“Here,” she said, “James FedEx’ed it all the way from Finland.”
I took the book delicately so as not to scuff the cover any further and brushed a little dust off the front. No markings on the front or on the spine, though plenty of wear and tear. On the first page someone had written “A Book of Shadows” in neat, black calligraphy, likely out of a feather quill or at least a fountain pen.
“Whose is it?”
“I don’t know. Neither does James. But he knows we’re Wiccans and we’d have more use for it than he does. He said he bought it, but I don’t believe that.”
Damien came into the dining room. “Could I see it?” he asked. I handed him the book and he flipped through it, landing on some pages but not others, reading some text, and moving on.
Every Wiccan Witch owned a Book of Shadows. The idea was that the books would get passed down through generations to other Witches in the bloodline so familial traditions could continue even as time went on.
Damien passed the book back to Eliza who settled the hardcover on a surface well away from our table.
“It looks authentic,” said Damien to Eliza, “Have you read any of it?”
“I skimmed a few of the pages. Some of it didn’t make sense,” she replied.
I started to speak. “Maybe we should all have a look at it together after din—” Eliza cut me off with a nudge under the table, “After I give Damien a tour of the grounds?”
Good recovery.
“A tour?” asked Damien, smiling.
“Yeah, the grounds are spooky at night but the river’s beautiful. It isn’t far from here either.”
Damien nodded in approval of my impromptu plan and butterflies struggled around in my stomach, each struggling to climb higher than the last. Screw Aaron. If he’s going to play mind games with me then I’m over it.
CHAPTER 17
Damien and I took a stroll, hands in pockets, among the pine trees and sycamores. The air had this natural freshness to it out here. The forest was dark and alive with sound, but the mist remained, snaking its way through trees and bushes toward a goal only it understood.
“Beautiful out here, isn’t it?” I asked. Our feet crunched leaves and twigs beneath them.
“It sure is something,” said Damien, “San Francisco was too big. Golden Gate Park is the closest natural place I could go to from my house, otherwise it was a drive and a commitment.”
“You must miss it though, right?” I asked.
“I do sometimes, but not much.”
“What about your family? Are they in San Francisco?”
Damien shook his head. “My folks live in Astoria.”
“Astoria?”
“Oregon.”
“Oh.” The conversation seemed a little one sided. Damien’s distracted eyes betrayed his cool demeanor. “Is something up, Damien?”
“My sister and I ran away from home,” he said.
“Oh wow. Why’d you run away from home? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have brought it up.” He sighed. “My father, mother, sister and I are Witches. Where we lived, there were many of us. Whole Covens.”
“I take it you don’t mean Wiccans.”
“No, I mean real Witches with real power. They played these games, toyed with people’s souls and the forces of nature. Things got intense. I couldn’t handle it. My sister and I made the decision to leave so we packed our bags and headed for San Francisco one night.”
“Why did you go there?”
“A friend of my sisters moved to San Francisco after his two dads decided they wanted a more comfortable place to live. I knew his dads. They were cool. They took us in and helped us find jobs.”
“Wow, I had no idea. How was it living in San Francisco?”
“Nice. I enjoyed the break from Astoria. San Francisco’s huge, loads to see and do. There’s a huge Witch community out there also, bigger than back home.”
“This is the second time you’ve mentioned a Witch community. Why are there no Witches out here?”
“I don’t know, but I think it has to do with ley lines and places of power. They go wherever the Currents are strongest.”
“I’d say they’re pretty strong out here from what I’ve seen.”
“Yeah, I don’t think this place has come up on anyone’s radar yet.” Damien paused. “Don’t we need firewood?”
I shook my head. “Nope, we’ve got plenty in the basement. So, do you call yourself a Warlock or a Witch? I haven’t asked yet.”
We kept moving through the forest, toward the river. “Do you know what the word Warlock means? Where it comes from?” asked Damien.
I grinned. “You realize we’re in the same class, right?”
“I do.”
“The word was given to sorcerers in the past. It translates to ‘oathbreaker’ in Old English.”
“I don’t think the title applies to me.”
“Because you keep your promises?”
“Exactly, and because I’m not a Warlock. I’m a Witch.”
“Evan calls himself a Warlock.”
A sly smirk spread across Damien’s lips.
“What?” I asked, smiling.
“How’d you get into Witchcraft?”
“Technically Eliza brought me into the Craft. I was afraid to tell my parents because of what they might think. My dad would’ve had a fit. But my mom found out one day and nearly made me cry with how supportive she was. She took me into the attic and showed me all of her stuff. She’d been Wiccan for years. She’d just been hiding it from all of us, especially my dad.”
“Was your dad a staunch Catholic or something?”
“My dad is an Atheist, but whatever. Each to their own.”
We came to within earshot of the river. The waters flowed quickly in this area, but still not quick enough to cause a ruckus. When we stepped to the riverbank we were greeted by a blanket of mist concealing the entire length and breadth of the Geordie River.
“Jesus,” I said, gaping at the puffy white fog, “I swear there’s a river there.”
