Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One

by Serene Conneeley

  She stumbled a few times, her eyes not used to the pitch black outside her small, weak circle of torchlight, and swore under her breath, but she kept walking. It would have been easier to do this when there was a moon to illuminate her way, or if she’d taken the main road, which had a few street lights on to pierce the darkness. But she’d timed her ritual so she could make use of the most potent energies, so no light it was.

  For the past week, since her encounter with Andrew in Smithfield, she’d been furiously studying all the books of magic and the occult that he’d dropped off at her house. They were books Rose didn’t stock in her healing centre, and she suspected that was because the priestess wouldn’t approve of their content, or of her planned spell – to the binding of another person to her, and interfering with someone’s free will.

  But it seemed to her that Rose’s magic was far softer and more gentle than some witches employed, more about enriching and empowering everyone to be more fully themselves and to help others, than changing circumstances and creating what you wanted, consequences be damned. It was enticing, and tempting, this new view of spellworking.

  Finally she reached the woodland on the edge of town, and gingerly made her way into the trees, along the narrow winding path she’d memorised in the daylight hours, until she reached the small clearing. Slipping the coat from her shoulders, she gasped as the cool air touched her naked flesh, but her shivering was more from desire than the cold, from the sensuality of the wind caressing her body, making her feel so alive, and at one with the world and with herself.

  Body, mind and spirit they said, and she grinned. Rose’s magic was safe, and sweet, but too much about the mind and the spirit, and not grounded enough in the body, in the reality of flesh and carnal pleasure. That’s what she’d discovered in the books Andrew gave her – a whole other realm that embraced power and the self, so different to the magic Rose shared with the villagers at her rituals.

  Goosebumps rippled across her skin, and she let the sensation awaken her to the magic of the night, to the passion burning within her heart and her body, and to these darkest moments before the dawn. It was the dark moon now, the time for banishing and binding. Then when the sun rose in a few hours, so too would the new moon, which would fuel her spell and help her manifest her wishes and grow the relationship she was so intent on.

  Feeling her way through the bag she’d brought with her, she pulled out the thick golden pillar candle, placed it in the glass lantern, lit a match and held it to the wick. Then, invigorated by the cold air on her warm skin, and the headiness of her will, she carefully began to step out the boundary of her sacred circle, the way Rose had done it at the rituals she’d attended. Although the priestess hadn’t ever done it skyclad. She giggled at the thought.

  Rose was too tame, too afraid of sensuality, and sexuality. Too content with words and metaphor. But it seemed important to Beth, if she wanted to capture Mike’s interest, and his body as well as his heart and mind, that she offer up all of herself to the gods and goddesses – not just her words, and her wishes, and these herbs she would burn, but her vulnerable heart and her brave and naked self as well. She wanted all of him, and she wanted him to want all of her.

  And how could he resist her, she thought, lips curving in a triumphant smile as she gazed down at her full breasts and the curve of her hips, caressing with her eyes what she wanted him to caress with his hands and his mouth. She was far more worldly than sweet, innocent Violet was, far more of a woman than she’d ever be, and she was determined to convince Mike of that truth.

  With the wand she’d bought in Rose’s store raised in her left hand, she carved out the etheric world between the worlds she would create and form her ritual within, while her right hand drizzled a handful of salt crystals infused with crushed rose petals in its wake, to add a circle of physical protection to her spellworking, and the emotional energy of love that this flower held.

  Then she sank down onto the cold ground in the centre of her small circle, at her makeshift altar, and lit the three candles, one pink for love, one red for passion, and one white for eternity. For a moment she recalled the image of the silver-haired woman from Rose’s healing, who had handed her three coloured roses that represented forgiveness, joy and innocent love, but she shook it off. Tonight was for passion, not innocence.

