Witch Way: The New Ashton Chronicles

by F. R. Southerland

  “What’s going on?” Casey found her voice though it wavered. “What is it? What’s wrong with her?”

  The bed rose into the air about half a foot then dropped. Vinnie shrieked. Casey might’ve too, but she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Panic seized her chest and made it tight.

  “It’s a vision—a bad one. Come on, Andy. Wake up!”

  A vision? This was way worse than Andy’s writhing on the floor of Embers & Ashes.

  “It’s her power. She can’t control it. The vision is too strong.” The bed slid across the floor and Vinnie clung to her sister. “Andy! Come on! She won’t wake up.” Desperation and fear saturated her voice. “I can’t—”

  Something crashed in the room behind her. Casey dug her fingers into the door frame. Oh, God, please let it end soon.

  Vinnie leaned over Andy. Instead of urging her to awaken, she smoothed the hair back from her forehead. Her lips moved as she murmured something. A spell? Encouraging words? It didn’t sound like English. Latin? Casey only knew a bit of Latin in the one exorcism that never seemed to work when she needed it. She recognized none of what Vinnie said, as she spoke in a quiet and soothing voice.

  The tremors ceased all at once. The apartment filled with a sudden, heavy silence. Tentatively, Casey moved forward, tip-toeing over broken glass, and approached the bed.

  Andy went still. For a horrifying minute, Casey feared she had died, but when she saw her chest rise and fall with quick breaths, she relaxed. Andy was still with them.

  “What happened?” Casey whispered. “What did you do?”

  “A calming spell. I didn’t think it would work.” Vinnie sucked in a breath and it shook when she exhaled. “She’s still caught in it but it’s—it’s not—”

  She faltered, wiping at the tears that had streaked down her face. “Gods… I’ve never seen one so intense.” She looked up to meet Casey’s stare. Harsh and terrifying truth filled her eyes. “It’s getting worse,” she whispered.

  Casey found herself too afraid and too confused to ask anything else.

  “I need to call my mom. She—she should know what to do.”

  Casey sat on the edge of the bed and nodded absently. It took a second to find her voice again. “Your mom. Right. Call her.” Unsure what to do, she reached out and took hold of Vinnie’s free hand.

  The corner of Vinnie’s mouth turned up into a faint smile as she gave her a tight squeeze. Casey knew she meant it to be reassuring, but it wasn’t. There was something… defeated about it and it made her stomach flip-flop. It wasn’t until Vinnie let go to make the call that Casey realized there had been hope there too, in her smile.

  A little hope was better than none but they’d need a lot just to survive this.

  Vinnie

  Andy moved with sickly grogginess. She complained that her head hurt. Of course, it would. Anyone who had a vision like that would be lucky to still have a head. She kept the comment to herself and passed the mug of lukewarm tea to her sister.

  “Thanks,” Andy murmured and closed her eyes again. The room was too bright, she said, and so Vinnie and Casey had kept the lights low for her. It seemed to help a little bit. Andy gave a grateful but tired smile.

  Casey paused her cleaning and stretched her arms. Fear had worn off and she seemed more tired now than scared. It had been an awful experience, an experience no one should go through. Things with Casey were… tentative at best. The hunter had just started to ease into the whole magic deal. This could be the very thing to send her packing.

  And Vinnie liked her—really liked her. She didn’t want to scare her away.

  Vinnie had never been truly empathic. Her powers were nothing like her mother’s or Andy’s, and especially not Neoma’s but sometimes she could pick up on things. Tension and exhaustion rolled through the room like a fog and hung heavy in the air around them. She didn’t like it and there was very little she could do to ease it.

  She hated being helpless.

  As Andy sipped her tea and Casey went for more trash bags, Vinnie tried calling their mother. Still no answer. She even called the coven’s landline and got nothing but the answering service. Her worry escalated with each passing second.

  Had her mother suffered a vision too? Was she just sleeping off a bottle or two of expensive wine? Had she gone out for the evening and hadn’t returned yet? And what about Wren? Or Neoma? Why wouldn’t anyone answer the damn phone?