Damien smiled. “I’m sure it hasn’t gone anywhere.”
“Say I believe you,” I said, “About everything. About being a Witch.”
“You still don’t believe?”
“Oh, trust me; I want this to be true more than anything.”
“It is. Every strange thing that’s happened to you is because you’re a Witch; because you attract change and weirdness.”
I stared into Damien’s eyes. “Then show me something,” I said, “Show me anything. I know I believe what you’re saying, I can feel it, but I have to see it.”
Damien’s hand rose to meet my face. A raging monster replaced my heart and thrashed around inside my chest. His cold fingers grazed the warm skin of my cheek. When he turned my head toward the river my jaw dropped. I heard a whisper. The blanket of fog covering the Geordie parted as if by an invisible hand, revealing the trickling stream beneath.
“How… did you do that?” I asked.
“I thought it,” said Damien. He slowly removed his hand and I regained the ability to breathe
“Can your sister do that too?” I asked.
“My sister’s a much more powerful Witch than I am.”
“Can I meet her?”
Damien fell silent. His mouth opened but no words formed.
“Damien?” I cautiously asked.
“My sister’s dead,” he said.
My hands rushed to my mouth to contain the gasp.
“Oh my God,” I said, “Damien, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay.” He swallowed hard. I could see him fighting with his feelings.
“Is she the girl? The one they found in the river?” I asked.
A pool of glistening liquid forming at Damien’s eyes signaled the fall of his epic composure. In an instant I glimpsed a kind of vulnerability I thought lost in all men. Tears fell and his lip quivered, but he bravely f
ought the rush of emotion visibly trying to break out of his skin.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. Throwing care into the wind, struggling with my impulse to make calculated decisions, I hugged him tightly. “You should have just told me.”
“I wanted to,” he said, wrapping his arms around my back, “But this is the kind of thing that’ll ruin a person’s day.”
By now my own eyes also threatened to fill up and spill over. “Damien, it’s okay. We’re friends. You can talk to me.” I tried to pull away but Damien held me more tightly.
“The bracelet,” said Damien, “The one you found. It’s hers.”
“What?” I asked. All manner of color drained from my face.
“I don’t know how it wound up in the river, but the bracelet is hers. I know it is.”
We separated from our embrace. “How do you know?” I asked.
“Because she called me one night, told me something bad had happened and she wasn’t feeling great. I made it for her and sent it in the mail.”
“Damien,” I raised my hand and started to peel the bracelet off, “I can’t keep this.”
“No,” said Damien, quickly stopping me and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I think she wanted you to find it. I’ve been wondering why you’re the one who found the bracelet and why you’ve been wearing it but… I don’t know.”
“If this belonged to your sister I can’t—”
“Amber, please. Don’t.” Damien stared at me with seriousness in his eyes. “If she wanted you to have it then I want you to have it as well.”
I nodded and rubbed my cooling arms.
“It’s getting cold out,” said Damien, wiping his eyes with his forearm. “We should head back.”
I nodded and lead the way.
Damien’s face had lost its brightness. I reached for his hand and took it, then led him back up the path toward the house. By the time we reached the tree line the fog had returned to consume the trickling stream and I wondered if I’d imagined it all.
CHAPTER 18
That night, before bed, I said a prayer for Damien’s sister—Lilith Colt—during my own quiet veneration of Mabon. I couldn’t believe I’d been so casually discussing her with Eliza the other day. The thought made me go cold inside. I couldn’t sleep. Like a twitchy child, every couple of hours I’d wake and find trouble getting back down.
Then I remembered the bracelet, my dip in the river, the Raven and even the strange way Damien came into my life. I don’t believe in coincidences and I’m not superstitious. Fate truly does have a habit of interconnecting things. But Fate doesn’t dwell on these connections, nor does it need to worry about getting enough rest.
I’m not sure how much sleep I’d gotten by the time the early birds came to warn of daybreak’s approach. I sat up straight, rubbed my eyes, and slipped out of bed. The fog was gone and a fresh layer of dew congealed on the window. The faintest hint of sunlight filtered through the trees. Even through the closed window a sweet scent of wet morning flowers found its way in to greet me. I drank it in and smiled.
Figuring myself to be the only person awake given the quietness of the house, I wrapped myself up in a thick grey robe, stepped into some fluffy boot slippers, and crept my way to the kitchen.
“Coffee,” I said to myself, “Wait, no… can I have coffee?” Today was Mabon. We were meant to eat off the earth.
I opened the cupboards and looked for something to wake up with but found only an assortment of teas; green, lemon, mint, herbal and even English style. I put the kettle to boil, dropped a packet of green tea into a mug and unlocked the back door to the orchard while I waited.
Stepping outside I expected a fresh morning breeze, leaves sweeping away and dropping from nearby rustling trees. Instead what I discovered outside were rich, saturated colors, strong and healthy. Red, ripe tomatoes; full green apples, more than I could count; lettuce heads, carrots, oranges. I stifled a gasp and took in the sight.