  Inhaling the scent of the rose-vanilla wax pillars, she took out a small velvet pouch, and carefully arranged the rose quartz crystals within it into a heart shape that framed the edges of her altar and mirrored the rose quartz heart nestled against her chest, a gift from the woman of the mists to prove her connection to magic – a connection that now infused every cell of her body.

  The crystals represented the earth, as well as love, while the candles symbolised the element of fire, and the power of passion. She added a small dish of spring water to her altar, to represent water and the flow of inspiration, then lit a cone of patchouli incense, known for its aphrodisiacal properties, and representing the element of air. Breathing in its scent, she slowly stretched her arms to the sky, sinuous, seductive, reaching up to the last twinkling stars before the dawn would begin its slow dance. The flickering light of the candle flames cast shadows on her naked skin, and she smiled. She felt powerful, aware of the strength of her body, the sensuality of it, and the beauty of her self and her soul.

  For a moment she felt a pang of regret, as her thoughts turned to sweet, trusting Violet, who had surprised her by becoming a close friend. She was kind, considerate, selfless, and no doubt above spellcrafting to get what she wanted. But she had Andrew now, and didn’t need Mike, so really she was doing this to help her friend, so Violet wouldn’t feel guilty about hurting Mike’s feelings with her obsession over their teacher. And she was doing it for Mike too, so he would no longer mourn his lost love, with her to soothe his heartache.

  It was a win-win situation, she told herself.

  A vision of Rose’s compassion-filled face flashed into her mind when she closed her eyes, and she felt a sliver of guilt, but she turned away from it. She was doing this for the good of everyone involved. Really, it was almost selfless. Right?

  Tentatively at first, she invoked the elements and directions then the god and the goddess, her voice gaining in confidence with every word she spoke. Lastly she reached back into her bag and pulled out the small bottle of jasmine oil, a flower known for enhancing and amplifying love and desire.

  Pouring a few drops onto her finger, she anointed her forehead, then dabbed a few more drops between her breasts, then on her solar plexus. She shivered, but it was from desire and anticipation, not the cold. Despite the wintry temperature of the woods in this pre-dawn hour, from the moment she’d stripped off her coat she’d felt warm and toasty, at one with the elements and the spirits of the trees.

  Taking a deep, centring breath, she sat for some time, focusing on her breathing, just as the spell book had instructed, and deepening each inhalation and exhalation until she felt the sharp and rigid controls of her mind slacken a little, then blur, and a dreamy haze descend.

  Joyfully she acknowledged a moment of triumph as the trance state she’d read about settled over her. She’d been worried about not being good enough, not being magical enough, to make this work, but already she could feel the enchantment swirling around her, and the desire building within her. It felt as magical as any of the rituals she’d done with Violet and Rose at the healing centre, it was just that this time she was offering up the intent and controlling the outcome. She had the power.

  Holding on to the mystic awareness that danced around her, she poured the herbs she’d crushed earlier into the small clay dish she’d borrowed from her mother’s garden, and mixed them gently with her finger, pouring her intent in as she worked.

  Picking up the little witch’s knife she’d also bought secretly, she sliced into the ring finger of her left hand, into the vein said to run directly to the heart, and dripped several drops of her deep ruby red blood into the dish, mixing i
t in with the herbs. Then, unrolling a thick piece of parchment paper and taking up the beautiful, expensive quill pen she’d invested in, she dipped the nib into the still-dripping gash on her finger, and wrote out her invocation in her own blood.

  Gods and goddesses, hear my plea,

  Bring my greatest wish to me.

  With my blood I bind his soul,

  With our love, both become whole.

  Mike and Beth, both true of heart

  In love forever, til death do us part.

  So mote it be.

  Glancing up at the sky, she marvelled at the beautiful wash of colour just starting to appear along the eastern horizon, and the thinnest sliver of the tiny crescent moon that could just be seen as it peeked over to begin its slow climb to the heavens. Her timing could not have been more perfect.

