Ghost in a Bottle

by Lia Davis

  One thing was certain. His spirit was in the house and she would find a way to bring him to her. Whatever it took.

  Her witch powers simply weren’t strong enough. That’s all it was. When the coven arrived the next evening, the combined power would bring him into the light.

  Exhaustion settled in her gut like a boulder. So tired.

  She had to open the circle the correct way, she remembered how important her gramma said that was. She couldn’t simply step out. The words were on the paper on the altar.

  She moved to the altar. A pair of dueling pistols lay on the red silk cloth in their open wooden box, a brass lock off to the side, unlocked. They weren’t on the altar before.

  Anatoli had left them.

  But for what purpose? How could two old pistols help her help him? Or help her rid Hemlock Grove of Francois’s presence? Every time one question was answered, a dozen more sprang up.

  She closed the box and latched it, then tucked it under her arm. She spoke the words to break the circle, then pushed the salt away and stepped out. The attic darkened.

  Right now, she had to tell Gramma what she’d seen—that Anatoli had appeared for a moment. Tell her about the words inscribed in dust on the shelf. And most importantly, show her the pistols.

  Gramma would know what needed to happen next.

  9

  Joy! For I have become whole, if only for a moment. I remember what it feels like to walk among the mortals. To truly be whole.

  My witch brought me back for a short time and now I long to be out of the world of shadows forever.

  What a glorious thing life is!

  Will my witch command enough power to make it happen? She doesn’t know her power and she isn’t listening to her grandmother. What if it’s too late?

  I’m torn between this feeling of happiness and the knowledge that Francois is out there, lurking. Tomorrow is All Hallow’s Eve and with it comes so much magick. Both good and evil. With Francois near, will the darkness win?

  Hemlock Grove is drawing magick. I feel it. The river flows outside, black in the darkness, mirroring the magick in the house.

  Ophelia must feel it too. She has to sense that things are not right. That things are worsening.

  Tomorrow will be fifty years since Francois’s house fire. I fear his revenge.

  He will be swift and brutal.

  We must stop him. Together.

  * * *

  “You are the one who must stop him, Ophelia. You will lead the others.” Gramma held a handkerchief to her nose, dabbing it to her mottled face. “Francois is strong. You must be ready.”

  “Gramma, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not sure I believe.” Ophelia paced. “I’m trying but it’s so much information. So many things that can’t be explained.”

  “I know, my dear. That doesn’t change the fact you have to defeat him. He seeks revenge on our family for the burning of his house. He will take that vengeance out on you. You have to be ready.”

  “I’m scared.”

  A fire crackled in the fireplace, sending a yellow glow around the living room. Gramma was on the couch, a quilt over her legs. Her wheelchair was near, and stacks of papers covered the coffee table. Would they ever get through all her affairs? So much left to take care of, and time seemed to be growing short. Add in the whole mess with Francois and witches and spells, and Ophelia was exhausted. She fell into the easy chair.

  “Anyone would be scared, facing this powerful demon. He’s grown even more powerful than he was fifty years ago. I’m scared, too.” Gramma shook her head, her hands quivering. “You must believe or the spells won’t work. That much, I know. Your mother was the same way. She didn’t want to accept her powers either.”

  “You rarely speak of my mother.”

  “It’s still a tragic subject and it makes me sad.” Gramma sniffled. “Her early death was hard on all of us. You never know when an accident can simply take away the ones you love in less than a heartbeat.”

  A knot formed in Ophelia’s throat. Gramma seldom talked about the car accident that had taken her parents’ lives. Since that moment, her gramma had devoted herself to raising Ophelia as her own. “I love you, Gramma.”

  “I love you, too, sweetie. More than you can know. That’s why I’m trying so hard to get you to understand your heritage before it’s too late. I don’t have much time left and my duty is to make sure you are as prepared for life as possible.”

  “You’ve done everything for me.”

