by Kiki Howell
“Great aunts to great, great grandfathers, and such. All of them from my father’s side of the family. All had gifts. I can only assume these rooms held much life at one time. Can you feel the residue of their magic here?” her aunt questioned her.
Kyna felt something, like she herself was a light. Electricity flickered to life inside her, and she half expected her skin to start glowing. That same skin crawled, like spiders walked all over her. After several looks to be sure she imagined it, she forced herself not to brush her hands over her warm arms. Nothing actually crawled there, though a spider in this place, millions of them in fact, would come as no big surprise.
“What about your mom, Aunt Saoirse?” she asked to play her mother card again.
“She died when I was young, so young I barely have any memories of her. My father never talked much about her after. It was like he tried to erase all memories of her. I guess it was his way of dealing with his loss.”
Sounded familiar.
“You didn’t ask about her as you grew? I know I did about my dad after he passed,” she urged.
“No. It wasn’t worth his anger,” she stated–no maybe warned–her words stiff and her tone flat.
As her aunt unlocked another door with a small key she pulled from her pocket this time, Kyna’s breathing became little pants. Sensations overwhelmed her. As did the impression she toured a cave that never ended, was being swallowed by the earth. The fact of how far away normal civilization seemed to be getting startled her. She took a quick inventory of her thoughts and reined them back in with practical, scientific type tidbits of knowledge she searched her mind to acquire in an attempt to grasp some sanity.
This new room opened into a much larger area, about four times the size of the two previous rooms. Scarcely decorated, save for a white ceiling and tan walls, it needed nothing for all it stored. From the ceiling hung many hooks, all with bound herbs and flowers hanging upside down from them. A stone fireplace took up three-fourths of the far wall, capped by a thick, wooden beam laced with large, black pots. To her right, a huge hutch held hundreds of bottles, all meticulously labeled, in various shapes and colors. On the left, floor to ceiling bookshelves were stocked full to rival her small hometown library. In the middle of it all stood a long worktable scattered with open books, heavy pots, full bottles, a few sprigs of herbs, various tools, and such. Centering the scene at the table, a bottle in one hand and the other marking his place in a book, stood Darcaryn.
“Well, Kyna, we meet again. I hope you got some sleep last night. Have a big day planned for you.” Darcaryn grinned, a slightly tilted half-scowl-like attempt at one, but one just the same.
“Yes, I did, thanks to Aedan. So, I’m ready for whatever you have to throw my way,” she replied dutifully while her mind gave a sarcastic thanks for being granted yet another big day.
“Found that cursed bottle yet?” Kyna’s aunt let out a weighted sigh as if she’d already been given a bad verdict.
“No, haven’t found a locater spell that could detect it yet. We did this years ago. I don’t know why we’re even trying again. Seems a waste of time to me,” Darcaryn answered, his voice as annoyed as the look on his face, both tight and gruff.
Today, Darcaryn stood fully clothed in a royal blue dress shirt under a black jacket. His long hair pulled back into a loose braid made the lines on his face age him to a stern, but still gorgeous, middle-aged man. Yet, no hint of gray soiled his hair. Instead, wisps fell around his face catching the light of the fire, making the red hues appear to mimic actual flames at times.
“Bottle? Locator spell? What? What are you talking about? What’s going on?” A hot rush broke out into a cold sweat over her neck. Fingers spread ridged by her side, her hands shook despite her best efforts.
She looked to Aedan who stood silent and stiff, like a proper security guard, behind Darcaryn. He’d walked in, swept through the room, and stood where he faced the door. With his head cocked slightly to the side, his right eyebrow raised in opposition to his firm scowl, he observed. Even if not sending off a positive vibe, she definitely felt protected. She hated her need for it. Her whole life she’d been able to take more than adequate care of herself. On the other hand, she’d never had to deal with magic and curses, eerie sounds and evasive relatives, along with a sorcerer and secret society for cripes sake. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Okay, first things first,” her aunt huffed. “I know you need answers Kyna. Lots of them. But, there’s so much to tell. Please bear with me...us,” she stated as her high shoulders fell into a sudden slump.
She gave her head a little shake, took a deep breath, and continued. “I asked Darcaryn to look again for a witch’s bottle. A witch’s bottle is something bad witch’s use to curse a property. Good witches use them for entirely different matters, much more noble causes. My father received a letter long ago, a very detailed letter explaining the property had been cursed with one. The location warded, protected that is, still no one has been able to locate and remove this bottle. That is, if it exists. Many bad things have happened to this family since. Whether a result of a spell, or our own belief in the spell, who knows. I personally believe the bottle exists. This group, whoever the hell they are, seem to be gifted in a very dark, evil magic,” she stated as if she’d read the words from a cue card.
Even unnerved, Kyna remarked, “I get it. This nameless group is bad news and hates this family. What exactly is a witch’s bottle? Details, please, on something.” Kyna stomped her foot with the last word then a rosy flush filled her cheeks as she admonished herself.
