Choosing the sofa, I sat as I stared at the paintings on the wall. The paintings weren’t on canvas, they were painted directly on the plain wallpaper. In fact, it looked like it had been replaced several times. The seer obviously painted her visions, which was unusual.
“Everyone’s fascinated by that wall,” she commented as she came over with a tray.
Placing it on the table, she walked backwards until her butt hit the armchair. Getting herself comfortable, she gestured for me to pour the tea. It was like I was in a book. The story of the woman would unfold, no wait, my story would unfold. It wasn’t that that reminded me of being in a story, it was the old teapot that sat on the table. And, the dreamcatchers catching in the breeze by the small window. Brightly coloured throws and cushions lined most surfaces, making me feel like I was in an Arabian Nights setting.
“I love this place,” I blurted. “It reminds me of a book I read recently.”
The name was lost to me. I read at least two books a week, if not more. Sometimes I was tempted to resign from my job just so I could read all day, every day.
“I noticed that you were a reader.”
“You did?” Sitting forward, I smiled at her as she nodded.
“You have a pile of books on your T-shirt.”
Ah, okay. I might have got a little too excited thinking that she had seen a vision of me or something.
“Don’t look deflated, dear,” she said, waving towards the wall. “I’ve seen plenty of you. It’s amazing how people who I don’t know suddenly start popping up in my visions when they’re about to appear in my life.”
Taking the teapot, I poured us both a cup, reciting the Alice in Wonderland song in my mind as I did. Disney was an extension of my love of books. No wonder I was single, I was a child stuck in a woman’s body.
“Can you... erm,” I stuttered as I handed her a cup. “...could you tell me...?”
Why couldn’t I force the words out? If my suspicions were right, hopefully the seer would know. Or, she could at least ask to be shown the information. A part of me didn’t want to know. Living in ignorance had been the reason I read so much. If I did that, I didn’t have to face reality. Sometimes it was too hard to live in this world. Especially when I saw so much cruelty. Not only in the underworld, but in the human world, too.
“Do you need some answers?” Mary’s tone was soft, gentle, kind.
Sitting back against the sofa with my cup, I sipped it as I tried to figure out how to ask her if I was dead. Because that was what I was there for.
Nodding, I avoided looking her in the eye, knowing that she could probably read everything that I was trying to hide from the world. Seers were very psychic.
Clearing her throat, Mary clicked her fingers. “I’m over here, dear.”
Trying to quell the quiver in my stomach, I looked at her. My palms were damp as I grasped the handle of the teacup tightly.
“Two nights ago I had a vision of you. You were running down a street, your ponytail flying out behind you. A bullet...” Pausing, she nodded towards my chest. “...got you near the heart.”
The air sucked out of my lungs, the shaky breath that followed audible in the room. Tears popped into my eyes as a lump formed in my throat.
“How am I still here?” I whispered, swiping at the tears as they fell onto my cheeks.
The emotion of the last few days overwhelmed me suddenly, ripping through my body. I tried to hold on to it, tried to keep my broken pieces together.
“Let go,” she said so quietly, I almost didn’t hear.
Shuffling off her chair, she came and took the teacup from me and placed it on the table. My body rocked back, my head almost hitting the wall behind the sofa. Sobs burst from me, the force of them making me grasp my head as Mary sat next to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“The shock has been sitting within you for days. It’s good to let it out.” Her calm words made me cry harder.
Not because they were cruel, but because she was right. I’d been so afraid to admit the truth to myself, I’d almost managed to persuade myself that I’d imagined it. Especially considering I was still alive. Or...
“Wait,” I said, looking at her through the water that lined my eyes. “How am I alive? Am I dead?”
Taking my hand, Mary squeezed it. “I need your permission to contact your ancestors. They will explain what has happened.”
Nodding quickly, I sucked back a sob, determined to shut my emotions down so she could find out what was happening.
“Wait.” She squeezed my hand hard, making me flinch. “This emotion has to come out. I don’t know you, but I can instantly tell that you’re an agent first and foremost.”
Coughing as I laughed, I picked up the bottom of my shirt and wiped my face with it, snot and all. It wasn’t my most favourite T-shirt, so a little bit of misery spread over it would be okay until I washed it.
“I’m ready to know. I need to know. My game has been off since this happened. I have a case to investigate.”
Her short sigh was joined by her slapping her hand against her thigh. “You modern day women. You’re always trying to avoid being vulnerable. Don’t you know that it’s your power?”
Getting comfortable, Mary placed her hands, palm up, on her lap and closed her eyes. “Nope,” she blurted, opening them again. “I need a conduit for you.”
Frowning, I put my finger up when something occurred to me. “My dagger?”
Rolling her eyes, yes, she actually rolled her eyes at me, she nodded. “What is it with you Essex witches and daggers? Devon Jinx has the same one. I was hoping for a wand, or even a familiar. The old fashioned way of the witch has long gone.”
Smiling to myself, I handed her my dagger. Her eyes widened as she felt the weight of it. Yeah, it was kickass. And, the witch who wielded it had trained with it for many years. Kate had even asked me to teach her how to use one. She was the master at combat, but I was the master with magic.
