Haunting Savannah: 8 Dark and Seductive Tales

by Lia Davis

  Gramma had explained how to use the dueling pistols against Francois, and given all the words needed to keep him contained once his soul was captured.

  If she’d read a story about all that had happened to her in the last few days, she wouldn’t believe it was possible and she’d say the author was a liar.

  After turning on the faucet and letting it run into the glass, she rubbed her forehead. The one remaining unknown, and it was a huge one, was how to lure Francois into the attic. Gramma felt he would show up, knowing it was the fire’s anniversary. Bent on revenge against Gramma for the fire, and against Ophelia for releasing Anatoli, the target was huge.

  She had to count on Francois showing up.

  She turned off the faucet and stared out the kitchen window into the darkness. Somewhere out there at the bottom of the hill, the Savannah River ran, carrying away the refuse of the day and bringing in freshness to the land as it made its way to the sea.

  If only she could slip away like the river and disappear into the sea. Floating in darkness and unchained.

  Free.

  Free of the burdens that weighed her down. Gramma. Francois. And yes, even Anatoli. Not knowing if he was real or would ever be was slowly killing her heart. She wanted him more each day. Wanted to hold him and press herself against him. Feel his warm kisses on her mouth, her neck, her chest. Possibly, likely even, it wouldn’t ever happen.

  She pushed her hair from her face. The headache had worsened and she needed to get Gramma to bed so she could take some medicine and get rest herself.

  A strangled high-pitched scream echoed down the hall to the kitchen from the living room.

  Gramma!

  Ophelia ran, her footsteps heavy and her heart heavier. Please don’t let anything happen to Gramma. I need her!

  She grabbed the doorframe and stepped into the living room, stopping at the terrifying sight.

  Gramma was on the couch where she’d left her. But covering her was the same black mist that had come before. Gramma’s arms were clawing at the air, and her breath wheezed so loudly, Ophelia could hear it across the room.

  “No!” Ophelia ran to the couch.

  The black mist spun around Gramma and her arms fell at her side, her head lolling. She fell over onto the couch, no longer in a seated position.

  “Gramma!” Ophelia shrieked.

  The mist shot up, paused in a cloud, then flew out the window before Ophelia could gather her wits to tell it to be gone. She fell on her knees at her gramma’s feet. Was she alive?

  She shook her, but Gramma didn’t move. Eyes closed and mouth half open, Gramma looked dead. Ophelia fought tears as she checked for a pulse. Gramma’s wrist was so small and bony, but her pulse beat. Weakly, but she was alive.

  Ophelia reached for her phone from the table and called 9-1-1. Gramma needed to get to the hospital. As she waited on the operator to answer, she felt a warm embrace from behind. She closed her eyes and leaned into the ghost of Anatoli. Even in his current state, he was trying to comfort her. He cared.

  And she cared about him.

  But at the moment, Gramma might be dying.

  Chapter 10

  I don’t like this feeling. Fear makes my heart beat faster than it ever has. Worry only fuels the fear.

  My love left to be with her grandmother when the medics took Betty to the hospital, as expected. What I hadn’t expected was I couldn’t go with her. It seems I’m bound to the bottle, unable to go far from it. Where I am not confined to the inside, I can’t leave it behind. Nor could I carry it with me.

  I told Ophelia to go with her gramma and gave her a gentle push toward the door. She seemed to understand, or maybe she heard me.

  Now, I pace the floors of the house, anxiously waiting her safe return. What if Francois planned all along to get her alone and strike? No. I mustn’t think like that. She will return safely.

  If my heart still beat, I’m sure it would leap out of my chest. I glance at the clock and grow more anxious. Almost midnight. The witches will be here soon. My Ophelia will need her rest.

  The lock on the door clicks and I rush to it. Ophelia enters with sorrow in her eyes. When she shuts the door and locks it, I pull her into a hug. It still amazes me how I’m able to touch her and she responds like I’m a real man. Not the ghost she’s unable to see.

  “I’m here, love.”

