Born of Shadows- Complete Series

by J. R. Erickson

  It was a simple wooden box without a lid. He peered in at the peculiar arrangement. Claire's journals were stacked in the bottom and photos of her, along with incense and dried herbs, were pinned to the sides. It appeared to be a shrine, but knew little of what that meant. Who in the castle would have made a shrine for Claire? And to what ends? Beneath the journals, he discovered a simple silver band. The inside was etched with tiny inscriptions that he could not read. He slid the ring on his pinky.

  He suspected that Elda had created the box. After all, he had given her Claire's journals, but something in that thought didn't sit right. Elda had implied that his preoccupation with Claire's death was natural, but not truly helpful, a belief that he disagreed with. A belief that also made it less likely that she created the shrine. Unless the shrine worked as a magical tool that helped Elda and the other witches of Ula to discover the whereabouts of Tobias. Were they intentionally keeping him in the dark?

  He carefully reached into the box and lifted Claire's journals out, setting them on the bed beside him.

  A muffled scrape drew his attention up from the box and his eyes darted to the door. The bolt firmly in place, no one could barge in; however, the light beneath the door was marred by two shapes—feet.

  He quickly stuffed everything back into the box and shoved it under the bed. His heart raced and he wiped his clammy palms on his pants. A sense of suspicion plagued him and he could not seem to shake it.

  It had to be Abby. The other witches rarely, if ever visited his room. Still he did not open the door. He couldn't. They, the witches, Abby and the others, would suspect him. She would sense his evasion. She would know that he was hiding something. Already in the previous weeks she had come to suspect him. He knew it. He felt her suspicious gaze follow his every move and he hated that she was right. He lied to her and crept into the dungeons. He concealed the box concerning Claire. He hid his dreams. He had no other choice. Claire needed him.

  He looked back at the door, but the shadows were gone.

  ****

  "I have something to show you," Helena twittered, dancing into Abby's room with a pile of garment bags.

  Abby finished copying the spells that Elda had requested into her notebook and set it aside. Her hand ached and her eyes were nearly crossed from shuffling through all the old texts on incantations for strengthening the goddess.

  "Ooh, the Goddess," Helena said peering over Abby's shoulder at the spell book . "It's your power, know it well."

  Abby yawned. She enjoyed learning the Goddess spells, but longed for a break. Elda had kept her so busy with practicing and learning and training and repeating that she had hardly eaten in two days.

  Helena set the bags on her bed and pulled out a hunk of tin foil.

  "Pecan roll from Sebastian," she said with a wink. "He's quite the little chef, you know?"

  "Yes, I know," Abby said a bit too sharply. She smiled apologetically at Helena. She wasn't mad exactly, just worn out. She missed Sebastian and wanted to cook with him. She wanted to set the books aside and spend the day doing anything that didn't involve study.

  "It gets easier, honey," Helena said, pulling the chaise across the room and settling onto it. "Right now you're building the foundation."

  "Great. What's it like to build the whole house?" she asked, exasperated.

  "Easier, believe it or not."

  "So what have you got in here?" Abby fingered the edge of a bag preferring to change the subject. "Dead bodies that I have to conjure back to life?"

  Helena grimaced and Abby realized that maybe her comment was out of line. Elda had once told her that Vepars could do just that thing.

  "No bodies here, love. Just marvelous costumes for All Hallow's Eve!" She stood and swept off her maroon robe. Beneath it, she wore a shimmering orange dress with bright red and orange wings that curved seductively against her bare back.

  "I have chosen the Phoenix," she gushed. "It's far from done, but what do you think."

  Abby grinned and touched the silken fabric.

  "It's breathtaking."

  Helena replaced her robe and gave Abby a hug.

  "I will design yours as well. It will be magnificent. This is, after all, your first All Hallow's Ball."

  Abby munched on the roll and lolled her head from side to side trying to stretch the kink out of her neck.

  "I don't think I'm going to have time to do any costume planning at this rate." She held up the stack of books on the bed beside her and grimaced.

