Carolina Witch

by January Daphne

  “Not from Martha. I’ve never looked at her grimoire or stepped foot in her home. I learned the curse from a very old witch back in Yorkshire,” Liam said. “That was sixteen years ago now.”

  “She just… taught you a spell?”

  “It was a ‘he’, and if I was in a better mood, I’d tell you how sexist you’re being. As for the spell, I stole his grimoire and memorized it.”

  “Have you ever performed a killing spell on someone?”

  Lloyd’s mouth tightened, and he took a deep breath before answering. “Yes.”

  “You… murdered someone?”

  “I suppose you could call it that.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, visibly agitated. “I really wish you hadn’t asked me that on truth serum. What I’m about to tell you is…” He paused. “Well, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Natalie,” Blake said. “I know what he’s going to say, and you don’t need to hear it. The time Liam used the killing spell had nothing to do with what happened to your aunt.”

  “But she already asked me.” Liam looked at Blake helplessly. “You know how truth serum works. Here goes—I was sixteen when I because a werewolf. I didn’t have any control over it whatsoever, and I accidentally turned someone very close to me into a werewolf.” Liam stared at the floor. “She didn’t want to live as a werewolf, and she asked me to help her die.” Liam’s voice was unsteady. “She thought werewolves were evil. She thought that I was evil. Werewolves can’t off themselves the way other people can. We heal too fast. I needed a way to help her die quickly and painlessly. A killing spell can accomplish that.” Liam looked up and bit the inside of his cheek. “So I did it. I killed her. The thing I didn’t know was you have to be looking into the person’s eyes when you do it. She had be looking back at me. Otherwise the curse doesn’t work right. I don’t kill all the way, you know? You just cause pain and illness.” He sniffed, gathering up his composure. “And that’s why I moved from London to Wolf Mountain. I’d heard there were other monsters here and I figured I’d fit right in.” He took a deep breath through his nose and opened the door. “And now, you both need to go. I’m in a very bad moon.”

  “We’ll go,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Right, then.” He held open the door an tipped his head. “Out you go.”

  As Blake followed me out, I head his parting to words to Liam. “Sorry, man.”

  Chapter 16

  The orange flames in the fireplace sent shadows dancing along the walls of the living room. Benjamin lay on the knitted throw rug near the fireplace, warming his back. Wrapped in a fuzzy afghan, I curled up on the sofa with mug of cinnamon tea and the Wilder Cover Grimoire.

  Rain pounded on the sliding glass door that lead to the balcony. Every now and then, lighting cut through the night sky followed by a roll of thunder that seemed to vibrate though the cabin.

  The storm had started shortly after Blake and I had left Liam’s place. We had both decided to stay away from each other until the effects of the truth serum had worn off completely.

  Blake certainly did not need to hear me babble on about my stupid breakup, and though I enjoyed hearing about Blake’s Miley Cyrus obsession, it felt like an invasion of his privacy.

  Maybe truth wasn’t supposed to be forced out something. Rather, it was something that had to be earned through trust, understanding, and compassion.

  Some truths weren’t meant for others to hear, like Liam’s killing curse story. It had been a mercy killing and had taken a lot of courage on Liam’s part to follow through.

  Seeing that irritatingly handsome, arrogant man fall to pieces sharing a truth that like felt wrong.

  Benjamin lifted his head. “Find anything?”

  I gingerly turned the pages the grimoire. The farther back I went in the book, the older the pages got.

  The last few pages were as thin and yellow as onion skin. I paused, frowning at the page.

  At first glance, it had looked blank, but as soon as my fingertips brushed against, a bright green cursive writing appeared, rising to the surface like a rotten egg in water.

  I jerked my hand back, startled.

  The writing faded away, sinking into the paper like it was quicksand.

  I touched the paper again, and the green writing bobbed to the surface once again—two short lines of poetry.

  These eyes that see into death’s door,

  I send thee passage, breathe no more.

