The Book, The Witches, and the Doorway (Fated Chronicles Book 1)

by Humphrey Quinn

With swift movement, the hooded figure jumped onto the table standing over the package. He snapped his fingers and a host of ghosts materialized, swirling overhead. He motioned for them to attack.

  They dove from all directions. The ghosts might not be able to use magic on the living; however, being saturated with the cold feeling of death each time a ghost sliced through their bodies was definitely a distraction. After a minute, the ghosts ended their attack, rising above, swirling around waiting for orders.

  Meghan and Ivan shook off the shudders creeping through them. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but it couldn’t do any lasting damage.

  “I need to get that package,” Meghan said decidedly. The moment she said it, the hooded figure glanced her direction, his shocking blue eyes squinting at her.

  He towered over the book, ordering the ghosts to attack again. As soon as Ivan found a brief pause in the attack, he threw his arm, palm out, at the hooded figure, who was not expecting the blow. It knocked him off his feet, down over the side of the table and skidding across the ground.

  Meghan jumped at the chance to get closer. As she reached out to grab the package, she saw the hooded figure push up the sleeves of the robe, revealing young looking arms underneath. Were they fighting a child? A teen maybe, definitely not an adult.

  This discovery did not stop the battle. The robed child fought back, shooting a heavy blow toward Ivan, who blocked it. Meghan grabbed the package and fled back to Timothy. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ivan fly through the air, straight through a ghost, and land hard against a wall.

  She called out his name as he hit the ground. Hard.

  The robed child noticed that Meghan held the package and lunged at her. She panicked, unable to focus and collect the energy to produce any magic. Ivan picked up his head and with his last bit of strength, sent a blow toward their enemy. It was only enough of a blow to give Meghan the smallest of head starts.

  “Run,” yelled Timothy. “I can’t die again, get out of here.”

  She didn’t want to leave, but perhaps she could run and find her uncle, and he could rescue Timothy.

  She spotted the closest exit.

  The ghosts began diving for her.

  Then she saw Ivan sprawled on the ground. He was not moving.

  “No. I’m not leaving,” she decided. She spun around and cried out, “STOP!”

  Taken off guard by the command, the ghosts froze and waited for orders. The hooded child halted ten feet in front of her, watching intently.

  “Tell me who you are, and why you want this book,” she breathed heavily. There was still no answer. “I know you’re just a child,” she taunted.

  A young male voice spoke. He was stern and strong but calm and confident.

  “Not that it matters, but I just turned fourteen, hardly a child. You should concern yourself with the fact that I am stronger than you, and my master will have that book.”

  Just then, a familiar Catawitch jostled around the boy’s legs.

  “You,” whispered Meghan. Her instincts back in Cobbscott had been right. The Catawitch Jae had caught visiting her, was evil.

  “Hello Meghan,” she purred.

  “This is your master? This boy?” asked Meghan. The robed child winced at the word, boy.

  “I told you he wanted to meet you. You should have listened when you had the chance.”

  “Who is your master, then?” she demanded of the young man. “What’s his business with my brother’s book?” He refused to answer, and inside Meghan’s head the echo of a voice erupted.

  “Oh, not now, Colin. It couldn’t be a worse time for you to contact me.” She wanted terribly to hear his voice, and respond, but even more desperate right now to get his book back and survive.

  The ghosts above were getting restless. Ivan was still completely limp and unconscious on the ground. Timothy remained stuck in his prison.

  “I need help,” she uttered despondently.

  Everything slowed.

  Sort of like someone had ordered everyone to move in slow motion.

  Then it all just stopped.

  Nothing moved forward. Not even Meghan.

  It was as if time stood still. Paused for a moment.

  The locket Meghan wore around her neck, the two roses entwined with pointy thorns, began to radiate golden beams of light. They shot out of the locket forming into a silhouette; the shape of a woman sleeping soundly on a feather.

  She awakened. And arose. Her graceful figure basked in light as she approached Meghan, whispering softly in her ear.

