by M L Garza
Mirriam frowned and looked about the room as though the Spirits might still be present. “That’s dangerous outside the Hall, Rachel. But did you find the help you needed at least?"
The younger witch thought back to the Rabbit and her mother, and the warnings she gave about the Leviathan and the many traps waiting for her. "I think so," she said. "I hope so."
"I'm glad, but let it be the last time you do such a thing alone. Come, I have something to show you."
"Oh?" Rachel tilted her head to the side, curious. Mirriam was up to something. "What is it?"
"A present for you. For Samhain." Mirriam took her arm and led her from the room and back downstairs into the house. When she first went in to begin her meditation, it was was still light outside, but now it was completely dark out.
How long was I out?
"What time is it?" she wondered aloud.
"You missed dinner," Mirriam said lightly. "I decided to let you rest through it since you seemed so tired earlier. I didn’t know you would continue to work or I would have fetched you immediately. But you need to take it easy, Rachel. We can't have you exhausted before Samhain has even begun after all. You did promise, after all."
Rachel just nodded. She was right, as usual.
"So after tonight, no more of this, do you hear?” There they stopped in her aunt's private library, where not even the high priestess was allowed to enter.
It being her aunt's library, any gift that Rachel might receive should have been a book or some other arcane font of knowledge. Rather than that, however, was something she hadn't seen in twenty years. Not even in the Summerlands when she saw Catharine in all of her beauty and grace.
Her mother's ceremonial robes, recreated to perfection, down to the golden runes and perfect white satin, neatly pressed and ready for her.
"But I don't understand," she whispered, reaching her injured hand out and stopping just before the tips of her fingers touched the delicate fabric. "She... she was wearing them when she..."
"I had them remade for you," Mirriam murmured, standing aside to give her room. "There are many styles that would be appropriate, but I thought you would want robes just like hers."
Rachel nodded and looked back at the woman who raised her, tears shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Aunt Mirriam," she choked. "Thank you so much."
"You're so very welcome, love." She leaned in and kissed Rachel's forehead softly and smiled sadly. "Catharine would be so proud of you, of the wonderful witch you've become."
"I haven't done anything wonderful yet. We both know that."
"Nonsense. There's no one more worthy to take on the coven." Mirriam cupped her cheek and regarded her niece fondly. "Now will you please take the night off? For real this time?"
Rachel gave her a wry smile and nodded, wiping her tears away. "For real this time," she agreed.
"Good. Get yourself something to eat and off you go. I want you out of this house, hear me?"
The crisp white robes glinted just out of the corner of her eye, reminding her of all the work yet to be done. But then the other woman nudged her towards the door, breaking her eye contact from it.
"It's not going anywhere, but you are. Now go on, I said. Before I get Bryan to kick you out."
Rachel scowled then, the expression only deepening when Mirriam laughed. Her and Bryan's dislike of each other was legendary in the house, and she did not doubt that her aunt would use that to her advantage if she had to. At this point, Mirriam was more her mother now, and mothers were devious like that.
Fine. Screw it. I need a drink anyway.
Chapter 7
Ashwood didn’t have much of anything, the downside of being a small town in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and that included having not much of a bar selection. What it did have was a small dive of a place called The Royal that was probably a horse barn once upon a time. It certainly smelled like one anyway. The booze wasn’t great, but after a few, one stopped caring about the smell or taste of the place.
Eh, beggars and choosers.
No one even glanced her way when Rachel walked in, treating her as just another fixture of the town though she was far from a regular in this place. That was the way of Ashwood Falls though; everyone was a welcome outsider.
As she looked around for an empty stool at the main bar area, she noticed another side effect of living in a small crappy town with only one, small crappy bar: it was the only place for people to go.
“Hey, Rachel.”
“Goddammit, Grey,” she grumbled. “What are you doing here?” She slid into the only available stool, which so happened to be right next to that smug asshole.
Why couldn’t it be another boggart?
“Am I not allowed to enjoy a drink now and then?” he asked, as innocent as the day he was born.
Ha, yeah right.
Deciding to ignore him for now, she got the bartender's attention and ordered herself a whiskey on the rocks. She needed something strong if she was going to survive both him and her nerves.
It disappeared quickly, burning down her throat like the cheap stuff it was, before getting refilled. Down that one went and again came a new one.
Why wasn't there a spell she could learn to refill a whiskey glass for free? Where was that incantation?
Stupid magic. Stupid Leviathan.
She felt Grey's eyes on her as she downed glass after glass. When it finally stopped bothering her, perhaps after number four or so, she let the glass settle on the counter.
"So you finally going to talk or what?" he asked when she came up for air.
Rachel lifted a delicate eyebrow and looked over at her ex-boyfriend. Dammit, why did he have to look so good still? Why were his eyes so easy to fall into even after all this time?
Stupid Grey.
"Last time I talked," she pointed out, "you put a hit out on my entire coven, don't you remember?"
"You’re still stuck on that? And I did not," he groused. "I saw they were up to shady shit and had to follow up on it. Just because we were dating, it didn't mean I could look the other way, Rachel. You know that."
