Wing Tang hurries over. He smiles enthusiastically at Sophia before looking at me. “The daughter of a Serene Lodge stakeholder became involved with Crowley, dabbled in things best left alone, and ended up having her soul cast into the Cauldron while a demonic force took her body. She, or should I say her body, spent the rest of its life in an asylum.”
“Her name wasn’t Charlotte, was it?” I ask.
Sophia gasps.
“No. Olivia or something similar,” says Asher. “The Serene Lodge naturally blamed Crowley, and by extension the Golden Dawn, and by further extension the Aurora Aurea—even though we had little to do with each other. Crowley was, at that point, a former member, having split off to form his own sect.”
“The Serenes are a somewhat darker group than us.” Keval cringes, shaking his head as if declining an offer of limburger cheese. “They mostly deal in summoning creatures of darkness. Demons, imps, bog faeries, undead, and so on. Our order is dedicated primarily to the search for knowledge and maintaining balance between the world of the mundane and the other.”
Leslie, who still gives off schoolteacher vibes, walks over to add herself to the conversation. “Some ways back, the Serene Lodge fools got it in their ’eads we wanted to become more powerful than them outta some sense of spite. For a while, our respective houses were like a couple neighbors tryin’ ta outdo each other with the grandiosity of their garden. Then the business wit’ Crowley happened, an’ fings got violent.”
“Are there more than two of them?” I ask, then explain what happened at the house.
These guys have been wound so tight with fear so long, my description of Klepto attacking Jacob the first time after de-pantsing him has everyone in tears. Keval and Rafi hit the floor. I’ve never seen anyone literally ‘ROFL’ before, but wow.
However, when I get to the part of Sophia summoning darkness—by the way, the dome faded out before our Uber showed up—they all stop laughing and stare at her in awe. A discussion ensues. She’s apparently potent, but not ridiculously so. Tweens often experience spikes in magical power, especially during moments of heightened emotion (like having an idiot point a shotgun at my face). They’re more impressed by her being a ‘spontaneous’ invoker or ‘true mystic,’ able to do magic by desiring something to happen without having to follow an established tradition of occultism or complex rituals.
The Seattle mystics already explained this to us. She can use rituals if she learns them, but doesn’t have to. Rituals are safer for the user and far less tiring, but can take hours to perform and require material components as well as the knowledge of how to do them. Any of Asher’s people could have summoned a similar dome of darkness, but it would have taken them like twenty minutes—if they could find the ‘spell’ to do it.
My kid sister jumps into the magical discussion.
While they start formulating a plan to deal with the spirit she set loose, I wander out of the room to the area by the bottom of the steps for some privacy, and call home. Gotta keep my promise to Mom. She and Dad both hop on the line, as well as Sierra and Sam (who are sharing a phone upstairs in the parents’ bedroom). I explain another group of mystics took Sophia not to hurt her, but to keep her sidelined long enough for the spectral killer to finish off the first group of mystics who originally dragged us to London. Oh, and I also mention Sophia talked me into helping them deal with the wraith.
My mother would probably be somewhat less upset if I said I’d sold Sophia to the circus and planned to join a group of traveling mimes to spend the rest of my life roaming across Europe. It wouldn’t be accurate to categorize our resulting conversation as an argument, more me trying to convince her my initial opinion on the danger to Sophia’s life was overstated.
Before Mom completely goes thermonuclear, I blurt the story of Klepto yoinking Jacob’s pants and going after ‘the mouse.’ Dad’s having trouble breathing. Mom is horrified Sophia saw a man’s junk until I clarify she’d been locked in a vault at the time. Then, she’s horrified those two locked Sophia in a vault.
“I’m not sure how long this is going to take. Asher believes Sophia can slap this ghost around like no big deal. Maybe another day or two,” I say.
“Good grief, Sarah. Christmas is coming up. You absolutely must be home before the twenty-fourth,” yells Mom.
“Believe me. I want to be. If, for whatever reason, we’re not done by then, I’m going to demand they send us home for Christmas. They wouldn’t do it before because they wanted us to help them, but if we promise to come back after…”
Mom exhales.
