Spirit Box

by E M Lacey

  As soon as her feet touched the stone floor, light bloomed in a succession of soft clicks giving the area shape: a large, square suite. Bridgette paused on an orange-brown rug with the coven’s crest woven in a deep emerald green. The stone was not a dull white, but beige with shimmering white speckles. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the room against the far-right wall, a simple black night stand and matching black lamp with a Tiffany-style shade, only the lamp shade bore etchings of symbols reasonably spaced on each piece of colored glass. Three feet from the bed was another wall composed of shelves filled with more books.

  Bridgette directed McKellen to place Alba on the bed. Julius entered the room. Something approached. He spun out of its way as a small metal table on wheels clattered and rattled its way toward the bed. On it was a mortar and pestle, a few stone bowls, and an array of herbs and oils. There was a second shelf to the mobile table. A few vials shook and jumped as the table sped to its destination. A burst of lavender and chamomile blossomed in its wake, stopping once it reached Bridgette’s side.

  Bridgette pulled back the sheets, which were the same color as the rug, a clay brown with the same deep emerald green Keeper’s Cove crest on it. McKellen noticed the lavender and chamomile scent grew stronger as Bridgette held the sheets.

  “Quick,” She shook them for emphasis. “Put her here.”

  He gently lay Alba, whose skin had started to lose color again, on the bed. Bridgette sat on the edge. Alba’s body didn’t tilt toward the additional weight.

  Pulling a wand from her hair, white blonde waves fell across her shoulders and down her back. Bridgette went to work. Her tri-colored eyes settled into a piercing green, as she passed her wand along Alba’s body. From the tip of her head, down to the soles of her feet, then back up again, stopping at the first of several bite marks.

  “What did this?!” She slipped her wand back behind her ear then crawled onto the bed, straddling Alba. Brigette ran her fingers over the bite marks, pressing gently. Alba moaned, wincing in her sleep.

  Alex surged forward but McKellen’s large hand clamped down on her shoulder.

  “I need to help her.”

  He shook his head. “No. You. Don’t.”

  Alex pulled away. McKellen leaned in closer. “If you want Alba to stay sick, interrupt the witch. If you want her healed, let her be.”

  Alex stopped struggling. McKellen let go. They stood side by side and watched the witch work.

  Bridgette crawled off the bed and examined the contents of the metal table. She began sifting through vials, pausing at one containing a deep pink liquid.

  “What happened, Alex?” Bridgette picked up the vial and held it up to the light.

  “I don’t know what hurt her? I couldn’t see them.”

  Bridgette looked from the vial to the two hunters. She used the corked end of the vial as a pointer. She aimed it at McKellen. “Your family keeps an encyclopedia of beasts.”

  “The Bestiary.”

  “Yes, the Bestiary. Are there any creatures in it that have this kind of attack pattern?”

  McKellen shook his head. “It’s probably the same kind of malevolent spirits that attacked the law office.”

  “Poltergeists?” Bridgette righted the vial in her hands, pulled out the cork with her teeth, dropped it in the palm of her free hand then held it over the bite mark. Three drops fell on each of the crescent-shaped punctures. Alba’s skin sizzled but didn’t burn. The pink liquid bubbled in the punctures. Her skin was regaining its beautiful mocha brown tone.

  “Spirits have no power,” Bridgette stated.

  “They do.” McKellen pulled out his cellphone and offered it to Bridgette. He already had the pictures he took of the spirit box loaded.

  Bridgette paused, recapping the vial, and set it back on the metal table. She took the cellphone. Her eyes widened with each right swipe.

  “Where was this found?”

  “The one in the pictures was found at the law firm.”

  Bridgette looked away from the pictures, escalating shock on her face. “There is more than one?”

  McKellen and Julius nodded in unison.

  “The second was at Alex’s shop. Something from the box did that.” Julius pointed at the nearly healed bite marks.

  “Who sent them?” She swiped through the pictures slowly, pausing long enough to examine everything in the image.