  Vinnie hung up and looked back to her sister. Andy lay back against the pillows, eyes closed, and still pale. Her sister had always had a strong constitution. She’d recover fast, but would it be fast enough?

  Casey shook out the plastic garbage bag as she stepped back into the room. “Hey, the kitchen looks like it took the worst of the uh, quake… thing. There’s shit everywhere.”

  Andy pressed her arm across her eyes. Her face screwed up and a bitter laugh burst out. “There goes the fine china.”

  “I can do the kitchen,” Vinnie said quietly.

  “Don’t bother. It’s my mess.” Andy’s voice eased into resigned exhaustion. “I’ll clean it up later. With a spell or something.”

  A spell was an easy, simple solution. Too easy. Magic wasn’t a crutch to use whenever it suited a person. It was a responsibility. Under the circumstances though, a spell to clean up a magic mess would be more helpful than harmful. Still, Andy shouldn’t do it.

  “I can do the spell,” Vinnie offered. “I don’t mind. You need to focus on getting better. Not overexerting yourself.” She did the calming spell that pulled Andy out of the vision. A clean-up spell would be nothing. Plus, she’d be helping. She needed to help.

  “I said I’d do it later, not right this fucking second.” Andy shoved one of her pillows aside, voice turning harsh in her annoyance. “I’m not an invalid. I can still do my magic. I’m not done for yet.”

  She fought the urge to apologize, managing only to softly sigh. She was used to her sister’s outbursts, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. “I didn’t say you were. That vision took a lot out of you. I only think you should take it easy for a little while.”

  And it wouldn’t kill you to say thanks, Vinnie thought bitterly.

  “Just fucking drop it.” Andy’s anger cracked like a whip.

  Vinnie inhaled sharply. Andy’s power control could be questionable when frustrated—even more so when weakened. More cautious than afraid, Vinnie thought carefully before she proceeded.

  “Don’t take this out on me, Ands.” Indignation crept into her tone, but she kept her voice even. “I know it was bad—the worst yet. You’re allowed to be mad.”

  “Fuck. Vinnie… I just—fuck.” Andy’s voice broke. She hunched forward and her hair shielded her face from view.

  It took a second for Vinnie to realize she was crying. “Oh. Oh, Andy.” Tears were worse than anger. She scooted close to her sister, drawing her arms around her. Andy pressed her face against Vinnie’s arm. The tears grew to sobs. Not sure what to do, she rubbed Andy’s back and whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  She looked up when she heard glass crunch. Casey shifted in the doorway, debris grinding beneath her unlaced sneakers. She hesitated but turned out of the doorway and left them alone.

  It took some time, but Andy finally calmed down. She drew her head back and Vinnie passed her the box of tissues from the bedside table. She took one with a tight smile.

  “Everything about this is… wrong. I’ve never had a vision like this. A vision has never made me lose control that badly. And I don’t know what it fucking means. It keeps coming to me, more vivid each time but no clearer, you know?”

  Vinnie didn’t, not really, but she nodded anyway.

  Andy blew her nose and afterwards sent the tissue flying to the open garbage bag with a small wave of her hand. “If I knew what was going on, if I could just piece it together.” Frustration edged her voice again. “I hate it, Vinnie. I fucking hate it.”

  “I know. I know. And I hate that you have to
go through this.” Though curious about the vision, Vinnie didn’t ask. Andy would tell them when she was ready. Sighing, Vinnie drew back from her and looked to her phone.

  Andy glanced at the screen too. “What is it?”

  Vinnie pressed her lips together. She couldn’t hide her worry any longer. “I’m trying to call Mom but I can’t get through to her. I don’t know why she’s not answering.”

  “Did you text her?”

  “Yeah. Called the coven house, too. Nothing. Maybe I should try Wren’s cell? Or Neoma’s?”

