Of Stars and Spells

by Nyx Halliwell

  We light candles, use crystals, and I say a prayer invoking the four directions, as well as tapping into the lower, middle, and upper worlds. I pass around an essential oil blend that Spring created especially for this night. We do a visualization to travel through the other planes of existence to find any loved ones those in attendance would like to speak to who have crossed over.

  Winter’s at the back and I can tell she’s helping me hold the container and keep everyone safe so we don’t attract negative energies. Some start crying as they feel their loved ones draw closer, others look blissful.

  When we come out of it, I talk about shadow selves, owning and celebrating the fact we are all human and have faults. It’s a challenge for most of us, but on this night, I feel people soften and accept their inner truths.

  After we’re done, I close with a blessing for all those present whether in physical form or in spirit, and we release any last lower energies we might be carrying, asking for help from those who’ve come from the other world to visit us tonight.

  While I had hoped to connect with Mom, I don’t feel her presence at all, whether because I couldn’t let go completely since I was leading the group, or the demon’s hold on her won’t let her soul draw close to the thinning veil, I’m not sure.

  Probably both.

  Glancing at Quinn, I wonder if he felt Charlie nearby. If so, he shows no signs of it.

  I end the live feed, and then spend the next half hour ushering out those here in person. Many have questions or want to just tell me how much they enjoyed the ceremony, and I’m hugged and patted, and several ask to make appointments with me.

  I never had a chance to tell my sisters about Quinn’s suspicions about Charlie’s death. As I finish getting the last of my guests on their way, Winter is trying to sneak out and I stop her.

  Quinn is still present, having joined in conversation with people he knows. Everyone’s been asking about his dad, and I’ve overheard him say he’s doing well enough he may be coming home the next day.

  When I finally get to him, dragging Winter along, I say, “Glad to hear about your dad.”

  He gives me a quick hug and nods to my sister, “Hello, Winter.”

  “You know she speaks to the dead,” I say. “I wondered if you’d give her permission to reach out to Charlie’s spirit.”

  Both stare at me as if I’ve started speaking an ancient language. Neither seems to understand, or be comfortable with, what I’ve just suggested.

  Quinn looks at Winter, who’s glaring at me. She hates being put on the spot like this. Her gift isn’t something she talks about.

  “Is that possible?” he asks.

  “Quinn has questions surrounding his brother’s death,” I tell her. “He needs answers and Charlie might be able to provide them.”

  I feel the hope circulating through Quinn’s energy. The irritation in Winter’s.

  She blows air out her nose, her lips thin. She gives Quinn a quick glance, before looking away, “I suppose I can try.”

  “How about we go to the kitchen and sit down?” I suggest. “I’ll make tea and we can relax for a minute. Just see what happens.”

  I reach over and lock the front door, and as I do, Quinn’s phone rings.

  He looks torn between answering and ignoring, but when he sees the ID, he peeks at me. “Sorry, it’s Kirk. I better take it.”

  He moves several feet away, and Winter grabs my arm, her nails sinking in. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “I sure hope so. Charlie may be the only one who can give him the answers he needs.”

  “You’ve fallen for him again, haven’t you?”

  We’re soulmates; everything I am is entwined with him, and nothing can ever separate us. “I’ll owe you a huge favor if you do this for him.”

  She releases her grip and sighs. “You know I’d do anything for you. I just want you to be happy.”

  Quinn says a hasty goodbye and turns to us. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Why? What happened?” I ask.

  His energy is wild, angry. He pockets his phone, and heads for the door. “Those idiots torched the farm. The Christmas trees are burning.”

  13

  Quinn and I arrive at the farm and my heart sinks. A wall of flames shoots up from the southwest side of the property. The trees are burning and since it’s been so dry, it won’t be long before this entire lot is gone.

  There are two more behind the house and barn. One backs up to the hill. As Quinn flies from the truck, he shouts at Kirk, who’s doing what he can to stop it from spreading.

  But one man against what’s already begun is insignificant. Quinn races toward him, intent on doing what he can, as well, but I know nothing can save the tree lot.

  My sisters arrive in Winter’s VW and bail out of the car. The familiars are with them, including Sirius. A few others arrive, as well, including Mama Nightengale. She stands near us, staring in horror.

  “By the goddess,” Summer swears. “How did this happen?”

  “A better question is how do we stop it?” I ask.

  “There’s always magick,” Spring offers.

  My youngest sister is reading my mind. I nod at her and the others. “Follow me.”

  I lead them across the yard, past the pumpkin patch, the cold night air freezing my lungs as I head for the hill. Cinders flies above as we scramble to the top, and I swear, it feels like the hill is twice as tall as ever. Hoax rides on Sirius’s back. Shade simply ghosts herself to the summit.

  Once there, we have a clear view of the front of the property. Three rows of Christmas trees are burning. I hear Quinn and Kirk shouting, and in the distance, the sirens of the fire engines Kirk called before contacting Quinn.

  Raven Falls Fire Department is run by volunteers. There’s rarely anyone on-call at the station, and by the time they get here, the whole front lot will be consumed by flames.