  * * *

  Ophelia broke down. Tears poured down her cheeks and her body shook from sobs. Gramma wasn’t going to make it. She was weak and unresponsive. Ophelia didn’t want to leave the hospital, but she had to. She had to bring Anatoli back to the living and stop Francois.

  Gramma would want her to finish this. Her last wishes.

  Plus, the coven would show up at any time.

  She released a heavy sigh as Anatoli pulled her into a hug. Oh, how she wished he was there in body. “She’s not doing well.”

  “She would not want you to give up.”

  Ophelia lifted her head from his shoulder, surprised. She could feel him and now hear him. And he felt more solid than before. What was going on? “I hear you.”

  “Because you are believing.” He pressed his lips to her forehead.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.” And I’m talking to a ghost. But he was her ghost. Her Anatoli.

  “The coven will help you. I will help you.”

  His voice was stronger, no longer sounded like it was in her head. Hope bloomed within. “Can we stop the evil warlock?”

  Before he answered, the doorbell rang. Stepping away from Anatoli, she answered the door. Several witches stood on her doorstep. Ophelia recognized a few from growing up. They were all friends with Gramma—the older ladies, at least. Now Ophelia knew they were much more than that.

  Coven members had arrived.

  The woman standing directly in front of Ophelia smiled and took her hands. Short and thin, the woman’s face lit up into a grin, showing beautiful straight teeth. Her hair, silver and shiny, was wound into a bun at the base of her neck. Ophelia searched her mind for the woman’s name. After several long moments, she remembered. She was one of Gramma’s closest friends. “Good to see you, Martha.”

  Martha’s smile widened and she tugged Ophelia into a hug. “I wish our visit was on better terms.”

  Yes, so did Ophelia. “Please, everyone, come in.” She stepped aside to let them in.

  A dozen witches filled the living room. Gramma should be there. But the dark fog, whatever it was, took her. Ophelia was starting to believe Francois was the all-powerful evil warlock and had something to do with it. Take Gramma out of the picture and Ophelia wouldn’t be strong enough to defeat him.

  And I’m not. Her vision blurred as she turned to close the door. A startled squeak escaped her when she saw Ben standing in the doorway. It was as if the old man appeared out of nowhere. With hand over her heart, she blew out a breath. “Ben, you scared me. Come in.”

  He gave her a small nod and entered the house. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She waved him off and shut door, locking it behind her out of habit. Facing the room full of witches, she sighed and moved forward. “Thank you for coming. Gramma would be so happy.”

  Anatoli moved close to her, his hand taking hers. Her heart filled and her energy renewed. His support meant so much to her. She could do this. And she wasn’t alone.

  Ophelia told the coven of Anatoli, starting with finding the bottle at Ben’s shop. Then she moved to the events that had happened since. “I tried to bring Anatoli to the living, but failed. I’m not strong enough. Now, Gramma is in a coma—”

  “My son and his wife are sitting with Betty. Both are powerful witches and will watch over her until you return to her.” Martha patted Ophelia’s hand. “Don’t feel guilty for not being there. We have to prepare for Francois. But first let’s bring your Anatoli back to the living.”

  As if Martha’s words were the law, everyone turned to the hall that led to the attic stairs. They k
new the way from years of meetings in the dusty attic with their books and candles. Ophelia couldn’t help but smile. It almost felt like Gramma was with them.

  She moved to the front to lead them. As she passed Ben, he smiled at her and nodded. A dark, cold shiver skittered up her spine. Odd. Ignoring it, she entered the attic and stopped, unsure. She’d only done one ritual and it failed. Now she had an audience. Gramma said they would help, but it didn’t ease her nerves completely. Failure this time could mean death.

  Pushing her anxiety and insecurities aside, she cleaned the alter and replaced the candles with new ones. When she was finished, she grabbed the broom.

  Martha motioned her inside the circle. “You sweep inside and we’ll sweep the edge at the same time. It’s faster and will make the ritual stronger. There’s always power in numbers.”

  Ophelia nodded and got to work.

