Alice felt for her own power, bringing it to the surface as blue flames flashed from her fingertips. She could taste Annie’s magic, the strength of it like an acid on her tongue.
A cackle. “Stupid bitch.” Annie flung her aura.
Alice rolled, her own spell leaving her lips. “ADOLEBITQUE!”
A high-pitched screech as the incantation hit.
“Come on Alice.” Rex pulled at her wrist, pulling her attention.
Something burned across her back, sending her careening into Rex, sprawling them onto the floor. Gritting her teeth, she spun, throwing everything she had from her hand.
“ARDENTI TURRIS!” Her aura pulsed, pain across her back.
“Alice, she’s gone.” White noise, flames cracking from her fingertips. “Alice…”
She turned, his face trying desperately to remain blank, but his eyes were anything but. They flashed ice, his wolf at the forefront, appraising her with heat. Heat and worry. He was cautious of her.
“We need to leave.”
Alice blinked, trying to control the excess.
“It isn’t safe.”
She was unable to speak, the pain radiating across her shoulder blades.
Her nightgown ripped, allowing her to stumble into the dirt, her knees hitting the ground hard.
A loud bang as something crashed into the door.
The wood around the lock began to splinter.
She looked around the darkness, the earth feeling familiar against her bare feet as she climbed up. Following the pathway down she ran behind the giant oak tree, using the bushes to hide.
Another bang as the door finally gave, a low cuss as the shadow staggered out the door. “Come here little girl,” he snarled. “Come here… your parents are inside, they need you.”
She cowered against the tree, holding her hand against her mouth to stop the sobs.
A high pitch scream.
Fear twisted her, leaving her immobile as more tortured shrieks filled the air.
“You hear that little girl?” the monster laughed. “Your mamma needs you, come out, come out where ever you are.”
Chapter 19
Alice jerked awake, her dream dissipating sluggishly, the nightmare leaving a cold essence deep in her stomach. It was as if her memories were blocked, a DVD that had been scratched or software corrupted. Flickers of the same thing over and over again, every year without fail. It was almost like her brain was trying to tell her something, but panicked at the last moment and decided she wasn’t ready to see, wasn’t ready to understand.
Her grief counsellor had once explained she had never gotten past step two of the five stages of grief, never getting past anger. Alice hated to admit it, but always thought the woman was right, she had never felt the other stages, bargaining, denial and then acceptance. Especially the acceptance.
How could they expect a six-year-old child to accept that?
How could they ask a twenty-three-year-old woman to accept it either?
Rolling over on her mattress she stared at the sun’s rays breaking through the blinds, a welcoming sight compared to the last couple of days, the continuing deep ache an annoying reminder. Stretching out her arm her breath escaped in a rush, pain resonating down her back enough to allow a little squeal of discomfort to escape.
“Alice?” A soft knock on her door before it pushed open, revealing Sam who stood there with a mug in his hand, steam billowing from the top. Closing the door, he set the mug on her side table, pulling his legs up onto the bed to sit beside her.
Her eyes narrowed on him instantly, one: he never knocked before entering anywhere, just waltzed in like he owned the place. Two: he closed the door behind him.
“You’re staring,” Sam fidgeted.
“Sam…” she started before she heard a distinctive click of the front door locking. “Sam?” she asked. “Who was that?”
“No one.” He shrugged, a secret smile on his face. Alice was about to question him further when she heard a faint knocking. Sam’s eyes went wide as Alice scrambled off the bed, pretty much throwing him to the side as she raced him to the front door. “Alice wait…”
“Oh hello,” Alice greeted the blushing man standing on the threshold, his fist held up as if he was going to knock again. “How can I help you?” She smiled at the man, taking in his messy red hair, shorter at the sides than the top, crudely buttoned shirt and black skinny jeans.
“Oh…erm.” The man blushed impossibly further, almost the same shade as his amazing hair. “I seem to have left my…”
“Here you go.” Sam thrust a wallet at him.
“Oh, thanks.” Freckles, the guy had freckles. “So, errr, call me?” An invitation had never sounded so meek.
“Sure,” Sam nodded, slowly closing the door so Alice could no longer see the redhead. “I will definitely call you.” With that the door closed, turning to her. “Don’t comment.”
“Comment about what? He’s cute.” She leant against the wall. “Where did you meet?”
“At the club.” Amber eyes met hers. “You do realise you answered the door in nothing but your underwear and a smile?”
Alice fought not to look down, only just realising she could feel a pleasant breeze across her skin. She must have yanked her clothes off before collapsing into bed the night before. The redhead was lucky she had been too tired to figure out the clasp of her bra, or he would have seen a lot more than he bargained for.
“Don’t change the subject.”
He smiled at the door as if he could see through it. “He’s proper cute though.”
“Very.” Alice couldn’t stop her cheek-cracking grin.
“How is this funny?” Sam chuckled as he pulled her into his arms, scraping his stubbled cheek against her wild unkempt hair. She groaned, sucking in a pained breath as her back ignited in a series of aches when his aura touched hers. “Alice?” Concern in his voice. “You okay?” He leaned down into her hair. “You smell different.”