  "You won't have to." Helena smiled. "Just leave that up to me. Your focus is best served right here." She tapped the pile of books.

  "Why so much preparation?" Abby asked. "I mean, I get the impression Elda is trying to prime me for something."

  "The Ball is an initiation of sorts, honey. It will be your first real experience with other witches, beyond your coven, of course."

  "Will I need to know all of this though? Am I going to be tested?"

  "No, no. Not a test per se, but witches often perform magic when they're gathered. I mean, why wouldn't we, right?" She grinned and blew a puff of air into her palm. A dusting of sparkly powder flew into Abby's face.

  Abby sneezed and wiped the sparkles from her nose, but there was nothing on her hand.

  "Where did it go?"

  "It was never there."

  ****

  "Something is wrong," Faustine sighed, rubbing his tired eyes.

  "Wrong?" Max was meticulously separating a pile of tiny stones, his face only inches from the table.

  "My vision is suffering." Faustine blinked hard once, twice. "It started with Dafne, but now..."

  Max picked up tweezers and plucked a bright green stone, the color of jade, but more crystal-like, and set it aside.

  "Your connection?" Max stopped and peered at Faustine surprised. Was his old friend changing? Perhaps growing weaker with age?

  "Yes, my connection. It's as if there's interference."

  Max scrunched his eyebrows and listened intuitively for the barrier. Sometimes answers simply appeared in his mind, but now nothing.

  "Strange weather lately and we are approaching All Hallow's Eve," Max said absently scratching his head.

  It was true that All Hallow's Eve muddled the witches' powers. It was a mysterious time of year—the thinning of the veil between the living and the dead—and all of the witches experienced it in some form. Some years Max found that he could not astral-travel in the weeks before October thirty-first. In nineteen ninety-eight, Elda lost her ability to manipulate water for two weeks, and that same year all of Helena's insomnia tinctures became toxic.

  "I hadn't considered All Hallow's," Faustine said, nodding his head slowly. He did not fully believe it, but he understood better than most the strange and magnificent changes that arrived with the October holiday.

  "Surely that's all it is," Max added, returning to his stones. He lifted a magnifying glass up to one and held it towards Faustine.

  "Look like diopside to you?"

  Faustine touched it, but the stone did not reveal itself to him. Strange.

  He looked at it more closely.

  "Yes, it's diopside."

  Faustine stared up at the stone ceiling. Opening his mind, he scanned the library, but he felt none of his witches. It may have been empty, all of the witches tending to matters elsewhere, but he didn't think so. He bowed his head and reached into the space, but no heartbeat sounded in his ears and no thoughts found him. If the room was not empty, he was even more disconnected than he had realized.

  ****

  "Melusine," Helena laughed triumphantly pushing into Abby's room the following day.

  Abby sat on the floor, a spell book open in her lap and two empty bottles of Concentrate resting by her knee.

  She peered up at Helena through clear, agitated eyes.

  "Melusine?"

  "Yes, it is your persona for the Ball, your creature, your mythology. It came to me in a dream last night and I have already begun your c
ostume." Helena's eyes sparkled and her auburn hair was wild in the morning light.

  "I don't know who Melusine is," Abby snapped, and then put a hand self-consciously to her mouth. "Sorry, I may have overdone it last night." She pointed at the bottles of Concentrate.

  "Half of one bottle is more than adequate for a twenty-four hour period, you know?" Helena said, plopping onto Abby's bed. She pushed a toe against the book on Abby's lap and it toppled to the floor.

  "I know, but I kept thinking that I needed more."

  "Well, that is because you're concentrating on something other than your studies. The potion works, but your mind tells it where to go."

  Abby ground her teeth and stood, pacing the room and ringing her hands anxiously.

  "I don't have time for costumes, or for a party or for a life," she muttered, glancing angrily at the spell book and fighting the urge to boot it across the room. "Elda has me studying constantly, and you know what? I am completely exhausted."

  Helena smiled sympathetically and patted the bed next to her, but Abby was too wound up for sitting.