  “I’ve done my best. Now tell me what happened in the attic. Did you follow all the instructions?”

  “Yes. Every one.”

  Ophelia had set the box containing the pistols on top of the papers on the coffee table. If Gramma could help unravel that mystery, maybe Ophelia had a chance at defeating the warlock-turned-demon.

  “And did Anatoli appear?”

  “He materialized for a few moments. At least, I think he did. Right now, I’m not sure if I imagined it or if it really happened.” She leaned back and rubbed her temples. A low-grade headache throbbed in her temples. All she wanted was to go to bed and forget about all the stresses, at least for a few hours.

  “It was him. I’m so proud you tried. Your magick just isn’t strong enough yet, but it will grow quickly if you believe.”

  “Yes, Gramma.” Ophelia tugged at the band holding her long hair back, freeing her tresses in an effort to ease her headache. “He appeared for a moment. He said, ‘help me,’ then he was gone. I want to be stronger. Show me how. Please.”

  “When the coven is here, their combined power will help you bring Anatoli back. I’m sure of it. I should’ve never had you try it on your own. After all, it was your first time intentionally using magick, and honestly, now that I think about it, I’m surprised he appeared at all. That tells me you have a lot of power inside you. We just need to harness it.” Gramma began coughing, holding the handkerchief to her mouth. Her entire body shook with every cough and her face paled.

  “Are you all right?” Ophelia sat straight. “Do you need medicine? A glass of water?”

  Gramma took a deep breath and the coughing subsided. “I’m okay. Don’t fret over me like a mother hen. My time is near, that’s all. The coughing is stronger, and I’m growing weaker.”

  “Please don’t say that.”

  “We need to hurry with your training. I fear I will leave this plane without giving you everything you need to defeat Francois.” Gramma’s eyes shined with unshed tears. “I know you can do it, I feel it in here.” She held her hand to her heart.

  “I will try.” What else could she say? That she wouldn’t try? That she sometimes thought all of this was made-up fantasy, and sometimes believed every word? Even though she’d seen Anatoli with her own eyes, she still doubted.

  Yet she had to give the spells everything she had. She owed it to her grandmother.

  “The fact that the coven agreed to come on the biggest night of the year should tell you something. You must understand they wouldn’t give up a special night like Halloween unless they thought this was extremely important. Halloween is the fiftieth anniversary of the fire they helped me set. Like me, they thought we’d killed Francois. Now we know that isn’t true. After he gets revenge on me, there’s a risk he’ll go for their families too.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Come sit by me, Ophelia.” Gramma patted the couch. “Let me tell you what you need to know. The coven will help with everything else when it’s time. With their power, and your trust, you will end All Hallow’s Eve with Anatoli in your arms and Francois gone.”

  * * *

  Ophelia poured a glass of milk. She put the jug back into the fridge and leaned on the counter. Gramma was waiting in the living room to be taken to bed, and thankfully she hadn’t had any more coughing fits. The night had been so full, and Gramma was tired. Ophelia yawned. Everyone was tired.

  “So much to remember,” Ophelia whispered. She picked up the glass of milk and t
ook a drink.

  Gramma had gone over everything that needed to be done and Ophelia had written notes. Would she be able to handle it all? There were so many details. Thank goodness, she’d have help from the coven. If only she could get Gramma into the attic, she’d make sure nothing was missed, but that was impossible.

  She sipped the milk and set the empty glass in the sink. Time for bed. Tomorrow would be a challenging day spent preparing, and the evening would be crazy with the coven around and hopefully Anatoli. Taking out Francois was going to be hard.

  Gramma had explained how to use the dueling pistols against Francois, and given all the words needed to keep him contained once his soul was captured.

  If she’d read a story about all that had happened to her in the last few days, she wouldn’t believe it was possible and she’d say the author was a liar.

