22
The scenes fly by so quickly, I barely register them. Like a movie on fast forward, I see Mrs. Sorensen in her original form with long white hair and blue eyes.
There’s a baby, a book of shadows, a cauldron steaming over a fire. In the background, I hear a woman crying, pleading for her baby. Mrs. Sorensen softly chants a spell under the sound. The child wriggles back and forth, fretting.
She picks up the infant and croons to her, even as she lets blood drip from a cut on her finger into the cauldron.
Oh no, I think. Not Mrs. Sorensen. As she puts Mary Ellen over her shoulder, I see she’s wearing the garnet ring. The baby’s eyes lock with mine.
Help me.
I snap back to the present with a gasp. I’ve stayed standing for once and disconnect from Mary Ellen’s noncorporeal form.
As I sway, Mrs. Sorensen grabs me. I whirl, yanking out of her grasp. “How could you?”
She looks confused for a brief moment. “How…?”
It dawns on her that I know what she’s done. She shoves me away and runs.
“If you can, cross Mary Ellen over,” I tell Winter. “Let that poor soul go.”
“But the demon—”
“Just do it!”
Spring throws a freezing jinx at Mrs. Sorensen. It hits her and rebounds, freezing Dad instead.
Hopper reaches out to grab the witch, and she flings magick at him, knocking him on his butt. Tristan yells for her to stop. Another flick of her hand and he spins and knocks into the bedside table.
I race after her fleeing form, sensing Autumn on my heels. Cinders flies ahead, and as we reach the landing, I expect to see Mrs. Sorensen rushing out the front door below.
Instead, she turns left and heads deeper into the house.
Down the stairs we race. By the time we reach the foyer, she’s disappeared.
I close my eyes and hold still. I flair my magick out, connecting with my familiar. “Fire and ash grant my request. Let me see through the eyes of my pet.”
For several heartbeats I feel as if I’m soaring, lifted out of my body. This is the closest I’ll get to astral travel. My eyes become Cinders’, and I spot Mrs. Sorensen hurrying out the back door of the mansion.
“This way.” I motion for Autumn to follow.
We fly down a long corridor, through a small atrium with skylights, and onto a sizable patio. Across the lawn, Mrs. Sorensen hobbles for the edge of the property, her arthritis slowing her.
The trail. She’s hoping to escape to her house.
No telling what she’ll do if she reaches it. She may disappear forever, leaving me with no answers to my questions.
Raising my hands, I call on the heat within and imagine a ring of flames around the property.
Magickal fire bursts forth, creating a container she cannot get through without burning herself. She stops, turning to pin me with her gaze. She scans back and forth between me and the fire several times, speaking magickal spells.
It doesn’t take long for her to realize she can’t escape.
She searches for a weapon, wrapping a ward of protection around herself. Her hand shoots out toward a garden statue sitting next to a pot of blooming ivy.
It’s heavy, but her magick is strong, levitating it. With a deft flick of her hand, she pitches it at me. A projectile.
I can float a pencil off my hand, but that’s my limit. Luckily, Autumn practices all the time. She throws out a hand, blocking it and sending it to the ground. It busts into dozens of pieces.
I smile; the old witch glares.
I call the circle of fire closer, impelling Mrs. Sorensen to move in my direction. My sister doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. She knows I have this.
As Mrs. Sorensen is forced to walk to me, she curses. I don’t respond, my shields strong, but without warning, Cinders comes out of nowhere and knocks her down.
The ancient witch lands on her backside with a loud grunt.
“Thank you,” I say to my familiar. “You get extra treats tonight.”
I feel soft fur against my leg. Godfrey is at my feet. She fooled you good, he says arching against my leg. You have to stop trusting everyone.
I rein in the desire to boot the cat. Not hard, just enough to knock him off his pompous backside. “If you don’t have anything constructive to say, kitty cat, go away.”