  "This is only a brief time, Abby, and all new witches must experience it. You have to be capable of the spells, of performing your rite. As your coven, it's our responsibility, and Elda as your mentor's responsibility to prepare you. And remember what I told you about puberty for witches? A little irritability comes with the package."

  Abby had heard versions of the same thing from Elda and Oliver, though she appreciated Oliver's version most of all. He had described his first two months of training as Catholic Reform School run by nuns who had magic powers.

  Abby groaned and threw her hands up.

  "I still don't see why this is so important. Will there be sorcerers at this party throwing fireballs in my face that I have to turn into canaries?"

  "Ha, wouldn't that be something?" Helena giggled and shook her head. "Nothing like that, but it's a powerful night, a night where strange and wonderful things happen. Usually the events are lovely and fun and mysterious, but they are also dangerous and you must be capable of protecting yourself in all moments."

  "Why can't anyone actually tell me more about the party itself? I feel like I'm walking through a dark tunnel wearing a blindfold."

  "Because it is part of your initiation. It's as simple as that. I know that the modern world pays little heed to ritual, but witches know the importance of it. If you do not receive a proper initiation, the world will make up for it in other ways."

  "Like?"

  "How can I say what is to come if you are not initiated? Those answers only exist when fate brings them into your life."

  "Fine," Abby said dismissively, knowing that she would only get more ambiguities. "Tell me about Melusine."

  "Well," Helena started, clearly moving into her arena. "Melusine, most importantly, was a water spirit. She is mythically known as the daughter of Pressyne, a lady of the forest. Pressyne punished Melusine for betraying her father by turning the lower part of her body into that of a serpent."

  Abby grimaced.

  "A serpent? "

  "Yes, but you will have both the serpent's lower body and two bat-like wings."

  "This sounds a bit morbid for a Ball."

  "No, no. All Hallow's is a costume party. It is a tribute to the dead, to the spirits of the other world, and we honor them by taking their form."

  "And you dreamed this?"

  "Yes, and so it shall be, my dear," Helena chimed. "Dreams of this kind have great significance."

  Abby nodded her head gravely. She had not yet begun her study of dreams, but Elda had warned her it was lengthy and imperative for all witches to grasp the basics of dream divination.

  ****

  Dafne stared hard at her reflection in the mirror and wiped off her red lipstick for the second time. She would not bother with makeup for dinner because there no longer seemed anyone to please. Oliver had aligned himself with Abby and, though Dafne felt an empty prickling in her stomach when she thought of them together, she had to admit that it aided her plan. With Oliver close, Abby was distracted. She barely registered Sebastian's growing distance. The others, Dafne felt confident, were attributing the blocks to All Hallow's and would not realize the true culprit behind their weakened powers until long after the Ball and, if all went well, never.

  She dropped the lipstick into the trash and glared at it until the red tip melted into the can and formed a crimson glob. Returning to the mirror, she met her dark eyes and ignored the flickers of guilt at the betrayal of her coven. It was not a betrayal, not truly, but if they were to know her intentions, they would see it as thus. So she cloaked her behavior, buried her thoughts and muddled them with distractions. Smoke and mirrors, as a common person would say. But Dafne relied on much greater strengths than illusion to lure their focus elsewhere.

  She took a moment to clear her room of all lingering thoughts and energy, ensuring that no other witches would detect anything amiss if they passed through. Elda had been lurking about and Dafne sensed her inquiries, but knew also that she had discovered nothing. Dafne's naturally suspicious character heightened her powers of deception—she could hide in plain view. Even her own coven could not sense her thoughts if she turned away from them. Of course, she would lift that veil of secrecy in time, but only after he was gone, purged from the castle and toppled from the evil throne that she felt sure he was destined for. She would never receive thanks for her great feat, for none of the witches, save Indra, would ever trace the threads back to her. She knew how to cover the silken lines of her web, how to weave the pattern so that it became chaos to any eye but her own. She had gone beyond befuddling Sebastian and Abby. She had included all of her coven and guaranteed her success by using All Hallow's as her supreme cloak.