  They swept like she’d done the day before, only as a group. East to west, then north to south. Each of their movements in sync like a dance. They moved as one as they cleaned the circle of negativity. Ophelia actually felt…magick. A positive, radiant energy filled the room, empowering her and renewing her faith. The hairs on her neck stood and a shiver went down her spine.

  She was a witch.

  Taking a cleansing breath, she glanced around the room and noted Ben wasn’t there. Hadn’t the old man followed them up? She didn’t have time to look for him. He’d always been a little odd and he knew where the ritual would be. He’d join them in time. The witches placed the four elements on the edge of the circle and lit the candles.

  “Are you ready, Ophelia?”

  She met Martha’s stare and nodded. “Yes.” And she was. Her heart felt strong and she sensed Gramma near—whether imagined or real, it made her feel like she could do anything.

  Instead of lining the edge of the circle with salt, the witches formed their own ring of protection by standing on the line etched in the floor. They held hands and together spoke the words to close the circle.

  Ophelia closed her eyes and grounded herself while thinking of Anatoli. When she opened them, she spoke the incantation to bring her ghostly love to life. Just as she’d done the first time. However, this time the words carried through the attic. They had meaning. The witches repeated the chant over and over, each time their voices growing louder and the room becoming more electrified.

  Anatoli blinked in like bad TV reception. Ophelia’s heart pounded. Please work.

  She spoke the words louder, putting her heart into it. Believing in every word. She needed his help and wanted to feel his arms around her. For the rest of her life. She needed him.

  Then with a powerful flash that knocked her on her ass, Anatoli appeared. In the flesh. He smiled down at her and held out his hands. He was alive.

  Scrambling to her feet, she flew into his arms. He circled them around her and love filled her heart. She didn’t care that it was unreal to feel so connected to a stranger, who a few moments ago was a ghost.

  Anatoli was there with her, holding her. Exactly as she’d imagined. The witches stopped chanting and turned their backs to the couple, not breaking the circle. They hummed a low chant Ophelia couldn’t make out. It didn’t matter. Right now, she needed to be with Anatoli. Feel him. Touch him.

  He buried his nose into her neck sending chills down her spine. “Ben is not who he was. Francois has taken his body,” he whispered. “We’re in danger.”

  The words were so soft she almost didn’t hear them. Lifting her head to stare into Anatoli’s blue eyes, she frowned. “Are you sure? How is that possible?”

  Anatoli shook his head. “How is it possible for him to capture souls in bottles?”

  Right. Evil warlock, demon.

  “Then let’s find Ben. I’m ready for this to be over and done. No more curses, fires, or revenge plots.”

  Chapter 11

  Anatoli was alive. Solid again. Human.

  So many emotions swirled inside him as he patted himself down, feeling his clothes and skin. Freedom. He breathed in the air, relishing in the all the different fragrances around him. The herbs on the shelf. The individual scents of each of the witches. The sharp odor of the flickering candle flames. He took it all in, in a quick breath.

  Alive!

  But he didn’t have time to think about any of it or celebrate his freedom. Not yet. Francois was there in the form of Ben and he had to be stopped before he hurt more people.

  His love was going to confront the demonic warlock and he feared for her. Francois was evil and powerful. Plus, he did not fight fair.

  Anatoli called for her, “Ophelia.”

  It was no use, she was already downstairs.

  “Where is she going?” the witch Ophelia called Martha asked. “We aren’t done. She broke the circle, but we’ve cleared it. No evil will fill it.”

  “She’s gone to find Ben.” Meeting her gaze, Anatoli frowned. Why didn’t they sense the evil in the old man? To Anatoli, the transference was clear—the demon warlock lived inside the old man. “Ben is no longer the Ben you knew, the good warlock that helped everyone. Francois has killed him and taken over his body. I feel the dark energy. Can’t you feel it, too?”

  The witches gasped and many shook their heads. Martha’s eyes filled with tears. “Not Ben. We’d know.”

  Obviously not. There was no time to convince them. Anatoli had to reach Ophelia before the warlock harmed her. They couldn’t lose now. “Disbelieve if you want, but it’s true. He is after Ophelia. He is the one that put Betty in the coma, and he will kill or capture Ophelia if we don’t stop him now.”