Did I imagine the dead orchard last night on my way back in with Damien? Or was it perhaps just so dark I didn’t see the fruits and vegetables waiting to be plucked from the earth? As little white flakes—dandelions, I think—floated down from on high I found no other explanation for the bountiful harvest in front of me. Mabon was here!
I rushed back into the house and summoned the others, returning with Eliza in tow draped in a dressing gown. She hugged me from behind and pressed her cheek against mine.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said.
“How did this even happen? We didn’t plant any crops!”
“Don’t try and explain it, Amber. We’ve been blessed.”
“I feel… like I could cry.”
“Then cry! This is the Goddess’ gift to us.”
Eliza let me go and stepped into the orchard barefoot and disappeared. I caught only the occasional hint of her pink robe fluttering between the bushes of apples and oranges. Damien and Evan arrived, halting their brisk advance at the door to the orchard. Evan slowly made his way into the wood, his eyes wide with utter bewilderment. Damien waited. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Damien?” I asked from a few feet away. “Aren’t you coming?”
I snapped his attention away from the colorful sight before him. He smiled and a wave of relief washed over me.
After retrieving a few baskets from the kitchen, the two of us began picking and plucking rich, ripe fruits and vegetables from out of the ground. Evan and Eliza, whom I caught, making out as dandelions fell on them, eventually joined in with baskets of their own.
None of us wanted to try and explain what had happened for fear of spoiling the magic. Instead we simply got to work picking it all up, but the yield was huge. It took all four of us us nearly an hour to transfer everything into the kitchen. The workout invigorated me. I even forgot all about the cup of green tea I was about to make.
Eliza came into the kitchen holding a single pomegranate. Damien, Evan and I stared at her cradling the fruit as if she were holding a baby.
“Don’t tell me that’s—”
“This is it, Amber. Proof that tonight the Dark Mother comes. We have to prepare.”
I smiled. “Blessed be, huh?”
“I’ll go set up the altar for tonight. You wash fruits and make sure this doesn’t break.”
Eliza spent the remainder of the morning buzzing around the house while the rest of us handled things in the kitchen. Damien was in charge of washing the reddest and ripest tomatoes you ever saw. Next to him, in the same long sink, I washed equally delicious looking lettuce heads while Evan took stock of exactly how much of what vegetables we had. The idea was that we’d give away what we didn’t eat, but we wanted to distribute the crop evenly.
“So, I never asked you,” said Damien.
“Hmm?” I asked, cocking my head.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
He seemed to have cheered up, so I decided to open myself to him. “No,” I said.
“Really?”
“Surprised?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“And why’s that?”
Damien smiled.
“Don’t want to answer that?” I asked.
“I don’t think I have to.”
“Is that so?” I smiled too.
“An intelligent, beautiful girl with a sick sense of humor and a natural redhead? A girl like you wouldn’t be single in San Francisco for long.”
A lettuce head slipped out of my hands and into the sink. Water got all over my shirt and arms.
“Sorry, shit, did I get you?”
“No,” said Damien with the cheekiest grin.
I hid my rosy red cheeks behind my hair and smiled as my composure returned.
“I used to have a boyfriend,” I said.
“Used to? What happened?”
“He cheated on me,” I said, “More than once.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I’m worse.”
“Why do you say that?�
�
I took a deep breath. “His name was Kyle,” I started, “We went out since high school. It started with an alright scene, y’know? But then I started to become an introvert, stopped going out with his friends, kind of retreated into myself. He cheated on me during this funk I was in.”
“You know that?”
“I suspected. Then I went to Europe after college. I asked him to come with me but he told me he didn’t have the money to go. A lie, since a few days after I left I heard he’d bought himself a car he wanted to fix up for about as much as his plane tickets would’ve cost. We still kept the relationship going while I was away. I’d call him whenever I have Wi-Fi access. When I got back I heard rumors about Kyle, his car, and some girls. Things got weird between us. We were together for six years, but when my parents left me my house Kyle didn’t want to move in with me because he said he liked his space.”
I wasn’t sure whether Damien’s drawn out exhalation was sympathetic, or whether he thought I was a moron for believing in Kyle, like I did. My hands trembled as time went on. More and more lettuce flakes found their way into the drain.
“The final straw was one night about six months ago. I went out with Eliza and he went out drinking with his friends. I got a text message when he was seen disappearing into the toilets with a girl I used to babysit.”
“Babysit?”
“She was seventeen. Point is she was young and pretty and I was weird. When I got the message my heart dropped. I made an excuse, ran home, went online and found a curse on him—because that was totally the way to deal with the problem.”
Damien stared on, glued to my words.
“I had terrible dreams that night, and for two more nights after; dreams of some… thing, stealing Kyle’s life force bit by bit. I heard from a friend of his about a week later Kyle hadn’t left his apartment, and when he was last seen he looked sick. I realized the gravity of what I’d done.
“What happened to him?” Damien asked.
He skipped town about two weeks after. It wasn’t until then I realized what damage I’d truly caused to his life.”
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