by Lia Davis
“How could Francois take Anatoli’s soul? How is that even possible, Gramma?”
Gramma stared blankly off to the corner of the room for a moment then met Ophelia’s gaze. “Magick, of course. What no one knew at the time was that Francois was collecting souls to prolong his life, as I told you. The guns were no ordinary weapons. His were magickal and able to capture the soul of the person he fired at. Anatoli had no idea the duel was a setup, and by midmorning, he was gone. The written record of the duel says that Francois shot him and he died, but no body was ever recovered.”
“But you know what happened?” Ophelia’s mouth was dry and her heart thudded. Francois was not someone she wanted to mess with, though he should be dead.
“We assume he captured Anatoli’s soul in the gun and then put it into the bottle. The one you found at Ben’s antique shop. The same one that went through the fire.”
“I don’t know what to say, Gramma. It’s all so far-fetched.”
“And yet things keep happening that should show you the truth, if you’ll simply open your eyes and your heart.” Gramma held the book out. “I didn’t put this by your bed. What’s your explanation of who did?”
“I—I don’t know.” And she didn’t. Part of her wanted to believe in magick and ghosts and warlocks, but her rational self still rebelled at the idea. Also, rational thought couldn’t explain the presence that had touched her several times, and hugged her when she needed it. Had she imagined all of it?
After a moment, Ophelia asked, “Earlier you whispered Anatoli’s name as if you saw him. How do know what he looks like?”
“I saw him in a vision.” Not giving Ophelia a chance to respond, she leaned closer and added, “There’s one more thing I need to tell you. It’s very important.”
“What is it?”
“Francois is nearby. I feel him. Feel his evil presence. He isn’t dead like we thought. He will come for you. Your spirit would be worth a lot to him and he won’t miss the chance to get Anatoli back, plus you. You need to prepare yourself. Get some protection charms made. Have a plan for what to do if he shows up here tomorrow night.”
“Why would he come here?”
“Halloween. The anniversary of us burning his house down. He wants revenge. Revenge on me and on the other witches in Savannah who tried to rid this city of him.”
Ophelia shivered as a shock of electricity shot through her.
Gramma gasped, and her breathing became strangled. She coughed and held her throat as she tried to breathe.
Ophelia jumped to her feet, fear burning in her veins like lava. A black, eerie mist surrounded Gramma like a swarm of bees or a summer thundercloud. Ophelia reach out to take her gramma’s hand but the mist blocked her attempts. She couldn’t reach her.
Her heart strained. What was she to do? Something was in the room. Something evil. Something that would kill her gramma if Ophelia let it.
A whispered voice spoked next to her, the same voice from the attic. “Speak the words, be gone, and thrust your hands into the mist.”
What?
Cool hands settled on her shoulders. A mixture of strength and fear swirled from deep within. “You must believe.”
The presence disappeared. Ophelia whirled around to find no one else in the room.
Gramma reached a hand out, getting Ophelia’s attention. Her green eyes were pleading.
Well, here goes nothing.
Ophelia lunged forward, threw her hands out to the mist, and yelled, “Be gone!”
A piercing screech echoed through the room as the mist disappeared. The room warmed instantly. Gramma coughed and gasped for breath and Ophelia rushed to her side, rubbing circles on her back. “Are you okay, Gramma?”
Nodding, Gramma gave a few more coughs and leaned into her. “How…Did you know?”
Ophelia paused, unsure how to answer. She hadn’t known. Not until the ghost or presence or whatever it was told her what to do. Did it mean she had latent magickal powers, as her gramma had told her so many times? Confusion swarmed her thoughts. Two weeks ago, she would have said magic wasn’t real, but things were happening with no explanation…other than magick. Was it possible her gramma had been right all along?
“I’m not sure exactly how I knew. It sounds crazy, but I think Anatoli is here with me, whispering in my ear, and helping me. Telling me what to do to make the darkness go away. Am I crazy for thinking so?”
