Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins

by Margeaux Laurent

  My mother was talking about the Governor’s Ball as I helped her place a tablecloth on a little round table that my father kept behind the shop’s counter. I wondered if I would be able to attend it now that I was no longer attached to Zachariah. Perhaps they would ban me. The idea seemed delightful.

  As we were eating our lunch, Greer talked of his castle, servants, and land. My father seemed very interested in Greer's upbringing and education, and wanted to know more about astronomy.

  Greer talked of the stars and the planets, and I listened as though I was under a spell. I had never thought of worlds other than the one I lived in—and of course the spirit world. I knew of worlds within the one we live, but never had I thought of places like our own existing in the heavens. I was mesmerized by his words and wanted to hear more of the planet Mars, but our conversation was cruelly interrupted by a deplorable sight—Zachariah and his father had entered the shop.

  My father stood nervously and brushed the crumbs off his pants and coat. “Hello William, Zachariah,” he nodded to each cordially.

  I watched as Jack tried to disappear behind a stack of printing paper, his coloration was so paled that he practically blended in with the parchment.

  Mr. Marthaler sneered at my father and looked passed him, “Who are you?” he asked, while staring at Greer.

  “I am Aislin's fiancé,” Greer smiled, while moving in front of me and behind my father.

  “What are you talking about?” Zachariah demanded, while slamming his good hand down on the counter.

  My father was breathing rather shallowly and his face had turned quite pale. “I am sorry Zachariah, but word of your recent conduct has gotten back to me and it cannot be ignored.”

  “What conduct are you speaking of Gerald?” Mr. Marthaler demanded.

  “Zachariah's blatant affinity for tavern whores,” Greer flatly interjected.

  My father closed his eyes and tried to steady himself while Mr. Marthaler practically spat at Greer.

  “If you choose to believe this man, who obviously has tainted your minds to gain the hand of your daughter, than you are a bigger fool than I ever conceived possible Gerald,” he snarled.

  “I did not hear of such accounts from this gentleman. I was told of your son's behavior by numerous townspeople who viewed witness to his deeds,” my father replied.

  “Produce names. I demand you to name those who accuse me!” screamed Zachariah. He was puffing his chest out, all the while glaring at Greer, but slightly hiding behind his father.

  “Ask your daughter about it then,” my father told Mr. Marthaler.

  The Marthalers stood fuming at my father's retort.

  “You dare break our agreement on mere rumors of my son's misconduct?”

  My father nodded his head abruptly and Greer placed his hand supportively on his shoulder.

  Mr. Marthaler smiled wickedly before he turned to the door, “Then I will destroy you,” he hissed as he let the door slam shut behind him, leaving Zachariah to scramble after him.

  On the way out the door Zachariah stopped, his gaze was cast downward. We followed it until all our eyes landed on a gold ring that was on the shop floor. I heard a little gasp come from behind the stack of paper and realized what it was.

  Zachariah bent down and picked it up. “What is Abigail's ring doing here?” he asked me.

  I instantly knew how it had gotten here. I saw the scene play out in my mind. She had carelessly dropped it during her time spent with Jack.

  “I borrowed it,” I lied.

  “And you found it fitting to drop my sister's fine jewelry on the ground? What kind of friend are you? You are not fit to wear the jewelry of a lady, you worthless . . . ” His words were interrupted by a snarling Greer.

  “Do not speak to her that way,” Greer growled at the boy.

  Zachariah put the ring in his pocket and swiftly left the shop. My father turned to me,

  “Why did you have her ring?” he asked.

  I looked over and saw Jack's eyes go wide, “She gave it to me as a present. It did not fit and must have fallen off my finger.”

  My father seemed to accept my answer and that was the end of the conversation. Greer helped my still shaking father into a chair and brought him some water, while my mother rubbed his hand.

  “I want you to keep Aislin's dowry,” Greer said.

  My father looked up with a confused expression, “But it is customary . . . ”

  “In return, I will double the dowry you would have provided for our wedding,” he insisted.

  “How is that better than buying her from us?” my mother snapped in anger.

  Greer shook his head, “You misunderstand me. I want Aislin to know that when we leave, you are both provided for and safe. I do not want her worrying about her parents who live across the ocean. This will give her peace of mind and I want her to have that,” he said gently.

  His words jolted me. I had not thought that we might be leaving Burlington. Obviously, I had dreamed of running away with him, but I had never truly considered being away from my home, or my family. I was surprised by his intentions and yet, somewhere deep down, I must have known this would happen. Why else would he have brought me back to his ancestral castle in spirit? I knew that I belonged in that home and more importantly, I belonged with Greer.

  “It would make me very happy,” I insisted.

  My father looked at me with a withdrawn expression, “If you do not feel that you need your dowry, than I will keep it for you,” he said proudly.

  “Thank you Father.”

  My father went back to work, and my mother cleaned up after all of us. I turned around to find that Greer was no longer by my side. He was over in the corner talking to Jack, “Do not be threatened by me. I am not interested in taking your job from you.”

