“Sisters?” Claire laughed, releasing Moira, but keeping her strong body in between the two.
“Savages is more like it.” Tierra glared at them. “Moira’s right, this book didn’t just show up for no reason.” Carefully, she peeled the book away from her chest and looked down at the tattered pages bordered with intricate knots.
“I don’t know,” Claire cautioned. “Seems like when anyone starts reading out of a creepy old book that shows up out of nowhere in the movies, bad things happen. Things like people getting limbs hacked off, or possessed. Maybe we should be careful.”
Aerin wasn’t certain the book had just shown up. Though, it did seem out of place in this orderly, black and white room. She’d been too out of it to remember anything that may have been there before. This wasn’t her house. “Are you sure that book wasn’t there before? Couldn’t someone have put it in this room when you weren’t home?”
Tierra shook her head, though her eyes were skimming the pages in front of her. “It wasn’t here when we brought you into this room only minutes ago, and then it appeared after you woke up.”
“Like, out of thin air.” Claire nodded.
Aerin narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t fucking believe this.” Meaning, she didn’t believe in this. She was an agnostic tech-scientist with two doctorates and a growing corporation. These women we’re talking about impossible things. Fantasy. Make-believe. They were alluding to a word that had always danced with Aerin, and she’d always shoved it aside.
Magic.
“You are all delusional,” she said, making a swipe for her bag as it was no longer blocked by the freaky book. “I don’t know what you gave me in that coffee shop, but I’m not sticking around to see what happens next.”
Tierra whispered a few words and flicked her fingers, locking the bolt on the bedroom door from across the room.
Simultaneously, Claire waved her hand, and a fire flared in the white marble fireplace, fueled by absolutely nothing.
Moira’s trick was taking the water from the glass and drenching her with it, but at this point, Aerin was too awe-struck to be pissed off.
Though as she swiped at the water dripping from her chin, she reminded herself to be pissed off later.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Tierra ordered. “I worked that spell to call you all here because I knew we were supposed to be together. That we were not complete until we found each other and fulfilled our purpose, our destiny, as a family. And I was right. This book proves it.”
She turned the book to face them, and Aerin could only make out the title, written in the strange scrawls of middle English where the ‘S’ looked like a cursive ‘F’ and the ‘U’ looked like a ‘V’. She’d studied all kinds of linguistics in college, and recognized it right away.
The Doomsday Prophecy, it read. The Second Coming of the Four.
Tierra settled it back into her palms, facing her. “Now shut up and listen long enough for us to figure out just what the hell is going on.”
Aerin felt shaky, and her legs were grateful to be relieved of her weight as she sank to the edge of the bed and was almost simultaneously joined by Claire. Moira remained standing, but leaned against the bedpost with her arms crossed beneath her breasts. All of them stared at Tierra, whose face became more dramatic and animated with every movement of her jade eyes across the pages.
“Well,” Moira finally broke the silence.
“It’s kind of…a letter,” Tierra breathed.
“From who?” Claire asked.
“From a man—a king—named Malcolm de Moray. It’s dated just about a thousand years ago...” She drifted off.
“Well, hell, woman you gonna tell us what it says?” Moira drawled. “Or at least who it’s for?”
Tierra mouthed a few words that Aerin didn’t catch, but she could feel the waves of overwhelming disbelief underscored by excitement and anxiety emanating from the gypsy.
“I think…” Her eyes skimmed a little lower, and then she lifted them, touching each of the sisters with her wide, astonished gaze. “I think it’s written to us.”
Chapter Six
“How is that possible?” Aerin puzzled, finally summoning the strength to include herself. “How could a man who lived a thousand years ago know that we were going to exist?”
Claire’s leather jacket creaked a bit with her sultry shrug. “If it’s a prophecy, then it makes sense.”
“What are you talking about?” Aerin asked, sweeping her hand through her damp hair. “None of this makes the least bit of sense.”
Claire fiddled with a buckle, her long lashes swept down over her cheeks. “Sometimes, when I look deep enough into the flames, I see… things.”