  “We need a lot of water fast,” I say. “Any ideas?”

  “Part of the hot springs runs down this far, under the ground,” Spring offers.

  Summer snaps her fingers. “That’s right. I saw it in one of Hopper’s books. Is there a way we can pull water out and douse the fire?”

  My water element is already drilling down through the hill into the earth searching for the vein. It takes several moments to find it, but when I do, I allow my magick to follow it. It does indeed run under the house and barn and toward the back half of the tree lot.

  Spring grabs my hand, and a surge of her magick flows into mine. With the other, she takes Summer’s as well, and I clasp Winter’s. Our familiars gather close, lending us their energy and the four of us, linking our magick, boosts us all. “Okay, Spring, open the earth in as many places in the Christmas tree lot as possible.”

  “What are you going to do?” Winter asks.

  In my mind’s eye, I see water spurting up from the buried hot springs like a geyser. “I’m going to turn on the sprinklers.”

  My sisters take a collective breath along with me, and Spring’s earth magick bores in next to mine and shoots toward the lot. I imagine mine as a pump, and as she begins to push hers up in different spots, I force water to follow.

  The hill trembles underneath, as if we are creating our own subtle earthquake. Summer and Winter’s magicks mix with ours, and I push harder, propelling with all my might.

  I feel it when it happens—the water bursting from the earth in at least a dozen spots where the trees are burning. There are shouts from the people below. The sudden streams rise into the air, past the flames up into the smoke-filled sky and rain down like a dozen water fountains drenching and smothering the fire.

  The sirens draw closer as I focus and my eyes close, visualizing the trees drenched in the liquid from the hot spring. I imagine the flames dying, withdrawing, the last spark going out.

  The sound of cracking wood and licking flames diminish. Smoke lingers on the air, filling my nostrils and trying to go down my throat into my lungs. I igno
re the sensation to cough, and I feel a soft breeze come out of nowhere and push the smoke away. Winter’s air element at work, doing what she can to protect us.

  The fire isn’t only a threat to the lot, it could harm the home, barn, and woods surrounding the property. The latter attaches to ours, and the national park. All up and down the highway, the trees and their roots are connected. With Spring’s earth energy pumping through my veins, I can tap into the trees, feel their alarm.

  “You did it,” Winter says.

  I crack one eye open to see the flames are out, the fire is gone. The fire trucks are arriving, and people are making way for them to get through the gate and onto the property,

  I fully open both eyes and withdraw my magickal pump, allowing the water to sink back into the earth and return to the hot spring. “Thank the goddess.”

  From the sudden release, I feel woozy. The earthy magick makes my stomach gurgle and flop, but it passes quickly once Spring removes her hand from mine. “Good job, sister!”

  I’ve never done anything quite like this before, and I’m pleased it worked. I’m not sure how Quinn will explain the sudden burst of water from the ground to the crowd or firemen, nor how I will to him, but I feel proud of the four of us at the moment. Good thing he knows I’m a witch.

  “What the…?” Beside me, Winter points to the back of the lot where the smoke still clings heavily to the trees and ground.

  Even though there’s a nearly full moon and it’s a clear night, the smoke plays tricks with my eyes. It looks as though there’s a skeletal hand shooting out of the ground between it and the forest.

  “Holy Hestia,” Summer whispers.

  The hand moves around as though trying to find purchase, and as it does, another shoots up, boney fingers scratching at the grass.

  I blink, as if clearing my sight will make it disappear, and in the next instant, I gasp. Not only did they not disappear, a skull emerges between them.

  The thing heaves itself up, dragging, pulling, scratching at the ground.

  “Blood and bone,” Summer whispers. “This can’t be good.”

  “What is it?” I ask Winter. She’s our expert on death.

  “A skeleton,” she replies, but there’s no sarcasm in it. “You don’t see that every day.”

  Okay, maybe there’s a little.

  This is definitely new for me, as it is for my sisters. Before anyone else can say speak, another skeletal hand shoots up a few feet from the first who’s still pulling himself free of the dirt and soil.

  “What do we do?” Spring asks.

  We all watch in horror as the second one gains purchase as the first rises to his feet and begins to head toward the forest line. One of its legs drags slightly, giving it a distinct limp.

  All four of us curse softly and I feel our magicks collectively withdraw. This is definitely not good.

  As we continue to watch, stunned, and completely unsure if there is something we should be doing, two more emerge. The first reaches the forest line, and I realize with a new wave of horror, it’s suddenly grown muscles and tissue, a hodge-podge of skin over parts of the body. It now looks like a zombie, his jaw and teeth still visible on one side.

  “Should we go down there?” I ask, “Can we freeze them or something?”

  Winter shakes her head. “And do what with them? We’re not even sure what they are or how they’ve been reanimated.”

  Reanimated. I exchange a look with her, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. We need Kaan Fontaine. The necromancer might know what’s going on here.

  “Do you think our magick did this?” I ask Winter.

  She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. “Call Kaan. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  She takes off down the hill. At the front of the lot, where the burned trees are, Quinn and Kirk talk to the firemen, everyone seeming shocked the fire put itself out. There are more people gathered now along the fence. A steady stream of cars drives by, rubbernecking to see what’s going on.

