Witches
Arcane Witch’s Powers
Witches – Cursed Circle Series – Book Two
Silver Willow Publishing
Copyright © 2020 Evelyn Cooper
All Rights Reserved
About the Author
Other Titles from Evelyn Cooper
Witch’s - The Circle of Time – Book One
Copyright 2020 by Evelyn Cooper and Silver Willow Publishing. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the Author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Dedicated To
Binksy Magic & Little Man El Bobbiarrow
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Instigator
Chapter 2 – Catalyst
Chapter 3 – Blood and Moon
Chapter 4 – Moonlight Lake
Chapter 5 – Scarlet Moon
Chapter 1
Instigator
The peace of the morning felt unfair.
I can hear the birds chirping as they flap their wings around the old apple tree standing in the mansion’s backyard.
The lush blue rose garden just a little distance away from the ragged tree had been the only distracting thing as I sat by the enormous window of the bedroom. I took the liberty of tying back the thick red velvet curtains, setting them aside to give me a view of the outside.
I wish the wind could sweep me clean of the void that has been filling my chest since I woke up, haunted by the memories of yesterday. I still am not sure what counts as memories in a brain manipulated by magic, but whatever my thoughts were, they were dark and heavy.
The sun is at its highest, shining brightly, bathing the forest behind the Penrhyn Mansion with its light.
I suppose my little forest fire was just a joke to you, huh?
And what about the part of me falling to my death?
Apparently, that wasn’t the first time I got a cheek-to-cheek greeting with the grim reaper.
My brain screamed all night loudly, recalling things that were either memories or dreams, but I was willing to wager that these were parts of my memories that were supposedly erased.
Or perhaps this is another result of the alteration in my brain?
Whatever.
If what I am recalling is authentic, that means I had drowned once before, after I fell from another cliff years ago. I had also been stabbed by a person whose face I couldn’t see. There were other scenes, each ending in my horrible death.
But somehow... here you are... still very useless and very much alive
I close my eyes as I try to sort things out in my mind. It has been in utter chaos ever since I uncovered the lies.
My supposed sister, Ryia, had been doing a yearly ritual of erasing my memories as a thoughtful present for my birthday. She had also apparently been changing her occupation every time as a way to shed off her skin like a snake. She had all the freedom to design my life as she saw fit while I didn’t even have the liberty to retain any of my memories.
I turned to look at the grand queen-sized bed on my right, remembering what it looked like a few days ago surrounded by medical equipment that was trying to do what exactly? Save my life? Bring me back to life? I don’t even know.
My hands felt unreal as I stare at them.
I can no longer tell what is real and which is not, and I bloody hate it!
No one has bothered to clear things up with me either, I have had no explanation of what is happening within all this madness.
Bran had visited me an hour ago with a breakfast tray and a clean set of clothes to wear. Then, of course, he left without saying a word, just leaving with a mysterious smile plastered on his beautiful pale face.
I wanted to ask him about all of the questions swimming about in my head, but I was too worried about the blanket leaving my bare body if I tried to get up from the mattress so, like a prude, I just chose to stay silent under the covers until he went away.
But even if it was a proper situation to ask him, where would I even start. Does he even know what’s going on with me? What is the truth?
For all I know, he just happened to encounter my dead body and brought me back to their mansion in his goodwill.
I seriously doubt the goodwill part, but I like to think it was still a possibility. Bran may have thought it was the best course of action to pick me up as battered, broken, and bloody and bent as I must have been lying there lifeless at the foot of the cliff.
A loud knock at the door ran through the room and set off palpitations in my chest.
Despite being unable to answer, the visitor had freely let him or herself in nevertheless.
It was Bran wearing a casual blue shirt paired with jeans, and he had a seemingly surprised look on his face.
“I didn’t think you’d actually be up,” he closed the door behind him quietly and began to amble in my direction, seeming quite at ease with himself and unphased by my current state.
He put his hands in his pockets as his eyes turned to the food tray he brought earlier.
“Were you hoping someone would spoon-feed you if you chose not to eat the food I brought you?” he cocked an eyebrow at me with an amused grin.
I didn’t have the appetite to eat.
I could’ve answered, but I felt ashamed thinking about how ungrateful I am being for their effort to provide me with food, despite the fact they didn’t need to.
On ordinary occasions, I could’ve devoured Eggs Benedict without second thoughts. But my will to even breathe is at an all-time low.
“Ah, I see what it is,” his small curled bangs bounced as he nodded to himself. “Your digestive system might still be in turmoil. It might take months before you can eat again.”