He stops rubbing my leg, flicks his tail, and does just that. He doesn’t walk far, sitting down next to Autumn, as if letting me know he prefers her over me anyway. Sirius is there too, tongue hanging out and tail wagging against the grass.
I’m only a few feet away from the altar where Kaan performed his rituals. This all started with the “charm” Mrs. Sorensen used.
A curse is more like it.
I step closer to the old witch. “What’s your real name?”
She’s still lying in the grass, as if she’s given up. I hear Godfrey say to me, don’t get too close, she’s still dangerous.
The cat is right, but I sense all of the gumption is gone out of her. After three hundred years, I imagine she’s tired.
She lifts herself onto her elbows, then to a seated position. She hangs her head over her knees. “Prudence, my family called me Prue. My name before that you wouldn’t recognize. It was from an old, extinct language.”
“Just how old are you?”
She lifts her head and looks at me. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
I’m not lying, I want to know. I considered her a friend.
She stares off into the distance, not seeming to see anything but the past. “I was born on a remote island in the Pacific. My maternal family existed for a millennium before our island was sunk under the sea. Few escaped—my mother was one of them. Eventually, I was the only one left and I ended up on this continent. I blended in with the natives for a while, until the first tribe was wiped out. I was the only one to survive.”
She stands and I reinforce the container of fire. I sense the presence of the others joining us. “How?”
She shrugs, defeated. “It’s something in my blood. I passed it on to Mary Ellen.”
“Are you immortal?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve died many times, but the blood brings me back.”
“Why turn to dark magick then?”
She holds out her hands in supplication. “I lost family, too, you know. My husband and child. They were all I had and I lost them the winter before the beast came. It used to come at regular intervals.”
“Where you dabbling in necromancy when you took Mary Ellen from her mother?”
“Her mother was filled with disease. There was no way the babe would survive, so I shared my blood with her. A different kind of black magick. I could feel the beast was restless, wanting to rise, and I could never bring back George and little Geoffrey, so I was determined to save her.”
“And you became her mother once she was found alive by Alexander.”
Tears seep from the corners of her eyes and she wipes them away, looking toward the altar. “I screwed up. I saved and cursed her at the same time. As she grew, she became more and more attached to him. Eventually they married and I left the picture for a while. I searched for a way to kill the beast, but never found it.”
Kaan steps forward. “You told us the only way to save her soul from him was with dark magick. You convinced her of that and she made me delve into it with her. Only, it didn’t work this time.”
She nods in agreement. “Three times and the charm of my blood ran out, regardless of what else we tried. Not only that, something has changed with the beast. It wants to rise but can’t. The Whitethorne sisters have prevented that, like the prophecy says.”
“What prophecy?” Winter asks.
“An ancient one from my line. It tells of four sisters who can contain the end of the world. I wasn’t sure it was you.” She points at us. “There have been others. None as strong. I was waiting until I knew for sure your power could stop that awful e
vil before I told you my story and offered my help.”
“Why did you have to kill her?” Kaan asks, his eyes pleading with Prudence. “Why didn’t you let me do it? Now the beast has her.”
“You killed her?” Hopper asks, expressing all of our shock.
“It was my fault to begin with,” the old witch says, as if reasoning with a child. “She got away because of me. We could no longer hold off the beast, but I thought if I cheated him one more time, maybe she had a chance to hang onto her soul. I think it put her in a state of limbo and was still able to use her. It wanted her to kill you”—she points at Kaan—“so it could take your soul, too. I hoped to contain it in the ring until I could figure something else out.”
I feel a deep well of sadness and pain from her. She believed she was doing the right thing.
“Did you cross Mary Ellen into the light?” I ask Winter under my breath.
Her cool energy tingles against my fiery one. “It wasn’t easy, but yes. Her soul is at rest.”
Prue’s shoulders slump with relief. Kaan weeps softly. “I don’t want to live without her. She’s always been with me.”