“You’ll probably need to do some mental tinkering at the school so they forget about Sophia missing days,” says Dad.
“Jonathan…” Mom pauses. “You really are spending too much time in front of your computer. The kids are on break until after New Year’s.”
“Oh.” Dad chuckles. “Easy then.”
“Sare?” yells Sophia from the other room. “C’mere.”
I glance at the doorway. “Let me go. Sounds like we’re ready to roll. I’ll call or text as soon as I have more information.”
Mom emits a strangled noise of frustration. “All right, dear. But dammit. The next time you’re going to get abducted to a foreign country, you damn well better ask permission first.”
“Umm, Mom? You should probably take a nap. It wouldn’t be an ‘abduction’ if I planned to go.”
Dad stifles a laugh. “Stay safe, hon.”
“Doing my best. Talk to you guys soon.” I sigh, hit the end call button, and head back to the ritual room, phone still in hand.
The mystics plus Sophia stand in a group, all looking at me.
“We have a slight problem,” says Asher. “Sophia doesn’t know how to banish a spirit.”
I smirk. “You’re shocked? She’s ten and hasn’t had any real training.”
He smiles. “Yes, I understand. We have taught her the means by which she can destroy the spirit, but she refuses to eliminate this abomination despite his evil. She wants to usher him back to the Cauldron.”
“The man got eviler from being in the jar,” says Sophia. “He should’a gone back to the Cauldron when they hanged him.”
“I’m inclined to agree with the child,” says Keval. “Souls belong in continuous rotation. To disrupt the process is to defy the very workings of the Universe.”
That’s me. Girl Disrupted. “What about vampires? My soul’s not going anywhere any time soon.”
“Delays are not the same thing as destruction.” Keval traces a big circle in the air with both hands. “Believe it or not, the soul jar is a more disruptive situation than your vampirism. All living—or unliving—things eventually meet their end. When they do, their souls return to the source. What my dear friend Asher is advocating is a break in the cycle, not merely a delay.”
“As a result of her interaction with the soul jar, Sophia does have the ability to banish the spirit.” Anna pats her on the head. “However, opening spirit doors is not something one often learns so soon along their path. While it might be possible she could stumble across the proper alignment of energies, the chance of her doing something accidental is too high.”
I look at my sister. She’s wearing the same sort of uneasy smile she did right before asking Mom if Klepto could stay. Her lack of freaking out tells me we’re not looking at a ‘you have no choice but to destroy him’ scenario.
“What’s the problem?” I ask. “I sense you’re all sneaking up on me with something.”
And wow, does this feel strange. It’s like being Mom, right before Sophia asked if she could keep the kitten. All these mystics, grown adults except for Mandy—who’s my age—are fidgeting about to ask my permission.
And I thought becoming a vampire odd.
“He’s been punished enough.” Sophia widens her cheesy smile. “I hated being locked in the vault for half a day. Even if he was a bad guy, he was stuck in a tiny space alone for hundreds of years. Can we please help him move on?”
“Assuming, of course, it is possible,” says Asher.
Sophia looks down. “Yes. If there’s no other choice, I’ll dispel him. He’s already dead. Everyone here is alive. It’s wrong to let him kill you.”
“Okay, so why is everyone looking at me like you’re about to ask me to do something I’m going to say no to? Does this involve selling my sister to the circus?”
A few of them chuckle. Sophia furrows her brow, confused.
“No.” Asher smiles. “None of us have the requisite knowledge of spirit doors to pass along to her. There is one who does, an elder mystic out in Gwynedd who should be able to help.”
“Spending centuries in a jar is enough punishment,” says Sophia. “Well… and being executed.”
“Sophia has agreed to help stop Fletcher Maltby, but her price is we accept her decision not to destroy him entirely if at all possible.” Wing fidgets. “We are not in any position to argue, so we will do whatever we can to help her accomplish her goal the way she’s made up her mind to. As long as the wraith is no longer a threat to us, we don’t care if he’s destroyed or passed on.”
Asher raises a finger. “On the condition the elder is able to give her the necessary teaching. If she does not know the means, is unable to teach her, or refuses, Sophia will do what is necessary.”
