have a little taste.
“Portia! Let go of the book!” Vance’s voice pounded into my head.
Instantly, I was aware of Grandma tugging on my arms, trying to pull the book away, which I was now firmly grasping with both hands and holding to my chest.
“No! Portia! No! No!” she screamed.
I released it immediately, shocked, standing so quickly I knocked the chair over.
Grandma grabbed the book and ran with it into the other room.
Placing my shaking hands on the table, I leaned there panting as if I’d run a marathon.
“I’m on my way!” Vance spoke into my pounding head, and I didn’t have the strength to argue with him.
“What was that?” I said both aloud and mentally, my voice trembling, but he didn’t answer.
Grandma re-entered the room and wrapped her arms around me.
“I’m sorry,” she said, helping to right the chair and getting me seated once again. “I’ve never seen a reaction like this before. I’d have never done it if I thought there was a possibility.”
She looked so upset that I placed my hand on top of hers, trying to comfort her.
“It’s all right. I’m all right,” I tried to reassure her, though I could feel the sweat dripping from my head. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “Everything was fine, normal even. All of a sudden, you grabbed the book and started shaking and moaning. I tried to get the book away from you, but I couldn’t. Your grip was too powerful. Even magic didn’t help. You couldn’t hear me.”
I closed my eyes, and the images I’d seen danced faintly before them now, causing my pulse to continue pounding with an awful need.
“Give me a second,” I breathed in a whisper, bending to place my head between my knees. I knew it was one of the treatments for hyperventilation, and I felt pretty close to that right now. I battled for control, trying to focus on anything besides the images I’d seen. My emotions swung to and fro as the minutes ticked away.
“Are you okay?” Grandma asked, finally breaking the long silence, and I slowly lifted my head to look at her.
“I was thirsty,” I said sadly, shaking my head. “I needed a drink. I just wanted a small one, and felt like I couldn’t help myself.”
“More precisely, she wanted a drink from me,” Vance said, entering the basement at that exact moment.
I couldn’t look at him, feeling horribly guilty. Hearing his voice and knowing he knew what I’d thought was all it took for my fragile front to break into pieces. I started sobbing into my hands.
“Baby, it’s okay.” He wrapped his arms around me. “You were being confused by the magic. I know you’d never hurt me.”
I stood up briskly and pushed him away. He looked hurt for a moment, but then started toward me again, and I held a hand out to stop him.
“I can still hear the power racing in your blood. It’s as if I can smell it or something. It makes me thirsty,” I confessed, with a tear-laden glance. “You need to stay there. Something has changed. Things are different between us.”
“No. Nothing has changed. The effect of the book hasn’t worn off yet, that’s all.”
I turned away from Vance, unable to look at him without my mouth watering, and it was killing my heart.
“Why did I react differently than you expected?” I asked Grandma, wanting her to make everything right again.
“I don’t know,” Grandma said, still completely bewildered. “I’ve honestly never seen anything like it.”
“I think I might have an explanation,” Vance interjected. “Portia is linked to me. The bond between us is strong, and she’s been able to experience my emotions. I think the residual pull of the dark magic in me may have caused this intense reaction. As soon as her thoughts turned dark, I started having the cravings too. That’s how I knew she was in trouble. My cravings didn’t become as intense, but having had them before, I recognized them right away.”
Vance pulled me into his arms, winding them tightly around me as I struggled to get away. He refused to let go, and I gave up, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as I wept against him, desperately trying to ignore the sound of his steady pulse and thoughts of what his blood might taste like.
“Well, whatever is happening here, we definitely need to figure it out,” Grandma replied from behind me. “This isn’t good, by any means.”
“I think we may have seriously underestimated how strong Portia’s powers really are,” Vance said over the top of my head, still keeping his embrace strong even though I’d stopped struggling. “It’s strange for an apprentice witch to have such instant and strong reactions to magic. I think she’s something special.”
“She’s a natural at it, for sure,” Grandma agreed, continuing as if I couldn’t hear anything the two of them were saying. “I was proud she was so good at everything. It never occurred to me she might be overpowered. Perhaps she’s the one who’s causing such a hard reaction to your binding spell. Maybe she overreacts to all magical influences.”
“Great,” I choked between sobs. “Now I’m a dysfunctional witch too.”
“No, not dysfunctional, just different,” Grandma explained. “We need to study you a bit more, I think. Your powers are very mature and strong for your age.”
“But not right now. Let’s get you to bed, and see if you can get some rest,” Vance suggested.
“I’ve been asleep all day,” I muttered in protest, my head still buried in his chest.
“That’s all right,” he replied. “You’ve had a pretty traumatic event. It’s okay to take time to recover from it.”
When I didn’t reply, he gathered me into his arms and carried me upstairs to the guest bedroom, laying me gently on the bed.
“Don’t leave me,” I said softly, though I was still too embarrassed to meet his gaze.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He sat beside me while he moved my hair away from my tear-streaked face, neither of us speaking. Eye contact with him was impossible right now, so I chose to stare at the ceiling instead.
Several minutes later, Grandma came in with a steaming cup of herbal tea in her hands.
“Here, Lollipop. Drink this. It’ll help calm your nerves,” she said, offering it.
Sitting, I took the tea and drank it down quickly. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the chamomile to begin working its magic, sending soothing warmth seeping through me and making my limbs feel lethargic and heavy. Vance continued to stroke me as I snuggled back down into the pillows.
Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the relaxin
g comfort of Vance next to me, while I listened to the thoughts trailing through my head, suddenly realizing the cravings had subsided.
“Your father’s recruiting,” I said, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” he agreed softly.
“And he wants you so he can feed himself and his coven,” I replied, even though the words made me feel sick to my stomach.
“Yes.”
“He’s going to find you this time.” I looked straight at him, searching his eyes for a hint of anything like fear.
“I know,” he replied, his face unchanging.
“What then? Will he try to kill you?” I asked, scared.
“No. He’ll try to turn me into one of them.”
“How do you know for sure?” A streak of panic ran through me at the thought of Vance becoming one of the monsters I’d witnessed.
He let out a big sigh. “When I was young, he had a nickname for me. He called me his ‘little protégé.’ I think he’s planning on grooming me to take his place.”
Of Witches and Warlocks: The Trouble with Spells Page 19