  Summer has her phone. “Hopper’s on his way. I’ll call Kaan and Prue. You check on Quinn.”

  “Spring, follow Winter, just in case she needs help,” I say.

  As I look at the tree line again, there are five skeletons now, all in various stages of becoming zombies. They’ve stopped moving and stand pale and ghostly in the moonlight, the smoke from the extinguished trees swirling around them.

  By the time Winter reaches the bottom, Spring on her heels, the reanimated corpses dissolve into the forest.

  Stunned, the pride I had in putting out the fire gives way to a deep-seated fear that I have done something truly awful with my magick.

  Is it possible I have awakened five corpses?

  14

  We gather around the Harringtons’ farmhouse table in their dining room. It seats fourteen and we’ve filled almost every seat.

  Quinn is on the phone with his mother who is still at the hospital, trying to calm her down about the fire. Kaan has arrived, Prue in tow, and he and Hopper spread maps of the area, that look as old as he and Prue are, on to the wooden planks.

  Hopper has brought books that detail the history of the land as well, and Kaan has his father’s journal that dates back to the sixteen hundreds and the lost colony.

  My sisters and I are seated on one side, Tristan and the others across from us.

  “This land lies over an ancient graveyard,” Kaan says, pointing to a section on his antique map. Hopper places books at the corners to hold them down and keep the map from rolling back up.

  “How ancient?” I ask, shivering even though the house is warm.

  “Very. They are several layers underneath us,” Kaan says. “I know, that sounds elementary, but what I’m getting at is that this land was never used for anything other than burying the dead until 1901 when the county revamped this whole area to establish the national park.”

  Prue sits forward and fingers one of the edges. “When the colony existed, we used this place to bury those who died. After it was wiped out, this land was believed to be cursed for many decades, and no one built or lived on it. But times change and people began to move into the area in greater numbers, forgetting about the past, or just not caring. At one time, Raven Falls was nothing but a village of extremely religious zealots, and this tract was used to bury those who couldn’t be interred on sacred ground.”

  “Like those who committed suicide?” Spring asks.

  Prue nods. Even for her advanced age, she appears more awake and energetic than the rest of us. “Also, derelicts, those who didn’t belong to any church, and others.”

  The way she looks at the four of us, I know what she’s referring to. “Witches,” I clarify.

  “Even before your mother’s ancestors arrived and took over, there were people accused of witchcraft. Most of the time they were burned, and only their bones were buried. This makeshift cemetery was where they laid them to rest.”

  “And after mom’s family became caretakers of the cursed land?” This from Winter. “Were any of them interred here?”

  “All of them.” Prue again gives each of us a weighted stare. “They all openly rejected the church. It was almost a badge of honor for them, and they held elaborate rituals at the death of anyone in the family.”

  I put my head in my hands. “You mean, I managed to raise some of our ancestors?”

  Kaan has one arm crossed over his chest propping his elbow as he rubs the whiskers on his chin. “Quite possibly. Who knows how many people, how many layers of dead, I should say, are here. When you combined the earth and water magick to create your show, you somehow reanimated some of those skeletal remains.”

  It’s not his fault, but his confirmation makes me want to throttle him. How can this be? I’m not a necromancer! I don’t dabble in black magick and never have. “I still don’t understand how that’s possible.”

  He eyeballs me with intense consideration. “I don’t have an answer to that, but one of you must have abilities
for raising the dead.”

  In unison, Spring, Summer and I swing our gazes to Winter, and she looks offended. “Just because I see spirits doesn’t mean I go around raising them.”

  Quinn enters the dining room, his face ragged with anger, aggravation, and worry over his parents and their home. “I have to pick up Mom. She insists on seeing the damage.”

  We sit in silence, nodding and trying to pretend we weren’t just talking about the skeletons clawing their way out of the ground a few hours ago.

  He moves to the table, leaning on one of the backs of the chairs. “So, you used some kind of magick to put out the fire,” he says. “The four of you are responsible for the geysers.”

  His tone is a mixture of incredulousness and accusation. He’s speaking to us, but he’s only looking at me.

  “Yes,” I say. “I used my water element. I’ve never tried anything like that before, but I was able to tap into Spring’s earth magick to create fissures in the ground. Then I drew on the hot spring ducts that run underground here and forced water up through the cracks.”

  Another heavy silence falls, everyone watching Quinn for his reaction. Winter’s fingers under the table, reach out and touch my leg in a show of support.

  Quinn hangs his head for a moment, shaking it slightly, as if this is a lot to absorb. Even to those who understand witchcraft and other energy work, displays of true power are often hard to wrap their mind around when they see it in action.

  He pushes off the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. He eyes the map laid out on the table. “I guess I have you to thank, then, for saving half of that lot.”

  His words are meant to sound like gratitude, but his tone reminds me of my father reprimanding the four of us for sneaking out after curfew or skipping school to take a joy ride to Eugene. I feel we’re being admonished at the same time we’re being thanked.