"You betrayed me! You took what I told you and used it against me! Don't pretend that what you did had anything to do with your job or protecting the town, because it wasn't. You were always out to get my coven, and I was just the easiest way to get at it."
The sting of that betrayal came back to her, as fresh and as raw as when it first happened. In some ways, it was a welcome distraction from the constant threat of the Leviathan looming over her.
“I’m not out to get anyone, you know that.”
“Do I?” she shot him a glare and took a sip of her whiskey, wondering why the glass looked like it was coming in double now.
I haven’t had that many, have I?
“You do.”
Grumbling, Rachel turned her head to face the other direction, pretending to be more interested in the other patrons nearby. She probably wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Grey, but it gave her something to do besides scowl at his smug handsome face. Most of the others in this town weren’t anything special, but Grey Dacy certainly was. They definitely didn’t make them like that anymore and it was a damn shame.
We could’ve made some real pretty babies if he weren’t such an asshole…
Shaking her head from that stupid notion, Rachel reminded herself that she hated the man and resumed her scowling.
“Rachel.”
Shut up.
“Rachel, please.”
“What?”
“Tell me what’s going on? You never get like this, not in all the time I’ve known you. There’s something big going on, isn’t there? Not just with the coven either.”
Her bottom lip trembled, and she could almost hear the growl of the Leviathan once more, emerging from the memories she’d banished it to.
“The Leviathan is not your only enemy…”
What does that mean, Mom…?
“Rachel, let me help you!”
&nbs
p; The burning in her eyes came back and she tossed back her whiskey in an attempt to fight it, but damn the thing, it only made it worse. “It isn’t the coven!” she snarled. “It’s me!”
“You?” he asked, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“On Samhain there’s something I have to do, and I don’t know if I can,” she confessed. “There’s a spell, Grey. A spell only I can perform, and… and if I don’t do it right…”
But she couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bear to say it out loud. Not to him. He wouldn’t understand, not even after all they’d been through together and all he’d seen. No one who didn’t have the Gift could truly understand what it meant to carry the burden of magic. So she simply let the bartender refill her glass and hated herself for the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks.
“What kind of a spell, Rachel?” he asked, much more serious now. He sounded completely sober and back in business mode. He was Officer Dacy, no longer Grey. “Not a spell to hurt people?”
“Of course not!” she cried. “It’s a spell to keep people from getting hurt.”
He sighed in relief and nodded, but there was still wariness in his eye.
So he still doesn’t trust me, does he?
“I know you would never hurt anyone,” he said as if reading her mind. “But if there’s even the chance of something going wrong, I have to know.”
“There’s always a chance, but that’s why I have to get it right.”
“You will get it right.”
“But I don’t know what I’m doing!” she wailed into her whiskey glass. “What if I screw it all up?”
She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and when she looked over, Grey was much closer than he was before. His stool was scooted right next to hers so that their bodies were nearly touching.
“You won’t screw it up, Rachel,” he said in a low undertone so that she could hear it over the live band.
"But I will," she insisted. "My mother died doing this spell, Grey. She was the greatest witch who ever lived, so what hope do I have?"
She lived the glass to her lips again, but he put his hand over the top to prevent her from drinking it. Lifting her teary eyes to his, Rachel silently pleaded for him to understand her, just this once. Their worlds were so different, he with his normal life, normal friends, normal job, and she who never knew a single day of normality in her life. What she wouldn't give to live one day as a regular woman.
"I never met your mother," he admitted, and she felt her heart drop. "But I know you, and you are the bravest woman I know. You can do this."
"You don't know that. You don't even know what I have to do."
"I don't care." He took the whiskey glass from her hand and set it on the bar before taking her hand in his. He considered it a moment, turning it back and forth as though it were an interesting bauble, something almost foreign, before lifting it to his lips to kiss softly. "I know you, Rachel. There's nothing you can't do, and if it means fighting through the gates of Hell to beat the Devil's ass, then that's what you're going to do."
Rachel choked out a sound that was a mix between a laugh and a sob, resting her forehead on her old friend's shoulder. She wanted to stay angry at him for what he'd done to her and her coven in his ignorance, for assuming and judging when he should have been learning, but how could she when he said things like that?
"Do you really think so?" she asked, barely audible over the band. "Because you're not far off."
"Then I feel bad for that goat-footed son of a bitch," Grey said.
This time, she believed him and that gave her the first spark of hope in a long time.
"You know, if you hadn't totally blown it with me, that goofy ass line might have actually worked on me," she said with a small smile.
"And if you hadn't blown it with me, I might give a shit," he responded before kissing her torn knuckles.
She couldn't help it, she had to kiss him. If he made a fuss about it, Rachel could always blame the booze, but right now, she could not be denied. Lowering her hand at his mouth, she leaned into replace it with her own lips. She could feel Grey's surprise in the way he froze, but to her delight, he soon responded, kissing her back the way she remembered. He kissed her the way she needed to be kissed, like nothing had changed between them and they were the only two people in the world and nothing else mattered.