  Jack was flustered by Greer's words and acted as though he was incredibly busy hiding behind the paper stack. “Thank Aislin for me,” he murmured under his breath.

  I walked over to Jack and pinched the skin underneath his elbow, “You better tell your lady friend to be more careful. She'll end up flogged, and you hanged if her father finds out about you two,” I hissed.

  Jack blushed profusely and wiggled out of my grip. I had not realized that Greer and I had backed the poor thing flat against his beloved paper, and he was puffing like a fish out of water.

  “You will stop meeting Abigail here and you will stop your tryst,” Greer said.

  Watching Greer speak to Jack was odd. There was something unnatural in their conversation. It seemed that Greer had placed Jack into some kind of trance. His eyes were glazed over and his jaw hung slack.

  “Yes, I will stop the tryst with Abigail and I will never meet her at this shop again,” the boy repeated back.

  I looked quizzically at Greer, but he ignored my stare, “You will ignore Abigail from now on. Oh and one more thing, you will stop drinking and start working while you are under Mr. Collin's apprenticeship. You will take your job seriously and stop taking advantage of your employer,” he continued. For every statement, the boy repeated his compliance.

  The evidence was paramount—I was not the only one between us who knew magic.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  December 2nd, 1734

  Since Greer had moved into town, things seemed less ominous. Perhaps it was foolishness, but I felt as though he was constantly protecting me and I felt a sense of comfort knowing that he was close by. I spent my spare moments dreaming of our marriage, of living in his family home and spending the afternoon's horseback riding through the fog-covered countryside that I had glimpsed in my vision.

  I had not heard a word from the Marthalers since our last encounter at my father's shop, and hoped that my dealings with the family were finished. Although I wondered how Abigail was. I missed her, and I hoped that she was not too heartbroken by Jack's rejection of her. It was the only way to protect her.

  My mother knocked on my bedroom door, “Greer has stopped by. We a
re going to talk. Would you please join us?”

  I sprung from my bed and tossed my needlework aside. My mother gave me a scathing look when she saw how little I cared for my artwork. Yet, even her disapproving expressions could not thwart my excitement at seeing Greer.

  I ran down the stairs and straight into his waiting embrace. He kissed me before my mother even made it to the top of the staircase and I wished she would stay away, but she did not. I soon found myself seated a proper distance away from him.

  “I need to know about the man who is hunting Aislin,” my mother said forcefully.

  Greer glanced at me and reached for my hand, “I will tell you all I know, but I fear it is not much.”

  My mother did not like his response and shook her head angrily. “How is it that you have been following this man and haven't any knowledge of him?” she prodded harshly.

  Greer crinkled his brow and brushed his hair back from his eyes, as he took a short breath. “He is very powerful and I have only been able to observe him from afar.”

  “What do you mean powerful?”

  “I mean that he can disappear like smoke. He has the ability to cause great pain without ever touching his victims, and if that was not bad enough, he is always accompanied by a being that can do any bidding Lamont does not deem fit for himself. It has taken great feats on my part not to be detected by his creature . . . or him.”

  “How have you managed that, to go undetected?” she continued her interrogation even after I had kicked her from under the table.

  Greer seemed to understand her reasoning and did not appear bothered or insulted by her questions. “I have kept a very far distance. Until now that is. I believe that he is a very powerful sorcerer and that he gains years in his life for every witch he kills. It is as though he feeds off of their power.”

  My mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “What makes you think this?” she asked nervously.

  “It is just that he is very old and yet does not seem to age. Also, he only hunts witches and it seems to be that the more powerful the witch he kills, the longer time he waits to murder the next.”

  “When was the last time he killed,” she asked anxiously.

  “About eight months ago . . . before he left for the New World,” Greer said in disgust. All the while he held my hand in his, tracing circles on it with his thumb, as though to calm us both.

  “And you did nothing to stop him?”

  Greer looked up at her with an expression of sheer repulsion and his hand froze atop mine. “He is very powerful and very deceptive. He was hired by a town outside of London to rid it of witches. It was a public execution. He had the local men gather the girls up. Between the men, a town full of witnesses, and his pet demon . . . there was nothing I could do.”

  “If you could not even protect a bunch of girls from local townsmen how do you plan to protect Aislin from a wizard and a demon?” she demanded.

  Greer's eyes were growing darker, his temper was starting to gain hold of him, “I will lay down my very life for Aislin, and I have done everything I can to prove that.”

  “It’s alright Greer. You don’t have to prove anything,” I said, as I stood next to him and tried to soothe his temper.

  I could feel his muscles twitching under his shirt as I held onto his arm—I did not know how much longer he could control his temper, and I hoped that my mother would not provoke him any further.

  “Mother, stop…please,” I begged.

  “Silence Aislin!” she hissed at me.

  She pointed at Greer, ignoring my pleading and his rage, “You have not answered my question. How do you plan to defeat Lamont?” Her voice was raised now and I flinched when I saw the expression on Greer's face.

  Greer stood and threw the table over in anger, his eyes were fully black and his chest was heaving with his frenzied breath, “I do not know!” he screamed at her in a booming voice.

