Witchcraft

by Katie M John

  17

  The walk back to Meadowsweet Cottage was all the harder because of the snow, which had begun to fall again. It covered the track and caused Jeremiah to veer off and stumble on the embankments. However, true to Bunny’s promise, Swan magically felt lighter the longer he carried her and the further they walked, the slower the sisters became, as if burdened by a heavy weight. They made their way in silence through the night.

  Eventually, they made it to the boundary of the village. With the child safely returned and the search parties called off, the police had headed back to HQ, leaving the village eerie and still. As they travelled, the snow disguised their approach to the cottage. Silently, Fox thanked the Goddess for her small mercies. The sound of Wren’s sobs bled through the door of Meadowsweet Cottage.

  “The cousins must have told her,” Bunny said flatly.

  Fox lead the way and found the women assembled in the kitchen. Violet was laid on the sofa. A patchwork quilt had been thrown over her in a bid to have her rest, but she wasn’t sleeping – she was staring wide-eyed, across the floor to a spot in the corner of the room. She looked completely traumatised. The other women were sat around the table, linked hand by hand creating a circle of strength and comfort. With sound of her remaining daughters returning, Wren looked up towards the kitchen door. Fox had steeled herself for the intense emotional field but was almost physically held back from the kitchen by the force of it. Wren stood, breaking the circle and the energy dipped, allowing first Fox, then Bunny and eventually Jeremiah and his precious bundle to step into the kitchen.

  It took Wren a moment or two to fully understand the sight of Jeremiah carrying her eldest child in his arms.

  “You brought her home,” she cried, and then she was running across the space, her arms outstretched to receive her baby. She gasped when she saw Swan’s eyes open at the sound of her mother’s voice.

  Words filled the kitchen as the cousins tried to work out how the miracle had happened,

  “Impossible! How?” they asked.

  “None of that matters,” Wren whispered. “She’s home and she’s safe.”

  Swan emitted a small mewling sound that suggested a failed attempt at crying. The sound transformed Wren back into her busy, efficient mother-hen, and after giving Jeremiah instructions to carry Swan upstairs to her room and lay her on the bed, she began gliding around the kitchen gathering up armfuls of lotions and apparatus she might need. Taking her lead, Prim and Rose sprang into action boiling water in the kettle and recovering bandages and balsams from the pine dresser. After a few hectic minutes, Rose and Wren headed upstairs with everything they needed to undertake the healing ceremonies that would go on throughout the night.

  With nothing left to do, Fox collapsed into one of the rickety kitchen chairs and looked at her blistered hands properly for the first time. It was as if she had forgotten to find them painful, and now seeing them, the memory came flooding back. She winced and Prim sat down beside her.

  “I’m not much of a healer, I’m afraid,” she said, standing back up and heading off to get a bottle of balsam from the dresser.

  She returned, sat, and lifted one of Fox’s damaged hands into her own, applying the cold cream into the burn. The relief was immediate. Prim had much better healing powers than she’d led Fox to believe. The feeling of blissful was almost too much and it unlocked her defenses so she began to cry. Jeremiah reached out a supportive arm with the intention of pulling her into a sideways hug, but she shouldered him away.

  “I don’t want you here,” she said. “I want you to go now.”

  Prim stood and made her way to the dresser on pretense of looking for something. She purposefully buried her head in one of the low cupboards.

  Jeremiah began to protest, “You don’t understand, I’m in…” but Fox painfully raised her hand to stop him.

  “Deep down, I knew from the very moment I saw you, you would bring us harm. I never want to see you again. You’re not welcome here. Go back to Coldstone House – it’s where your kind belong!”

  Prim heard the pain in Fox’s voice and she knew the agony Fox felt was not just from her burnt hands, but because Fox loved Jeremiah – even if Fox had managed to convince herself otherwise.

  Reluctantly, Jeremiah stood and made towards the door. “If that’s what you wish.” He went to say more but thought better of it and left.

  Fox listened for the sound of the front door shutting and when it slammed shut, a door inside her own heart slammed shut, too.

