Prophecy

by C. Marie Bowen

  No time.

  She grasped a new nail with her third finger. As blood ran down her arm, she pounded in the last nail.

  She lit a fire in the fireplace, and tossed clove and pine into the fire, saying a prayer to the Goddess for protection against the coming evil. She knelt on the floor before the hearth and repeated the prayer. The magic glow began in the fire. “Good,” she whispered, and grinned.

  She pulled one of the smoldering sticks free and made sure no burning ember clung to the smoking wood. Only charred wood would accomplish her purpose. Carefully, as she continued to chant her prayer, Chantal drew a rune of protection on each pane of glass and door in the house. She smudged each satchel as well, tying all the protection back to herself by smudging the same rune on the back of her left hand. That task completed, she returned the blackened brand to the fireplace and offered her thanks. Next, she turned to the furniture.

  She leaned her weight against the sofa and pushed with all her strength. “Move for me, you heavy...” She grunted. It slid beneath the window. The rest of the furnishings moved easily, and she cleared the center of the floor. She tossed cushions and pillows into the empty space and arranged them in a circle. The two largest cushions faced the door. She placed the bowl with the bag of salt inside the circle of cushions.

  She turned to her altar, one that Bayard had built for her several years ago. It had been constructed in two pieces and allowed her to remove the top from the base. She cleared the decorated altar, carried the upper part into the center of the room, and leveled the four corners on two large cushions. When the altar felt secure, she covered the table and cushions with an altar cloth she had made. The satin cloth displayed a pentacle stitched into the middle.

  Chantal walked through the house and gathered everything she would require in a small woven basket, and then stepped into the circle of pillows and knelt before her altar.

  It took several moments to calm her spirit. Her shattered nail pulsed in time with her rapid heartbeat. From the basket, she withdrew one of five colored candles. She held each, in turn, in the air. “Red for fire.” The flames in the fireplace flared as she placed the enchanted wax in the pentacle’s lower right corner. “Blue for water.” With the candle held high, water drops ran down her arms as she lowered it to the pentacle’s upper right tip. She placed the green candle for earth and a yellow candle for air. Wind circled the scent of pine from inside the closed off room. Her hair blew as she lifted the final candle. “White for the Goddess, the spirit within us all.” As she placed the final candle, a tingle ran across her scalp.

  Next, she retrieved the small cauldron to hold her spent matches and an athame, her ceremonial knife. Finally, she took out three photographs, one of Alyse, one of her boys, and one they had taken as a family in Toronto two years ago. She sat those in the center of the pentacle where she would have normally placed her grimoire.

  As she worked, darkness had stolen the light from beyond the windows.

  Time, I need more time.

  Chantal closed her eyes and took a calming breath. As she released air, she concentrated on her internal balance, the center of herself. The next spell required full focus, and her nerves played havoc with her senses.

  He’s coming and soon.

  Chantal couldn’t cast a ward and lay the protective circle until the fight was about to begin. Once she was bound to the ring, food and water would be out of her reach. Chantal ground her teeth. I’ll need every drop of strength to fight this devil.

  Instead, she invoked the quarters and cast her personal protection spell. The circle would come last, if she had time.

  Chantal struck a match and whispered to the flame.

  “Spirits of the East, I call you.

  Attend me, Elements of Air.

  Hold me in your protection and offer me

  The breath of life and transformation.

  Guard this body and let it not be defiled

  By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”

  She lit the yellow candle and dropped the match into the cauldron, and then she struck another match.

  “Spirits of the South, I call you.

  Attend me, Elements of Fire.

  Hold me in your protection and offer me

  The light that banishes darkness

  Guard this body and let it not be defiled

  By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”

  Chantal lit the red candle and dropped the match into the cauldron.

  The wind picked up outside, and an unspeakable urgency assailed Chantal. She struck another match and spoke quickly.

  “Spirits of the West, I call you.

  Attend me, Elements of Water.

  Hold me in your protection and offer me

  The cleansing rain that replenishes the earth.

  Guard this body and let it not be defiled

  By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”

  Chantal lit the blue candle, dropped the match, and struck another.

  “Spirits of the North, I call you.

  Attend me, Elements of Earth.

  Hold me in your protection and offer me

  The strength of stone to compel my purpose

  Guard this body and let it not be defiled

  By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”

  She lit the green candle, dropped the match, and struck another.

  “God and Goddess, be welcome in my home,

  Lord and Lady, in all aspects of your creation

  Hold me in your protection and offer me

  The reborn spirit of my father,

  And the loving embrace of my mother,

  Guard this body and let it not be defiled

  By the evil that shall soon stand at my door.”

  Chantal lit the white candle and dropped the match.

  The glow from the candles did not extend to the dark corners of the room, but she feared nothing there. She took up the knife, just as what sounded like hail began to beat against the front windows. From the light of her candles, she could see grasshoppers, rather than hail, threw themselves at the glass.

  The demon had arrived.

  Without hesitation, she ran the edge of the sharpened blade through the fire of the white candle, and then held the tip to her forearm and carved the runic symbol against evil and possession into her skin.