  “I think I found it,” I said.

  Benjamin sat up and lumbered over. “I’m glad you had the sense not to read it out loud.”

  “Give me a little credit here.” I tilted the book so he could see, but again, as soon as my fingers lifted from the paper, the writing vanished.

  “The writing is enchanted. It only reveals itself to a magical being.” He lifted his paw and rested it on the page.

  Sure enough, the green writing appeared, and disappeared when Benjamin removed his paw.

  I leafed through the last few pages, looking for any other killing curses, but all I found were lists of magical correspondences and what looked like a family tree for the Wilder Coven.

  I recognized two of the names at the bottom—Martha Wilder and Elena Wilder, my mother.

  Underneath Martha’s name was one more, mine—sort of. Instead of Natalie Miller, it read, Natalie Wilder, scrawled in neat black calligraphy.

  “Your name appeared in the book the night you got here when Martha recited the spell and passed the power of the Wilder Coven to you.”

  My eyes traveled up the page, to the hundreds of other names, both male and female, all ending in Wilder. “There are so many.”

  “The Wilder Witches were the first to settle in the Carolinas. Their power has grown with each new witch, and all of that power now falls on you,” Benjamin said, trotting back over the fireplace, his stubby black tails bobbing right and left as he moved.

  “So… I must be very powerful.” I flipped back to the killing curse page, pressing down on the paper until the writing became visible again.

  “Which is why you should stay on Wolf Mountain and learn to control that power. Right now, you’re a loose cannon. Almost all of the magic you’ve performed has been on accident.”

  “I know.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re like a broken record, but I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m going to be like you. You’re only here because of some misplaced sense of duty. I’m your assignment.”

  “What about your sense of duty?”

  “Don’t you dare throw that in my face. I’m here solving Martha’s murder, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m no Sherlock Holmes or Charlie’s Angels or Harry-freaking-Potter. I’m a publicist.”

  “You’re a Wilder Witch.”

  I ran my fingers over the word of the killing curse. “Let’s just solve this case.”

  “Fine.” Benjamin began pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

  I twirled a lock of hair around my finger. “Here’s what we know about the killing curse. First, we know you have to be magical in some way to perform the spell. Second, you need to be making eye contact when you perform the spell in order for it to work. Third, it leaves some kind of glowing residue that indicates what coven created the curse.”

  “And according to Ace Harris, the killing curse came from the Wilder Coven,” Benjamin said. “I wasn’t close enough to see the glow, but I have seen a Wilder Witch perform their killing curse. I can confirm that your family’s killing curse leaves behind a bright, unnatural green.”

  “Probably the same color as the ink used to write the killing curse,” I commented.

  “We also have reason to believe that the killer drank werewolf blood at the scene of the crime,” Benjamin said.

  “That’s right—the broken glass with dried red residue.” I chewed my lip, trying to mentally put the rest of the pieces together. “That would also explain the teeth marks on the body and the fur.” I snapped my fingers. “We just
need to figure out how the killer learned the curse. Who would have had access to Martha’s grimoire?”

  Benjamin stopped pacing and hopped back up on the sofa, sitting his big furry romp down on one of the decorative pillows. “That’s where it get’s tricky. Curses of all kinds, but killing curses in particular, are well guarded with layers of protective spells—like how the ink in the Wilder grimoire is invisible unless someone magical touches it.”

  “What are the other security measures?”

  “There are several,” Benjamin said. “For one, killing curses can only be written down in grimoires, and they can only be written once. Further, they can’t be copied down in any old notebook or posted on the internet.”

  “That’s absurd,” I said. “How can you spot someone from posting something on the internet?”

  “Magic,” Benjamin said simply. “For example, if you tried to copy down a killing spell, your pen would stop working or your computer would crash—something like that. Magic would find some way to intervene in order to maintain the balance.”

  “Can it be taught to someone verbally?” I asked, glancing down at at the enchanted green ink.