Gramma cupped her cheek. “No, dear. He is here. He’s been near you since the bottle opened.”
Dawning awakened Ophelia’s awareness. Gramma spoke Anatoli’s name the day before while looking at the door. “You can see him?”
“Yes, of course, I can. You will too when you open your mind and accept your magick.”
Ophelia shook her head. “I don’t know how.”
“It’s already starting. You are believing, or you wouldn’t hear or feel him. We need to hurry though. We have much to do. You have to perform the ritual to trap the demon, Francois. He won’t stop until he’s either captured you and Anatoli or he is dead. I prefer the latter.” Gramma grabbed Ophelia’s hand and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“Wait. You said he was a warlock. There was no mention of a demon.” Ophelia lifted her gramma under the arm and guided her to the wheelchair. “I’m scared! How could I ever face a demon?”
Gramma patted her arm. “When a witch or warlock turns to dark magick, they become demons. We witches are, unfortunately, cousins to demons.” She coughed but it wasn’t as bad as earlier. “I’ll make a list of things we’ll need from the attic. That black mist was a fraction of Francois’s abilities. My guess is the only reason you were able to send it away was because you caught him off guard with your power. Now, he knows and will come back for you. He has to be stopped. And we need Anatoli’s help.”
Ugh. Ophelia didn’t want to go back in the attic. There was too much creepy stuff up there and then the ghost that had hugged her. If she knew for sure it was Anatoli, it wouldn’t be so bad. Still, it looked like she had no choice. She’d go back into the attic.
Plus, she was curious how one would trap a demon.
Chapter 7
I wish I could help my witch trap Francois. He’s evil and I worry his powers are too great for her. He tricked me and I was powerful even though I was young. And now, I’m only half a man.
There has to be something I can do to help her, but what? I can’t do magick in this state. It sounds like she’s never even cast a spell.
How will she possibly fight him, much less defeat him? I must think. She needs my help.
Ah! The pistols we used in the duel hold magic far beyond what she has right now. They can be turned against Francois. Ophelia’s gramma hid them in the attic.
Through the ceiling to the attic, I emerge with a purpose. Find the pistols.
The attic is dark but I sweep through, searching. Where are they?
Like a beacon calling to me, the pistols glow on the top shelf behind the podium. They are in a dueling pistol box, the wood intricately carved with ancient symbols. I float to them and to my disbelief they are surrounded in a cloud of dark magick.
How did I not see this during the duel? Francois tricked me, and now I see how.
He will not fool anyone again.
* * *
“Okay, if there truly is a spirit here, give me a sign or something?” Ophelia felt ridiculous talking to the room. Was there even a correct way to communicate with ghosts? A special ghost language or something? Or was it like on TV where you just called out to them and they appeared or slammed doors or moved stuff? “Anyone there?”
No sound, no movement, and no ghostly “boo” rang out. Ophelia sighed. What had she expected?
Giving up for now, she headed to the bookshelves to search for the books Gramma wanted. She found them easily enough and hugged them to her as a familiar sensation passed by her. She stilled. “Anatoli?”
Please be him.
A moment later, a man
with brown hair pulled back at the base of his neck and striking blue eyes flashed in front of her. Ophelia sucked in a breath and reached to touch his cheek, but as soon as her hand neared, he disappeared. He didn’t leave her side; his energy hovered close by, oddly comforting.
It was him. Her heart thundered and a sense of calm washed over her. Anatoli. With a smile and a little hope, she turned to the stairs. “Come on. You can watch me pretend to know what I’m doing.”
She swore she heard a male chuckle. The corner of her lips tugged into a smile as she made her way back to the living room.
Gramma glanced at her and then to the space beside her. “Anatoli is getting stronger.”
“Yes, I feel it. Feel him. At least, I think I do.” Ophelia sighed. “I’m still not sure I believe any of this. However, there is something…not normal going on. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“You are starting to feel your magick stir inside you.” Gramma coughed, her earlier energy fading slightly. “Let it come out, Ophelia. You are meant to be a powerful witch. It’s one of the most valuable things you inherited from me. I hope you will embrace it.” Gramma coughed again, holding her chest and paling.