  McKellen shrugged. “I’m guessing the vampire the lawyers executed.”

  Confusion opened her mouth. “Say what, now?”

  “He left a message for them.”

  She shook her head, digging her hands in her scalp. “How did he do that? He’s gone.”

  “He figured something out, so he could deliver a message from the dead.”

  “What did he say?”

  “After insulting everyone in the room, he thanked us for our help with a promise of more to come.”

  “Are those his exact words?”

  “Not exactly. It’s more of a summary.”

  “Well, was the box active?” Bridgette grabbed McKellen by his shirt, bunching it in her fists.

  “If you let me go, I might be willing to tell you.”

  Bridgette released him, took three steps back, then folded her hands behind her back.

  “Okay.” McKellen adjusted his shirt. “No. It was dormant. No magical or spectral auras were present when we arrived. Only the scent of sour milk and iron.”

  “Alex, where did the things that did this to Alba come from?”

  Alex stepped forward. “They came from the box Alba brought home with her.”

  “Where did she find the box?”

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she found it at the community center.”

  “It was planted,” Bridgette and McKellen said in unison.

  “The vampire’s dead, what does any of this do for him?” Alex all but screamed.

  “Determined men find a way,” Bridgette said absently.

  “That thing was NOT a man. It was a monster and it is dead,” Alex snarled. Her hands fisted at her sides, eyes as hard as stones as they darted between the witch and the two hunters at her side. “Why do you keep talking like it’s a man? Like it still lives?”

  Alex inhaled a shaky breath that felt like fire then exhaled. She looked away from the witch and the hunter. “You should be worried about my child.” She dug her thumb in her chest. “My child is sick with poison from those things.” Alex paced the length of the bed on her side of the room. Lip curled. Her head snapped in their direction. “How dare you make light of my child’s suffering over a monster?”

  Bridgette shook her head. “Calma, Alex. Su hija necesita decansar.”

  Alex’s back stiffened, she threw out her hand. Her head shook slowly. “Don’t you dare.” Her voice was a low rumble, but McKellen could feel the heat of it. “I’m scared but not a fool. I don’t trust you, bruja.” Alex clutched a cross she had taken to wearing after her first brush with the supernatural.

  “I know you don’t, Alex, but I’m the only one who can help her with this particular sickness.”

  “I can take her to a church or the center.” Alex held out her hand to McKellen. “I can drive us there.”

  “Alex, you can’t pray this away, and holy water can’t purge spectral venom from Alba’s veins.”

  Alex’s hand curled into a shaking fist. “I don’t want your help!”

  Bridgette did her best to look harmless. “I know you don’t, Alex, but I will help Alba.”

  “I don’t want any of this.”

  “I know.” Bridgette hugged herself, rubbing her arms. She understood Alex. There were so many things, people, and situations she didn’t like. There were only two choices in all of it. It was deal with them or die. Bridgette breathed deep. Hard choices were part of life. “But Alex, the fact remains, this is not about you, but what’s best for Alba.”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. Bridgette was certain that if Alex knew magic or held a weapon, it would
be flying in her direction.

  “Don’t worry, Alex. She will be fine. The bites made her feel bad. I’ve treated her. She just needs time.”

  “Cuanto tiempo? Cuanto tiempo necesita ella!” Alex’s soft brown eyes seemed to darken as she glared at the witch. “How much time does my child need?”

  Alex bent her head, the heel of her right hand pressed against her forehead, while the other found her hip. She began pacing again. “Listen, bruja, I am grateful for what you’ve done.” She spun on her heel, both hands on her hips now, face a mask of frustration and rage. “I thank you, but the monsters keep coming for her! I have to get her away from them.”

  “Calma, Alex.”

  There was a chair in the corner next to the bed. A dark brown plush chair. Alex spun and sat down. “You say peace. How can I be at peace when all the scary stories are walking around in the streets? Breaking into my home.” She pointed at Alba. “Our home.” Tears fell.

  “You will be safe here.” Bridgette took a step toward Alex, who threw up her hands. Bridgette backed off.

