Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins

by Margeaux Laurent

  “What?” He was enraged now, “For generations the Coven has rendered our services to your family and cleaned up your messes. You forget far too much Catherine. Must I remind you that it was I, who killed your husband's childhood sweetheart so that he would marry you instead? It was I, who killed your husband's father and increased your wealth. And now, after all I have done for you, you are going to break our covenant over one girl?”

  “My son is dead,” she said flatly, “You will not receive compensation.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  December 19th 1734

  Midnight

  We were in a small, dimly lit room. The bed creaked underneath me as the ship swayed back and forth. This was the same spot Greer had taken me once before, where we embraced for a time, and he had promised to marry me.

  Now, I was lying on my side gasping for air, as Greer lay lifeless beside me. I rolled over and scrambled to get up and care for him. I pulled at Greer's shirt until it came loose and pulled it over his head. He groaned as I poured water on the wound and I was startled when the water revealed his current state.

  “It has started to scab over! How can this be?” I gasped.

  “It will be healed in a week or two,” he said through pained breaths.

  “But you were run threw . . . I saw it,” I wrapped his arms around my neck and lifted his torso up so I could examine his back. He grimaced as I did so.

  On his lower back, I found the other side of the injury and another large scab forming where the blade had pierced. I placed him down tenderly and went for my dress pocket. I then mixed some of my herbs into a salve and placed it on the wounded areas.

  My hands were trembling as I packed the solution onto his skin. I was on the verge of sobbing again. I was still unsure if I really had Greer back, and I wondered if he was truly going to survive this.

  He placed his hand on mine, “Do not ever do that again,” he said softly, as he winced from the pressure I was applying to his wounds.

  “What?” I froze, thinking that the herbs had caused him discomfort.

  “Do not ever try to kill yourself again,” he said in a stern voice.

  I shook my head, “I thought you were . . .”

  He laced his fingers into mine and bade me to come closer to him.

  “I cannot die,” he whispered, “At least, I was told that no mortal can kill me.” He kissed my hand and turned it over in his, and then he cringed, “Your hand is cut.”

  I looked down and realized that my palm had been sliced deeply from where I had been holding the end of Zachariah's blade.

  “It is my turn to take care of you now.” He gingerly stood up and went to a small bag that was on the dresser.

  “Why aren't we at the Inn?”

  Greer sifted through the bag until he took out a small glass bottle that contained a clear liquid in it.

  “It is not safe there anymore. I have prepared a few locations to utilize in case of emergencies. This is one of them,” he took my hand in his, “Brace yourself,” he warned, before pouring the liquid upon it.

  It stung so badly that I almost screamed.

  “It is rum. It will sterilize the wound,” he said apologetically. He then put my herbs on the cut and wrapped it in cotton cloth.

  “Drink some of that,” he gestured to the bottle, “It will diminish the pain . . . or at the very least, dull it.

  I shook my head, “I need to get out of my corset first. I think I may have broken my ribs. Every time I inhale I feel pain,” I gasped.

  Greer quickly pulled my gown off me and unlaced my corset. I instantly felt a relief of pressure, but the pain did not diminish. I tried to breathe in deeply as a test, and felt pain shoot across my ribcage like lightening bolts.

  “They are broken,” I wheezed, as I clutched my sides.

  He went to a little dresser and took out a shirt for me to wear, and then he turned his back so I could dress in some semblance of privacy.

  “I do not have much here. Just some basics I'm afraid,” he said, as he changed into a pair of breeches and stayed without a shirt.

  I could see that his wounds needed to be covered and I took my cotton underskirt and a knife that lay on the dresser and started to rip it into long strips. Then, I wrapped them around Greer's waist to create a bandage.

  We crawled into the bed and moved in close to each other. He pulled the cover tightly around us and we held each other, leaving no room between our bodies. His chest lay against my back and his arms wrapped around me.

  “Aislin?”

  “Yes Greer?”

  “I will not be able to see you for a while,” his voice was somber.

  I turned so we were facing each other, “No. Greer, please . . . I cannot be without you. Please stay,” I begged.

  “I was seen tonight. They know that I killed the Governor's son,” he said calmly.

  I blinked at his statement, “Zachariah was the Mayor's son.”

  He shook his head, “No, I mean the Governor's son . . . I killed him as well.”

  “The Governor's son . . . Do you mean Clement?” I slowly asked for clarification.

  The muscles of his face were taught, his jaw line was solid as he clenched his teeth together.

  “It was the only way to get Lamont away from you. I had to create a diversion, so I made sure that the servants saw me do it. He was guarding the front exit with Alden. My guess is that they planned to kidnap you. That is probably why Zachariah was at the back door, just in case you tried to escape.”

  My heart was pounding so hard that my ears were filled with the sound. I struggled for breath and closed my eyes. “Then we will run.”

  “No, you cannot run. He will find you.”

  “But even if I stay, he will be able to find me because you will not be carrying me from place to place.” I thought my argument was perfect. He could not dispute my logic.

  “You are still safer being protected by the magic that Martha and your mother provide.”