“Do I?” She leant back, the ache lessening the further away she was. “I seem to have burned some of my aura.”
“Burned it?” Sam’s eyes went wide as he looked her up and down, unable to see auras. “What does that even mean?”
“I think I’m missing some.” She huffed as pain shot down her back once again. “I need to replace it before it gets worse.”
“Worse?” Panic obvious in his voice. “What do you mean worse? Who do we call for that? Can the hospital deal with that?” He went to pick up the telephone sitting on a side table by the sofa, putting the handset back in its cradle when he remembered they hadn't paid the bill for the landline in months. They never really used it anyway.
“No, we can't go to the hospital. Dread will figure out I haven’t dropped the Daemons. He can't find out.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Back up. You damaged your aura while searching for Daemons?”
“I wasn’t technically searching for Daemons…”
“Alice what the fuck!” Sam shouted, his voice getting higher in pitch. “If Overlord finds out, he will kill you!”
“I know!” Obviously, he wouldn't kill her, but he could make her life a living hell. “We need to find a specialist.”
“A specialist? Where do we find that? On www.Ifuckedupmyaura.com?”
“So funny. I was thinking I could even do it.”
“You? How? You don't know anything about auras? You even fucked up that shaving spell.”
“Did not.” Alice scowled, she didn't 'fuck it up' exactly. The spell had worked, it just had a surprising area of effect. Besides, Rose had forgiven her when her hair finally grew back.
“Whatever,” Sam snorted. “Where do you think you can find the spell?”
“I was thinking, maybe my mum would have had something?”
“Your mum?” He raised an eyebrow. “Wasn't your mum a gardener?”
“Well yes.” She bit her lip, thinking. “Dread used to tell me when I was young how my mum could stir anything. Give
her a recipe and she would be able to do it.” He used to tell her stories of her parents when she was still young and scared. Every night he would sit on her new bed and tell her about how amazing they were.
The stories were like crack to a junkie, something a small broken child would cling to for hope.
'Alice, get into bed.'
'But the monsters?' Alice felt her bottom lip quiver, a cold hand squeezing her heart.
'Shhh,' Dread stroked across her cheek. 'Don't worry child, Uncle Dread is here.' He tugged up her new duvet set they had chosen together that day, pink with unicorns.
Alice had giggled when she saw his face, he wanted her to have the superheroes one.
'Do you know what your mum said to me when you were first born?'
'No.' Alice sat up slightly, resting forward on her elbows.
The last few weeks had been a blur, doctors, psychiatrists and specialists all wanted to poke and prod. She wouldn't speak, wouldn't even cry.
She had just sat comatose, barely responding. It was only when a young boy at one of the many grief meetings, a boy with the longest hair she had ever seen, had asked her how she had done her plait did she finally speak. Replying with a story about her mum. That's when Dread started telling her stories about her parents, ones that made her heart hurt and yet fill with joy at the same time.
'She said to me...' Dread tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. 'That this little girl will be the most amazing person anyone has ever seen.'
“Alice?”
She shook her head. “Huh?”
"Where did you go?" Sam smiled gently, worry still blatant in his amber eyes.
“Back to when I was a kid.” She smiled at the memory. Dread had taught her how to cope, how to be strong. He was always there for her, even though he still treated her like the little girl he took under his wing all those years ago. “I remember my mum sitting with lots of books, reading spells. Maybe the books are still there?”
“Where?” Sam thought for a second. “At the house? You haven’t been there in years.”
“Exactly. No one has.”
“Let me get dressed, I’ll come with you.”
“No.” She pushed her palm against his chest. “I need to do this myself.”
“You sure?” He grabbed her in a hug again, his chest vibrating in a soft purr, the gentle noise and vibration instantly comforting. “I don’t want you to hurt.”
“I know.” She snuggled into his warmth. “But I need to do this.”
The house had aged in the last few years, the white paint peeling off in chunks to reveal the dark brick underneath. The windows weren't boarded up as she had initially thought, but had white smears across the glass that shops had when refurbishing. The windows themselves seemed in pretty good shape, the decent area having kept the kids from breaking in or vandalising the glass. The bushes around the house, while overgrown, were also surprisingly decent considering no one had lived there for close to seventeen years. The neighbour’s obviously didn’t want the house to be a total eyesore in the well-kept neighbourhood.
Sam had been asking her for a while if they could talk about moving in, 'anything is better than here' he had said, complaining about their flat once again. Not that she didn't complain just as much, but the thought of her moving back to her childhood home...
A shiver started to rattle her bones. Shaking the feeling she continued to stare at the old house, irrational fear threatening to choke her, the nightmare the night before not helping the sense of foreboding. Blinking past the black spot invading her vision she walked carefully up to the front, the porch light off. She checked the bulb, noticing a huge crack along the side, a bird’s nest neatly hidden inside.
Her hand shook as she inserted the key into the lock, the click echoing through the empty lounge as the door squeaked open. Dust glittered in the air as streams of light shone into the dark house, a musty smell thick and suffocating. Alice could feel her heart beat against her ribs, hard enough it began to hurt. Swallowing her sense of panic she stepped inside, noticing how her footsteps left marks in the dust.