  “It’s hard to believe you when this should have been over when that monster died.”

  “Sometimes monsters don’t die easy,” McKellen said.

  Everyone turned in his direction.

  “Alex.” McKellen pointed between himself and Julius. “We need to talk to Bridgette.”

  Alex threw up her hand. “Go talk about your magic and monsters. I’ll watch over my Alba.”

  “Not all monsters are bad.” Bridgette bowed her head, turned, and headed for the stairs. McKellen and Julius followed, leaving Alex and Alba to themselves.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A book the color of hot lava caught her eye. Next to it was a glowing blue book. It looked like electricity stuck in a frozen state. She wondered if it was hot or cold. She leaned her cheek toward the book—nothing. It was the same tepid temperature as the room. Beside the blue book was a dirt brown one and another one that was as white as fresh snow. Her gaze traveled along the spines, each with interesting symbols. The marks were somewhat familiar. The glowing blue book had three horizontal squiggles on it. The dirt brown spine possessed upside down V’s like triangles with no bottom line, while the white had four circular coils spaced out to form a diamond. The lava-colored book had the four vertical squiggles.

  She backed away, admonishing herself. Julius told her to wait for him. Clasping her hands in front of her, she added more distance between herself and the books. It was probably a bad idea to touch them. It was bad enough she was entertaining the idea of reading them.

  Curiosity is a double-edged sword. It has both a great reward but demands a heavy price. Her uncle always said that to curb hers. She still found herself back in front of the books. Her breath was causing the cobwebs to shudder.

  So far, her curiosity had been rewarded with knowledge. Knowledge had shielded her in the office. She couldn’t read all the sigils pertaining to magic but she could see them when others couldn’t. She smacked her lips as her fingers danced along the spines of the books in front of her. Elements. Her magic was tied to fire. She plucked the volume from the shelf.

  She frowned at the underwhelming plainness of the book. She expected warmth. It felt like an ordinary book. She walked it over to the little wrought-iron table and set it there. It looked like a plain journal. Veins of red orange pulsed beneath its brown covering. She ran a palm across it and jerked it back. A pentagram the same burning red orange of the book’s spine materialized. A grimoire? She noticed three straps held the small book shut. Each strap had a small round lock the size of a button. She ran the tips of her fingers across each lock, wondering if there was a place to insert a key. If that was the case, where would she find it? Pulling her hands away, she ran them down her waist. Three soft clicks filled the silence. The straps lay limp on the table top.

  Abigail scooped up the book, sat down, and opened it. The pages were made of pale-yellow parchment paper. She ran her finger across the top page and quickly snatched it away. The familiar burn of a paper cut had her inspecting it. Fresh blood welled, a few drops fell onto the page and did the strangest thing: it pooled in the center, forming a small crimson pearl, then it sank into the paper.

  Words bloomed. All in sigils, but she could understand them, so she read.

  Lesson 1. How to form a fireball. Hold out your hand, palm up. Empty your mind and concentrate on fire. Decide where you want it and its shape. Say the word ignium to draw the fire to your palm. Use its nature to float it.

  Lesson 2. Canceling a fireball. Close your palm and say the word extinctus then clap your palms together in a wiping motion, to ensure the fire magic has been extinguished.

  Okay. Sounds easy enough. Abigail set the book back on the table. She shook her hands then held out left the one, palm up. She closed her eyes. Bent her head side to side then shook her shoulders. Flexing her fingers, she focused on the center of her palm. “Ignium.”

  A plume of heat spread across the center of her palm. She opened an eye. Smiling at the small glowing light in her hand, but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

  She tried again.

  Sitting straighter in the wrought-iron chair, pulling her legs under her, she held out her palm again, facing up, the tips of her fingers folded in. She wanted a fireball in her palm. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned the size and shape of the ball. At first, Abigail thought nothing was going to happen, when heat surged in her palm, from the core, ending at the tips. A tiny pearl-sized ball appeared. It didn’t touch the skin but hovered so close that it tickled. Abigail giggled and the little pearl shrank.