“Mary Ellen is at peace,” I tell him. “You should be happy for her.”
“Thank you,” he says in Winter’s direction, then he pins me with his gaze. “She was my everything. Can you imagine spending three hundred years with someone and losing them?”
I can, but know it will never happen.
“Are you semi-immortal like Prudence?” Autumn asks him.
“Only while his soul was tied to Mary Ellen,” Prue volunteers. “It’s the price he had to pay for the dark magick in order to always be there for her when the beast came.”
I’m more determined than ever to destroy this thing we’ve imprisoned under our land. “Well, for now, you’re both going to help us,” I tell them.
All eyes turn to me, surprised.
None of the Whitethornes trust dark magick or those who dabble in it, but it’s time we brought Prudence and Kaan into the light.
“I, for one, want to hear more about the prophecy,” I tell the old witch. “Then you and Alexander will do everything in your powers, using good magick, to help us defeat this thing.”
Her mouth trembles and another tear escapes. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, to defeat him to save the souls of my husband and son, of those wiped out before us. I’ll do what I can to assist the four of you. I swear it.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
I release the magickal fire but stay on guard in case she tries to bolt. She doesn’t.
Instead, she walks to Kaan—Alexander—and holds out her hands. “I’m so sorry. I truly tried to help both of you through the years.”
It’s as if all the air goes out of him. He drops his gaze, shoulders slumping. “I never knew my mother—she died before I was two. For years, you were the closest thing I had to one. Everything we did, you and I, was for Mary Ellen.”
He resists, but she hugs him anyway. My sisters and I look at each other, silent communication passing between us. As screwed up as this situation with Prudence and Alexander is, without family—whether by blood or by choice—what are we?
My father gives me a nod of approval. Spring goes to Tristan and they embrace, Hoax flapping around on the ground and flinging curses at all of us. Godfrey has taken off and is nowhere in sight. Sirius heads to the bushes and marks a nearby tree.
Cinders rests on the altar, preening his wings. Shade, who I haven’t seen since we entered the mansion, prances by me to get to Winter. There, he arches his back and rubs his ghostly body against her leg. She leans down and gives him a pat, fingers going right through his head.
“Everyone back to Conjure,” Dad says. He motions at the group. “I think it’s time for tea.”
Spring claps.
“Can I have a moment alone with Alexander?” Prudence asks.
Warily, we file off, stopping at the edge of the yard to watch. They exchange words for a moment, but not loud enough for us to hear.
“I hope we did the right thing for Mary Ellen,” I say to Winter.
She squeezes my arm as she heads for the van. “We did.”
23
Later that evening, we gather around the table in the shop’s kitchen. Dad and Hopper have to put the leaf in. Tristan scavenges chairs from the cabins so we all have a place to sit.
Spring makes herbal tea and we eat the day’s leftover bakery goods as we listen to Prue and Alex tell us their story.
Darkness falls deep and heavy outside. Cinders and Hoax are on the porch railing, squawks and squeaks letting me know they’re having their own conversation. The kittens sleep in the corner, but St. Hildegard is in my lap. She’s restless and I stroke her soft fur. Hopper sits close beside us, arm around the back of my chair, occasionally petting her as well.
With over three hundred years of history between them, it’s a long and fascinating story. At the end, I understand why Prudence and Alexander resorted to using dark magick to save someone they both loved.
We must all face our personal demons. Even when we’ve acted out of the desire to save others, we sometimes create bad karma. After hearing the convoluted ups and downs of their time together, I’m more determined than ever not to mess with fate.
“What about the book of the dead the tribe had?” Winter asks Prue. “Did you ever see it?”
Her face is weary. She sips at her tea. “It was in my collection. I was trying to decipher it to see if I could stop the beast. I failed and walked away from all of my books and Grimoires. Away from my life in general, for a time.”
Winter picks at the crumbs from her cookie. “I sure would like to get a look at it. Apparently, it’s in a museum in Eugene.”