I really do hope he’s joking.
He opened the lid of the tray and took the cold black coffee and sipped it casually, stating aloud.....
“Ah. I swear Zoren knows how to choose the best coffee beans.”
He gave me a smile just before he took the large duet seat with his free hand and placed it in front of me as if it weighed nothing. As he settled comfortably, pure amusement spread on his face.
“So, how are you faring, dear lady?”
How am I supposed to tell him about the turmoil inside that has been bothering me long before I got chased by his friend Dain who, by the way, owes me one hell of an explanation?
I tried to collect any semblance of order in my thoughts and begin to ask the questions I’ve wanted answering.
“What happened?”
“Oh, come on,” the amusement in his face was replaced with exasperation, “couldn’t you come up with a non-cliché question? I’m pretty sure you’ve got tons you want to ask.”
He took another sip of the cold caffeine from the off-white mug while he waits for me to ask a question worth asking.
Fine.
I sat upright and star
ed him in the face, “Did I really die?’
“Yes, you did. Next question?” he took another sip like he couldn’t get enough of the mug’s content.
“Why am I alive then...or seem alive at least.”
He let out a small chuckle.
“Oh, you’re very much alive. You’re breathing normally; your heart is beating, and more importantly...” Bran stared at my body–or at least through my body–with a kind of desire that had my heart racing, “your blood flow is as normal as it can be under the circumstances.”
I could’ve sworn the hair on my skin stood up after seeing how his eyes bore into me like a predator looking at his prey. It was a brief moment, but it still made me uneasy. It wasn’t the feeling of being lusted over. It was more of a feeling like prey to an animal.
Again, he gave me a cryptic smile just before he took another sip.
My hands unconsciously held my arms in protection.
He seemed to catch my reaction to his gaze, “I apologize if I seem to be a scary person, but believe me, I’m nothing more than a bachelor who enjoys the visible tells of a person visited by fear.”
As if that would give me any peace of mind...
I tried to croak out another question to shift the uncomfortable air between us.
“Who exactly are you?”
He’s looking at me in seriousness, and then he put the mug down on the coffee table between us.
“I am the instigator.”
My forehead pulled into a crease.
“Instigator? Instigator of what?”
The cunning grin found its way back to his pink lips.
“Everything. The ball, the performance, the ritual.”
“Wait. You said that was some sort of coronation ceremony!” I protested
Even though I was half-celebrating with the fact that what little witch instinct I had about that night was right all along.
“Oh, did I?” He grinned, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him.
“What have you done? What was the ritual for?”
“I simply did what I was told to do. And it worked. Don’t you know the truth now?” He retook the mug.
“Truth? What truth?”
Although my mind told me what he is talking about, I still wanted confirmation from him, especially now that I couldn’t even trust my own thoughts.
He heaved a deep sigh then crossed his legs while leaning back to the comfort of the red couch.
“Oh, my. Answering questions is quite tiring. How about I ask them instead? Maybe you know the answers better than I do.”
There was nothing I wanted to do more at that moment than to wipe the smile off his face in my frustration. His way of toying with me is starting to get on my nerves.
But the question he threw my way had me frozen.
“How old are you today?”
Even though the question would generally sound rude to a lady, I felt that the question was necessary to get to the direction that will clear things up.
He’s right. Going along with it might help me get the answers I need.
So, I asked myself the same question.
How old am I supposed to be today considering Ryia had been making me think I’m still twenty-five?
I answered the most available information I have right now. “Twenty-six. I might be twenty-six today.”
The uncertainty in my voice didn’t surprise Bran in any way. Yet, he asked, “Might? It seems that you’re not sure about that.”
“I’ve always believed I was twenty-five years of age all these years,” I know this would brew another question that will lead to another. But, it was all the explanation I could give to him.
“Until five days ago,” his eyes narrowed in a calculative way as he said the words that would complete my sentence.
I suppose no questions need to be asked then. This doesn’t seem like news to him. As a matter of fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looked like he expected it.
Does he know what happened to me?
“I wonder... Why does your sister want you to be forever twenty-five? Or at least, wants to make you believe you’re twenty-five?”
My sister? I didn’t say anything at all about my sister just now...he definitely knows something... more than I do, no doubt.
The ritual he said he instigated might have something to do with what my sister has been doing to me. But wouldn’t that mean that we’ve met before?
Who exactly are you, Bran?
He had been nothing but a mystery to me from the first time we met.
Though, the rhetoric in his inquiry brought a realization.