Concern gripped Ophelia. “You should be in bed. This is too much for you.”
Gramma waved her hand in the air and shook her head. “No. I’m fine. You need help defeating Francois and I’m not going to lie in bed and do nothing when I know the power he has. We must put a call out to the coven to aid you—it’s the only way we can get rid of him for good. I’m not leaving this earthly plane until I know you’re okay and Francois is gone.”
She pointed to the books Ophelia still held. “The Book of Shadows has a contact number for the coven. Tell them I request them to aid you in capturing Francois. They are expecting the call. Everyone is on edge, knowing he is coming for revenge.”
Ophelia nodded and pulled out the book. She’d call the local coven, if for no other reason than to appease Gramma. Still, there was no explanation about all the things happening and the more Gramma talked about magick and witches, the odder things seemed to get. And yet the more things made sense. It was unnerving that maybe Gramma was right.
Besides, she’d love to believe that Anatoli was real and not a figment of her imagination. He appeared to be so handsome and kind, and his touch was loving. She’d longed for a man like him, but didn’t believe such existed in the real world.
It was just like her to be infatuated with a ghost.
The doorbell rang, sending a long buzzing noise down the hall and echoing in the living room. Ophelia snapped the book shut.
“Who could that be?” Ophelia set the book on the cushion.
“Cover the books with this. And move them off the loveseat.” Gramma’s voice strained and she held out a small coverlet. “No one can see them. Hurry.”
Ophelia rounded up the stack of books, set them on the end table, and covered them with the cloth. The doorbell buzzed again, long bursts of piercing sounds.
“I’m coming!” Ophelia jogged to the door, flipped the locks, and flung it open. “Ben!”
The shopkeeper took off his hat and made a small bow. “I was in the area and thought I’d stop by and see how Betty is doing. Your visit set me to worrying. Is this a bad time?”
Hunched over and walking with a cane, Ben looked much older than he had while standing behind the counter at the store. Daylight didn’t hide imperfections and his face was filled with wrinkles and concern. Still, his eyes held kindness.
“Come on in. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you.” Ophelia opened the door wider and stepped back so Ben could enter. “She’s in the living room.”
“If it’s no bother?” He paused for her answer.
“No, it’s not. You stopped by at a good time. Come on in.”
She waited for Ben to enter then she shut the door. A blast of cold, piercing air whooshed down the hallway from the living room and hit her in the gut. She stumbled back. What the hell? Her knees weakened and she held on to the stair rail in the foyer. Ben didn’t seem to notice anything out of place.
He shuffled down the hall toward the living room. He’d been to the house many times over the years and knew it probably as well as his own. After a second to stabilize herself, Ophelia followed him.
“Betty, it’s good to see you.” Ben lifted Gramma’s pale hand and kissed it. “How’re you doing?”
Gramma pulled her hand back and coughed, covering her mouth with her arm. “I’m okay…Ben. How are you? It’s so good to see you.”
“Fine, just fine. A bit ricketier than the last time you saw me, but I’m okay. May I sit?” He gestured to the loveseat.
Gramma nodded. Her eyes rounded and she covered her mouth. What was she afraid of? Maybe she didn’t want Ben to see the books?
Ophelia moved to sit in the chair near the stack of covered books. Ben seemed off, almost agitated. He scanned the room like he was looking for something. Nothing had changed since the last time he visited. Must be hard for him to make the trek out to Hemlock Grove, but it was nice of him to visit Gramma, even if he was a bit crotchety.
Ben sat, propping his cane against the loveseat and setting his hat beside him. “When Ophelia came into the store the other day, she told me you weren’t doing so well so I thought I should come by and see for myself. You know how much you mean to me.”
Gramma’s eyes dimmed. “I’m not long for this world, Ben.”
“Gramma, don’t talk like that.” Ophelia scowled.