“I wouldn’t say all our traditions are gone,” I muttered, feeling a little defensive of our kind.
Mary looked at me, her face completely blank. “When was the last time you used a candle to conjure a spell?”
My burst of laughter wasn’t taken in the light tone I’d meant it. Who was I kidding? Mary was an old soul, someone who was probably bound in tradition. She was right, modern day witches were nowhere near as reliant on tools as our ancestors had been. However, I was a ley line witch. Of course there would be a ton of difference. She had probably not met many of us in her lifetime.
“Your soul is...” Mary’s eyes reflected a sadness that I often felt as her sentence trailed off.
Seeing the emotion in her gaze made me put a hand on my stomach. It was as if someone had punched me in the gut, forcing my own sorry sadness into me.
“Can we contact the ancestors?” I almost whispered the words, afraid that she’d refuse to help me.
Nodding, she clasped the dagger in her hands, resting it on her lap. “Relax and close your eyes. Sometimes the ancestors want you to see something.”
Doing as she said, my hands shook as I righted my T-shirt. I had never contacted the ancestors before. My mother had always been the person to direct me in my witch life.
“They’re accepting my call, ready to talk. Can you see?” Mary’s voice sounded far away as images entered my mind.
Me. As a baby. Gosh, I was ugly. My cheeks were puffy and red, my eyes big and round. Why on Mother Earth had my parents named me Gemma? It was a girly name, and yet, I wasn’t girly at all.
The image changed to me as a child, holding onto my father’s legs, just before he left our house in London.
“This was the day he was killed. You knew something wasn’t right.”
Seeing him so clearly in my mind almost made me cry again. I had been very young when he was shot. Ironic that I would also be shot too.
“Why are they showing me this?” I asked, my chest squeezing as my mother’s weeping figure appeare
d.
The heat in the room intensified, making my breathing deepen. The atmosphere grew heavy as the scene suddenly cut to me running down a pavement. Yeah, this wasn’t a scene I wanted to relive.
“Wait for it,” Mary warned, obviously feeling my reluctance.
As the bullet flew into my chest, the pain I’d felt exploded inside me. A cry escaped my lips as I saw the dark starry sky above me, as clear as it had been that day.
“You died,” Mary whispered, jolting me with the truth of it. “Your ancestors say that your connection to the ley line kept your body alive.”
A gasp escaped me as the image changed to a field. The long meadow flowed off into the distance. Standing in a line, my ancestors, witches of many, many generations stared at me, their eyes light, and their auras white. They lived in the spirit realm. I should be in the spirit realm.
“Why am I still alive?” I could hear the shake of my voice when I spoke.
The witches who were watching me smiled, their arms stretching out to offer their hands. All of them. Recoiling, I clung to myself, wrapping my arms around my chest. I wasn’t ready to go.
“You have a choice. You’re alive because Mother Earth has allowed it, not them. They have no power over her decisions. The ley line is allowing your body to stay alive. However, there’s a danger in the air, which is why they’re offering to take you with them now. The ley line is under threat.” Mary’s voice grew tighter the more she spoke. The burden on the seer was growing heavier with every word.
“How is the ley line under threat?” My mind had switched into agent mode.
As soon as I closed my mouth, a slight pull on my energy made me grab the arm of the sofa. It was the same energetic pull I’d felt when at the book convention.
“Someone is tampering with the line somehow. The longer you’re connected to it without reviving your body, the longer you’re in danger. If someone can take the power from Mother Earth through the line, they can...”
My eyes squeezed shut to try and block out the inevitable as Mary stopped talking. She didn’t want to speak out loud. If she did, it could set the wheels of fate in motion. If I didn’t find the person who was playing with the ley line, not only was the whole witch community at risk, considering their magic came from the pure lines of Mother Earth, but I would actually die this time. For real. Forever.
Chapter 8
“There’s something you need to tell me!” Dave demanded as I walked into the office.
My hands went up in defence, my magic ready to wield. Oh boy, I was certainly jumpy.
“Don’t freak me out like that,” I muttered as I went over to my desk.
Storming over, Dave slammed his fist onto the wooden surface, making me jump. Okay, what the hell was wrong with him?
His eyes were wild, his hair free and flowing around his head. My breath came short as I examined the way he stood, legs straight, back tall, but... something weighed on him. What was it?
“What’s happened?” I asked, trying my hardest not to laugh at his extremely serious expression.
When he waved a piece of paper in front of my face with the same Essex coat of arms on it, a chill gripped my body. Reaching out to snatch it from him, I scowled when he threw up his arm to block me. Stepping forward, he walked towards me. Backing up as he growled down at me, yes, a literal growl came from his chest, I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. I had never been afraid of my desk friend. Why now?
“Gemma,” he whispered when my back hit the glass wall of the office. “This is not only the same coat of arms that’s been at the crime scenes, it’s...”
His big chest rose and fell as he came to a stop right in front of me. He was inches away, his nose in line with my forehead. If he really turned threatening, my head could easily smash his nose. But, it was a pretty nose, I didn’t want to hurt it.
“Where did it come from?” I asked, rubbing the goose bumps on my arms.
