by C. L. Bush
Sam climbed to the attic and shuffled around until her hand found the light bulb. It flickered and swayed, coloring the vast space in a yellowish glow that told her only the past was buried there. Sam cast a look at a stack of photographs in rich frames, heavy wooden cabinets and overturned boxes. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who wanted to go through the past, but Sam couldn’t believe Clara would ever leave such a mess in a space that was basically the library of her family’s history. It must’ve been Cathy who’d left the mess.
The question was, what was she searching for?
Sam moved carefully, the air feeling dense around her. She felt a tremendous amount of magic around here, the dust specs crackling with charged electricity. That meant two things. Either this attic was a place for practicing magic or there was a huge number of magical objects in it – or, most probable, a mix of both.
In one of their meet-ups as Cathy called them, she told Sam how the stereotype of clan-descent magical practices in attics was forged. Turns out, the stereotype was based on truth, as they usually were. As magic was prosecuted, many of the practitioners tried to find a safe haven in their own homes. Generations of magical families turned to their attics, mixing herbs and casting spells that could’ve cost them and their loved ones their lives. Magic filled most old houses, having inadvertently woven into their foundations, walls and plumbs.
This included Sam’s house as well. The sounds used to scare her as a child, but now they comforted her. The squeak of old wood, inexplicable gusts of wind and awful phone and internet reception now gave her a sense of safety. It was generations of magic protecting her family home.
While most homes of magic practitioners were adorned in protective magic, there were houses with corrupt magic, where the spirits of magic users were forever bound to them. Contrary to popular belief, most of the spirits were unable to leave the plane of the living because their magic was too strongly connected to our world. Anyone who shared DNA with Clara would never agree to such an existence.
Sam eyed the attic, shedding light on the many objects by moving the lamp from corner to corner. Trinkets and memorabilia mixed with a huge vanity cabinet, pots and empty mason jars, and apothecary vials. A hidden life of one of the oldest Richmond families.
Samantha noticed an unusually shadowy corner at the far end of the attic. She directed the bulb straight at it, but the light avoided the undisturbed darkness. Squinting excitedly, Sam walked closer.
It was a shadow spell, one simply cast without finesse or too much thinking. It was either done by a beginner or someone in a hurry. It must’ve been Cathy. Since Clara was untrained, there was no way she would have noticed anything, and there was no reason for anyone else to be here.
Well, until now.
Sam stretched out her hand, feeling a familiar chill as the shadows wavered and bent to better hide what was in them. Of course, Zoey had taught her how to cast a shadow spell since it was the most basic protection spell, how to camouflage yourself enough to escape an adversary. Essentially, anyone with the basic training would notice a huge shadow in front of them, but when facing someone distracted enough or less skilled, it would be enough.
The shadow spell was also useful when sneaking out of the house after curfew.
Sam knew the spell perfectly, but the odds were against her. Although casting the spell didn’t require a lot of energy, taking it down required more - and it was more than Sam’s ring would allow her to cast. She tried nevertheless, weaving word by word.
“Revela domino natura, revela domino natura, revela domino natura.”
The shadows shivered but ultimately resisted. Deciding not to give into despair or frustration this time, Sam breathed in and tried once more. Just as futile. She shot an angry look at her ring and shuffled around what she knew of magic in her mind.
She couldn’t part the shadows through a revealing spell. The only other way she knew was by throwing maiden grass powder over the shadows, but aside from the kitchen spices and the herbs they worked with today, Cathy kept all the herbs in the shed. The shed would be impossible to penetrate, even if Sam managed to get out of the house on her own. Clara’s mom had so many protective spells around that shed. It would probably take days to even crack the doors.
So, the maiden grass was a bust. Back to basics.
In its essence, the shadow spell would just cloud the object it was directed to. Unlike most kinetic spells, it didn’t move the object out of reach. It hid the object enough for no one to think of search it.
All she had to do was be in the shadows with the object. Excited and self-assured, Sam cleaned her hands on her pants, lowered Clara’s notebook to a nearby box, and directed her palms at the shadows. It was completely unnecessary, of course, but it helped her focus. She felt her hands warming up and dust particles dancing around her. Even a smidge of magic going through her body felt like a feast to her senses.
“Tenebris prodire me.”
She said the words only once, but once was enough. The shadows gently encompassed her as she took a step forward. Her heart raced as Sam stepped forward once more.
Books.
The Smiths’ attic hid books in its shadows, Sam realized, inclined to laugh. How typical of Clara’s family. Instead of laughing, she picked one up. The covers were a leathery delight, a silver tree spreading its branches instead of a title. There was a roman number inscribed on the spine. A wavy IV stood proudly. Sam respectfully opened the book. Written in Latin, with various insignia, charts and sketches of plants (some of which Sam recognized), the book gave her goosebumps. She recognized some of the words with one repeating over and over. Sanguis.
Blood.
Sam kept flipping the pages, sweating more with each turned page. She dropped the first book and grabbed the next tome. This one was written in what appeared to be a Germanic language with the same branchy tree and Latin epigraphy.
“Sanguis est argentum.”