“It’s true, no point in pretending it isn’t.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Ben leaned forward. “We both know death is just a transition to the next phase. Everything is going to be okay. I still hate to see you suffering.”
Gramma started coughing, her voice caught in her throat. Ophelia rose to help her but the coughing worsened. Ophelia felt her head for any sign of fever but there was none. The cough appeared to be the only symptom that anything might be wrong.
“Is she okay?” Ben’s voice held concern.
Gramma turned a few shades lighter, her skin mottled and bluish. The cough turned into a wheezing sound, like she was trying to breathe through a wet straw. She gasped for breath and held her throat, tilting her head back in an attempt to get more air.
“Ben, I need to get Gramma to bed and get her some medicine. Maybe call the doctor. I’m sorry. You need to excuse us—we’ll have to visit another time.”
Gramma tried to wave them off but her whole body shook with each strained cough and her face grew even paler.
“Can I help in any way?” Ben leaned forward.
“It’s okay, though I appreciate the offer. I’m going to get her to bed right now and see how she does. But thank you.”
“No problem. I know my way out.” Ben stood, grabbed his cane and hat, then turned to Betty. “I’ll come again soon. You take care.”
Gramma coughed, unable to catch her breath.
“Thanks for understanding. See you soon.” Ophelia rolled Gramma’s chair close to where she sat in the upholstered seat.
“Not a problem.” He strode toward the front door, his cane tapping the floor as he walked.
The door clicked shut and Ophelia helped Gramma into her wheelchair. “Let’s get you to bed and get your meds. That was a bad episode.”
Gramma looked up at her. “I’m okay. I feel better. Must’ve just been a tickle in my throat. Nothing to get all upset about.”
Ophelia stared, hands on her hips. Gramma seemed to be breathing better. The moment Ben left, the coughing fit had stopped. Gramma’s pale cheeks had turned rosy again. Ophelia frowned. Something wasn’t adding up but Gramma was doing better; there was no denying that.
Something lifted her hair and she felt a light kiss on her neck and then a hug from behind. She closed her eyes to savor the feeling. If only Anatoli was real…
“He’s real.” Gramma peered up at her, her eyes shining. “Handsome, too.”
“What ar
e you talking about?”
“You were thinking you hoped he was real. I’m just telling you he is. I see him. He’s behind you, his brown hair pulled back and his blue-eyed gaze intense. He needs to be fully back with us, and I can help you with that.”
Ophelia shook her head. She wanted to believe. And the man Gramma described sounded like the one she saw in the attic.
“Gramma, you need a nap.” She wheeled the chair toward Gramma’s bedroom.
“And you, child, need to start believing in things you can’t see with your eyes, and trust what you see with your heart.”
Chapter 8
After years of nothing, so much has happened in one day. I feel nearly alive with possibility.
My Ophelia is starting to believe! I saw the look in her eyes, and felt her relax under my touch. Is it too much to ask?
Still, I fear for her. She’s in so much danger and doesn’t even realize it. I have to help her but communication is nearly impossible.
I need to show her the pistols, but how do I tell her they will help her trap Francois?
How can I connect with her? When she saw me that moment, actually saw me manifest, my heart beat so strongly and I hoped for an instant that I was free from my eternal prison.
Alas, it was not to be.
I realize now, I’m but a ghost of a man, sentenced to a few whispers of touch. And fortunate enough to be free from that bottle. Still, I suffer. I cannot hold the woman who makes me feel whole.
And now, something else stirs my soul. The old man, Ben. He is not right.
I remember him being there when the witches burned down Francois’s house and the fire consumed so many souls. Ben was a warlock, too, and he saved me from the fire. But this wasn’t the same Ben here today. His aura was different, darker.
Panic stirs in my non-beating heart. No. The good Ben is gone. Hidden behind the old man’s face, somehow taking his form—was Francois.
Francois has taken his soul and is somehow using his body as his own. I don’t pretend to know the bounds of dark magick but if anyone can master them, it is Francois. He has done something that seems impossible.