There’s something behind the way he asked it that gave me an idea I already considered but did not want to accept.
I missed the chance to ask how he knew about my sister tampering with my memories when I decided to protect her actions to him instead.
“Whatever you’re trying to imply, that’s not it. I’m sure there’s a good reason.”
I sure as hell hope so.
He scoffed at my frail attempt.
“Spare me your defence. Of course, you’ll still stand up for her. You treat her as your sister. But is that really how it is?”
That’s not right. That can’t be right.
“What do you mean?”
It’s one thing to imply my sister has been lying to me, but to say that she’s not my sister.
It might be the entire truth I am looking for, but he’s not going to give it to me so quickly or easily.
With a wicked grin, he answered my unasked question.
“Would you like to find out?”
Chapter 2
Catalyst
For the first time since being brought here, I’m able to muster up the strength to go outside.
Bran wanted to bring the conversation somewhere else. Somewhere that would allow me to have a better grasp of the situation.
After what looked and felt like a trip through a maze, we ended up in the theatre room. It’s a small but luxurious version of a cinema.
The five-line of seats are filled with royal couches having red opulent fabric and gold detailing. The floor is covered with red carpet while the low ceiling is decorated with small chandeliers which capture the light’s reflection. The full white screen in front seemed perfectly new in comparison to the rest of the room.
As intimidating as the room seemed, I didn’t feel out of place despite my inexperience with opulence. If anything, it felt familiar.
“Take any seat you fancy. Get comfortable because this will be a spectacular film,” Bran gestured to the seats, which appeared to only welcome royalty.
“You could also take the front row if you’d like.”
“Why are we here?”
“Well, you’d like to find out the truth, right? Or at least confirm your suspicions?”
I took the seat in the middle of the last row. Bran settled on the seat to my left.
I threw a sideways glance at him as I tried to figure out his intentions.
“The show is about to start.”
With a finger snap, a count down from five appeared on the white screen.
I turned behind me to look for the projector, but there isn’t one. What he’s doing is most likely magic. He’s probably a wizard or something.
The scene opens with the back of a woman.
She’s wearing a black lace dress that hugs her figure, matched with a pair of daring high-heels that spoke of the confidence and pride of the woman strutting in them as they came into contact with the dark marble floor. Her long blond hair was held in a high ponytail. Her fair skin was highlighted with the contrasting colour of the black velvet hand gloves that covered until her elbows. Even without seeing her face, her whole aura shouted dignified and confident.
She gave a few knocks on the elegantly carved door. It opened to reveal another tall woman painted with heavy makeup and dressed in a floral blouse paired to a black pencil skirt that outlined her curves. Her notic
eable red tear-shaped earrings demanded attention as they hung from her ears, almost reaching the string of pearls draped around her neck. She is thin with prominent cheeks she gestured for the lady in black to come in. The camera follows the lady in black as she walked toward the table, still not revealing her face.
On the table, she drops the white folder I hadn’t realized she was holding.
Perhaps she used a spell for a secret container. I have heard of witches who, not wanting to show what they brought with them, used spells that allow for a hidden secret box.
The view pans out to the face of the person sitting by the table, both elbows resting on it as his fingers were clasped in front of him. I immediately recognized his face, wrinkled with old age, a sideway-combed grey hair, and a mole in his jaw... it’s the Minister of Defence, Cillian Sullivan.
What is this about?
Is this some sort of a film featuring the Minister of Defence himself?
I didn’t know he had the time to be doing acting jobs on the side. By all accounts, I’ve been killed at least three times. Maybe his time would be better spent focusing on things like that.
“I admire your audacity, still showing your face despite your colossal failure,” his eyes narrowed on the figure in front of him.
He took the folder and scanned through it before throwing it aside.
“I wouldn’t neglect my other duties, sir,” the woman in black had a familiar voice... a very familiar voice.
I didn’t have time to think about it when the camera had revealed her face.
It’s Ryia.
“What’s going on?” I asked Bran without taking my eyes off of her.
“You’re watching a live broadcast of what’s happening inside Minister Sullivan’s office. Amazing, isn’t it?” he had his usual grin as his eyes were still set on the screen.
“You do realize this will affect your evaluation, don’t you, Ryia?” the Minister’s voice was nothing less than demeaning.
“I do, sir.” Ryia never returned the condescending gaze of the older man.
I’ve never seen her eyes cast down so low. She usually faced people head-on no matter who they were. But this time, despite how confident she looks, there was a hint of fear in her.
Arcane Witch's Powers: Short Stories - Witch's Cursed Circle Series Page 1