  After turning on the faucet and letting it run into the glass, she rubbed her forehead. The one remaining unknown, and it was a huge one, was how to lure Francois into the attic. Gramma felt he would show up, knowing it was the fire’s anniversary. Bent on revenge against Gramma for the fire, and against Ophelia for releasing Anatoli, the target was huge.

  She had to count on Francois showing up.

  She turned off the faucet and stared out the kitchen window into the darkness. Somewhere out there at the bottom of the hill, the Savannah River ran, carrying away the refuse of the day and bringing in freshness to the land as it made its way to the sea.

  If only she could slip away like the river and disappear into the sea. Floating in darkness and unchained.

  Free.

  Free of the burdens that weighed her down. Gramma. Francois. And yes, even Anatoli. Not knowing if he was real or would ever be was slowly killing her heart. She wanted him more each day. Wanted to hold him and press herself against him. Feel his warm kisses on her mouth, her neck, her chest. Possibly, likely even, it wouldn’t ever happen.

  She pushed her hair from her face. The headache had worsened and she needed to get Gramma to bed so she could take some medicine and get rest herself.

  A strangled high-pitched scream echoed down the hall to the kitchen from the living room.

  Gramma!

  Ophelia ran, her footsteps heavy and her heart heavier. Please don’t let anything happen to Gramma. I need her!

  She grabbed the doorframe and stepped into the living room, stopping at the terrifying sight.

  Gramma was on the couch where she’d left her. But covering her was the same black mist that had come before. Gramma’s arms were clawing at the air, and her breath wheezed so loudly, Ophelia could hear it across the room.

  “No!” Ophelia ran to the couch.

  The black mist spun around Gramma and her arms fell at her side, her head lolling. She fell over onto the couch, no longer in a seated position.

  “Gramma!” Ophelia shrieked.

  The mist shot up, paused in a cloud, then flew out the window before Ophelia could gather her wits to tell it to be gone. She fell on her knees at her gramma’s feet. Was she alive?

  She shook her, but Gramma didn’t move. Eyes closed and mouth half open, Gramma looked dead. Ophelia fought tears as she checked for a pulse. Gramma’s wrist was so small and bony, but her pulse beat. Weakly, but she was alive.

  Ophelia reached for her phone from the table and called 9-1-1. Gramma needed to get to the hospital. As she waited on the operator to answer, she felt a warm embrace from behind. She closed her eyes and leaned into the ghost of Anatoli. Even in his current state, he was trying to comfort her. He cared.

  And she cared about him.

  But at the moment, Gramma might be dying.

  10

  I don’t like this feeling. Fear makes my heart beat faster than it ever has. Worry only fuels the fear.

  My love left to be with her grandmother when the medics took Betty to the hospital, as expected. What I hadn’t expected was I couldn’t go with her. It seems I’m bound to the bottle, unable to go far from it. Where I am not confined to the inside, I can’t leave it behind. Nor could I carry it with me.

  I told Ophelia to go with her gramma and gave her a gentle push toward the door. She seemed to understand, or maybe she heard me.

  Now, I pace the floors of the house, anxiously waiting her safe return. What if Francois planned all along to get her alone and strike? No. I mustn’t think like that. She will return safely.

  If my heart still beat, I’m sure it would leap out of my chest. I glance at the clock and grow more anxious. Almost midnight. The witches will be here soon. My Ophelia will need her rest.

  The lock on the door clicks and I rush to it. Ophelia enters with sorrow in her eyes. When she shuts the door and locks it, I pull her into a hug. It still amazes me how I’m able to touch her and she responds like I’m a real man. Not the ghost she’s unable to see.

  “I’m here, love.”

  * * *

  Ophelia broke down. Tears poured down her cheeks and her body shook from sobs. Gramma wasn’t going to make it. She was weak and unresponsive. Ophelia didn’t want to leave the hospital, but she had to. She had to bring Anatoli back to the living and stop Francois.

  Gramma would want her to finish this. Her last wishes.

  Plus, the coven would show up at any time.