  Clutching the parchment to her heart, she spoke her heartfelt words aloud, repeating the rhyme three times, and imploring with every molecule of her being, every yearning of her soul, the gods and the goddesses to grant her wish as she whispered it to the universe.

  It was at this point that one of the books suggested raising energy to fuel the spell through sexual release, but at the last moment she lost her nerve. The still-dark woods were secluded, but the day was now beginning, and the first rays of the sun were illuminating the top of the trees around her. For today she would settle for using the transformative power of fire to take her words and her wishes to the deities. There was time enough for sex magic later, when this spell had bound Mike to her.

  Already she was planning to enact the Great Rite with him – and she would do it properly, in the body, flesh to flesh, the way it used to be done. Not just placing an athame into a chalice as a symbolic representation of the ritual, as Rose did, but undressing Mike as he undressed her, then leading him into the sacred circle and raising energy and power through real sex. Through making love.

  That was the way it was done in the past, the high priest and high priestess embodying the god and the goddess and joining together in the sacredness of sex during the ritual, blessing the lands with their physical bonding, and balancing the energies of their coven, their village and their whole country if need be.

  She was starting to like this magic business.

  * * * * *

  Finally shivering from the cold in the pale dawn light, Beth carefully unwound her circle, then gathered up her ritual tools and placed them reverently back into her bag. She had felt the exact moment that her spell had been sent out into the universe, and the wonder of it still warmed her heart.

  Her body was exhausted though, totally drained from the intensity of her ritual focus and the fuelling of the spell with her own energy and will. As she reached out for her clothes, she wobbled slightly, then collapsed onto the cold ground, light-headed and dizzy.

  Remembering Violet’s instructions at her first ritual, that after working magic you must eat in order to ground yourself, she reached a shaky hand into her bag and felt around for the container of biscuits she’d baked the night before. Her cheeks blushed red as she recalled her mother’s terse words when she’d made them just before Jenny’s wedding as a test run. Patricia had stormed into the kitchen, drawn by the apparently devilish scent of butter and sugar.

  “How dare you cook biscuits this close to the wedding,” she’d thundered. “I always knew you wanted to sabotage Jennifer’s ceremony. I don’t know why you even bothered coming back for it – or was it just to wreak havoc?”

  Beth had been flabbergasted, and speechless in the face of such an awful accusation, but Jenny had reached over to the tray of still-warm shortbreads, picked up the biggest one she could see and crammed it into her mouth.

  “I asked her to make them for me Mother,” she’d said, with a wink at her sister. “A few cookies are not going to ruin anything, no matter how much that would secretly thrill you. Besides, Josh loves me for me, don’t you get it? I don’t have to be stick thin to keep his interest, not like some women,” she’d added, and there was a stab of malice woven into her sister’s words that Beth had been shocked – but impressed – by.

  Biting into a biscuit now, she felt the energy sweep back into her tired limbs, so she could reach into her bag for the clothes she’d thrown in earlier. She slipped a dress on over her naked body, then buttoned up her long coat over the top. Grinning, she decided that she must look almost normal again. Not that it mattered too much – she was pretty sure she wouldn’t see another soul as she stumbled home in the early morning light, but she knew how angry her mother would be if she was spotted by anyone looking less than immaculate – and wearing no underwear, no less.

  The image made her giggle, then she sighed. Had she always been so scared of and yet so angry with her mother, or was this combination a new thing? Fury and fear. It was no way to live. But she comforted herself with dreams of Mike – and her new life in her hometown, now that her parents were definitely leaving. A week from now she would begin her college journey to become a teacher, which she’d always longed to do, and soon she would have her heart’s desire too.

  As she walked, her thoughts returned to Mike, and her eyes lit up in anticipation. She wondered how her spell would work – would he all of a sudden realise that it had always been her that he loved, or would it take a more subtle path, a growing awareness of his new feelings for her that were revealed to him over time?