Blood is silver.
Samantha knew this saying. Everyone in the magical world knew it. It was a direct quote from the spell, from the vow that members of a coven use to seal the coven and connection. It was one of the strongest binding spells still in use, and the only blood spell Sam had ever heard of.
Sam opened more books. They all started the same, and they were definitely unlike any Grimoire she had seen. Half instructions, half what seemed a genealogy. Some of the books dated centuries ago, languages Sam couldn’t discern, and plants she had never even heard of.
But what was Cathy doing with all these books, Sam wondered while going through tomes and tomes. She was a herbologist to her core. It was hard to ever imagine her using such unnatural magic. But maybe...
Sam’s heartbeat sped up once again as she folded the tomes and their numbers. Maybe Clara’s mom wasn’t as complacent with the decisions the coven made. Maybe she had been working on her own this whole time, trying to find a way to get Clara back.
No matter the cost or means it seemed.
She flipped through the tomes once again, noticing number twenty-three missing. Why was number twenty-three so important? And where was it? The last tome appeared to be twenty-six. Sam picked it up shakily.
A loud bang echoed from downstairs, and Samantha jolted, terrified. She grabbed the tome and Clara’s notebook before running to the top of the stairs.
“Cathy?” she called, noticing a chilly breeze sweep through the house.
“Sam?” JJ’s voice called from the doorway, and Sam exhaled with relief. “Where are you?”
“I used a shadow spell on me, can you take it off?” she said, rushing down the stairs.
“Aperio,” he said simply and the shadows disintegrated around her.
Samantha smiled briefly, ignoring the ping of envy at the ease with which he used his magic, before running to the living room. She pushed the tome and notebook in her bag and clumsily wrapped her jacket around her shoulders.
“Seriously?” JJ asked, holding her takeout menu message in h
is hand and watching her with a heightened sense of worry in his eyes. He looked at the message and read it out loud. “Ahem: ‘Arch crumbling. Caged at Clara’s house. Need help. Sam.’ You’re the worst.”
“Why am I the worst?” Samantha asked, eyeing him through her hair as she tied her shoes. “Thank you for coming, JJ.”
“Of course, I came. I was scared shitless,” he said honestly, glancing around the hallway, unwilling to enter the house. “Fire messages are not Twitter, you know. You can write a full sentence instead of giving me a heart attack.”
“I had to be efficient,” Sam said nonchalantly before giving JJ a peck on the cheek and closing the doors behind her. “How did you manage to open the door?”
“What door?” JJ frowned as they climbed into his car. “They were open wide when I came.”
Sam shot him a confused look and then gave the house before them a suspicious look.
“Where are we going anyway? What’s happening with the Arch?” JJ asked.
Sam turned, putting her seatbelt on. “I’ll tell you on the way.”
“Way where?”
Sam hugged her bag in silence, mentally going through her options. When she wrote the message to JJ, she was ready to rush to the forest at the second’s notice, but now things had changed.
“Drive to my house,” she told him. “My parents’ll be in the forest still, and I have to show you something. And we need to scan it,” she added.
“Why aren’t we going to the forest?” he asked in confusion.
Sam looked him straight into the eyes. “Can I trust you with this, JJ?” When he nodded forcefully, she continued. “You can’t tell anyone about this yet. Not even Damen.”
“Sam, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” he said. “You’re my coven, Sam. I promise.”
She breathed in before pulling the black tome from her bag.
“What’s that?”
“Do you recognize the sigil?”
JJ eyed the tree burned and silvered in the leather with a frown.
“That’s on the Richmond’s coat of arms, right? I think I saw it in the town hall. Or at school, or somewhere.”
“Yes, it’s on the coat of arms. And yes,” Sam said. “You saw it at the library entrance.”
“What is it?” JJ asked, his face showing his fear. Samantha could relate. Her own face felt cold, as if an egg had cracked on her head and slid down, taking all the warmth with it and replacing it with fear.
“It’s the Parker family’s sigil. I just realized,” she said and JJ’s eyes widened. “And this is one of their Grimoires.”
JJ fell silent, turning the key and starting the car. He drove quietly to Samantha’s home, neither of them able to notice the blood dripping off the front door of the Smiths’ house.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Day Four
CLARA
The outlines of the town were lost in the fog, clouds and sinister wind that held no promise of a storm or clear skies. It only rustled the fragments of the town, careless of where the fragments belonged or if they were ever whole again. The depleted green dome of city hall was crumbling, and it seemed that no matter how much time passed, the dark clouds were rushing toward her. It seemed like the whole town was paling into nothingness. The only proof of its life was the wind, the whispers and the whimpers on the decaying rocks. Oblivion was unapologetic as it took over her hometown
Clara rushed through the streets, working hard to ignore it. “I could’ve done this myself, you know,” Clara said confidently and her grandmother scoffed, setting her scarf comfortably around her shoulders. “I did learn the spell.”
“You learned a spell,” her grandmother corrected her, and Clara sighed. “In the language of magic, that means you’ve learned sucking your thumb doesn’t count as food.”
“Ah, food,” Clara mused. “I miss food. Do you miss food?”