  “Protect me, threefold Goddess

  From the evil of possession.

  Do not allow this body

  To be used against those I love.”

  Taking the blade in her left hand, she carved the same symbol again into her right forearm.

  “Protect me, Father of life and rebirth,

  From the evil of possession.

  Do not allow this body

  To be used against those I love.”

  Chantal sat the blade down and listened to the wind and rain outside. She closed her eyes and visualized the protective weave of power that ran from each rune and satchel throughout her house, held tethered to her left hand.

  The fire still burned in the fireplace, and she called on the element of fire with her right hand to light all the lamps in the house.

  Outside, a chorus of howls changed to wild yipping.

  Coyotes.

  Chantal came to her feet and picked up the salt bag from the bowl. She walked clockwise and chanted the protection spell for her circle as she drew a line of salt on the outside of the circle of pillows, which included her altar and candles. She set the empty salt bag in its bowl and turned to face the door.

  The yipping howls grew closer.

  A flutter of wings in the chimney, then a half-dozen bats flew into the fire, knocking cinders onto the floor. Two bats made it through and flew at her head. Chantal cast out her right hand, and their wings burst into flames. They fell and flopped along the floor for a moment, then, they were still.

  The sound of breaking glass in Alyse's bedroom startled her, and she tugged the protective lines of power in her hand
—tested them. The glass had broken, but the ward still held.

  The front door began to vibrate in its frame, so hard and fast, the edges hummed. Then the bolt gave way and the door splintered and blew open. Wind and rain rushed into the house. Several lamps fell over and went out. The altar candles burned steady, as though the wind could not penetrate Chantal’s protective circle.

  Through the open door, she could see the coyotes circle the yard in the rain. One of them jumped at the front door, but was stopped by the weave of the protection spell. The coyote dropped dead just outside the door, its fur singed and its eyes white. A chorus of howls went up.

  How many are out there?

  She had thought to face a single demon, not a host.

  She stood and squared her shoulders toward the door, legs braced as if for a blow. Her left hand held the protective weave, her right hand ready to cast in battle.

  She heard Acorn scream once, then a yip of pain. A moment later, Acorn walk past the front door as the rain soaked his coat. The horse turned its head and looked at Chantal, and a gleam of fire reflected in her eyes.

  “Oh, no,” Chantal muttered.

  I’m sorry, Acorn.

  The horse ambled out of sight. Moments later, a pounding began against the wall of Bayard's room. The demon inside Acorn would try to kick down the wall.

  Another coyote rushed the front door and flopped dead next to the first one. Again, the baying went up in the yard, but to Chantal, it sounded like laughter.

  The pounding of hooves against the wall stopped, and for a few seconds all she could hear outside was the rain. She gasped as a shadow passed before the window. The low sound of boots on the wooden step, toe to heel, echoed through the open door.

  A man stood in the doorway. He wore a long raincoat with a shoulder cape and a drooping felt hat. He looked familiar, but in the darkness of the stoop, she couldn't tell who he was. When he raised his head to look at her, she recognized the miller's son, but he was the miller’s son no longer.

  “Hello, Chantal. I see you’ve been expecting us.” It grinned and reached out a hand against the protective magic at the door and nodded. “Very nice. We’re all impressed with your skill. But you aren't the one we were promised, are you?” He tilted his head and searched her eyes. “No, you’re not. But you’re close—family, then?” An evil grin split his face. “Your daughter? Or your son, perhaps?” He stepped back from the door. His gaze locked with hers. The flicker of her candles reflected in its dark eyes.

  “It’s only a matter of time, Chantal. You know that. I’ll have you and your power, and I’ll know who you’re protecting.” He chuckled. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  His laughter sent a shiver down Chantal's back, as the yipping howls took up their chorus again, and Acorn began kicking the wall.

  Her fortress had become a trap, but she knew it would. She needed to hold him here as long as she could, to give her children time to escape.

  The repetitive sound of Acorn’s hammering hooves became soporific—almost hypnotic. As soon as the thought occurred to her she lifted her head.

  The demon stood at the door and grinned at her, and the yipping resumed in the yard. “Well, it was worth a try, don't you think?” he said conversationally and stepped down into the yard. He spun around and looked at Chantal through the doorway and the pouring rain. Then threw up his hands.

  All the glass in the house shattered. Chantal cried out as glass from the front windows littered the floor outside of her pillows. The head of a dead elk rested across the window's broken sill. Above the animal, the white satchel swung precariously, and then fell.

  Over the body of the elk came a coyote. It hurled itself directly at her face, and she threw fire from her hand at its head. It fell writhing to the floor. Two more leapt through but vanished into the darkness. A third came over the elk and jumped at her. It died in fire beside the first.

  A scratching sound on the floor drew Chantal's attention away from the window, and she saw one of the coyotes pawing at the salt circle, trying to break it. She threw an arc of fire at the animal, but it disappeared down the hallway with a yip.

  The sound of Acorn's kicking stopped. Into the room, from Bayard's bedroom, came a rumba of rattlers. They slithered along the salt circle, dispersing it as they wove back and forth around her.