“What good would that do?” Autumn asks. “Even if you could see it, you can’t read it.”
“I might be able to,” Prue says. “I’m a bit rusty after all this time, but I could work on deciphering it again.”
“How?” Hopper sits back in his chair. “It’s not like they let you check things out and bring them home.”
Winter gives him a sly smile. “I have ways of borrowing items, and of course, I would return it after we’re done. Maybe we could copy it before we give it back.”
“An artifact that old will require great care,” Hopper says. He glances around the table. “You know I’m trained in handling rare antiquities such as books. I can help if you borrow it.”
Dad nods, flipping one of his braids over his shoulder. “It’s probably archived. I have a special relationship with the museum when it comes to native artifacts. Let me look into it and find out where they’re keeping it. We can go from there.”
We have questions for Prue and Alex and spend the next half hour asking them. Finally, we run out and she has one for us. “Will I still be able to use the hot springs, Summer?”
It’s one of the keys to her longevity. Her unique blood keeps her alive, but the miracle of that water keeps her healthy. “You must’ve been using it regularly before Mom’s ancestors purchased the land,” I say. “And since? I imagine you’ve been using it all this time. I doubt I can keep you from it.”
“Once a month at the full moon,” she admits. “Your mother knew I was sneaking out there but never said anything, bless her. Same for your grandmothers and aunties before you. But I don’t want to trespass anymore, so I’d like to have your permission.”
“In exchange for helping us stop the demon?”
“I give you my word.”
“I want to help, too,” Alex says. When we all look at him, he shrugs, “Without Mary Ellen, I have nothing holding me here, but neither do I have anywhere to go. I’m tired, and no longer immortal. I’ve already seen the world, done all a man might want to. I want to stay here for the rest of my life, in the family home, and do what I can to stop this thing.”
We adjourn a few minutes later, everyone going their separate ways.
Hopper and I take St. Hildegard a
nd the rest of the kittens to the back porch, the night insects calling to each other, and the stars overhead twinkling like a diamond quilt in the sky. The temperature is still around seventy, but the humidity has lifted.
We sit in the rockers, processing everything, but also just enjoying the peace. Neither of us is ready to say goodnight.
I hold up Hildy, staring into her eyes and she mews softly. To me, it sounds like, “Mamma.”
My heart melts.
“Your birthday’s tomorrow,” Hopper says. “I haven’t had a chance to get you anything.”
His smiling face is all I need. “Just come to my party and I’ll be happy.”
Godfrey emerges from the shadows of the porch. He meows, but I hear, I found her.
“Found who?” I say and Hopper looks at me funny.
“Huh?”
“The cat.” I point to Godfrey and see another shadow lurking beyond the steps. A white one that resembles Shade, but this one is flesh and bone. “I understand him like I do a human.”
The porchlight barely illuminates us, but I can hear the incredulousness in Hopper’s voice. “You’re kidding.”
I figure if he’s accepted all the other weird stuff about me, he probably won’t freak out over this. “Nope. Call me Dr. Doolittle. I sometimes hear animals talk.” To the cat I say, “Who did you find, Godfrey?”
He lopes up the steps and sits at my feet. Don’t be scared, he says to the other feline. Fear is illogical.
The figure moves to join him, her white fur glowing in the moonlight. Her eyes look like they are as well when she raises her head to me.
A meow. Babies?
“You’re the mom?” My heart fills with gratitude to our annoying, self-important shop cat. “Nice to meet you. We’ve taken good care of them for you.”
I lead her to the box, setting Hildy down inside. Mamma cat nuzzles her, then the others, waking the sleeping kittens.
“Wow,” Hopper says, watching. “That’s a really good thing.”
I stroke Godfrey as the reunion continues. Mamma cat crawls in with them, gently shifting her little ones so she can lie down. The kittens begin to nurse as natural as can be.
Of Curses and Charms Page 13