  “Help is coming. You’re not alone and you are ready for this, Meghan. You will know what to do. Help is coming…” She backed away, reclaimed by sleep atop the feather. Her shimmering image regressing back into the locket.

  Chaos screamed back to life.

  Meghan took a deep breath as the ghosts began diving.

  The young man in the hood with the piercing blue eyes strode menacingly toward her.

  “Ghost candy,” she remembered in a flash. “I can use it to do a spell against the ghosts and then the kid can’t touch me! At least for thirty seconds.” She reached into her skirt pocket; she had just three pieces left.

  “Here goes nothing.” She popped a piece into her mouth just as the hooded young man shot off a spell aimed right at her. The transformation took place just in the nick of time, the spell ripping straight through her ghostly frame. He appraised her, impressed by the unexpected move.

  The ghosts didn’t expect it either and stopped their attack, hovering all around her, unsure what to do. Meghan focused hard, determined to take out a few of them. Ghostly energy raged around her; she found it easier to collect than when in human form. She held out her hand and spoke the Sphaera spell she’d seen her Uncle Eddy use on Duppy. The energy pulled itself into a perfect sphere.

  The ghosts saw it and swarmed.

  Meghan threw it away from her body. There were so many ghosts, it hit one straight on, blasting it into a million ghostly bits.

  “I did it!” she bellowed, hurrying to collect another sphere. Time was short. She’d turn back into her human self soon.

  “Bring her down,” ordered Duppy, wretchedly.

  Meghan stayed on the defensive and after blowing up two more ghosts, her body began the transformation back to living again. As her feet touched the ground, she ate the second piece of candy and dispersed of three more ghosts.

  “This isn’t what we signed up for!” one of the attacking ghosts called out. Another agreed. And then another.

  “Idiots!” shouted Duppy. “You can’t die again!”

  The ghosts didn’t care. The rest made a beeline for the woods to avoid being her next target. The hooded young man watched her every move, waiting for her to become human again. She stared him down, unwilling to take her eyes away. Her body became solid again. He shot off another spell. She dove to the ground and it shot over her, tearing into one of the mud huts.

  Meghan shoved the final piece of the candy into her mouth.

  This was it. She only had a short time, and still had Duppy to contend with.

  Then after… she’d be human again with little to no way to defend herself against the young man waiting to attack. Why couldn’t he be as easy to deal with as the ghosts? Not that she wanted to blow him up, for real. Her opinion wavered. She was pretty certain he’d blow her up if he could.

  She was a ghost again. Duppy was ready for her. She threw herself aside, away from his spell. Her body spun a few times, but she stopped with her head up and feet down.

  She held out her palm, a sphere forming.

  Duppy did the same.

  He aimed and threw, just as she shot upward, and over, coming down behind him.

  “Hey Duppy,” Meghan called out. She didn’t wait for him to answer. As his head turned, she thrust the sphere right at him. It hit him head-on. He exploded; millions of tiny bits rained down over everything.

  She smiled. Satisfied.

  And then started to
sink to the ground.

  The last of the ghostly energy failed. She plunked to the ground, human again. She made to stand up, but her legs faltered. “Guess I drained myself.” She forced herself up and leaned against one of the mud huts.

  The young man and his Catawitch eyed her. Meghan cringed at the sinister smile forged on both their faces. There was nowhere to run. She’d won against the ghosts, but she’d lost the book, hadn’t freed Timothy, or saved Ivan. He was still unconscious on the ground. All she’d accomplished was a delay of the inevitable.

  The young man raised his palm. She had no idea what he was about to do to her, but she held her chin high and refused to close her eyes or look away.

  The Catawitch hovering around his legs let out a warning meow.

  Meghan gasped when it charged at something.

  “Nona!” she cried out. Her loyal Catawitch hadn’t abandoned her after all. Nona was smaller, but no less vicious or determined in her attack. The young man in the cloak gave it no mind, unconcerned by the fighting cats. He edged closer to Meghan.