  Prim returned and resumed her rhythmic task in silence.

  “I hate that boy!” Fox said with a simmering rage.

  Prim didn’t respond but thought, If only it were as simple as that.

  18

  Lilith and Thalia flew through Ravenheart Hall at speed, packing for their flight. A couple of hours had passed since their failed attempt at summoning The Ancient Ones and still Nigella had not yet returned home. The sisters were not unduly worried; Nigella had a habit of ditching the scrap to come back a few hours later with the chief’s head on a stick. Nigella (Lilith hated to admit) was possibly the strongest of the three of them – it was a strength that came from a distinct pleasure in cruelty. Thalia hoped, for all their sakes, Nigella had tracked down the Witch Hunter and executed suitable revenge; the sound of Swan Meadowsweet’s screams as she burned refused to leave Thalia’s ears. It was one thing a Witch slaying another, but quite a different thing when a Witch’s death was at the hands of a bible-wielding Witch Hunter.

  It didn’t take much to deduce that the Witch Hunter accompanying Jeremiah had to be Daniel Chase, one of the most feared Witch Hunters of modern time. Even now, the name Daniel Chase was whispered amongst the covens. The Chase blood was reputed to be very powerful. Just imagine if you could harvest it? Thalia thought. A smile stroked the corner of her lips.

  And then there was the matter of Jeremiah Chase. Despite Lilith’s warnings, he hadn’t seemed such a threat – and yet… the power of Chase blood ran through his veins, too. With that thought, Thalia’s breath caught in her lungs and her stomach contracted. Stupid girl! Stupid girl! she shook her head. How could she have missed that? Her memory flicked back to a scene in the barn full of flames and minions and chaos – and to Jeremiah and Nigella on a collision force. She needed to go back to the barn. She ran through the halls of Ravenheart Hall calling for Lilith, but she was nowhere to be found.

  *

  Lilith had warned her sisters of Jeremiah Chase. She had known on first sight that his beauty betrayed the threat that ran through his veins. It was well known amongst the covens that the Chase brother who sat as head of Chase Enterprises, Francis Chase, was no real Chase but the offspring of some affair. So not being of the Chase Witch Hunter bloodline, his son, Jeremiah, had been discounted as any kind of threat, too – that was until Lilith had laid eyes on him – as soon as she had seen him earlier that day at Ravenheart Hall, she had known the boy, despite the family lies, was a Witch Hunter. It had been in the colouring of his eyes, the structure of his bones – in the effect he had on her. Then, when she saw him standing next to his “uncle” this evening and her suspicions had been confirmed. There was no question in her mind that Jeremiah and Daniel Chase were not nephew and uncle but father and son. The question was, did the boy know? If he didn’t, he soon would.

  She had left Thalia packing and returned to the Heathmoor Cottage alone. She had heard Nigella telepathically calling for help when she had fallen, but it had been impossible to reach her. All she could hope was Jeremiah hadn’t touched Nigella’s heart-space for too long.

  The fight with the Meadowsweets had been a lot more vigorous than she had anticipated, and she had been left feeling weaker than she’d like. If her sister was petrified, it would take a lot of energy to bring her back.

  The cottage was deathly quiet except for the caw of the crow, which despite everything still sat guarding his territory. Lilith headed towards the barn ignoring his warning cry. The smell of wood
smoke and another unpleasant, sweet, repellent smell still hung heavily in the air. Lilith shuddered at the thought of the Meadowsweet Witch burning; the burning of a Witch broke a natural order and although the Ravenhearts and Meadowsweets would never be friends, they did at least now share a common enemy. Bonds of allegiance had been built on less.

  The barn door was ajar. Lilith peered into the gloom. It was dimly lit by several naked bulbs hanging on black flex. They flickered with the movements of moths, which repeatedly flew into them. Other than the moths, there were no sign of life. Lilith scanned the room with mounting expectation. The sight of a black leather boot caught her attention. There was no mistaking its owner. She flung the door back and ran in, falling in a heap beside the motionless body of Nigella. She picked up her sister’s wrist with the desperate hope of finding her sister petrified and nothing more. There was no pulse. Nigella was dead.