"If I fail," she whispered against his lips. "I'm going to come back and haunt you, Grey Dacy."
"You won't fail," he said, kissing her again. "You don't know how."
He'd better be right, because more than just her life depended on it. Not that he needed to know that part. There was enough riding on her mission without his interference. Besides, she liked his confidence in her abilities, even more than her coven's confidence. Somehow, it felt more real.
"Come home with me?" he asked, nibbling her bottom lip.
"I thought you were done with weird witch girls," she said, breaking away from the kiss to look at him. His face was slightly flushed and the desire in his eyes was evident. Oh no, from the look on his face, he was not quite as over her as he claimed. Good, because neither was she.
And if this backfires, I’ll just blame it on the booze.
"Come home with me," he said again. "No strings attached."
"This won't change what happened between us," she said. "You attacked my coven, and that's an attack on me."
"I'm not saying it will and I'm not asking to take your coven home with me. But you need a good hard night, Rachel McDaniel, and I aim to give you one."
She needed no more convincing. Rachel grinned stood from her stool, dragging him to his feet. "Pay for that whiskey you won't let me drink and let's be on our way."
She'd never seen him reach for his wallet so fast.
Chapter 8
The beast reared back, blinking its countless eyes that lined its snout. Each beady one was locked firmly on the lone woman standing within the chalk sigil. And when it roared, Rachel felt the sound pierce through her tiny body, rattling her very bones.
“Mama!” she cried, but her voice was no match for the din of the hellbeast’s mighty howl.
It lunged forward, its jaw unhinging wide and its teeth bared. Not even the most powerful witch of the modern age could have stood a chance against it. Yet she remained defiant as the Leviathan struck, even as the fangs pierced her shoulder, impaling her clean through to the—
“No!” Rachel lurched upright, tangled in Grey’s sheets and covered in a thin layer of sweat.
It took her a moment to recognize this unfamiliar room covered in motorcycle posters and smelling of leather rather than her own comfortable room. When at last her heart stopped beating like a hunted rabbit's, she recognized Grey's room immediately. How many mornings had she woken up like this, in this bed, looking at that same stupid poster of a half-naked blonde draped over a chrome Harley? And she likewise draped over Grey as they enjoyed a lazy morning together...
Oh God, Grey!
Rachel's head snapped over to the man snoring behind her. The hangover hit her as soon as she did so, piercing through her head like a banshee's scream. How much of that crappy whiskey had she had last night and why didn't Grey stop her?
She groaned and flopped back onto the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes. "I hate myself," she sighed.
"Can you do it a little quieter," mumbled the man beside her. "I'm trying to sleep here." He snuggled closer and wrapped a burly arm around her waist, using her body as his own personal teddy bear.
"Get off," she said, untangling herself to reach for her phone on the nightstand.
"Did last night. Twice, I think it was."
Rachel rolled her eyes and squinted at the brightness of the phone as she checked the time.
Shit, it's already past breakfast. There's no way they haven't noticed I'm not home. I'll never hear the end of it now...
Throwing off the covers, she rolled out of bed and looked around for her strewn clothing. They weren't in the best
of shape, but they were all she had for the time being.
Walk of shame indeed.
Grey mumbled some in his sleep and rolled over to face the wall. Knowing him, he would remain that way well past noon. Nothing but an emergency call could move him on his days off, if that. The man was dutiful to his job but he was like a hibernating bear after a hard night of drinking and lovemaking. She could summon the entire legion of Solomon's Seventy-Two Demons and he would never know it.
Rachel regarded the man with wry affection as she zipped up her pants. He was a mistake, but perhaps not one she regretted. Not that she'd admit enjoying herself, of course. Grey didn't need any more of an ego than he already had, after all. So let him think that this was a one-time drunken romp, he didn't need to know any better.
Grabbing her wallet and keys, she slipped on her shoes and headed for the door. The walk to her car was only a few blocks away, and hopefully no one was out at this hour to see her. Maybe she could even sneak into the house and get a shower in before the whole of the coven teased her for her obvious absence the night before.
Fat chance, but worth a shot.
When she entered her home, Rachel heard voices filtering through the large dining room attached to the kitchen. The sliding doors were shut, so she couldn't hear what was being said, but it sounded important. Were she a responsible little heir to the crown, she would join them and see what was going on. Perhaps she could help, perhaps it would offer the final key to unlocking the secret of defeating the Leviathan as a group.
But she didn't. She was still hazy and happy from the previous night, and she needed a shower. That old snake could wait and so could the coven.
Rachel tiptoed by the doors and continued down the hall until she passed by her aunt's private library. She remembered her ceremonial robe, the ones that so resembled her mother's.
Perhaps that shower could wait a moment.
Looking behind her to make sure no one else was around, she slipped into the library and shut the door behind her. There the robes were, just as they were the night before. They were just as beautiful as she remembered, ready for her to wear on the night of her ritual. Just the sight of it renewed her courage and gave her a glimmer of hope that things would be well when all this would be over.
