Haunting Savannah: 8 Dark and Seductive Tales

by Lia Davis

  What the hell?

  Ophelia took a step and kicked something. Glancing down, she jumped sideways. Her heart leapt in her chest while disbelief mixed with all the weird shit that happened in the last twenty-four hours. She stood in the center of large circle with a pentagram in it. Painted directly onto the attic floor, the shapes loomed in her imagination like giant horrors.

  What had Gramma been doing up here?

  Shaking her head, she continued to back up until she bumped into something hard yet yielding. Invisible hands gripped her waist, freezing her into place. She closed her eyes, hoping it was her imagination playing tricks on her. Her mouth was too dry to scream.

  Ophelia.

  A voice whispered into her ear, and hot breath tickled the hairs on her neck causing them to stand. The hands tightened on her hips.

  She jerked away and whirled around, but no one was there. At least not physically. But a presence filled the space.

  Something is here.

  It had said her name. Touched her. Something was in the attic and it was something she didn’t want to know any more about. Maybe all Gramma’s tales were getting to her. Witches and warlocks and ghostly happenings—of course, she was on edge. Still, she felt the touch and heard the voice. Time to get the hell out of the attic.

  She tugged the string to turn off the light then rushed to the ladder.

  Without so much as a backward glance, she fled the attic and swore to never go back again.

  Whatever was up there could stay there.

  Chapter 5

  She was so close, I could almost taste her. I cannot bear this torture.

  I want to hold her in my arms like a whole man, not this nebulous thing I have become. I’m drawn to her with the force of a thousand storms.

  She is meant for me, and I for her.

  She is frightened. I feel her trembling when I touch her. It isn’t me she need fear—it is Francois.

  And he is close.

  I know he wants her. To capture a young witch would mean many more years for him than a mere mortal would bring. Her soul is powerful and yet she seems to not understand her power.

  He will capture both of us and I will again be alone in my tomb while he uses my life force as his own.

  Ophelia, my dearest, I fear she will meet a more gruesome fate if he captures her. I must find a way to warn her. But will she take heed?

  * * *

  “There are so many papers.” Ophelia put the stack of medical bills into the pile needing attention. “Have you not gone through them at all?”

  Gramma shrugged. “I figured if they needed me, someone would call. I didn’t realize this was so important.”

  Ophelia tried to calm herself. The amount of mail Gramma hadn’t gone through was staggering. Paper sack after paper sack of bills, circulars, junk mail, and even a misaddressed envelope or two sat beside her. She leaned back on the couch, holding her head.

  “I hope we aren’t missing anything important here.” She watched her gramma’s face.

  Gramma looked weaker than even the day before, but she’d insisted on helping Ophelia go through the stacks. She wasn’t really helping much—in fact, Ophelia knew she could get through it quicker if Gramma would let her handle it. But she needed to let her help. This was her mail. And probably the last time she’d go through any of it.

  “Nothing there can be as important as preparing you for what’s coming.” Gramma picked up a bill with a shaky hand and dropped it into the important pile. “Things are not good. I sense it.”

  Thank goodness the important pile was much smaller than the junk mail pile.

  “I hope you have a lot more time left. Please don’t talk like that.” Ophelia rubbed her temples. No point in being morbid. She knew Gramma wasn’t going to live a lot longer but pointing it out often didn’t help matters.

  “No, no,” Gramma wheeled herself closer to the table, “I’m not talking about my passing. That’s inevitable. I’m talking about the evil that’s coming to Hemlock Grove. And the danger it poses to you.”

  Ophelia sighed. “Not that again.”

  “Yes, that again.” Gramma raised her voice till it cracked. “You are in danger. I don’t want to leave my earthly shell until I know you are safe. You’re all I have.” Tears misted her eyes.

  “Oh, Gramma, please. I’ll be fine.”

  “Evil is coming. I tell you, I feel it.”