“What, like dead people?”
“Maybe? No. I don’t know. Like scenes of a movie or a montage. If that ever happens, I know that I’m going to see that exact same thing happen again, or hear about it happening later. Usually it’s something awful. Something that terrifies me.” Claire finally lifted her head, tucking her thick locks behind an ear in a self-conscious gesture. “If this Malcolm was anything like me, if he had an affinity for fire… who is to say it’s not called a prophecy?”
Moira went to Claire and sat on her opposite side, placing a hand on her back in a careful way, as though she didn’t expect Claire to accept her gesture. “Sometimes, when the bayou is real still and clear, and no critters have churned the bottom, I’ve seen things in the water.”
Claire’s whiskey eyes brightened. “The future?”
“The past.” Moira’s aquamarine gaze filled with a pain wrought of knowledge that she obviously didn’t want to possess. “Things that have already happened, things I can’t change. Though one time I did see Uncle Red try to fix his carburetor with a frozen catfish on account of its little mouth was stuck open and he was too drunk to tell the difference. So it weren’t all bad.”
They chuckled.
Aerin’s mouth was suddenly dry, but she forced her admission through lips drawn tight with trepidation. “I—feel things.”
“You sure about that?” Moira asked sardonically.
“I mean it,” Aerin tried to keep the sharpness out of her words, but it didn’t work. “I can feel…” She looked for a description that didn’t sound too hokey, eschewing words like “energy,” “vibrations,” and “empathy.” She didn’t want to sound like she was some kind of bullshit hippy.
Cringing, she threw Tierra an apologetic look, though the woman had yet to look up from the book and Aerin was pretty sure she couldn’t read minds.
“I can sense change in electromagnetic wavelengths caused by the alterations in the neurotransmitters or chemicals of the pituitary, amygdala, hypothalamus, and endocrine system. Namely oxytocin, adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, norepinephrine, peptides, et cetera.” Letting a deep rush of breath out of her throat, she realized that she felt lighter. “Feels good to get that off my chest. I’ve never admitted that out loud before.”
Looking up, she met more than one blank stare. “I’m still not sure you’ve exactly admitted to anything.” Tierra wrinkled her forehead.
“Other than the fact you may have violently raped a medical dictionary at some point,” Claire snarked.
“She’s sayin’ that she can feel other people’s emotions, ain’t that right?” Moira arched an eyebrow.
“Yes. Kind of. Maybe.” This was crazy. They all sounded insane.
“You all should have been there the first time plants and animals started communicating with me.” Tierra rolled her eyes. “I thought I was losing my mind, but it was just my earth magic manifesting itself. I suppose I was lucky to be raised by a witch, so she could tell me just what was going on.”
Aerin held a hand to her roiling stomach, wishing like hell everyone would stop saying stuff like that. Magic. Witches. It was all too fucking weird.
“Listen to this, guys.” Tierra jangled a hand at them. “This Malcolm de Moray writes that he i
s a Druid and King of the Picts. He wields earth magic, like me!”
“de Moray,” Claire repeated the name. “What is he like a million generations back great-grandfather?”
Tierra studied the book, chewing on her lower lip. “Apparently. He says that three de Morays are granted innate elemental and seasonal powers every generation since the evolution of man. His sister, Morgana is a water witch, and his cousin, Kenna, is a fire witch.” She looked up to Claire. “She must have the gift of prophecy, like you.”
Claire gave a low whistle.
“He writes that there’s a prophecy in this book, written in the language of the first Celts that is called the Doomsday Prophecy or the Prophecy of Four.
Aerin was almost afraid to ask, which meant she bowled ahead and did it anyway. “What does the prophecy say?”
“He said that he’s translated it into English for he knows that’s the language we’ll speak.”
Tierra didn’t seem like the kind of woman who easily rattled, so when she shifted her feet and took a bracing, shaky breath, it unsettled Aerin even more.
