Shadow Forest- The Complete Series

by Eliza Grace

  Yes. I can. I have been saving my strength, little witch. We do not need your vampire and human boy to fulfill our agreement. This is between you and me. Consider this… round two of our war.

  My other leg lifts and I cannot stop it. My foot lands on the other side next to its mate. The one hand and arm I can order about is gripping on for dear life, but with my lower body out of my control and already inside the lair, I know I will not be able to resist for long.

  Stop fighting, little witch.

  I scream as he jerks my right leg forward again.

  “Tilda!” Two voices yell for me in unison. I pull myself away from the door so that I can see around the portal. Hoyt is running towards me. Jon is close behind him. They’ve found each other. They’ve found me. “Tilda, hold on!”

  “I can’t, Hoyt! I can’t! He’s controlling my body!” Again, I am jolted forward. I cannot hang on. My one hand is too weak against the rest of my body.

  I am pulled inward. I scream once more.

  And the door slams behind me.

  I hate you. I think, collapsed onto the garden ground and overwhelmed by the heady smell of so many flowers growing together. You can’t do that to a person. You can’t take control of them like that.

  Of course I can. I am inside your mind, little witch. You should have expected something like this.

  We made a deal. You’re going to get what you want. There was no reason to separate me from Hoyt and Jon!

  There was every reason. He counters. They would not let you keep your promise if they thought it could hurt you. And it will hurt you, little witch.

  I hate you. I say again.

  And I do not care, little witch. All I care about is what’s mine, what’s promised to me.

  Fine. Then let’s get this over with. And don’t you dare control me again.

  I doubt I have the energy left to do so.

  Sure. I believe that. You put on the weak act so I wouldn’t be prepared for when you attacked. You’re a liar.

  I am many things, he says slowly, and a liar is most certainly one of them.

  I stand up gingerly, rubbing my arms over my body to make sure I can feel everything and control everything. It seems my limbs have been returned to me. I do not know if the witchfinder is telling the truth, that he is now actually too weak to force himself on me again, but for now he is staying in my head where he belongs… or rather doesn’t belong at all.

  I walk faster than normal, partly because I want this over with, partly because I want to keep control of myself—keep moving, send messages to my body, don’t give the witchfinder an opening to try and take me over again.

  The house grows larger as I near it. The door is open, revealing a modest interior. The witchfinder is silent as I walk through his home, breathing it all in, because it does smell lovely. Lavender, eucalyptus, and the way fresh berries smell when you’re smashing them for jam. It all mingles together in the air and wraps me in a warm hug. I don’t want to like this little house here in the forest, but I do. I think I could love it, given time.

  You’re doing something to me, aren’t you? I grow suspicious when I think about sitting on the chair in the corner next to the fireplace and resting for a while. I don’t have time rest; this isn’t a vacation.

  I am not… intending to. He admits in my head. The spell does not affect me, only others who might make it past my spells and tricks.

  Has anyone actually made it past the freaking booby traps you’ve set up?

  No, he says slowly, but one cannot be too cautious.

  Well, do something or tell me what to do, because I’m about to go to sleep for who knows how the heck long and if I do that, then how are you getting to the Neverwhere?

  Go to the kitchen, he instructs, you’ll find a shelf filled with glass bottles. Find the one that’s labeled Gotu Kola and Bacopa. Open it and put a single drop of the oil on your tongue. It should counteract the affects.

  What the heck is… Gotu Koala and Backpacka? I absolutely murder the words I’ve never heard before and the witchfinder groans.

  Gotu Kola and Bacopa. They are ancient herbs to improve brain function. Just do what I say so we can move on with this. I do not wish to be in your head a second longer than necessary.

  Hey, you’re no peach to pal around with either, buddy.

  I move to the kitchen, having to fight the urge to settle down on a different chair. I am so tired. This place is so comfortable. I could stay here forever. The smells continue to wrap me up in their relaxing aroma. I can see the shelf the witchfinder has directed me to find, the little glass bottles are lined up like tin soldiers, all protecting different shades of liquid. I wonder if it will be like Alice in Wonderland. I will drink up the potion and grow very, very small. Too small to reach keys upon tables.

  Just a little nap. I could sit down for only a moment.

  Little witch, you need to find that tonic now.

  I muscle forward, feet heavy and heart not into the task at hand. But I somehow get to the shelf and read the bottles. I find the one, an amber liquid that glows from the firelight rests inside the tiny glass container.

  Only one drop. The witchfinder reminds me.

  I pull the decanter lid and I press the narrow opening to my index finger. I let the oil splash against my skin and then I set down the capped bottle and stuff my finger into my mouth. The liquid is warm and tingly. I can feel it instantly sink into my tongue and begin to work its magic through my blood. After a moment, my head is clear and I can think again. I am glad for that, because as I look around the witchfinder’s home, I realize that it is not as intoxicating as the smells and spells had made me believe. It is a nice home, but it is normal-nice and I do not feel like I want to spend the rest of my life within its walls.

  Better?

  Much, thank you. Your home is… nice. But not so nice I’m ready to set up shop.