“It was sent in the post. Addressed to me. I just ran a DNA test for the blood.”
“And?” I asked quickly, reaching out to attempt to take it.
His exhaled breath made my hair move around my face. The intensity in his eyes made me nervous. This was personal. He was-
“It’s your blood.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Before he could ask any questions, I grabbed his wrist and whispered a momentum freeze spell. His glare grew even deeper as I took the paper from his hand without him being able to do anything about it.
“I’m sorry,” I apologised, hating the fact that I’d had to force his hand. Literally. “I wouldn’t have done that if you’d just given me the evidence.”
Stepping away from him, I dropped the spell and sat behind my desk. Laying the paper in front of me, I ignored him as he stood behind my chair, looking over my shoulder.
“How did the killer have your blood?”
Hovering my hand over the crudely drawn blood picture, I felt for the magic. It instantly melded to mine, confirming what Dave had said. How the fuck was I going to get out of this one?
“I’ve never seen you so angry before,” I murmured as I glanced up at him.
Dismissing me with a wave, he stormed over to his desk. “I’m not angry, I’m baffled. And, quite frankly, I’m upset that you haven’t told me what happened. Someone managed to get your blood. How?”
As he punched something into his keyboard, I studied the lines of blood that made up the shape of the coat of arms. It looked like a quill had been dipped in my blood and dragged across the page.
How long could I pretend that there was nothing wrong? Dave was a man who was constantly in my life. And, quite frankly, he wasn’t a stupid man. In fact, he was incredibly astute. Which was good for the job but frustrating for me.
“We’ve worked together for years now.” Pushing away from his desk, he sauntered back over to me.
Dragging one of the chairs, he placed it right in front of my desk. Leaning his arms on the surface, he brought his head as close to me as he could reach. It was a fairly wide desk, which meant there was a little room for me to breathe. However, his eyes, almost black, so piercing, were searching my gaze, trying desperately to peer into my soul to retrieve the answer.
“I’m... I’m scared that if I say the words out loud...” I couldn’t finish speaking.
The lump that had risen in my throat was unbidden, and yet, it rose like the mother fucker it was. And that made me vulnerable. I wasn’t good at opening up. Something about the way Dave was staring at me made me realise that I didn’t have a choice. I had to come clean.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You can tell me.”
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and blurted it out like the socially awkward person I was. “Peter’s shot hit me. The bullet is still lodged in my chest. I went to a seer, and she confirmed that I was technically dead, but my connection to the ley line is keeping me alive.”
My hands had crept over my face at some point, although I couldn’t remember when I’d placed them there. When it stayed silent, I gingerly moved them away so I could see Dave’s reaction. My heart was pitter-pattering all over the show.
“I knew there was something different about you, but this...” He gestured towards my chest.
Swallowing hard, I took the top of my Bored with Reality, Give me a Book T-shirt and tugged it down to reveal my bullet hole wound. His intake of breath was the only giveaway that he was affected by what I’d told him. The dark of his pupil bled into his iris, making his big brown eyes appear larger than they were.
“Okay,” he breathed, looking up at my face. “How do we bring you back to life properly?”
“Er...” Wow, that wasn’t a question I’d even considered. “There’s something else... when we were at the book convention there was a man wearing a demon mask. I may have had an encounter with him that resulted in him telling me that he knew what had happened to me. I tried to fight him, but he flashed away.”
Shaking his head, D
ave frowned, the tiny crease between his eyebrows deep enough to bridge them together and cause a mono-brow. Why would I notice that at such a serious moment?
“So, someone knows about you. Did they threaten to tell Paranormal MI5?”
That’s why Dave was such a good agent. He knew that I was afraid of there being someone out there with the knowledge that an agent was technically dead.
“I...” Thinking back to the evening, I rubbed my cheek absentmindedly. “...don’t think so. I didn’t give him much of a chance to say anything to be honest. He said he didn’t want to fight me.”
Getting up from the chair, Dave started to pace the room, his boots heavy on the light green carpet. “Of course he doesn’t want to fight you,” he said, getting out his wand. “You’re Gemma Abbott.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? And, what are you doing with your wand?”
Coming over to the desk, he held out his empty hand, palm up. “It’s supposed to mean that you’re a powerful Essex witch. This paper...” He pointed to the evidence at the same time as wiggling his fingers to indicate that I give him some magic. “...is a message to you. So, not only has the serial killer got a grudge against Essex witches, he’s made it personal.”
Putting my hand in his, I let him take some of my magic. The tingling pull through my fingers was similar to what kept happening underneath my feet with the ley line.
“Shit!” I exclaimed as Dave let go of me.
“What?” He placed the paper the right way up and waved his wand over it.
I didn’t recognise the spell he whispered, but as an illusionist, his magic was different to mine.
“Someone is connecting into the ley line somehow and trying to drain it. I think.”
His gaze snapped to mine, his task forgotten with my words. “How do you know that?”
“I’m not completely sure, but I can feel a tugging on the line. The magic hasn’t lessened, but something within me knows it’s changed. Maybe... maybe it’s because I’m dead.” The last part of my sentence was whispered.
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