  “I cannot be without you. I know how it feels now. I thought I lost you tonight. I cannot do it again.” I was rambling, and to any other person it would have been inaudible, but Greer heard every word.

  “Hush my love. I will never leave you. I promise that I will always be close by,” he whispered.

  “You are injured . . . you need me,” I protested.

  “I will be fine,” he kissed me and I, realizing that I was defeated, wept in his arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  December 19th 1734

  We all sat in the back parlor of my parent's home. A fire was burning brightly as we discussed the previous night's events. Greer sat next to me on the large fainting chair, and Sneachta sat on my lap. My mother, Martha and Becky enclosed the circle around us with their chairs. Everyone looked tired and worn.

  The tray of empty plates that Martha had been carrying at the Ball had crashed on top of her when Lamont's spell caught her off guard, leaving her with many cuts and bruises. My mother's head was also still throbbing from the remnants of Lamont's curse.

  “It was his amulet that was blocking our spells,” Martha said.

  “How did you know to break it Aislin?” Becky asked in a quiet voice.

  “I had a vision about Zachariah breaking my pendant, and when I saw Lamont's I just knew to destroy it.”

  Greer reached over and touched my amulet with his fingertips as I continued, “I do not understand though. Why is it that our amulets and charms did not protect us from his curses?”

  “They did Aislin,” my mother replied, “The fact that we are all still alive is evidence of that. His curse was meant to kill us all in one swift blow. Our magic and Greer's actions are the only reason we are alive.”

  “And Aislin's quick thinking,” Martha interjected while smiling weakly at me.

  “Do you think he is now weakened without his amulet?” Greer inquired.

  My mother nodded, “Yes, but how much I do not know. He still has his demon to help him.
Of that I am sure.”

  “They are looking for you,” Becky told Greer, “I heard them talking at the Marthaler's this morning. They are blaming both Clement and Zachariah's deaths on you . . . and someone else too . . .” she thought for a few moments until the name came to her, “Jeremiah, I believe his name was . . . one of the boys who always accompanied Zachariah. He was found dead in the cellar of the Inn this morning.”

  I looked at Greer. His face was set in stone.

  “I did not touch Jeremiah, but . . . the other two I am responsible for,” he said.

  “What happened?” Becky gasped.

  Greer leaned forward a little, but then grimaced from the pain of his injury and settled himself back against the cushions.

  “I was dancing with Abigail and turned to see Aislin in Lamont's arms. I dismissed Abigail and went to pry Aislin from him, but the dancers sped up to an unnatural pace. Everything became blurred. The music was so loud that my ears started ringing. Every time I got close enough to pull her from his arms, they would twist away from me. There was some invisible barrier between us that I could not break. I looked over and saw that Deirdre was writhing on the floor and that Martha was under a pile of broken plates. I knew that he had incapacitated them.

  “I then ran outside to search for a way to pull the crowds attention away from Aislin. I searched for a diversion…and then, I saw a servant standing on the steps, conversing with one of the boys. I then ran outside and searched for a diversion…and then, I saw a servant standing on the steps, conversing with one of the boys. I took the opportunity, and I grabbed Clement from where the three stood. I made sure that they witnessed me killing him… and I waited for their screams. As soon as the servant girl shrieked, I left. Vanishing before their eyes, I ran back into the ballroom.”

  “What will you do now?” Martha asked him, worry creasing the corners of her eyes.

  “I will leave,” he replied, “I cannot protect Aislin if I am contending with a mob of townsmen. So, I will disappear for a while.” My hand stiffened in his. “I will not be in contact with anyone until this is over.” He looked at me for a long while and then continued, “I am going to find out where Lamont is staying and who he has made allegiances with. I am sure that Mrs. Marthaler is no longer funding him, so he will have to find other ways to support himself. This should also allow me to protect Aislin because everywhere Lamont is, I also will be.”

  “But if you run then you are admitting your guilt,” my mother argued, “Her father will not let her marry a criminal.”

  Greer laughed to himself, “Please do not take this as disrespect, but I doubt that your husband's wishes could keep me from marrying Aislin.”

  I felt my face flush with color and I caught Becky's grin, which in turn made me smile as well. We were like two ridiculous schoolgirls sharing a moment of giddy laughter in a time when nothing seemed to be worthy of joy—but no one else was smiling.

  Greer looked somber, and my mother and Martha were equally tense.

  “Things are only going to get worse from here,” Martha said gravely as she stood to leave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  December 20th, 1734

  The Marthaler's warner, the funeral announcer, came to the house early to tell us of Zachariah's funeral and arrangements for the church service. My father seemed to believe it right for us to go. After all, he had no knowledge of what had truly transpired in the past few months.

  I heard the door shut as the warner left to visit all the other houses and invite them to the funeral service. I did not want to go. My father had sat me down when he returned from work to tell me that my engagement to Greer was off. Too many rumors had circulated about him and my father did not trust Greer anymore.