  Benjamin blinked at me. “Was that a serious question?”

  I tossed a pillow at him. “Enough with the snark! I’m new to this stuff.”

  “Think about it,” Benjamin said flatly. “What happens when the incantation for the killing curse is spoken out loud.”

  Understanding came tricking down like water though a leaky roof. “It kills someone.”

  “Right,” Benjamin said. “And if someone says the curse without making eye contact with anyone, it severely incapacitates someone to the point of losing consciousness.”

  “You’re saying the killer had to get into Martha’s cabin, get the grimoire, find the page with the killing curse, and memorize it. And let’s not forget you have to be non-magical in order t get into Martha’s cabin.” I let my head roll onto the back of the couch with a groan. “This is seriously worse than sophomore year calculus. My head hurts.”

  Benjamin began panting, and I felt the soft puffs of hot air on the side of my face. “But don’t you see?” Benjamin said, sounding more excited than I’d ever heard him. “That narrows it down to two suspects. What non-magical people have access to the keys to Martha’s place?”

  I counted on my fingers. “Ida Honeycutt because she cleans the cabins, Frank Honeycutt because he’s married to her, possibly the sheriff because she had set of keys for me when I got here, and Blake because he’s the neighbor.”

  “Blake was on a plane when it happened. He has an alibi.”

  “What about you?” I said feeling a pinprick of doubt. “Can you do magic?”

  “Yes.”

  I frowned, becoming painfully aware of how close to me Benjamin was sitting.

  “Relax,” Benjamin said. “A familiar cannot harm their witch, and vice-versa.”

  I let out a breath, setting the book back on the coffee table. I stood up, and chewed on my thumbnail. “The killer got into cabin with a key, then drank werewolf blood to become magical one he or she got past Martha’s wards. Then they read the killing curse from the grimoire, and memorized it,” I said. “On the day of the murder, Frank and the Sheriff were out fishing. Ace confirmed that. That leaves…”

  “Ida Honeycutt,” Benjamin finished.

  Lightning flashed, followed by a crash of thunder, making both Benjamin and me jump.

  I blinked. “We have to call the sheriff.” I slid my phone from my pocked and groaned. “Why does this place not have cell service.”

  “Should’ve switched to a Juniper phone.”

  “Not now, Benjamin—there’s a killer on the loose, and we can’t tell anyone.” I balled my hand into fists, frustrated. “The cars at the shop, my phone doesn’t work, it’s past midnight, and it’s pouring outside.”

  Benjamin hopped off the couched and pushed the grimoire with his snout. “You’re forgetting you’re a witch, Natalie. With magic, there’s always a way.”

  Desperate, I grabbed the grimoire and hastily paged through. There must have been one a thousand pages in that book, with no table of contents. How was I supposed to find anything in there? I groaned. “What is the point of being a witch if I don’t know how to use any of this stuff? Martha, help me out here!”

  Without warning, the sliding glass door flew open and gust of wind flooded the room. A jolt of electricity from my hands startled me and the ancient book clattered to the floor, open-faced. The pages of the grimoire fluttered.

  Rain splattered on the hard wood floor, spilling into the kitchen and living room. I sprinted to the door and heaved it shut just as another flicker of lightning lit up the night. A growl of thunder came right on its heels.

  The pages of the of the grimoire had fallen I probably looked just as freaked out as he did. The light went back to normal and the wind faded. The pages settled and Benjamin and I exchanged uneasy glances.

  Slowly, we crept forward to examined the pages in the flickering firelight. It was open to a section on astral projection. Underneath the heading, it read:

  A Spell to Split in Two

  “Martha seems to think that astral projection can solve your problem,” Benjamin said.

  “How do you do it?” I asked, uncertain.

  “Astral projection is basically a form of meditation,” Benjamin explained. “You relax your body and visualize your spirit lifting out of your body. If you wanted to learn, it’s like any other skill. You get better with practice. This particular from of astral projection appears to have a spell to help induce it.”