  Lilith gasped and reached out to the buttons of her sister’s blouse. She needed to confirm what she already knew. An ugly, black, heart-shaped bruise showed that her heart had bled out.

  “I guessed you’d be here. Did you know about Jeremiah?”

  Lilith turned to Thalia and raised an eyebrow. “So you worked it out, too.”

  “Too late though.”

  “Yes, too late. We were both too late,” Lilith said sadly.

  “So she is…?” Thalia asked, not believing it.

  “We need to send her on,” Lilith said.

  Thalia fought back tears; they were not only from grief, but from rage – a tornado of rage that she could feel building in the pit of her stomach.

  “No, it’s too soon. We need to do it properly. We need to complete the rituals,” Thalia protested.

  “We haven’t got time. Chase knows our bloodline is still active - he’ll be coming for us. We have to go.”

  “Let him come,” said Thalia defiantly. “I’m not scared of him.”

  Lilith stared hard and then nodded towards Nigella’s corpse. “Really? You’re not scared of the blood that did this to your own sister - your sister who was twice as powerful as you?”

  Her eldest sister’s words stung and intensified her anger. She knew she was right.

  “That’s why we need to go to Mexico,” Lilith said, soothing her sister’s temper. “We need to bide our time, gather our intelligence and find out what we are really dealing with. You’ve heard the rumours. Then, we’ll be the ones who are hunting him.”

  “Why Mexico?”

  “I’ve been talking to the High Council. They told me Daniel Chase was in Mexico last month and he slayed the Merinion Coven – all of them.”

  Thalia’s eyes widened. “How did we not know of this?”

  “It’s been kept as quiet as possible. The Council didn’t want there to be panic spread amongst the covens.”

  “But the Merinions? Surely that can’t be. They’re one of the oldest covens in the world.”

  Lilith nodded sagely. “Times are changing. No one is safe.”

  A heavy silence fell between them. With Nigella dead, it already felt that some deep and powerful magic connected to their trinity had left them.

  “I don’t want you to send her on yet,” Thalia said. “I’m not sure it’s time. Something is telling me she isn’t done yet.”

  “What you’re feeling is denial. She’s dead. There’s nothing more we can do.”

  “Please,” Thalia begged. “Place her in The Palace. Let her rest there until we get back from Mexico and things are over.”

  Nigella took a moment to think. The Palace was a magical place that existed between temporal and spatial dimensions; it sounded a lot prettier and nicer than it was. In reality, it was a dark and cavernous grey space through which a cold wind blew. Christians called it Purgatory, the no-man’s land between Heaven and Hell. It was a space in which the dead half-existed. It was not a place she wished to send her sister to, not when there was the promise of her living in the luxury of Hell as one of His own.

  Thalia’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Please, just till we get back.”

  Nigella looked at her sister intensely, reading her face. Something more than a reluctance to let her sister go was going on in her sister’s head. Instinct told Lilith that Thalia was being a conduit for a greater message, and so she found herself nodding in agreement. She sighed heavily. “Okay, as you wish – but just until we get back.”

  “Thank you.”

  Both girls took position either side of their sister’s body and took a hand until the circle was complete. Nigella’s hand felt hard and cold like marble and both sisters wished for the sensation to be as brief as possible. Touching death was ugly and felt contagious. They closed their eyes and began a low, undulating chant.

  The lights above them flickered.

  They called on the spirits of The Palace to take their sister’s body and hold her safe.

  The barn door blew open hard and slammed against the wall. A cold wind circled bringing a light frosting of snow with it. It turned until it seemed to take on a more solid form and the snowflakes traced the outline of a being. The entity found Nigella’s body and hovered above it, drawing her in molecule by molecule until her body had completely faded away into the wind. Then the entity bolted at speed for the door and was gone. The lights stopped flickering, the barn door eased shut, and the temperature settled.

  The sisters dropped their hands and opened their eyes to stare at the empty space beneath them. Nigella was gone. Now, it was time for them to flee.