  Up above, over their heads, a bird fluttered in and landed atop one of the huts. Meghan gasped for the second time in just minutes. It was the same bird she had locked in the cage a few hours before.

  A hazy shimmer radiated around the bird and it took off in a dive, straight behind the cloaked young man. He hadn’t seen the bird and had his palm raised with a spell ready to throw at Meghan. She ignored it, her gaze firmly fixed on the bird diving behind him. Beams of light began pouring from the bird’s body, and then the most unexpected thing she could have imagined, happened!

  As the bird descended, its shape began shifting. The wings disappeared and human arms formed. Where there had been claws, now were feet. Tattered clothes replaced the feathers.

  A thunderous voice reverberated through the huts as the bird-human shouted a spell while landing with a firm thud. The spell hit the unsuspecting young man, knocking him to the ground. The book, the Magicante, flew across the ground landing near Meghan’s feet. His spell shot at her but skewed off to the side, missing her.

  He jumped back to his feet and scowled. “Elisha!” he called out to his Catawitch. “Let’s go!”

  “The book,” she reminded.

  “Not today. We’re leaving.”

  His Catawitch vaulted into a nearby fire pit. The boy dashed to her side, grasping her back, and they vanished, dissolving into the fire.

  “Oh. Wow.” Meghan couldn’t believe her eyes. Or that she was still alive. She took a few steps, her legs steadier. Nona bounded to her side and jumped into her arms. They touched noses, relieved that each other was okay. It was strange to be able to sense what the Catawitch was trying to tell her. Although, as she thought about it, not really. It wasn’t much different than how she and Colin communicated, except Nona didn’t use words. It was more like feelings or expressions that Meghan understood perfectly.

  “You knew? Didn’t you?” she asked Nona. “How? How did you know the bird was more than just a bird?”

  Nona meowed and jumped out of Meghan’s arms, glancing upward. There was a distinct sound of wings flapping. The bird-human had already shifted back into its bird form again. It sat atop one of the huts.

  “Who are you?” asked Meghan.

  It ruffled up its feathers in reply.

  “I wish you would tell me, so I could thank you properly. I guess, if you ever need anything, you know where my window is.”

  The bird winked mischievously at her, squawked, and then flew away.

  Meghan’s gaze dropped, landing on Ivan. He didn’t look good. He wasn’t moving. She ran over and tapped him gently on the face trying to wake him. There was no response. She knelt closer and discovered he was not breathing.

  “Oh my God. This… this can’t be happening. Ivan can’t be… dead.” Moments ago her own death seemed imminent, only to be saved by a miraculous bird-human. Now Ivan, who had risked his own life to save hers, lay on the ground, dead.

  The Magicante sat next to her on the ground.

  Nona pawed at the book.

  Do I dare open it?

  What can this book possibly do to help me?

  Ivan is dead!

  She pulled it out of the wrapping and flipped it open. She bit her lip and held back the tears stinging at her eyes.

  “Mr. Ancient Magic Guy, um, I could really use some help.”

  The book replied. Rather than snidely, darkly. Eagerly.

  “It’s about time you got around to something challenging. I assume from the dead boy’s body, you need a reawakening?”

  “What’s a reawakening?” Meghan asked timidly.

  “Watch, and learn,” it replied.

  The book started to shake violently in her hands; so much so, she could no longer hold on and let it fall to the ground. The leaves tore off the pages, shimmering and spiraling over Ivan like a tornado.

  Golden beams shot out from the leaves slicing into Ivan’s body. After a minute the tornado slowed, the golden beams faded, and the leaves reattached to the book, which promptly closed upon finishing.

  Meghan wasn’t sure what she expected as she leaned over Ivan’s unmoving body. She jerked backward with a rushed intake of air. Ivan drew in a deep living breath and his eyes flickered open.

  Meghan drew back in awed exaltation, beholding the Magicante with indescribable new reverence. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Don’t look so disappointed,” Ivan said in his usual rude manner. She blew it off, helping him up.

  “You’re not dead,” she cried.

  “No such luck today, Ms. Jacoby. Where did everyone go?” he asked, noticing they were alone and all was quiet.