“Details. You deserve them,” her aunt relented. “A witch’s bottle is just a bottle, but it’s filled with objects that represent the curse, are used to represent harm and destruction. In the letter, my father was told this particular witch’s bottle had been filled with things like nine rusty nails. At the time, nine people lived in this house as my father had extended family here, too. Other than me, each of them has either passed away or moved away. These nails were marinated, I guess you could say, in subsidiary ingredients like graveyard dirt. Obvious representation there, I assume. Many herbs and roots that represent bad things, like whiskey, a rough spirit believed to aid in such dealings, were said to be in the bottle along with more personal items.
“They claimed to have something personal from each member of the household, like blood from some, and hairs of others. An example of why they did this is, the hairs were braided together with the hairs of a black cat and a white dog so those family members would fight like cats and dogs. Anyway, once they filled the bottle, they cast a spell over it with meditation and incantations full of hatred and bad intentions. Then, to deploy the curse, the bottle was buried on the property where foot traffic of the cursed is employed to continue the power of the curse. It gives permanence to the spell.”
“Hold up. Give me a minute to take this all in. These people hate you that much and you have no idea who they are? Really?” Kyna stopped shaking her head and bit her lip to quiet a slew of curses that came to her mind. Ones not worthwhile in any way, shape, or form.
“I’m sure my father knew, but somehow he thought us safer to not know. He alluded to telling me once, that I needed to know more about the group, and then...well, he died before he could tell me. He had a horrible accident on the grounds. You should know that your birth was near then, and—”
“And?” Kyna demanded as she watched her aunt start to wring her hands. She felt sorry for the seemingly frail woman, she did, but she needed more to go on here.
“Well...and...well, your mother...Alana, she went nuts. She...she tore up the yard, with a shovel, until a servant found her, sitting on the ground, the wooden handle of the shovel broken in two from hitting a large tree root, and her palm bleeding. With everything in her she wanted you safe. With every fiber of her being she had to protect you. Eventually, right after you were born, the bottle still out there and more than enough proof of its existence, or so we t
hought, she sent you to America so you wouldn’t have to be raised here. It broke her heart, a wound she never recovered from,” her Aunt Saoirse practically wailed as tears flooded her ruddy cheeks.
Darcaryn, oddly enough, went to comfort her. Sobs ravaged the woman’s body as Darcaryn pulled her into a full embrace. She couldn’t see his facial expressions, but for such a mysterious man, one a little dark around the edges, he whispered words of comfort as he held her aunt tight.
Aedan nodded at her when she looked at him. Her mouth hung open, and she shrugged. His mouth, on the other hand, formed a tight line, as did his entire frame. He looked ready to pounce, though she wasn’t sure onto whom.
A buzzing sound filled the room, and her aunt stopped her crying jag immediately to pull a phone out of her pocket. After reading the message there, she pushed the phone back into her pocket.
Furiously wiping at her tears, she spoke. “I’m so sorry. I have to go. The staff needs me. There’s a storm coming in. You’ll be privileged to witness, Kyna, one of our rare storms here. We only get a few a year; some ice then light snow. It usually disappears in a day or two here in Ireland, but the woods and the stream around the house look simply magical. Anyway, I must attend to a few issues. I’m going to take Aedan with me, if you don’t mind, Kyna. I could use his help. You’ll be more than safe in Darcaryn’s hands, and he must start your training at once. We shall meet for dinner. If you require lunch, there’s plenty here that Darcaryn can share with you, just ask.”
“Okay,” Kyna replied, though thoughts of abandonment came to mind.
Chapter Five
DARCARYN WASTED NO time getting right to business, and right to touchy-feely. With his lean but solid body pressed against her back, he took the stance of a man trying flirtatiously to teach a woman how to golf or shoot pool or something. With each of her hands cupped in his and his arms curved under hers, he woke her every nerve ending. Unlike lust or attraction though, this seemed purely electrical in nature, as if he’d rubbed a hundred balloons on his head to give her a powerful shock. Steady, without the pain. She swallowed a groan and resigned herself to grinning and bearing it for as long as she could. At the same time, she yearned for a glimpse of some semblance of her world not being so ass backwards.
“You feel the power stirring within you,” he stated rather than asked. “You need to tap into it and learn to control it. First, feel the heat that stirs in your stomach. Don’t fear it. Instead, embrace it. Open your mind to it. Think of things you love. For right now, the positive side of emotions will be easier to deal with. The negative or darker side, while more powerful, is harder to control. Anyway, that aside, imagine the heat in your core as a ball of light. Now, make that light flow down your arms and to your hands.
“I know it seems silly and awkward, but in time, you won’t even have to think about it. The whole process will just come naturally. All you’ll have to do is imagine what you want, and then create it into being. Of course, some things, the more complicated efforts, require study. Some spells require ritual, knowledge, elements, and such to bring things into reality. But, the most basic of things, like control over the elements, are just your powers meshing with the energies of the earth. First, you have to learn to harness the power you were never taught to recognize or understand.”