  My mother did not shy away from Greer's behavior. She raised a hand in a gesture to calm him, and spoke with a softer tone, “I believe that you would do anything for Aislin, but it is obvious that you do not know how to handle this problem Greer.”

  He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and I wondered if he was crying. I wrapped my arms around him, no longer caring if my mother disapproved.

  “We will have to figure this out together, so you must calm yourself,” she insisted as she stepped over the sideways table and went to get herself a cup of tea.

  Greer stopped rubbing his eyes and set the table upright again. “I am sorry for my temper.”

  My mother did not answer but gestured for him to sit again, “I know that you are not a normal mortal, but that does not mean that you can take on a being with so much power. The answer to our problem will not be found in strength alone. We are going to need powerful magic,” she said kindly.

  Greer looked at me with a sad expression, “I will do anything you ask of me, as long as Aislin is safe.”

  My mother looked into her empty teacup as though she was seeing something of great importance, “The answer will not come to us today, but we will find an answer if we work together.”

  ********************

  The first snow had fallen late in the afternoon and it blanketed the backyard in a soft layer of white. I had been tasked with finding all the information I could about dark sorcerers in my book, but I had come up with nothing. Either there was nothing to find, or the book was not ready to reveal its information.

  I found myself staring out into the backyard from my bedroom window, deep in thought, as I watched the last beams of light bouncing off the frost-covered branches of the barren oak tree.

  Sneachta jumped onto my bed and broke my string of thoughts. This was not necessarily a bad thing, as my mind was filled with horrible visions. Thoughts of being hunted by an invincible foe flooded my mind. Images of an enemy who was more powerful than I was, and protected by dark magic, would not leave me alone.

  Sneachta played with the thread that I was supposed to be embroidering with, but I did not care. Watching her toss the string in the air and scramble around was far more entertaining than embroidery anyway.

  The room was growing dark, and I lit a few more candles so I could continue to search through the book. After a while, I started finding pages that the book had not previously revealed to me

  Most of the information was not helpful, though it stated that there existed a type of witch, called a warlock, which translated to the word traitor. Warlocks took the dark path and could be any level of practitioner, just like their counterparts. Now I finally had a name for what Lamont was, a Warlock. The name fit him perfectly, for he was a traitor. He stole powers from good witches and sold their lives for profit and power. He turned his back on his own kind. Thoughts of Lamont, the Warlock, were consuming me now. I needed to know more. I needed to know how he used magic. Was it the same way I used magic only with different intentions? Or, was his Craft completely different? I kept searching.

  Sneachta had long stopped playing with the yarn and stretched herself out lazily across my pillows. I was scratching her belly with my free hand as I flipped through the pages, when the room went completely dark. All the candles that I had lit blew out as though with one, frigid, breath and we were plunged into utter darkness.

  “Did you do that Sneachta?” I asked with a shaky voice.

  She jumped up as though something had startled her and started yowling. She was pacing the length of the bed and hissing wildly.

  The room became unnaturally dark, and bitterly cold. I could not see anything as I stumbled about the room searching for my pocket of herbs. Then a smell overcame me. It was horrible and I knew I had smelt it before—when Becky and I were alone in the woods.

  I reached my dresser and felt for my cloak, where the pouch of herbs was folded inside. I franticly pulled at the items in the drawer, and yanked the cloak free. I moved swiftly, but every second seemed to take minutes. The pocket fell to my feet as I hurried
ly unfurled the cloak and I grasped it from the floor. “Sneachta?” I whispered.

  I could hear her growling in the darkness, and I clutched the pocket tightly as I made my way over to her. I knew we needed help, so I dove onto the bed and reached for the book that was resting on my pillow.

  As I did, I felt something heavy depress upon the mattress. It was right next to me and strange, deep, noises were emanating from it. Each time it moved, the weight of the creature threatened to collapse the bed that shuttered underneath it. I was panic stricken, totally overcome by fear and the creature sensed my emotions. I felt the bed shaking and the sheets moving around me. The smell was so strong that I wanted to vomit from the stench of it. Suddenly, I felt great pain surging through my body. It felt just the same as the day at the port, but coupled with my current state of fear, I thought my heart would fail me. I was in such agony that I could not even muster a cry for help. My only chance was the book that lay just above my outstretched hand. The salts repelled the beast before, my mind screamed at me, and I decided to reach into my pocket. I thrust my hand back toward my pocket and felt an ice-cold grip seize my wrist.

  I screamed in pain as long, sharp, claws dug into my arm.

  Then Sneachta leaped at it, hissing and snarling as she flew in the demon's direction. This was my one chance to get help.

  I sprung for the door and pulled hard upon it, but it was jammed shut. I was trapped. I reached into my pocket, grabbed a handful of herbs, and threw them at the bed. I heard something hiss and retreat. I kept throwing the herbs and I reached to Sneachta in the darkness. Please be all right, please Sneachta. Please be alive.

  I could feel her body with my fingers and then her sharp claws latched onto my outstretched hand.