“Verily when four elemental Druids are born to one house and cast behind one gate, they will hear thunder, the heavens will weep, the earth will tremble, the air will burn, and the Seals will be broken, one by one. The First will be Conquest, on his white horse given a bow and a crown so he could go forth and conquer. The second horse is red and power is given to him that rides it. Power to take peace from the earth, to slay with his sword, and to bring war.”
Claire gasped, and a look of unadulterated shock clashed with the women’s gazes that Aerin didn’t at all understand.
“The Third Seal is a man on a black horse, his relic a scale and balance, and he shall bring with him pestilence and famine the likes of which the world has never seen. And the Fourth… the Fourth Seal is Death, on his pale horse. And he shall bring with him the might of the Underworld.”
A pall of shock permeated the room, and pieces of the past couple of days began to fit together like cogs in a timepiece. Aerin sneezed into her hand and groaned as it set her head to aching again.
Pestilence, eh?
Moira pushed off the bed and went to Tierra, squinting down at the strange volume with a little hope buoyed by skepticism. “I been in the South long enough to recognize a paraphrase of the bible when I hear one. Reverend Dupuis spat that brimstone at me like a double-tongued cobra every blessed day of the week and twice on Sundays. When he wasn’t grabassin’ his way ‘round the Hoodoo Shack, that is. That’s the book of Revelations with a few twists.”
Claire also stood. “Revelations as in, the Apocalypse?”
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.” Moira nodded. “And I think I have to call bullpucky at this point. Druids and Christians ain’t exactly known to share folktales.”
“That’s what’s so crazy.” Tierra closed her eyes, running silver-ringed fingers delicately across the parchment. “This book is older than the bible by a lot.”
“How can you tell?” Aerin asked.
“I can feel the elements contained in the book. The ink is iron, sulfate, and sometimes… blood. The parchment is linen, sometimes animal hide, and the cover is—” With a squeak, she dropped it, letting the tome crash to the floor, and wiped her palms on her skirts chanting all different forms of “Ew.”
“What?” Claire asked. “What’s wrong?”
Tierra shuddered and toed the book closed and they all stared. Blue, runic markings swirled in arcs and spirals around the gilded corners of the book, pointing toward a foreign, beautiful script embossed in the center of the lightly tinted leather.
“That cover is skin.” Tierra rubbed her arms as they sprouted goose bumps. “Human skin.”
Chapter Seven
Aerin couldn’t stop staring at the book, drawn to the power emanating from it. She sensed… something pulsing from within. A will, if not sentience. A purpose, if not desire. A need to be opened, to be read, and to be used.
What she couldn’t tell was if that particular need was well-meaning or malevolent. The vibe she felt was sort of neutral, ambivalent even. If a book could be such a thing.
What about this Malcolm? Perhaps the book merely contained a residual of his potency, or of his intentions.
“Gross.” Claire grimaced. “Anything made of human skin can’t be positive, right? I mean, am I the only one getting an Evil Dead reference here? The Ninth Gate? The Mummy? Hocus Pocus… Anyone?”
Aerin slid off the bed, crouching down and reaching for the tome. “I don’t think it means us any harm. In fact, I’m pretty sure it wants us to use it.”
“I think her fever’s done gone and flared again.” Moira managed to sound droll, even with her expressive accent. “It’s a thing. It ain’t a person.”
Gingerly picking it up, Aerin carried it back to the bed trying not to let the warmth of the cover gross her out. The smooth binding was not unlike flesh. “Are you saying you can’t…feel it?”
“Maybe,” Claire admitted, leaning over to her. “Something like… desire?”
“Or life.” Tierra nodded.
Moira looked away, tapping the bedpost with her toe. “Or belonging.”
With shaking hands, Aerin pried open the cover, and let the errant drafts leaf through the ancient, heavy pages until it rested open in her lap.
“Do you think Aunt Justine knows about this book?” Claire asked. “Maybe she’s the reason it’s here.”
Tierra’s skeptical look made her words moot. “I don’t think so.”