  She released a heavy sigh as Anatoli pulled her into a hug. Oh, how she wished he was there in body. “She’s not doing well.”

  “She would not want you to give up.”

  Ophelia lifted her head from his shoulder, surprised. She could feel him and now hear him. And he felt more solid than before. What was going on? “I hear you.”

  “Because you are believing.” He pressed his lips to her forehead.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.” And I’m talking to a ghost. But he was her ghost. Her Anatoli.

  “The coven will help you. I will help you.”

  His voice was stronger, no longer sounded like it was in her head. Hope bloomed within. “Can we stop the evil warlock?”

  Before he answered, the doorbell rang. Stepping away from Anatoli, she answered the door. Several witches stood on her doorstep. Ophelia recognized a few from growing up. They were all friends with Gramma—the older ladies, at least. Now Ophelia knew they were much more than that.

  Coven members had arrived.

  The woman standing directly in front of Ophelia smiled and took her hands. Short and thin, the woman’s face lit up into a grin, showing beautiful straight teeth. Her hair, silver and shiny, was wound into a bun at the base of her neck. Ophelia searched her mind for the woman’s name. After several long moments, she remembered. She was one of Gramma’s closest friends. “Good to see you, Martha.”

  Martha’s smile widened and she tugged Ophelia into a hug. “I wish our visit was on better terms.”

  Yes, so did Ophelia. “Please, everyone, come in.” She stepped aside to let them in.

  A dozen witches filled the living room. Gramma should be there. But the dark fog, whatever it was, took her. Ophelia was starting to believe Francois was the all-powerful evil warlock and had something to do with it. Take Gramma out of the picture and Ophelia wouldn’t be strong enough to defeat him.

  And I’m not. Her vision blurred as she turned to close the door. A startled squeak escaped her when she saw Ben standing in the doorway. It was as if the old man appeared out of nowhere. With hand over her heart, she blew out a breath. “Ben, you scared me. Come in.”

  He gave her a small nod and entered the house. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She waved him off and shut door, locking it behind her out of habit. Facing the room full of witches, she sighed and moved forward. “Thank you for coming. Gramma would be so happy.”

  Anatoli moved close to her, his hand taking hers. Her heart filled and her energy renewed. His support meant so much to her. She could do this. And she wasn’t alone.

  Ophelia told the coven of Anatoli, starting with finding the bottle at Ben’s shop. Then s
he moved to the events that had happened since. “I tried to bring Anatoli to the living, but failed. I’m not strong enough. Now, Gramma is in a coma—”

  “My son and his wife are sitting with Betty. Both are powerful witches and will watch over her until you return to her.” Martha patted Ophelia’s hand. “Don’t feel guilty for not being there. We have to prepare for Francois. But first let’s bring your Anatoli back to the living.”

  As if Martha’s words were the law, everyone turned to the hall that led to the attic stairs. They knew the way from years of meetings in the dusty attic with their books and candles. Ophelia couldn’t help but smile. It almost felt like Gramma was with them.

  She moved to the front to lead them. As she passed Ben, he smiled at her and nodded. A dark, cold shiver skittered up her spine. Odd. Ignoring it, she entered the attic and stopped, unsure. She’d only done one ritual and it failed. Now she had an audience. Gramma said they would help, but it didn’t ease her nerves completely. Failure this time could mean death.

  Pushing her anxiety and insecurities aside, she cleaned the alter and replaced the candles with new ones. When she was finished, she grabbed the broom.

  Martha motioned her inside the circle. “You sweep inside and we’ll sweep the edge at the same time. It’s faster and will make the ritual stronger. There’s always power in numbers.”

  Ophelia nodded and got to work.

  They swept like she’d done the day before, only as a group. East to west, then north to south. Each of their movements in sync like a dance. They moved as one as they cleaned the circle of negativity. Ophelia actually felt…magick. A positive, radiant energy filled the room, empowering her and renewing her faith. The hairs on her neck stood and a shiver went down her spine.