My sister clasps her hands in front of herself and looks down. “They already showed me the spell to destroy a spirit. It feels icky.”
“Hold on.” I point at Asher. “Did you guys teach her necromancy?”
“No.” Asher ruffles Sophia’s hair. “Your sister is such a tender soul, the mere idea of permanent destruction bothers her.”
I let a sigh of relief slide out my nostrils. “Yeah. She is a bit squishy.”
24
The Obligatory Hermit Mentor
Great. I’m in one of my dad’s Eighties movies.
You know the ones, where the hero needs to find some ancient old wizard who lives out at the butt crack end of nowhere? Yeah. It’s like that. Why do the people with all the knowledge always live far away from everything? It’s almost like once someone figures out how things work, they want nothing to do with other people.
Asher and the other mystics are afraid to leave their bookstore, much less drive the entire width of the British Isle. Theresa Bromfield, said reclusive elder, lives in Gwynedd, which is in Wales. It’s something like 200-250 miles away as the crow flies. Only a complete fool would get into a car and attempt to drive such a long distance—much of it on winding country roads—when there’s a spirit out there who can kill a person by redirecting pigeons.
I’ve programmed a navigation point in my phone for a seemingly random spot in the forest southwest of a town called Betwys-y-Coed (sounds like Bet-wiss a coyd) a bit west of the River Conwy. (Asher pronounced it like ‘Conooie’.)
Carrying Sophia on my back while flying from dance class to home, no big deal. Going 250 miles, on the other hand, is a bit different. Wing risks his life to run out and pick up a motorcycle helmet in her size. Fortunately, no pianos fell out of the sky and crushed his car on the way. He also bought two harnesses like rock climbers wear, hooking them together with carabiners. Sophia’s not only wearing a dress, but a winter coat down to her knees… awkward. However, she doesn’t really need to secure the thigh straps. She won’t be hanging like dead weight off me. All we need is some added protection against a slip.
As soon as it’s dark enough for me to go online, we ‘suit up.’ I put on the larger harness. Leslie helps Sophia into hers, securing it on over her winter coat. She also gives my sister a pair of mittens and a scarf since we’ll be traveling fast and high. Not sure how much help the scarf is since the motorcycle helmet squishes it all the way down off her face. I crouch so they can hook the two carabiners on, then stand.
It’s not exactly comfortable on the ground, since Sophia’s feet dangle a few inches off the floor. With my vampiric abilities active, her weight is as negligible as a balloon. I’m literally wearing my sister as a backpack. She reaches around and grabs the harness straps in front of me, seeming content. Klepto opts for the safety of a zippered pocket on her coat.
“Okay. Here we go. Wish us luck,” I say. “Ready, Soph?”
“Can I say yes and no?”
“A totally valid answer.” I go out the bookstore’s rear door into a narrow alley containing trash cans and stray cats. The only other living things here won’t care about seeing people fly. Or at least, won’t be able to tell anyone they did.
I zip into the air, borrowing Simone’s trick of going straight up to about 1,500 feet before veering laterally. Sophia’s weight shifts from hanging to laying on top of me. She squeezes me so tight I’m glad breathing is an illusion. My purse is sitting this one out at the bookstore both to reduce drag as well as stop me from losing it.
My kid sister wearing a motorcycle helmet allows me to go as fast as I can, 143 MPH according to the navigation app on my phone, without risk of hurting her or causing facial frostbite. I’m not too worried about dropping the phone, since at this altitude, I should be able to catch it before it crashes into the ground. A hard dive and swoop might result in Sophia throwing up, but it’s much easier to shower than buy a new phone.
Wind racing past us on top of the helmet muting her voice dissuades Sophia from trying to talk in the air. She clings to me, her body stiff, muscles tensed. Maybe twenty minutes into the flight, she relaxes enough to get fidgety. From then on, she keeps repositioning her legs from straight together, around me, and even sorta-riding on my back like I’m a high-end Japanese motorcycle.