  Ophelia didn’t know how to answer her. Either Gramma was getting more out of it every day or she was darn focused on the idea that the boogeyman was coming for Ophelia. Neither scenario was helpful in getting her affairs in order. It was a difficult enough job without all the extra hoodoo.

  “Okay, Gramma, I’ll humor you. What exactly can I do to stop the evil that’s coming to take me? Hang garlic in the windows? Buy silver bullets?”

  “You’re making fun of me.” Gramma scowled, her tears drying on her face.

  “No, I’m not. I’m tired and not sleeping well and we have so much left to do.”

  “I know there’s a lot to do, but I’m telling you this is important. If you don’t prepare for this, you won’t live. Your life will be over. How much clearer can I be?” She coughed and sputtered. “I’m scared for you. You don’t know anything about how to handle yourself in an attack.”

  The coughing fit worsened and Gramma wheezed and gasped. Ophelia picked up her glass of water and held it to Gramma’s lips. Gramma drank a few sips, her breath ragged and shallow.

  “I think we need to get you back to bed.” Ophelia set the water down and pulled the wheelchair out from the table. “You need to rest.”

  “I’m okay. Just a little tired.” Gramma coughed again. “It’s you we need to worry about. You have witch blood in you and denying it isn’t going to change a thing. When you finally realize it, it’s going to be too late.”

  “I think I need to put in a call to the doctor.” Ophelia pulled the wheelchair out and then maneuvered it toward the doorway. “I’m concerned about you.”

  “I’m not crazy, young lady!”

  “I didn’t say you were. I just said maybe I need to call the doctor. You aren’t doing so well.” She pushed the wheelchair down the hall toward Gramma’s bedroom. “I think you need to be checked, that’s all.”

  “I’m as fine as I’m going to get. I want you to listen to me. We need to do a protection ritual. Then we need to prepare to get rid of that warlock once and for all.”

  Ophelia rolled her eyes, aware that Gramma couldn’t see her do it. “Which warlock?”

  “You know which one. Francois. The one whose bottle you brought into this house.”

  “I thought you said you and your friends burned him to the ground along with his house, what, fifty years ago?” Why not go along with her? Once she got her to bed, she’d fall asleep quickly. Maybe the crazy ideas would go away. Ophelia turned the corner into Gramma’s room.

  “We did. But obviously, he’s still alive.”

  “Obviously.” The word slipped out before she could stop it.

  Ophelia helped her gramma into bed. So light, gramma must’ve lost more weight even in the last week.

  “You’re sassing me. If I was younger, I’d give you a taste of hickory tea.” Gramma scolded her, her finger wagging.

  Gramma had never spanked her. Surely this threat was a sign of deteriorating mental health. A call to the doctor was definitely in order. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so dismissive.”

  Gramma turned over, her back to Ophelia. “Go away. I want to rest.”

  “But I thought—”

  “GO AWAY.”

  Gramma’s words left no room for discussion. Ophelia pulled the quilt over Gramma’s shoulders then headed out of the room. Tears ran down her face. What an awful granddaughter she was—mocking her grandmother. Didn’t matter what Gramma said, she deserved more respect. Even if she was harping on evil and demons or whatever. It didn’t matter.

  Fat tears dripped down her cheeks as
she made her way to her room. The floor squeaked as she hurried down the hall and the walls felt like they were closing in on her. By the time she made it to her bedroom, tears had turned to full-on sobbing.

  What if Gramma didn’t wake up? What if the last words she ever heard were the harsh ones Ophelia had said? She’d rarely spoken to her gramma so sternly and guilt pooled in her gut. Ophelia threw herself onto the bed and cried into her pillow.

  Curling up on her side, she closed her eyes and squeezed her lids shut. Why couldn’t she have a normal life? Yeah, she did have a career she loved, but she never dated, much. The fear of being rejected once a prospective boyfriend found out her gramma believed in magick and witches always haunted her.

  She took a shaky breath. Now her only living relative was dying and Ophelia had all but mocked her. Lost her patience.