  Anatoli rushed passed the witches and down the stairs. His new legs and the heaviness of his human weight felt strange, but he would not allow it to slow him.

  My love needs me.

  “Ben.” Ophelia called out when she reached the bottom of the steps. The old man had to be there. Somewhere. Especially if he was Francois in disguise, as Anatoli said.

  A sob lodged in her throat. Poor, poor Ben.

  “What is it, Ophelia?” The older man stepped out from the kitchen. His voice was much clearer than before. Magic rippled through the irises of his eyes, dark and eerie.

  “I was wondering why you didn’t join us for the ritual.” No use in letting him know she suspected anything. At least not yet. “We brought Anatoli back. We were successful.”

  A creepy smile formed on his face and he stood straighter. His cane dropped to the floor with a thud. “You know why, my dear. Don’t play games with me. You will lose.”

  She swallowed and took a step back, bumping into Anatoli. A chorus of gasps sounded farther behind them. The witches had followed Anatoli from the attic. “I guess your little secret is out.”

  He chuckled and lowered the veil, or spell, or whatever made him look like Ben. Red wavy hair fell over his shoulders. His green eyes held her gaze and his dark magick snaked through the air toward her. She didn’t want to look at him but couldn’t break the eye contact.

  Her heart lodged in her throat and she realized how frightened she really was. It would take a lot of strong magick to take out Francois.

  Finally, he spoke and she was able to avert her gaze. “I have many secrets, my dear Ophelia. So does your grandmother. Has she told you why I seek your soul? Why I want to claim it so badly?”

  Fear burned like a wildfire in her gut, then spread throughout her. “You need a soul to stay alive so you steal other people’s life-force. It’s your sick way of achieving immortality.”

  He’s stalling. Why? She didn’t dare glance behind her out of fear he’d take the opportunity and turn it to his advantage.

  “You are so naïve.” Francois chuckled. “Your grandmother should have told you the truth. All of it. Maybe you would have had more of a chance of defeating me. Maybe not.”

  “Why don’t you enlighten us,” Anatoli said from behind her. His hands falling to her hips. Tingles of his magick sparked her own from deep inside. “What’s your great secret
that you obviously can’t wait to tell us?”

  That’s it. Together they could stop the warlock. If only she knew how. Think. There had to be a way.

  “You see, Betty and I used to be a hot item.”

  Umm, Ophelia didn’t want to hear about her gramma’s sex life. Real or false. “Why would she give you the time of day? You stand for everything she is against. You’re evil. Gramma is pure and good.”

  Movement behind Francois caught Ophelia’s attention. The witches were forming a circle around them. Francois noticed too. He pursed his lips and scanned the room, glaring at each witch. “You think you can trap me.”

  Martha nodded toward me. “Tell her why you want her soul. The real reason you seek revenge on Betty.”

  He whirled around and snarled at Martha. “Stay out this, bitch.”

  Ophelia turned her head to whisper in Anatoli’s ear. “What are they doing?”

  “They are forming a circle.”

  I could see that. “Why?”

  “To trap him inside.”

  Confused, she fixed her gaze on Francois’s back. Martha was keeping his attention fixed on her. Thank you, Martha. “I thought you had to be in the ritual circle upstairs.”

  Anatoli shook his head. “For a single witch, it is stronger. But with thirteen, you can form a circle anywhere.”

  Oh. There was so much she had to learn. Martha and the other were trapping him and Ophelia in a circle. If only she could trap the psycho in the bottle like he’d done Anatoli…That was it! The way to take Francois down—use his own methods. “The dueling pistols,” she whispered to Anatoli.

  He kissed her cheek. “Brilliant. I’ll get them and the bottle. Be right back.”

  With her heart pounding, Ophelia tried to calm the emotions battling inside her.

  Suddenly Francois erupted in shoots of sparks and flame and whirled around to face Ophelia. “After our affair, Betty had a child. Your mother.” He pointed at Ophelia, his lips curled in a snarl. “My daughter!”