A little shy of two hours later, we’re above Wales. I slow to a hover when my phone tells me we’ve arrived at the GPS dot and gaze around at miles and miles of unbroken trees below us. Obviously, a hermetic old mystic’s home isn’t going to show up on Google Maps. Nothing for me to do but go down there and hunt, so I descend to a couple hundred feet and begin a spiral search pattern. I’m surprised at how close to accurate Asher’s coordinates turn out to be. My hyper sensitive eyes pick up a scrap of light in the woods maybe a quarter mile away from where I start.
I stuff the phone in my pocket and head for the glow, gliding down until we’re skimming above the treetops.
The light’s coming from the window of a small cabin deep in the woods.
“It’s so dark here,” says Sophia.
“Do you see the window up there?”
“Kinda. Is that the place?”
“How many old witches could possibly live out here?”
She laughs. “Since you asked, there’s gonna be a ton of them.”
I slow to a hover and sink straight down into the branches until I’m on solid ground. Sophia swishes her legs back and forth, waving her arms and pretending to be stuck to me. Hah. I squat so her feet touch the dirt. She unclamps the carabiners and pulls her helmet off.
“Ack. It’s cold,” says Sophia, her breath fogging.
“You’re just noticing now?”
“The helmet was warm. My face is freezing.” She pulls the scarf up to her eyes.
“C’mon.” I take her by the hand and hike through the woods toward the cabin.
When we’re about a three-car-driveway length away, the door opens, revealing the silhouette of a woman with a long ponytail in a dress. It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the light behind her and lift the shadow from her form. She’s gotta be in her seventies, and doesn’t look happy to see me. I’m guessing the giant crossbow isn’t her usual response to Jehovah’s Witnesses or aggressive girl scouts trying to push Samoas and Thin Mints.
“Mae hynny’n ddigon agos,” says the woman.
“Uhh, bless you.”
“You’re close enough.” She shuts her left eye, sighting over the bolt at me. “Unless ya want a witchwood quarrel in your heart, don’t take another step.”
“No,” yells Sophia. “Don’t shoot her.”
The woman appears surprised to hear a child’s vo
ice. She looks back and forth around me, squinting. I get the feeling she can’t see Sophia. Maybe I’m glowing to her. A flash appears atop the crossbow as Klepto teleports to stand on it, then sits back on her haunches. “Mew.”
“What the…?”
Klepto—and the quarrel—vanish.
“I’m not here to harm you. We need your help,” I say. “Are you Theresa Bromfield?”
“Aye, but you fiends’ll find no help from me this night. Whatever foul reason you’ve brought a little child here, you heard wrong. I’ll not be helpin’ ya sacrifice a lamb.”
“That’s speciesist.” I frown. “You’re making vast generalizations about the morality and attitude of an entire class of beings.”
The woman stares at me like I’m an idiot.
“And Sophia’s not here to be sacrificed. I’ll rip the head off anyone who tries to hurt her. We’ve sought you out in hopes you may be able to teach her something.” Gah. I’ve played too much Skyrim.
“My sister’s not a fiend,” says Sophia. “I need to stop a bad spirit from killing more people. I don’t want to destroy him. Asher Jones said you can show me how to open a spirit door.”
“Asher sent you?” calls Theresa, a note of skepticism in her voice.
“Yes.” I approach until we’re both standing in the light leaking out the cabin’s door. “This is my actual sister. Asher showed her a means to destroy this ghost, but she’d rather help him return to the Cauldron. If you can’t or won’t help, we’ll be on our way.”
“Please!” Sophia bounces on her toes. “I don’t wanna destroy anyone, even if he is kinda bad.”
Tendons in the old woman’s neck twitch in response. “Wait there.” She goes inside, leaving the door open. A moment later, she returns and throws a small glass bottle to/at me.
I catch it. The more or less spherical flask is about the size of a racquetball, flat on one face, a narrow neck sticking out the opposite side, plugged by a cork. It appears to hold iced tea. Or at least a liquid the same shade of brown. At least it’s not whiskey. I’d smell it despite the cork.
Vampire Innocent (Book 9): An Introduction To Paranormal Diplomacy Page 22