  19

  It was after midnight when Jeremiah returned to Coldstone House. His aunt had already gone to bed but his uncle sat in the library waiting for him. He was sat in the chair nearest to the fading fire. He had a large tumbler of Scotch in his hand and looked heavy with troubles.

  Jeremiah crept in. He knew his refusal to follow Daniel home would be seen as a betrayal. It was better to face him now rather than wait the long hours of night for the morning. Jeremiah coughed nervously from the door.

  “I was beginning to worry,” Daniel said.

  “I was… I was…” Jeremiah stumbled over his explanation. It wasn’t until he began to speak that he realised just how angry he was at his uncle. The image of Swan Meadowsweet drenched in flames, assaulted his senses. Pain seared his head and he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. It offered little comfort. The desire to walk over to his uncle and punch him rapidly increased. Jeremiah breathed deeply, but rather than calming him, it added oxygen to the fire raging in him. He strode across the room, his hand gesticulating wildly whilst he tried to find the words. He was used to feeling this sense of contained rage in the presence of his father, but not his uncle. Daniel was meant to be the one who never let him down, his mentor, his solid rock of dependable love and understanding, but now…

  Sensing his nephew’s unpredictable mounting anger, Daniel stood and placed the tumbler onto the mantle piece.

  “You’re upset?” Daniel asked softly. “I understand. It’s never a pleasant experience; trust me, it gives me no joy.”

  “Upset! Upset!” Jeremiah spat. “I’ve just watched you murder my friend’s sister – in cold blood. You tied her up and you set her on fire!”

  “It’s what has to be done.”

  “Has to be? What do you mean? Who says it has to be done? The voice of a God you don’t even believe in?”

  “You know how it is, Jay. It’s my calling.”

  “No, I don’t know how it is. I don’t understand this stupid calling business. You’re a paid executioner, nothing more! Don’t try and make it sound more noble than it is!”

  “I can’t expect you to understand, Jeremiah. If I could have chosen a different path, trust me, I would – something like stunt driving, or being a cattle driver, or a treasure hunter is more my style, wouldn’t you agree?” Daniel dared a wry smile but Jeremiah wasn’t taking the bait. Daniel sighed. “But I didn’t get to choose.”

  “What do you mean, you did
n’t get to choose?” Jeremiah asked, still fighting the urge to launch into nuclear meltdown.

  Daniel shrugged. “It’s hard to explain – I’m not even sure I understand it all myself, but it’s in our history; there’s something in our blood that… compels us.”

  “Us?”

  “It really is about time you paid more attention to the family stories. They’re important – they define who you are.”

  Jeremiah snorted. “Yes, Aunt Penelope has been doing a pretty good job but I’m beginning to guess there is a lot more I really ought to…”

  Daniel raised his hand to stop him. “Not tonight, Jeremiah. Not tonight.”

  Sensing he was no longer in physical danger, Daniel reached for his glass. It was a mistake. Jeremiah was not finished. Before he knew what he was doing, he knocked the glass from his uncle’s hand. It landed into the embers of the fire and the alcohol caused the flames to flare up dramatically.

  “Yes, tonight! I’m fed up with all this bullshit! I want to know who I am. Bunny said I was a Witch Hunter? Like all true Chase heirs – and yet, my father…”

  Daniel’s eyes flicked to Jeremiah. He hadn’t been expecting the turn in the conversation.

  “Is not a Witch Hunter,” Daniel finished the sentence for him.

  Jeremiah’s stomach lurched, the room span. All of a sudden, everything in the room that was solid and substantial became nothing more than wisps.

  “He’s not my father, is he?”

  Daniel shook his head. How he wished he still had a mouthful of liquor to wash down the truth. “No, he’s not.”

  “No! No! No! This can’t be happening!” Jeremiah paced in a circle, grabbing at his hair. His head couldn’t take any more of the day.

  “It’s you, isn’t it! It’s you!” Jeremiah was somewhere between screaming and crying. He stopped and pulled himself up to Daniel, knocking him on the shoulder with the flat of his hand.