  Her dreams had grown more urgent, more terrifying, and despite the fast approaching Ball, she longed to will the sun to set earlier each night and rise sooner each morn. Her blood raced and even in that moment, in the cool sanctuary of her dungeon room, a fever prickled at her hairline, creating a crease of sweat-matted hair that she didn't bother wiping away.

  She returned her gaze to the mirror and blessed the Goddess within before darkening the glass.

  She waved her hands over her vanity table and then cast the same spell across her room.

  "Conceal," she whispered. "Mote it be." And it was. Only her eyes drew out the shapes and shadows of her secrets. Her eyes lingered on a painting that hung above her armchair. A raven with dark probing eyes perched on the gnarled branch of a tree from her youth, a youth that existed before her tender heart had broken. She still remembered his hand sweeping along the canvas, oily paint smeared on the cuff of his yellowing shirt. He had turned to her, eyes gleaming, and laughed at the macabre beauty of this bird, which had seemed to follow them everywhere. "It is our guardian angel," he'd told her.

  But of course she knew now the message of the raven—death.

  "Dafne?" A small voice squeaked from the doorway and Dafne turned to see Lydie, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her sweatshirt.

  Chapter 5

  "Crabby Abby? Knock Knock," Oliver peeked his head through her door, knocking gently on the wood frame.

  Abby looked up from her Mystical Herbs Reference Guide and yawned. Stretched out on her bed with a cup of Bridgett's super strong Turkish coffee, she'd been reading about the psychoactive properties of nutmeg.

  "Did you know that you can get stoned with nutmeg?" Abby asked, pointing at a picture of the large nut.

  "Myristica insipida," Oliver said knowingly. "But I don't recommend it."

  "Really?" Abby was intrigued. "I love nutmeg. I wonder how much you have to eat."

  "A lot and it's not pleasant."

  "You've tried it?" Abby rolled onto her back and looked at Oliver upside down.

  "Let's just say that I received training by a very interesting witch whose teaching philosophy was 'No physician is really good until he has killed one or two patients.' I think he told me
that was a Hindu proverb, but the jury is still out."

  Abby laughed and sat up, swinging her legs to the floor.

  "But, alas, you live."

  "That I do, barely after the nutmeg incident, but that is a story for another time."

  "Oh, come on. I feel like my learning here is a series of anecdotes that I never get the full story on. Tell me about him or her? Was it Elda that nearly killed you?"

  "Ha, yeah right. Have you met Elda? No, but consider this, if you will commit to three hours of library study with me, I will tell you about my teacher."

  Abby grimaced. "What are we studying?"

  "Vepars."

  Abby gazed at Oliver's face to see if he was serious. Despite having encountered several Vepars and even killed one, most of the coven had avoided answering her questions about their mortal enemy. Curiosity compelled her, but Sebastian's growing obsession with the creatures made her reluctant to know them.

  Oliver smiled gently and sat on the edge of her bed.

  "He's not joining us. Elda asked him to spend the afternoon with Lydie and Max in the dungeons."

  "Why?" Abby asked keeping her eyes firmly on the window across the room.

  She knew why, of course. The other witches were no more interested in fueling Sebastian's fire than she.

  "If you're wondering about what she told him, it wasn't a complete put off. Max is teaching Lydie to communicate with animals. It's truly amazing and Sebastian will no doubt enjoy it."

  "Animals?" Abby asked incredulous. "Speak with them?"

  Oliver smiled, amused.

  "Not in English, but yes, in the language of the earth. There are many ways to communicate. I think humans are the only ones that forget it."

  Abby paused and remembered the terrified squirrel from her last meeting with the Vepars. No words were exchanged for her to know his fear.

  "I think I would rather do the animal teaching too." She grinned and looked at Oliver from the corner of her eye.

  "You and me both," he sighed and squeezed her knee.

  She stared at his hand, but said nothing, enjoying the warmth through her jeans.