“You have been here barely five days.”
“Well, you’ve obviously forgotten the taste of Richmond’s famous pizza,” Clara teased, speeding up to catch Helen’s pace.
“No one forgets Richmond’s pizza,” Helen retorted, and Clara found herself smiling. “We did live in the same century, Clara.”
“Did we though?” Clara continued. When she got no response, she cleared her throat and cut to the chase. “Why did you want to come with me? What’s the real reason?”
“The real reason is that I have cause to believe your mother has hidden something that doesn’t belong to her in your house,” she haughtily explained. Clara frowned. “Shortly after your father’s death, I entered the Arch. Once I went back to our home, I realized there was a specific group of books that were missing. I don’t have a reason to believe anyone, but your mother and Ian’s best friend knew about the books.”
“Why didn’t you just go and take them yourself? You said the magical items are available here.”
“Indeed, they are, but your mother has... wisely protected your home from any possible visits from other planes.”
“How was I then able to enter the house when I first came?”
“That’s something entirely different, Clara. That’s your home, the same way Parker mansion is your ancestral home. Your blood will always know where its roots are,” Helen said, seemingly proud.
“So, you want me to steal books from my own home for you?” Clara frowned with disapproval. “And here I thought you just wanted to keep me company on my nostalgic stroll.”
“You mean on your stroll to attempt to contact your mother and friends and henceforth attract numerous demons to your location,” Helen corrected her and Clara felt her face flush with heat. Helen gave it no notice but frowned at the sky instead. “There’s something sinister in the air today. I wouldn’t let you leave the mansion if it were up to me.”
“What’s the worst that could happen to me at this point?” Clara asked but got no answer. Instead, Helen sped up, forcing Clara to jog after her. “Christina said to ask you about the coven spell.”
“Coven spell?”
“How to make a coven?” Clara asked, simultaneously imagining herself typing the question into the browser and surfing the web. Witchcraft for Dummies, she thought to herself with a laugh.
“Ah.” Helen nodded and relaxed her shoulders. “It’s rather straightforward. Five people at least, each holding a silver token. The selected coven leader chants the spell, the rest repeat and she mixes their blood.”
“Why is it always silver?” Clara asked, annoyed. “Why isn’t it gold?”
“Because gold is the promiscuous sister of silver,” her grandmother answered.
Clara laughed, prompting even the rock-solid Helen Parker to curve lips for a second. “Sounds easy,” Clara concluded.
Helen shook her head. “Far from it,” she disagreed. “A linking spell is energetically and emotionally draining. Although the directions are easy, the honesty of it is hard. It can only be done properly if all the participants of the linking are truly, deeply willing to make that commitment.”
“And what happens after?”
“Oh, a great deal of changes,” Helen explained absently. “You sense your coven members easily, read their emotions more easily. You can sense if they’re using magic near you; you can feel the moment when they die. It can be quite heartbreaking.”
“Then why do people do it?”
“Because there are certain things only a coven can do,” Helen said vaguely, still focusing on the tumulus sky.
“Like what?”
“Like survive,” Helen answered abruptly, taking a step closer to Clara. “Stay close to me. There’s something in the air.”
Clara did as instructed without objection, and Helen glanced at her in surprise.
“I won’t argue with someone of a sane mind,” she explained.
Helen nodded before continuing. “There are spells only a coven can cast, for example,” Helen said as she c
hecked their surroundings. “In the case of the Richmond coven, this connection is tenfold because the coven has been reinforced through generations and generations. The blood runs deep in the foundation of our town.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Both. Neither.” Helen unexpectedly winked. “That generation-old connection is why you’ve felt so familiar to the progenies of McDooleys and MacDonalds. Jamesons and Lawsons. It’s also why you felt Xander’s death as deeply as you did.”
“How do you know about that?” Clara frowned, unwilling to continue the conversation regarding her feelings but at the same time craving to know more. “How do you know what I felt?”
“Didn’t you feel loss stronger than any before?” Helen finally looked her in the eyes, and Clara immediately wished she hadn’t. Her gaze was hard to avoid, revealing and disarming. “The rest must’ve felt horrible as well, but since they were already using magic, the magic healed them. You didn’t have the comfort.”
“Magic can comfort you?”
“Magic can do whatever you need it to do, but it can also do whatever you want it to do. The two are rarely the same thing.” Helen came to a sudden halt. “The house is warded.”
Clara wistfully turned to her home. Surprisingly, the house looked just like it always had, but there was something foreign, something alien and defensive. It looked the same but felt different.
“What do you mean, warded?” Clara croaked, unwilling to admit her home might not feel like home anymore. “It looks the same to me.”
“It’s not,” Helen observed but before she elaborated, Clara swiftly climbed to the porch. “Don’t try to-”
Clara grabbed the doorknob, but nothing happened.
“What is this? How is this possible? You said I can enter my home at any time,” Clara accused, pushing the door and running to the windows. “There’s someone inside.”
“The spell is new and short-term.” Helen frowned at the house, weaving invisible threads and mumbling illegible words. “The person inside is locked from the outside.”