  Good. Let’s get on with it then. On the fireplace, you’ll find an iron hook. Pull it down.

  I do as he says, relishing the way the heat of the fire feels against my working legs. I have to use my entire body weight to yank the hook down. When I am successful, though, the fireplace swings inwards to reveal a staircase. Given the outside of the house, I am surprised to see that these stairs lead up and not down. I did not think the house was tall enough to have a second level.

  Looks can be deceiving.

  They can be. I agree, mounting the first riser and slowly going up the stairs. They terminate into a large room. Hundreds of books float against the walls; their covers face outward so the titles can easily be read. A banquet-long table takes up much of the room. It is home to a steaming cauldron surrounded by ingredients that are strange and wild.

  That book. His voice is excited.

  I look at the books again, though my eyes want to keep exploring the oddities on the table. Are you pointing? Because I hate to remind you that you’re in my head and I can’t see what you’re doing.

  Fourth row, second from the top. It is the grimoire of your coven, little witch.

  Why do you have it? I move quickly, surprise fueling me. If it belongs to my family, he should not have it. That’s wrong.

  I have spent my time in this forest stealing knowledge and gaining strength. It was my most difficult task—to open a window to the Neverwhere and take Elisabeth’s book.

  You were able to do that? She couldn’t beat you?

  I was stronger than Elisabeth. Stronger than any witch. The witchfinder sounds proud, reliving his golden glory days… that happened whilst he was a prisoner.

  I choose not to say more. I don’t want to further the conversation and hear his exploits. He’s stolen from witches, hurt people. And he’s proud of himself.

  My fingers wrap around the large book and electricity sparks against my skin and races up my arms. The tome feels right in my hands, pure and good. This book does not glow golden like my mother’s journal. It glows bright blue, a cobalt sea of welcoming magic. I feel the book knows t
hat my hands are home; it has found its belonging place again.

  Take it to the table. Open it to the page marked by the black ribbon.

  I do so, finding writing very similar to my mother’s, but oh-so different. There is not one type of penmanship, but several. I trace over the swoops and curve and dots. People who are my history have touched this book; they have added to it until it is the heavy fount of knowledge in my grasp. I begin to read the marked page and my heart beats faster as I realize that it is the original barrier spell, conceived and put in place by Elisabeth so long ago. She had aide of another witch. I keep reading, not recognizing the ingredients or the words of the chant that most accompany the pouring of the potion onto the fence, which must be repaired and unbroken.

  At the very bottom of the page, my pulse quickens.

  The spell is so strong that it takes the entirety of a witch’s power to perform.

  That is why Elisabeth had the second witch help.

  To reverse what has happened, I will have to lose so much.

  Yes, little witch. You hold so much ancestral magic in your body now. You can do this spell at great cost. And to reverse time as well… your life will hang in the balance.

  I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat. You knew this all along?

  Yes.

  And again, you didn’t think to tell me something like this beforehand?

  You might not have agreed to our deal, little witch.

  How can I do it all? How can I send you to the Neverwhere, reverse time, and repair the spell?

  He doesn’t respond. Maybe because the only answer he can give is one I already possess—I can do it all, at the cost of my magic, possibly at the cost of my life.

  I think of the monsters. The werewolves. Bigfoot. The sirens. The shadow beasts. I don’t have a choice.

  Expulsion

  I spend the next… turn of an hour glass listening to the witchfinder in my head as I gather the strange and wonderful ingredients listed in the grimoire. What’s this one?

  Boors Root.

  What does it do?

  It cleanses the old magic when used in conjunction with marigold and persimmon.

  It was odd to hear such normal items, things I’d used in my human life, as party to magical spells. Boors Root sounded witchy. The other items just fell flat.

  When I had everything gathered up, he has me put in the boors root, marigold, and persimmon into the steaming black cauldron first. It serves a dual purpose—to cleanse the actual vessel of the last spell, but also to wipe out the broken barrier magic once the potion was poured onto the fence.

  What now?

  Now we add a combination of ingredients geared towards the supernatural creatures we wish to capture. Get the tome, check down the list as you add. Too much of something and the spell will repel a creature rather than attract it.

  I add wolfsbane, monkshood, and quicksilver.

  Essence of elephant garlic, verbena, and crushed meteorite.

  I add hellfire that burns inside a tempered glass flask and is a particular aphrodisiac to a certain type of wolf demon.

  Stinking nightshade, velvet plant, purple passion.

  Witch grass and hemlock.

  Powder of obsidian stone rounds out the additions; it represents the darkest night whilst the crushed meteorite represents the brightest of moons.

  The mixture in the cauldron pops and bubbles and turns a noxious shade of lime green.

  That’s good. Everything’s balanced. You have to be careful with this next part. Pour it slowly.

  My eyes find the last ingredient on the list.

  Tears of angels. Is this really?

  No. It’s only holy water.

  Oh… I measure out six drops. I think I do it right. How do you know what size a drop should be?

  I drip the holy water in, a single plunk into the green curdled pool at a time. The ooze hisses and protests. It shifts darker with each droplet. When all six have been added, the potion is changed to electric purple.

  You did well.