  She felt the weave of protection break as a coyote ran past with a white satchel in its mouth. Then came the sharp piercing pain of a bite on her ankle, followed by one on her calf. All the snakes were inside the circle of cushions. Another rattler sank its fangs into her thigh.

  As she turned to her altar, the demon grabbed her by the throat and held her still.

  “You see, Chantal. That didn't take very long at all.”

  With a thought, Chantal ignited the kerosene.

  The open containers set strategically around the house were placed under beds, near curtains or surrounded by oily rags. In moments, flames licked up the side of the walls and crawled along the spilled oil from the overturned lamps. A whoosh of air, drawn into the house by Chantal detonated the blaze.

  *.*.*

  Morago

  Unable to possess Chantal's body due to the runes carved on her arms, Morago snapped her neck, then put his mouth over hers and inhaled sharply, sucking her soul, abilities, and mind into his arsenal.

  He let her broken body fall across her altar.

  The flames fully engulfed the house as Morago strolled out the front door, but he controlled the fire now, and it didn’t harm him.

  As he stepped into the yard, he twisted to look at the farmhouse. Laughing, he raised his hands, drawing the flames higher in jubilation.

  I search for twin girls. I’ll find them in the town of Boston.

  Chapter 15

  Nichole Harris-Shilo

  The next morning, Merril helped Nichole dress in the brown skirt and jacket she’d worn the day before. She pulled on her riding boots while Merril stepped outside to speak with Tom.

  The sun broke over the horizon as Nichole closed the hotel door behind her and greeted Tom.

  While Merril listened to Tom plan the ride, he secured their saddlebags.

  “We can make it to The Shilo by tonight.” Tom tightened the cinch, dropped the stirrup, and mounted. “We’ll stop halfway, and again at your branding site. Unless you want to go by way of Kiowa Crossing.”

  Merril helped Nichole climb onto her sidesaddle. He straightened her skirt over her boots and gave her leg a pat. “No. I would rather head toward The Shilo. I know you and I can make the ride, Tom, but Nicki’s not use to being in the saddle. We’ll need to rest more, maybe stop for the night.”

  “Let's try to get as far as we can.” Nichole understood the urgency Merril felt to return home and take care of his brother and The Shilo.

  “You’ll let me know if we need to stop?” Merril confirmed, looking up at Nichole.

  She opened her parasol and set it on her shoulder. “Of course.”

  They stopped the first time at the campsite Amy had pointed out as the halfway point. Tom had packed a lunch for them and took care of the horses as Nichole finished off a second piece of fried chicken.

  Merril tossed a cleaned chicken bone into the weeds. “How are you doing?”

  “My back aches and my rear end feels flat, but I’m doing better than I thought.”

  “Good.” He gave her a sympathetic nod. “You’ll tell me if you need another break.”

  “I will.” Nichole cast a bone into the tall grass behind her and stood. “I’m going to stretch a bit more before we head out.”

  They stopped again at The Shilo branding site. Quite a few head of cattle ranged nearby, but there wasn’t a wrangler within shouting distance.

  Tom pulled his mount beside Merril. “Do you find this odd?”

  “More than odd.” Merril nodded toward the branding fire. “Those irons should be back at the ranch. It’s as though the wranglers mounted up and lit out at a moment’s notice.” Me
rril’s gaze found Nichole. “How are you doing?”

  Nichole forced a smile and nodded. “I’m all right. Ready to be done with the ride, but I’ll make it. Are we stopping here?”

  “I’d like to keep going, if you think you can. The Shilo is less than an hour from here.”

  “I can. Let’s go.” When Merril turned away, Nichole cringed. Her back ached from her hips to her neck, and her legs and rump had gone numb.

  They arrived at the Shilo late in the day. The empty bunkhouse cast a long shadow across the yard. They pulled rein near the corral and sat in the empty silence.

  “Where is everyone?” Nichole pondered as she watched Merril dismount. The bunkhouse door caught her attention as it swung back and forth, abandoned in the summer breeze.

  Tom dismounted while Merril moved to help Nichole from her mount. He held her weight as she got her legs under her and moaned when cramped muscles stretched.

  Tom gathered the reins to the three horses, saw to their immediate need, and then turned them loose in the corral.

  Nichole followed Merril onto the porch.

  He paused at the doorway. “You should wait out here.” Merril loosened the silk scarf around his neck.

  “Why? What do you think you'll find?”

  “I'm not sure. Doc wouldn’t have buried Kevin without me here. I think Kevin’s body will be inside. Maybe Renata’s as well.”

  Nichole stepped to the library window, put her hand to the glass and peered inside.

  The window looked as though it had been blackened on the inside with paint, and then she realized the blackness moved. She jerked her head back and let out a sound of disgust.

  “What?” Both Merril and Tom voiced, as Tom followed them up onto the porch.

  “Flies.” Nichole shivered and moved back. “Thousands and thousands of flies.”

  Both men peered through the flies on the library window.

  “The door is closed.” Tom looked to Merril.