Sexy and nuts, this guy stood too close. That she understood. If a fire warmed in her core, she could just blame him and call it a day. Yes, the man was gorgeous. No denying that. Yet, a sixth sense, one she had learned to trust in over the years, one that made her good at reading people, gave her a very creepy and uneasy feeling about him. Even the energy, as he called it, between them, had a sinister element. Her only confirmation of this fact remained a constant, creeping cold sensation that snaked down her spine when he touched her. Never had she met such a truly bad boy on some cellular level. Good thing her mom had spent painstaking hours teaching her to recognize them and giving her the strength to walk away.
“Kyna, Kyna, you need to focus,” he chastised.
“I’m trying, but these powers, this energy, this heat you talk about... I’ve always blamed it on other things. And even now, here, where it’s so strong it’s driving me close to crazy, I’m not sure I understand the insanity, forgive me, of how to imagine the power into doing anything but making me feel like I want to jump out of my own skin,” she ranted, her mouth tight as she tried to resist the urge to shake him off.
“Just listen to my voice,” he whispered in a husky tone, his breath fast and warm as it trailed across her ear. “Concentrate only on your core, the feeling of heat whirling in your belly, like a thousand butterflies when you’re nervous.”
He moved in closer, if that were even possible. So close she had to bear down weight upon her feet to stop from rocking forward. He’d placed a hand firmly against her abdomen, so the whole butterfly scenario seemed legit. Focusing on the churning in her middle rather than the hard body pressed against hers, his crotch nestled in the small of her back, seemed a move in the right direction, at least. She hadn’t come to Ireland for dates, but she was a woman. She’d never met this caliber of men before. Each of their occupations were beyond what she could imagine. Their personalities so dominant, looks aside, she had to fight for air and a clear head in their presence. Maybe West Virginia just didn’t grow them that way. Oh, that would make the guys back home mad.
“You feel it?” he quizzed.
“Yes,” she sighed.
Which thing he referenced she wasn’t really sure.
“Now, imagine it forming into a white ball of light. You have to really see it in your mind. Ignore what you feel emotionally. Quiet the practical side of your brain. Just envision a white ball of light inside you, create it within your core.”
“Okay,” she whispered back, unsure why they talked in such hushed tones when locked in a room so far away from civilization.
She tried, focusing on her belly beneath his hand where currently it felt like a large, heated knot. She’d always had a big imagination, so why not, right?
Determined, she focused her energy in the pit of her stomach, forcing it to the center of the lump, trying to see what he described.
Excited now, she yelped, "I think I have it! I feel something, heat, a sort of light rolling through my gut, churning within me.
“Good. Now, make the light move. Make it into a long stream, like a snake, and begin to imagine it slithering down your arms.”
He quieted for a second.
She forced herself to focus on this imaginary light rather than the feeling of his chest rising and falling against her back, or the caress of air tracing her neck with each breath. The knot in her stomach tightened, made her nauseous as she imagined the ball of light stretching out. Beads of sweat broke out over her skin as the energy coiled inside her, ready to strike. Power raced down her arms without her trying, made her palms hot and her fingers feel as if she'd submerged them in extremely hot water.
A memory snuck in. She recalled her mom, Sarah, the woman who’d raised her, standing behind her, her hands on her waist to steady her on a chair before the sink. Together, they’d washed dishes as Kyna had complained the water was too hot. She fought the image, wrestled with it and the emotions it brought crashing over her, as she refocused on the task at hand. With her jaw clenched, she opened her eyes wide, focusing on a spot on the floor in front of her. She let it blur and fade until all she could see in her mind’s eye, was a bright light filling her body.
“Next, move the light into your palms,” Darcaryn’s deep voice startled her, so juxtaposed to the soft, encouraging voice of her mother in her memory just seconds ago.
She let the tremble, the discomfort, merge into the energy inside her.
“Let it build there, strengthen, and then cup your hands to form a circle between your palms. Now, let the light go. Let the energy move from you into the air,” he instructed in a rhythmic voice.
She tried. What better did she have to do, remained her ration
ale. Also, simply not wanting to upset such a man drove her, too. A fear of the unknown along with a strong intuition nagged at her. Who knew what this man was capable of, magic wise; and she didn’t like the sinister vibes that flowed from him. Intimidation acted a strong motivator, keeping her cautious as she played along.
She followed his instructions to the letter, as stupid as she felt. With her vivid imagination, she could’ve sworn actual light flowed through her anyway. Hot, sizzling vibrations traveled through her muscles, made her body twitch and shake all over, even though no physical representation of these sensations presented themselves. Her fingers began to tingle like they were falling asleep. In an automatic response, she wiggled them a bit. Instinct made her want release from the pressure that built inside her. She imagined sparks coming from her fingertips, but at the same time closed her eyes as a heated blush crept up her cheeks. In her mind, tiny white fragments of light began to form a circle between her palms.
“Open your eyes, Kyna,” Darcaryn exclaimed, his tone a bit higher than usual.
She opened the lids she’d held tightly closed, and then blinked several times at the unexpected rays of light so white in their brilliance, they sparkled like glitter between her palms.
“Seriously?” she shrieked, and the light vanished.
With it, so did her physical stability. Shadows of darkness and light blurred her vision, like the pinpricks that blind before one faints. Her hands scrambled for purchase, to find some surface to prevent her inevitable fall. The strong arms around her tightened as her world fell to blackness.