  It’s ready?

  It is.

  That’s so good. I feel elated; I’m so close to repairing everything. I bite my lip and realize something hasn’t been addressed. How do we change what’s happened? You said we can reverse time. We can keep the monsters from ever escaping.

  It does not reverse time; it manipulates it. And yes. Go to the old apothecary cabinet. Just over there.

  I find the tabletop dresser.

  Open the second drawer and take out the pocket watch.

  I open the drawer and a tarnished gold watch is revealed. It is engraved with the witchfinder’s name. This is yours.

  It is. And its last act will be to keep my end of the bargain so that you will keep yours. Take it to the cauldron and repeat what I say.

  I walk back to the purple liquid that has cooled enough that it is no longer boiling.

  The clock does turn. The world does burn. And I am in the middle.

  The clock does tu—

  No, you must say it out loud.

  Well you didn’t clarify.

  “The clock does turn. The world does burn. And I am in the middle.” I swallow, the words do not settle with within me.

  What has been done, I seek undone. And I am in the middle.

  “What has been done, I seek undone. And I am in the middle.”

  As it was, before the spell. Reverse the time, so all is well. And I am in the middle.

  “As it was, before the spell. Reverse the time, so all is well. And I am in the middle.

  Now drop the watch into the potion.

  I hesitate, feeling worry like a storm in my stomach. I’m not sure about this.

  Do it! He shouts so loudly in my head that I’m startled into releasing the watch. It thuds into the thick ooze and sinks slowly beneath the purple.

  Get ready. The witchfinder taunts. This will be quite a ride.

  What are you—

  I’m interrupted when the world begins to turn. It goes in a slow circle that does not make me sick. Yet then it speeds up, faster and faster. I am on a merry-go-round, the kind children delight in on playgrounds. They run whilst holding the metal rails. They run on fleet feet towards impossible imaginary destinations. And then they jump helter-skelter into the air to land on the disc that causes the world to spin around and around and around until sickness is inevitable.

  Time is changing. And I am in the middle.

  It moves around me, shifting so that the monsters have not escaped. Shifting so that the town has not been destroyed. Shifting so that I have a chance to right the many wrongs that have occurred because of my inability to resist the voice in the woods.

  I am punched in the gut by a broken line in the air. Along that line there are thousands upon thousands of polaroid-like images. When one changes, the others shift. Smash a butterfly and the future becomes new. Save a human being and the future becomes new. I was seeing the destruction of the timeline I had been living. What will happen? If the timeline has truly changed, what differences will I find when I am released from this cosmic, sickening ride.

  Eventually, the images stabilize. The line grows together into one continuous stretch from point A to point B. In the far distance, I squint and can see a branching point where things are still uncertain in the tomorrow days.

  But for now the merry-go-round slows down.

  I can catch my breath.

  I miraculously do not vomit.

  Oh my god. That was awful. I stumble and let myself fall to the floor. I have to feel the solid ground beneath me.

  It was glorious. I’ve never seen time manipulation. To go to my eternal afterlife having seen that… I am pleased.

  Bully the heck for you. I feel awful.

  Well, take a moment if you must, but then you owe me, little witch.

  We have to reset the barrier spell first.

  You have everything you need to do that. I want what’s owed me now. I will not wait any longer.r />
  I’m not doing anything for you until I know this spell works. I mentally spit back. This could all have been a pile of crap to get me to do what you want. I’m not an idiot.

  Oh, you’re not? He chides. I have not lied to you. You have read the spell from your own family’s grimoire.

  That’s true.

  So give me what is mine. Give it to me now.

  I look up at the bubbling cauldron. He is right. I have no reason to doubt the potion. No reason to doubt Elisabeth’s teachings. I will set the barrier spell, just as she did so very long ago.

  Fine, tell me what to do.

  Thank you, little witch.

  It does not take long to put together what is needed. Pushing someone into the Neverwhere is not a difficult thing really. The challenge with the witchfinder is that he is not a whole person any longer; he is only a fragment of consciousness inside my head.

  What if this doesn’t work?

  It either will work, or I will die in the process. Given my weakened state, my odds are… not very good. I will say my goodbyes now, little witch. Though I do not believe you will see me sad to go, whether I die or pass into the Neverwhere.

  Goodbye. I cannot manage to say more. He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t feel anything for him. I just want him gone.

  I hold blue tiger’s eye in one hand to protect me from passing through to the Neverwhere myself. In my other hand, I hold Eye of Shiva which will allow me to see beyond the reality in front of me. Everything else relies on my own power.

  I know what to say, the witchfinder has already told me.

  “I call to my ancestors. I call to Elisabeth the witch who created this prison. I call to my mother and father and brother. I call to all those who have shaped me into what I am. I reach beyond reality. I call to the Neverwhere. I reach beyond reality to open the door.”

  Glowing light shimmers in a single point in front of me, hovering in the air about a foot above the top of my head. The light spreads outwards, going in split directions. Left and right until they halt and take a sharp ninety degree turn downward. It sparkles in that sharp line until it hits the floor. The giant rectangle pulses, like the portal is breathing.