  Another sob shook her. Suddenly, the air in the room grew cooler, and then a palpable energy surrounded her, warm and loving. Ophelia focused on the warmth, wishing for once she’d opened her heart to finding a boyfriend, someone to hold her.

  Being alone sucked.

  Arms surrounded her and it felt like someone spooned her from behind. The sensation of fingers caressing her hair soothed her and she closed her eyes and sniffled. She felt lighter within. Her imaginary lover felt right, like he could be real.

  If only…

  More tears rolled down her cheeks, wetting her pillowcase. She needed to get out of the house, catch her bearings before she lost her mind. Gramma didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that and Ophelia needed to get a grip on things before stress overtook her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she’d go back in town tomorrow. Even going to the grocery store would help. However, she couldn’t leave Gramma for too long.

  With a shaky breath, she willed herself to relax and sleep. Things would be better tomorrow.

  Chapter 6

  My heart breaks for my witch. She is hurting and in danger. All I can do is hold her, although I don’t understand how it’s possible in my current form.

  She seems to be the only thing I can touch.

  I don’t understand.

  She seems to sense my touch, but doubts what her body tells her is true. I’m here, love! My heart beats only for you and hopes that the day will come when I can hold you as a full man.

  Right now, I have to focus on the danger that seeks her. Francois will take everything and lock her away in a cell she can’t escape.

  Her life will be over. Like mine.

  I have to find a way to warn her, make her believe what her grandmother says. That she has the magick and goodness inside her to defeat the evil that haunts her. Haunts us all.

  I push away a few strands of my witch’s hair from her cheek and smile. She’s so lovely. Without a single thought, I lift the blanket and tug it over her shoulders.

  Wait. I can pick up the blanket? How can this be? Why are things changing? Joy consumes me.

  If I can move things. I can warn her.

  Easing out of the bed, I shoot straight up, through the ceiling and into the attic. Something in her grandmother’s magical stuff will surely be the key. Some way I can warn Ophelia. Make her believe in me.

  It’s a place to start, at least.

  I snake through piles of old papers, half-burned candles and bottles of spices and other things. A witch’s things, not unlike what my own pantry looked like so long ago.

  Drifting to the bookshelf closest to the podium, I stretch my fingers to touch the book Ophelia had held earlier that morning. I glance at the title.

  A History of Duels in Savannah in the 1800s.

  Glee floods me as I lift the book and hold it in my hands. Now I can show Ophelia who I am.

  * * *

  Ophelia shivered as she opened her eyes. Why was it so cold in the house? It was too early in the season to turn the heat on, but if the chilly weather continued, she would. Gramma would need the warmth. Ophelia made a mental note to ask Gramma if she had been cold at night.

  She stretched as she sat up, then noticed a book open on her nightstand. How did it get there? Gramma couldn’t walk to her room, much less sneak in and place a book beside her bed, and the nurses’ aides never came in the room. In fact, they hadn’t even been working. So where did it come from?

  When she picked the book up, the name, Anatoli La Croix, jumped out at her from the open page. The same name on the bottle. Her ghostly lover’s name.

  Odd. And a bit unnerving. The bottle and the book seemed to be tied together and it made her uneasy. She pulled the blanket over her knees and held the book in her lap. It was the same book she’d spotted in the attic but hadn’t opened—no reason to suspect that it had information about Anatoli in its pages.

  Running her fingers over the lettering, she sensed…magick? Oh great, was she starting to believe Gramma? But Ophelia couldn’t explain the hum of energy kissing her fingertips as she touched the page.

  A mix of good and evil. She shivered, and not from the cold.

  The title A History of Duels in Savannah in the 1800s was in gold letters across the front of the book. Yet some of the words inside were written in Latin. Although Ophelia could recognize the old language, she couldn’t read it. But Gramma could.

  Time to figure out who put the book on her nightstand and why. Did Gramma know the book had information on Anatoli? Why hadn’t she mentioned it?