  Andy pushed the hair from her face and searched for her phone. She found it among the bunched blankets on the bed. “Let me try Mom again before we call the cavalry.”

  “Good luck.”

  Casey’s shadow hovered at the door. Tentatively, she poked her head in. “Everything okay now?”

  Vinnie shook her head a bit and slid off the bed. She stepped carefully across the debris-strewn floor and stood with Casey. “I don’t know. I can’t get Mom to answer the phone.” Her throat felt tight. “I don’t like this. I’m all shaky.”

  Casey said nothing, but her expression must’ve mirrored her own. She looked worried and pale.

  Vinnie didn’t know what to say so she nodded and rubbed at her eyes. “She hasn’t said what happened in it yet, but it’s bad. It had to be bad for this” —she gestured toward the living room and the surrounding mess— “to happen.”

  “Vinnie!”

  The urgency in Andy’s voice gave her a start. “What? What is it?”

  Andy, despite her weakness, stood out of bed, searching for her clothes. “I just reached Neoma at the house.” She grabbed her jeans, pulling them on over her pajama bottoms.

  “What is it? What did she say?”

  “Mason’s there and we have to hurry.” Andy’s eyes were a vibrant blue after crying, wide and concerned. The rest of the color in her face had drained away. “Something’s happened.”

  Vinnie braced herself. “Was it—?”

  “It’s Mom. The vision hit her too and she hasn’t come out of it.”

  “Oh, gods!”

  Patrick

  In The Morning

  He awoke with a head full of cotton. Thick, impenetrable fog clouded his senses. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t break through it. They’d hidden something in that fog, something important. Something They did not want him to remember.

  Patrick sat up, noticing the haze wasn’t just in his head but all around. Heavy smoke surrounded him, clinging to his face, hair, clothes. Out of habit, he fanned the air in front of his face. The feeble attempt didn’t clear it away.

  What had They hidden from him this time? What had They done?

  Their control over him destroyed him little by little, bit by bit. He’d died years ago and his body no longer belonged to him but he still clung to what little remained of his mind. It, too, was falling away from him. His memory failed him more and more as the days went on.

  He wasn’t human anymore. He wasn’t alive. He didn’t need to sleep, or eat, or piss, or shit. His heart no longer beat. His lungs no longer functioned. He was as dead as dead could be and only dark magic kept him walking and talking.

  Existing.

  It was no real existence at all. False. Not real. He wasn’t real, only a pawn in a game he didn’t understand, no longer a free man. This imprisonment would only end with his permanent death.

  Oh, how he longed for it, for a release from the torment.

  Caught somewhere between alive and dead, he belonged nowhere. Patrick was both and he was neither. Only ending it all would bring solace.

  But They would never let him go, not yet. They had work to do. They wouldn’t release him, not until They’d finished the task. They were close. So close. It wouldn’t be long now. It would all be over soon. He would be free.

  Remember. You need to remember.

  Patrick blinked rapidly, peering through the thick smoke, trying to see through it, beyond it. The ritual. He—They—had performed it earlier. He remembered that. How long ago had that been? Hours? The light outside the stained glass windows had vanished. Night? Morning?

  Remember. For fucks sake! You have to remember!

  One of the pews had fallen over. Patrick moved stiffly to his feet, using the pew for leverage, and a tightness immediately seized his chest. The cough came involuntarily—one at first, then many more, in quick succession. It didn’t hurt, but it shook his body, tearing something loose. He turned his head and spat. A congealed black glob splattered against the hardwood floor. Old blood. Dead blood.

  Dead meant dead, he knew that, even if he could walk and talk and think but the blood on the floor was a clue. They weren’t controlling him. They’d gone. Once Patrick realized it, he could feel it. The magic animating him had weakened, no longer as strong. They weren’t there. They had shifted focus to something else.

  Was it over then? Had They finally completed the goal? Years of preparation and months of summonings for what? Hours upon hours, day after day—had it finally been enough for whatever They’d planned? Could he go? Could he crawl into some hole and wait for true death to grant him a grave, finally?