“That old bat wouldn’t piss on us if we was on fire,” Moira spat. Like actually spat. On the floor.
“Don’t say that!” Tierra scolded. “She’s family.”
“And all she done, far as I can tell, is ignore you for her coven of harpies and try to take our powers. Even my life.”
“She’s old and afraid.” Tierra’s words were more convincing than her expression. “She’s let me stay here in her home, and raised me as best she could. In a way, what’s written in this book sort of proves many of her fears valid.”
“But what about us?” Claire asked. “She had to have known there were four.”
“Yeah, what made you special enough to keep?” Moira demanded.
Tierra’s eyes widened, the edges becoming glassy with the hit of moisture. “I-I don’t know. I don’t think it had anything to do with me. But… now that we’re all together, we should probably ask her some questions.”
“Good luck getting the truth out of her,” Moira harrumphed. “I’ll bet she lies like a no-legged dog.”
Their conversation faded into white noise as Aerin ran her manicured fingers over the faded parchment. She might care that she had a hesitant aunt later, but at the moment, she couldn’t tear her gaze from the astonishingly well-drawn sketches in front of her.
The stanzas of spells were carefully scrawled in a script so foreign, she couldn’t even tell where one word began and another ended. It could have been a recipe of some kind.
But the pictures fascinated, confused, and elated her all at once.
In the upper left corner of the left page, a sapling tree grew from roots already deep in the earth. Separated by words, the picture in the upper right of the page showed a staff, roughly the size of the tree, flayed of bark and branch, the wood green and moist, and alive.
In the lower left of the page, was what appeared to be a bunch of hay or straw lashed together at one end in the shape of a bush. Across from it, the bush had been lashed to the staff making a very rudimentary broom.
If that wasn’t self-explanatory, the next page showed the bristles of the broom on fire, or at least, smoking, which lifted the form of a slender woman off the illustrated floor.
That wasn’t what caused Aerin to catch her breath, though. It was the robed figure in the bottom right of the right page. Her hair dusted a faded red, and swirly puffs of magic leaving her mouth as she blew the smoking broom into the night sky.
One word,
scrawled in bold blue script meant a damn thing to her on the entire page, right beneath the Druid woman.
Aer.
Slamming the book shut, she drew the notice of her sisters.
“What?” Tierra narrowed her eyes. “What did you find?
For a moment, Aerin began to panic. Her limbs twitched with the sensation she’d so feared since her youth. Weightless. Disembodied. Falling. Falling. Flailing.
Flying?
The ground coming toward her. The earth threatening to break each one of her tiny bones.
“Nothing,” Aerin wheezed. Her throat constricted and her lungs struggled as she shoved the book at Claire and pushed herself up on wobbly legs. “I just need—” She swiped for her purse, but Tierra got there first.
“Oh, no you don’t! You’ve been sneezing and hacking since we carried you up here. There’s no way I’m letting you smoke.”
“You. Don’t. Understand.” Aerin could feel her capillaries expanding, the oxygen infusing her blood. She couldn’t take it. Not right now. “Please,” she begged around a bout of coughing brought on by her desperation and whatever bug she was fighting off.
“This is for your own good,” Tierra announced, opening her purse and fishing out the pack Aerin so desperately wanted.
A high-pitched squeak echoed through the room, followed by whatever ear-splitting sound Tierra made as a small black body exploded from her tote, and began to chatter and flutter around the woman’s unruly curls.
“Butter my ass and call me a biscuit!” Moira grabbed the poker from the fireplace and took a swipe at Doctor Lecter. “It’s one of them flying rats.”
Where had he come from? How had he—?
“She doesn’t look so well.” Claire’s voice was suddenly far away, like Aerin was listening to it through the thin walls of a shitty New York apartment. The cacophony kept sliding farther and farther away, and suddenly the soft, white rug was rushing up to meet her.
And for the third time that day, Aerin let the darkness claim her.
Which Witch is Which? (The Witches of Port Townsend) Page 21