  Ophelia gathered the book in her arms and rushed to her gramma’s room. When she entered, Gramma was sitting up in bed. Life lit up in her features a little more. It was almost as if the older woman knew what Ophelia was about to ask. But that would be impossible.

  Wouldn’t it?

  “Hi, Gramma. How’re you feeling?”

  “I’m good. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. What’s going on that has you in such a tizzy?”

  Ophelia pushed aside the doubt in her mind and tried to open to the possibility of witches, ghosts, and magick. After all, how did the book get on her nightstand? Was it the spirit in the attic? The one that touched her and held her last night while she cried. Something was going on that logic couldn’t explain. What was the harm in considering that mystickal things existed?

  Yes, she felt it. Even though her mind wanted to reject knowing about anything supernatural, something inside her knew it was true.

  “I have a question about this book.” Handing the book to Gramma, opened to the page that had Anatoli’s name on it. “What does this say?”

  Gramma took the book from her and patted the bed beside her. “Sit. It’s a long story.”

  Ophelia climbed beside Gramma. “What is it? What happened, and why does it mention Anatoli?”

  “This book tells of a magickal duel between a witch, Anatoli—your spirit from the bottle—and Francois, the evil warlock whose house we burned down.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Gramma shrugged. “I’m not kidding. This is very serious. Where did you get the book? Did you take it from the attic shelves?”

  “No, it was on my bedside table when I woke up.” Ophelia shook her head. “Open to that page. I thought you might have had an aide bring it to me.”

  “No. No one’s been here but me, and you know I couldn’t climb to the attic to get the book then put it on your bedside table. I barely have the strength to move into my wheelchair anymore.”

  Ophelia chewed her bottom lip. It was true. No way Gramma could’ve done it. Someone else was in the house.

  “Someone put it there. Opened to that page. I can read the heading: Francois Beaumont and Anatoli La Croix: The Mystery of a Magical Duel. June 21, 1856. After that, the words are in Latin. Why?”

  “Only some people need to read the story.” Gramma sighed. “Latin protects it from casual readers, but it’s time you knew what happened. Let me tell you the story.” She closed the book. “I know it by heart. I don’t need to read it.”

  Ophelia pulled a pillow into her lap and waited. A presence joined her, sitti
ng beside her, and she felt a hand rub her arm, as if to reassure her. She sighed a deep sigh, ready to hear more about the ghost in the bottle.

  Gramma’s voice grew distant and carried a strength Ophelia hadn’t heard in many years. She spoke as if she were at the duel herself.

  “The date of June 21, 1856 began as most mornings on the Hemlock Grove plantation. A stringy mist hovered over the river and the large magnolia trees shone deep green with dew. The warlocks had agreed to meet at the break of dawn when the long fingers of pink and orange sunshine drew shadows across the fields.

  “Midsummer. Solstice. A day chosen for its extra magic. As the story goes, Francois had lured Anatoli into a friendship, the younger man being enamored by the attention of such a powerful warlock. Then, it appears Francois set up a public embarrassment of Anatoli, leaving the young witch with no choice but to challenge his mentor to a duel.

  “Though illegal, duels were often used to settle disputes among gentlemen and the protocol was that the person challenged got to choose the weapons. Francois chose to use his family’s dueling pistols, reportedly having been last used in 1795 when an uncle had said unfair things about a stage actor. The guns had served the Beaumont family well—they’d never lost a duel using them.”

  Ophelia leaned closer as Gramma’s voice grew quiet.

  “We don’t know everyone who was there that day, other than Francois and Anatoli. According to the rules of duels, they would have had seconds there with them, to stand in on their behalf if necessary. And possibly, there would have been witnesses, but again, the record is scarce on that information. It may have been that Francois wanted few people there since he was about to cheat and use magick, taking from Anatoli the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.”

  “What’s that?” A hand squeezed Ophelia’s shoulder and she gasped, then turned to see no one was there. Again. There was a presence beside her and it gave her comfort.

  “His eternal soul.” Gramma hissed the words and a chill shot through the room.