  Or were They only temporarily focused elsewhere? Was this freedom short-lived? If so, he had to do something. Speculation, hope—there was no room for them, not when every second mattered. This could be his only chance.

  He could fight back in a way he never could before. He could make a difference. He could stop this—but whatever he did, he had to do it fast or he’d never do it at all. If only he could remember…

  Remember!

  Patrick did his best to shake off his disorientation as he walked down the aisle. The double doors creaked open, releasing the haze of smoke into the morning. The sun had just come up and the air outside the church was crisp and clean. It set him to coughing again and more of that dead, black sludge came up from his lungs. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a tar-like smear across his chin.

  Decaying. Breaking down.

  He had to go now. He had to act. There was but one thing he could think to do, one sure thing that would help where his memory failed. Good witches. He had to find good witches. There’d once been a time when Patrick would’ve considered no witch a good one, but times and perceptions had changed. His experiences now left little room for prejudice or hatred. He had no other choice.

  There was one place he knew, a coven where they congregated. He’d passed it by many times, unnoticed, while They drove his body around New Ashton. A big house. A nice house. Even he could sense the magic coming from it.

  Fucking remember!

  But he could not.

  Once he had his bearings, he began to walk as quickly as his stiff legs would move. If he didn’t get to the Kindheart Coven now, Patrick knew he never would.

  Andy

  “I’m fine. Stop fussing.”

  “Sorry, Mom.” Vinnie put the last pillow in place before she eased back and left Mara alone. Andy leaned back too, taking the pillow for herself. Curled onto her side, she rested her head against her mother’s shoulder and hugged the pillow close to her chest.

  Their mother looked weary and pale. Andy had the same look—skin so white her freckles stood out, deep hollows around the eyes, nose red from crying. Andy had caught a glimpse of herself in the car mirror on the way over. It wasn’t a good look on her. Mara wore her weariness elegantly. Where other ladies fell apart at the seams under duress, her mother only flourished. She still managed to look calm and put together, though the smile on her face turned wan.

  “If you really want to help, you’ll bring me a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes.” When Vinnie stared at her, Mara laughed and waved a hand. Andy said nothing and curled tighter into herself. Her mother’s hand on her back soothed her only a little.

  The visions took a heavy toll on the Foster women. A burden it may be, but at least they didn’t have to do it alone. She took comfort in that.

  “Vinnie, can
you bring us some tea instead? The chamomile? Please.”

  Vinnie pressed her lips together at the obvious dismissal. She couldn’t have been happy with it. “Yeah, sure. With honey?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Vinnie retreated and the door closed quietly behind her. Alone with Mara, with Vinnie’s worrying aura far from them, Andy relaxed more. She closed her eyes and gave in to the comfort of her mom’s healing presence.

  The silence didn’t last as long as Andy had hoped. “What did you see?” Mara asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  Her stomach knotted. She didn’t want to think about it, much less talk about it. A dread she hadn’t felt since her teenage days flooded through her. There was no comparison, really, but the feeling stuck with her. This was huge. Significant. Her gut told her that much from the start. Inevitable. Her mother had suffered a vision too, just as enfeebling.

  Bad and bound to get worse.

  She swallowed down the thick lump in her throat and sat up. “I saw the darkness again.” Her voice had little volume. She stared across the room, needing something to focus on, something to burn the vision out of her mind. She settled on the blue bathrobe hanging from the door. “Still a living shadow as before, but this time… it was substantial. Solid. It took the shape of a man. There were others too—other people emerging from the shadows and the smoke. Or fog. Whatever it was.”

  “The unknown.” Mara drew Andy closer to her side. “Fog and smoke represent the unknown. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s Precognition 101. But this—it’s different.” Gods, they were always different.” But the fog-smoke thing—it’s something more than the unknown.” Fuck, that probably didn’t make sense. She settled against Mara’s side and exhaled a frustrated breath. “The other people—they had bad vibes. The power I felt from them—”

  “I felt it too.”