Alice knew exactly where to look, knew she didn’t have to go anywhere near the kitchen, nowhere near the window where she could see the garden.
The stairs creaked as she slowly made her way up, the light better upstairs, the windows not having had the same white smear treatment. Her parents’ bedroom was the last door on the left, the door ajar.
The vanity had been pushed at an angle against the wall, adjacent to the bed that was a simple metal frame and mattress. Walking over she tugged it back into place from her memory, beside the window that faced the front drive.
Bottles lined up like soldiers against the grime covered mirror. Picking one up she examined it closer, trying to read the worn label before giving up and putting it back in its place. The two drawers turned out to be empty of anything helpful, just old out of date makeup and lotions.
Strange.
Starting to lose hope Alice continued to search frantically through her parent’s things, checking under the bed frame, inside the wardrobe and even in the en-suite. Other than the necessities, nothing signalled her parents were magic users. No candles, runes or crystals. Nothing. It's as if the room was purposely staged to look normal, human.
She sat at the edge of the bed, careful to not put her full weight on the frame as it creaked. In fact, she hadn't seen anything witch-wise in the house at all. Admittedly, she had only checked one room and the lounge, but all witches had runes and protection spells carved into the walls. It was part of their nature.
Maybe she made a mistake? Maybe she didn't remember her mother as much as she thought. Her childhood memories were rusty at best, shadowed with trauma.
No.
Alice knew something wasn't right. Going back into the wardrobe she pushed against the hung fabrics, most of them half eaten by moths. When they didn’t move she pulled them off the rack, letting them crumble into a pile on the floor.
“There's got to be something...” Fingers blindly searched. “Aha.” She finally found the small indent she was looking for. Pushing with the tip of her finger she heard a small click.
'Ready or not, here I come.'
"Ready or not, here I come," Alice repeated her memory, remembering playing hide-and-seek with her brother years ago. Eight years her senior, Kyle was the usual moody teen in the family, his mood worsening when their parents made him play with her.
The cupboard had been Alice's favourite hiding place, somewhere she had found by accident one day and a place Kyle had never located. Alice suppressed a grin as the hidden door squeaked open, the space so dark it absorbed light. Reaching inside she felt a cold hard surface, something wooden.
With a grunt she pulled the heavy box out into the open and picked it up, placing it onto the vanity table so it was in the natural light. The box itself was nondescript. Not wood like she first thought but made of a thick cardboard. There were no markings, no dents, no stains. Nothing to indicate what was inside.
The lid came off easily enough, the movement letting the dust fly up into the air and into Alice's face. Coughing and waving to disperse the grime she finally peeked inside, a smile cracking her face at what she found. A large leather bound book. A grimoire.
This is exactly what she was searching for, it was...
A light flashed at the corner of her eye.
Looking out through the window she noticed a man standing on the street, his face covered over with a hood. She blinked, the phantom disappearing.
Confused, she searched down the street, wondering if she really did see someone standing there or if it was her imagination.
Chapter 20
“So, let me get this right…” Sam began as his legs trembled against the kitchen counter. “You're going to read a random book and hope something in there will repair your aura?” He sipped from what must be his fifth coffee, his hands juddering from the overload of caffeine.
“It’s not random,” sh
e muttered. “It’s also a grimoire.” Alice stroked across the leather-bound cover.
“What if there isn’t a spell?” Sam continued to swing his legs back and forth, his denim covered hips barely perched on the kitchen counter. He must have been on another late shift from the amount of coffee he was guzzling, his chest bare as he scratched across his pecs hard enough to leave marks. "What will you do then?"
“I don't know.” She frowned, not wanting to accept it wouldn't work. “But I'll think of something.” She watched him from the corner of her eye, his edgy movements concerning her. “Are you okay?”
He ignored her, instead turning to the kettle to refill his cup. Sam took everything to the extreme, including drinking, smoking, caffeine and even sex. It was lucky that he had never been into drugs, his personality that of an addict.
“I think you’ve had enough coffee.”
Sam slid his eyes to her, the amber narrowed as he flicked his plaited hair over a shoulder. “Let’s have a look at this book then,” he commented instead.
Alice tried to hide her own shaking hand as she opened to the first page, pictures of stars and moons drawn across the stained paper. Flipping through she started to find spells written messily throughout, some written in a strong, curvy handwriting in the middle of a page and others she found written rough and squished together, as if it was rushed. There were random phrases painted in some corners and dramatic drawings scribbled on others.
"This is a mess," Alice remarked as she tried to decipher all the nonsense.
“You find anything?” A thump as he jumped from the counter, his bare feet making little noise as he padded across the lino.
“What about this one...” Alice squinted as she tried to read the small print.
“This is gonna be interesting,” he said mockingly from behind her shoulder, close enough that she could feel his breath against her bare nape. She fought not to glare at him.
Witch's Sorrow: A Witch Detective Urban Fantasy (Alice Skye Series Book 1) Page 18