  She sobered. She wanted to make it bigger. She flexed her hand, keeping her eyes on the small pearl. She shifted her legs, so her bare feet were on the floor and like the parking lot, heat flowed from somewhere beneath the house, through the floor into the soles of her feet. It rode her blood and settled in her palm, which glowed. The little pearl expanded, filling her palm. It spun, a molten globe.

  She lifted her hand, drawing the molten ball closer. It was hot, but comfortably so. A prickling sensation washed across her body. It didn’t hurt but it made her aware of every little thing in her sphere of space. She raised her right arm, examining the fine bumps on her skin when the pricking sensation intensified. To her right, something heavy filled the air and headed her way. She rolled her left wrist, flipping the fireball in her palm, then launched it. Her fireball connected with the strange interference. Sparks lit up the air, popping and snapping, temporarily blinding her.

  The space around her was starting to fill. Bodies. People.

  “Julius?”

  “Hit the floor!”

  Abigail didn’t ask any questions. She dropped to the floor. A whoosh of a heavy sparking wave passed over head. She curled into the fetal position, unsure of how to protect herself from it.

  “Bridgette, stop!” Both Julius and McKellen shouted. A shuffling of feet, a few grunts, and a feminine snarl. The fireworks died and her sight returned. She lifted her head slowly to see Bridgette, in a battle stance, legs apart, wand out, spindles of magic dancing frantically around it as she filled the archway. McKellen and Julius were on their backs several feet away from her. McKellen on the left, half covered by a pile of books, with Julius on the opposite end, tangled in a toppled chair and coat rack. A soft hum muffled the groans from the men as they struggled to rise. A warm golden light surrounded her. She reached out and poked it. It was solid, similar to the thick glass used to construct Sea World aquariums. She knocked on it.

  “Get out!” Bridgette snarled at her.

  Abigail sat up, spun on her bum, and scooted to the furthest end of the shield. Bridgette’s white blond hair swirled in the wild magic. Abigail was scared but it quickly ratcheted up to terror when she noticed Bridgette’s eyes. They were black marbles. Dark brown bled into her hair from the temples.

  “I’m sorry, Bridgette. I didn’t mean to touch your books. I couldn’t help myself.”

&
nbsp; Brigette advanced on her and Abigail cowered. Drawing herself into a human ball, hands up, shielding her face.

  “Your kind isn’t welcome here!”

  “My kind?” She slowly lowered her hands and stared at the approaching witch, who had always been nice to her. Something had changed. It wasn’t just her eyes and the weird streaks in her hair. She was different.

  “Witch.” It was more of a hiss than a word.

  “But...Bridgette?”

  Magic flared bright then barreled into Abigail’s shielding. She screamed and prayed that it would hold. Her shield responded. She watched it thicken. The warm golden light darkened to a deep molten red-orange.

  Why was it happening? What was wrong with Bridgette? Another barrage of magic bore down on her shielding. The ground beneath her shook and her shield cracked, but it held. The dome around her had become so thick that she could no longer see what was happening outside. Maybe the temporary blindness was a good thing. She wouldn’t see death coming.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Aurora toyed with the necklace Sunni had given her. Sunni asked her to stay behind after all that spirit box business. Aurora’s nerves were fried and she was irritable. She didn’t want to answer any more questions or be the crash test dummy of magical objects. Maybe Sunni noticed how ready she was to jump out of her own skin and decided to be nice.

  She pulled her aside and began what sounded like a beautiful song. For all her fierceness, Sunni had an amazing voice. The melody of the song turned out to be a spell. A small spark of silver light materialized in the space between them. It hovered at eye level. As the spell intensified, the little spark flared, thin silver lines stretched from both sides of the spark, forming a loop. The spark shifted into a perfect oval. A clasp punctuated the loop, revealing a lovely silver necklace. Sunni instructed her to hold out her hands. The necklace floated to her and dropped into her waiting palms.