  Weakening for a moment as an image of Violet floated into her head, she tried to shake off the guilt, but the sudden grey storm clouds gathering overhead matched the pessimistic mood she’d begun drowning in, and she quickened her pace.

  The first drops of rain fell as she opened the back gate, and she ran the rest of the way to the kitchen door, making it just seconds before the heavens opened. Breathing a sigh of relief that she’d managed to stay dry – and that her parents weren’t up yet – she tiptoed upstairs and into her room. Mission accomplished, she thought, with a sense of joy and satisfaction that managed to eclipse any glimmer of guilt that still lingered about Violet. She flopped down onto her bed and fell into a deep, trance-like sleep.

  Two hours later her mother barged in, complaining that she was sleeping the day away, and angry that she wasn’t already up and helping the cleaning woman she’d booked in preparation for their move to London. Yep, Patricia was still fulfilling the wicked stepmother to her Cinderella role.

  It would normally have bothered her, and perhaps led to a shouting match, but today Beth just smiled, feeling surprisingly calm and magnanimous, and jumped out of bed and started packing up all the books and business ledgers in the study.

  It didn’t even bother her when her mother criticised the way she was packing, or complained about the speed, because all day the memory of the enchantment she’d woven that morning stayed with her, shielding her in a protective bubble that deflected all of her mother’s bitter barbs and poisoned arrows.

  Once or twice Patricia looked at her questioningly, surprised that she hadn’t snapped at her or lost her temper, but Beth really did feel that the magic she’d worked and the spell that she’d cast had permeated her body, her mind and her soul at a deep and powerful level, and was making her more likeable to herself, and far less irritable with her mother. Had her anger these past few weeks, these past few years, been because she hadn’t liked herself?

  Chapter 31

  Into the Mists

  Rhiannon... Today…

  The mists rose up around her, and Rhiannon smiled. She’d always loved the mists. There was something so magical about them, so cleansing, as though she could travel through them to another world, another time, another place. One where her mother was still alive, and she didn’t have to look after her father and her brother. Not that she minded, not really, but every now and then she felt so hemmed in it made her cry. So weighed down by her responsibilities that she wanted to scream. So lacking in magic that she felt bereft.

  Sighing, she tried to pull herself together. She loved her dad, and adored Brodie,
and it was a privilege to be able to help, especially as she’d been emotionally absent for three months after her mum died. And she still had her dad and her brother – Carlie had lost her whole family. She needed to get a grip.

  Taking a deep breath, she allowed her mind to still, and concentrated on appreciating the magic of this moment. Tonight she and her friend were consecrating their newly formed coven with a dedication ritual, and she was excited, and happy, and just a little bit nervous too.

  The girls stood at the base of the tor together, ready. The sky was already a gorgeous lavender-gold in the west, where the sun was preparing to set, while the eastern sky, where the full moon would soon rise, was coloured the faintest pink.

  Rhiannon felt Carlie shiver beside her, and she glanced at her, seeing the fire of the candle she held reflected in her eyes. They’d decided to take different paths to the top of the tor, to symbolise their separate lives before now, then meet on the summit, to represent the deepening of their friendship and the shared magical journey they were embarking upon. She turned to begin her climb.

  “Wait,” Carlie called out. “Maybe we should swap our flowers, so we have something of each other’s to bring with us on our climb, to lend each other a bit of strength and support?”

  Rhiannon nodded, impressed with the suggestion, and glad her friend had found the courage to speak it. They were both still shy about this magic they wanted to weave – worried that they were frauds, that they were somehow making it up, that they were only pretending they could feel the power of the energy they were drawing up from the earth, and breathing in from the trees and the moon and the stars.

  Awkwardly they exchanged their bunches of flowers, then whispered a blessing and turned away from each other again. This was it. Carlie set off, weaving her way along the more gentle, winding pathway to the top, while Rhiannon headed around to the back of the tor, to the place where she could start her journey up the shorter, much steeper trail.