  I ran my fingers over the text printed on the grimoire’s pages.

  With these words, I split in two,

  I go to where my heart beats true.

  One half remains, one half breaks free,

  I arrive right where I need to be.

  As I read, Benjamin went on. “It’s like riding a bike—it’s a bit challenging until you get the hang of it. Then you can do it easily. Martha would take afternoon trips to Paris whenever she got tired of Wolf Mountain.”

  I glanced up. “Seriously? Paris?”

  “It’s cheaper than a plane ticket.”

  “Can other people see you when you’re astral projecting? Do you look like a ghost?”

  “You look like yourself,” he said. “Others can see you, hear you, and talk to you. The only difference between actually being there and astral projecting is that you can’t move physical objects or perform magic. So if you are planning on going to the louvre, you’ll want to project yourself inside so you don’t draw attention to yourself if someone sees you walk through a door. You won’t be able to take out your wallet, drink wine or buy souvenirs, but you’ll get to the Mona Lisa.”

  “I’m going to try it,” I said firmly. “There must have been some reason why Martha opened the grimoire to this page.”

  “Where exactly do you intend on going?”

  “I’m going to find Sheriff Angie and I’m going to tell her who the killer is.”

  “At midnight?”

  “This is important,” I said. “She’s friends with the Honeycutts. They’re her son’s godparents, and she’s had them babysit for him. Angie would want to know immediately.”

  “I don’t think this is the best idea, but if you’re dead set on it, I’ll help you.”

  “Ok, great.” I clapped my hands together. “So how do I do this?” I squinted at the entry in the grimoire. “I read the incantation, and then I visualize stepping out of my body.”

  “That’s the gist of it,” Benjamin said. “But there are a three things you need to remember. Number one, be clear about where you’re going or you’ll end up somewhere you don’t want to go. Number two, you’ll need to find your way back to your body, so make sure you have something to follow. Many people visualize a silver thread connecting their astral self to their physical self. Then all you have to do is follow it back.”

  I frowned, looking
at the couch. “Do I just sit here?”

  “Anywhere that you’re comfortable,” Benjamin said.

  I sat down, doing my best to relax into the couch cushion. “Does it hurt?”

  “It shouldn’t. Nothing in the physical world can hurt you. I suppose it’s possible your astral essence could get attacked by another soul in the astral plane, but it’s rare. Most of the souls you’ll meet on the astral plane are there doing the same thing as you—looking for answers.”

  “Or going to Paris,” I added.

  “Or that. But not many people use astral projection for recreation. It takes a lot of energy—which leads me to rule number three. Do not, I repeat, do not stay on the astral plane too long. If you’re too weak make it back to your body, you will get stuck on the astral plane forever.”

  “What happens then?”I swallowed, feeling nervous all of the sudden.

  “You will fall into a sea of lost souls and they will devour your memories my sucking them out of your essence with their ghostly mouths.”

  “I’m sorry—what?” I stared at him for a long time. “That was a joke right? You were making a joke?”

  Benjamin blinked. “It was a joke. Sorry, couldn’t help myself. You’ll be fine. I’ll sit with you the whole time.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “With these words, I split in two,

  I go to where my heart beats true.

  One half remains, one half breaks free,

  I arrive right where I need to be.”

  Chapter 17

  After I said the incantation, I waited.

  “I didn’t work,” I said, setting the grimoire back on the table. “That was a bust.”

  “Natalie,” Benjamin said quietly. “It worked.”

  “What?”

  Benjamin’s eyes were laser focused on something on the other side of the room. I followed his gaze and gasped.

  It was… me.

  My hand flew to my mouth. “What the—”

  A woman stood to the right of the fireplace. She had the same blond hair as me, the same blue eyes, the same leggings and sweater ensemble I was wearing. I glanced down at myself, as it to make sure I was still there. I touched my legs, my arms, and ran my hands up over my face.