  “He was not even listed at the Inn by the name he had given me. Apparently, he gave them a Spanish name . . . Garcés, I believe. No, he has never been truthful with us and he is not going to drag you across the world and out of my sight. Sutphin was correct in his estimation. He is most likely a pirate.”

  My father's words normally would have enraged me and prompted me to scream at him, but I realized that he was only doing what he thought was best for me. He did not know Greer the way I did. He did not understand that Garcés was his mother's surname, and that he had to be secretive to protect me.

  Although I remained calm, the mention of Greer tore at my heart. He had said farewell to me late the previous night, as he waited for the cover of darkness to make his escape from town.

  He promised me that he would return for me, but with all the uncertainty that surround our lives, I knew that there was no guarantee that I would be alive when he came back.

  Greer seemed confident that he could protect me, yet I was unsure. I sat, staring at the ground, clinching my unwounded hand into a fist as I forced myself to accept the gravity of our situation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  December 21st 1734

  Alban Arthuan

  We were all packed into the small church. The pews barely had enough room for the number of mourners that had arrived for the Marthaler family. Some were already weeping, and the sound of noses being blown into kerchiefs seemed to create its own dismal chorus.

  My mother, father and I sat in our usual spot, the middle pew on the right hand side. I saw the Marthalers sitting in front of us in the very first row. Sutphin was with them, and was dabbing Abigail's face with the sleeve of his overcoat. He looked upon her differently now, and I wondered if Greer was behind the transformation.

  The Minister came before the congregation and said the standard psalms and prayers for such an event. He then allowed his voice to become louder as he paid tribute to the boy. He was talking of Zachariah's 'kind nature' and 'giving spirit'. His mother let out a few sharp cries during the eulogy and everyone seemed to pity her. Only a few of us knew the truth.

  My father shifted in the pew. Everyone was cramped, and though snow was falling outside, the church was stuffy. I did not bother to look up as the Minister went on and on about Zachariah's character, but when I heard the sermon change its timbre I slowly raised my gaze.

  “Now, it has come to my attention that this good child of God was taken from us by an unnatural and despicable force. Indeed, it seems that all of the youth that have fallen victim in the past few months have been the targets of the most foul and loathsome means possible.” He waited for his words to sink in. For the congregation to comprehend that the Minister was privy to more information than they were, and that he alone had the answers to this riddle. After a long paused for effect he continued, “I am talking about witchcraft,” he scowled.

  The congregation started murmuring to each other, as terror gripped at their hearts. I knew that I had to hide my anxiety, for fear of being dragged out into the church courtyard and hanged.

  My palms were sweating and cold. I plunged them under my legs to hide them. While next to me, I saw my mother's jaw tighten and her breath become shallow.

  “Now, fear not good people,” the Minister went on as he slammed his hand down on the pulpit to quiet the frantic crowd. “I have hired an expert in the field of witch hunting to weed out those who are responsible for these atrocities.”

  The congregation seemed to let out a sigh in unison, reflecting their relief. He waved a hand in a welcoming gesture, and up to the pulpit sauntered Lamont.

  My mother looked like she would pass out with fright and I was not in a much better state. I knew that she had sewn charms into all our clothing and we each carried a small satchel of salt with us as well. While this was some comfort, it could also be used as evidence against us if we were searched.

  Lamont stood in front of the pulpit, his dark overcoat giving him the appearance of a specter.

  “Now, calm yourselves good people of Burlington,” he raised his hands in a silencing motion as he spoke, and the crowd went mute.

  “I am well versed in demonology and witchcraft. So much so, that I can even now sense a witch among you,” he snee
red as his eyes landed on me.

  The congregation all turned in their pews to follow his gaze. I did not move an inch. My eyes met Abigail's and horrific recognition spread across her face. She knew he was right.

  He raised a bony finger and pointed it at me. My heartbeat was deafening and my eyes wide. The churchgoers gasped and stared, and then, in one swift motion he swept his arm away from my direction and over to the far corner of the room at—Martha!

  “WICTH!” he roared, as numerous men leapt from their seats and descended upon the old woman.

  I stood from my seat and started to bolt towards her, but my mother and father both pulled me back. The church had grown silent. I could only hear Martha's hastened breaths as the men bound her hands with rope.

  ********************

  My mother and I sat in her bedchamber. She was shivering from the fear and shock with which we were now contending.

  Becky ran back to her cabin after her mother was taken. I would guess that she went to warn her community of what had occurred.

  “She has been a mother to me since I was taken from Ireland. She is my closest friend,” my mother sobbed.

  I had no words to comfort her, so I stayed and cried with her. My father knew of the close bond between my mother and Martha, and he respectfully left us alone to handle our grief.

  “Of all our holy days, that monster picks Alban Arthuan to do this,” she was incensed.

  I blinked the tears away, “Do we still celebrate the Solstice . . . even with what happened?”

  My mother squeezed my hand in hers, “Yes. He will not stop us from our rituals and rites. That is just what he is planning on, that he will weaken us so greatly that our Craft will suffer for it.”

  “But Martha . . .” I choked back tears.

  “This is what she would want us to do,” she replied with determination in her voice.