  “Everyone left,” she answered, not wishing to explain further. Ivan saw the book lying on the ground and picked it up. Meghan worried he might keep it, or turn it over to the Viancourt. He had no idea it had just saved his life.

  “So this is what the battle was over? An old book. Magicante,” he read the title.

  Meghan decided, then and there, not to tell Ivan he had died, or that Magicante had brought him back to life. He laid the book down, rubbing the back of his head.

  “You were thrown against a wall,” she explained, apologetically.

  “That part I remember.”

  “Uh, excuse me,” a small voice interrupted.

  “Timothy!” She ran to his cell. “How am I going to get you out?”

  Ivan strolled over. “And who might you be?”

  Timothy regaled Ivan with a long introduction, while Meghan attempted to loosen the door of his prison, to no avail.

  “Timothy,” she interrupted. “Who put you in this cell, a ghost or a living person?”

  “The one you were battling, I think. Alive for sure, it could have been…”

  “That’s okay, Timothy,” said Meghan, cutting him off, baffled at how a living person had done magic on him.

  “I can tell you the spell to open this door,” said Ivan. “But for some reason, I feel too weak to do it myself.”

  “I wonder why?” she mumbled under her breath. “What is the spell, Ivan?” she asked, determined to free Timothy.

  “Fenestra,” he answered.

  She repeated it twice.

  She poised herself and gathered the energy needed.

  I’m getting better at this, she thought, raising her hand, palm extended.

  “Fenestra.”

  It opened.

  She had done it.

  Meghan picked up the book. Nona and Timothy followed close by as they all followed Ivan out of the woods. Meghan found her sweater on the ground just outside the huts and used it to wrap up the book in.

  “Not that it matters at this point,” said Ivan. “But how did you get the book? And why did everyone leave?”

  “Everyone just took off. Couldn’t tell ya why,” she lied, winking at Timothy.

  He was getting good at keeping secrets, too. Ivan stopped and cast her a seriously frown. She said nothing mo
re, just shrugged. He shook his head and dropped the subject.

  Soon, they arrived back at the old mill. Uncle Eddy wasn’t there so she left a message with Timothy, who set immediately to deliver it.

  “Be careful, Timothy. Don’t talk to any strangers.” Meghan had an enormous desire to get Ivan home, and checked out by the doctor. And to check on Colin, whose voice she had not heard since the beginning of the battle. What terrible timing it had been.

  “You go along without me,” said Ivan unexpectedly when they entered Bedgewood Harbor.

  “But you’re hurt,” she argued.

  “And what will I say happened to me?”

  “You fell.”

  “I have a friend I can see. Don’t worry. Go and check on your brother, tell him you got his precious book back.” He was not exactly smug, but not exactly nice either. He strode off in a direction of town she had never been to. Part of her wanted to follow him. She hoped Ivan could be trusted. He was probably pissed that she didn’t tell him the truth about what had happened.

  “He knows what he knows,” she resigned, continuing to the hospital.

  Meghan had hoped that the voice she had heard during the battle meant that Colin had come out of his coma. To her dismay, his condition had not changed.

  “I thought for sure I heard you, Colin. I got the book back, so don’t worry. Get better, okay.” She kissed his forehead and headed home.

  Her legs and brain were jelly. She needed a hot bath. Some sleep. For her brain to just shut down for a few hours. Maybe a heavy dose of something sweet.

  She followed Nona back to the Mochrie house and stumbled indoors.

  “There you are,” said Sheila. “I was hoping you would show soon. Not good to overdo it just because you’re feeling better.”

  Meghan almost laughed. I’ll try to remember that, she told herself.

  Sheila made a funny face and wrinkled her nose as Meghan walked passed her. Skunk rags. She didn’t have the energy to make up an excuse. These clothes might not be wearable again.

  It was good to be home, even if it wasn’t truly home. She bathed, ate, and sat downstairs, dozing while waiting for either Ivan or Jae to come home. Hours passed, and neither returned home that night.